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The third bedroom belongs to my squire, Quentin, and will until the day his parents call him home to Toronto to take up his place as Crown Prince of the Westlands, which is what Faerie calls North America. We steal human words with gleeful abandon, but we don’t like to use their names for things when we have any other choice in the matter. We’re sort of like the French that way.
Growing up doesn’t mean getting over everything that happened to us as children. It just means calcifying it and never letting go.
My name is October Daye because my mother should never have been allowed to name her own children.
With wedding planning done for the day, Tybalt off at the Court of Cats, and May busy baking, I was free to go upstairs, take off my bra, and do nothing for the rest of the afternoon. Paradise is real.
He smiled when he saw me, which was a nice change from all the nobles who look faintly sick when they see me, like they expect me to start throwing knives at people immediately and without provocation.
Thanks to this being the only local restaurant owned by one of the Cait Sidhe, this was where Tybalt and I tended to end up on our rare date nights—although that made it sound uncomfortably like a Denny’s. No one goes to Denny’s. People just end up there.
One corner of his mouth quirked upward in the beginnings of a smile. “I’m a cat,” he said. “Being unforgiving is a part of my job description.”
My style of housekeeping is best referred to as “benign neglect.” I don’t have a lot of stuff, which is the only reason there are any visible flat surfaces in my house.
It doesn’t always come when called, but neither do I. If we’re going to measure intelligence based on obedience, we’re all going to be very disappointed.
I trust her to be the month she was named for, cold and kind by turns, endlessly storming, so that nothing can stand in her path but risk being blown away. I trust her to be October, and what I’ve learned, what’s done nothing to stop my heart being given to her care, is that to be October is to be constantly in the path of destruction and not always to have the sense to step aside. I’m uncomfortable not because I don’t trust her, but because I trust her too well.”
“October,” he said. “Do you think it doesn’t ache, knowing you can’t come home? Chelsea speaks of the warmth and comfort of your house as if she were talking about the halls of Caer Sidi. I’m jealous of my own daughter, that she gets to keep your company while I must keep my distance. Our hearths are colder for your absence.”
Sometimes family means being willing to be the one who buries the hatchet and takes the first step. Sometimes family means they’ve already buried the hatchet, in your back.
The Law is supposed to apply to everyone, but if no one is willing to stand up for the dead, it doesn’t. The perfect murder isn’t one where no one knows. It’s one where no one cares.
“Do you actually know where we’re going, or did we just let a woman who currently hates us all put us on a road to nowhere without a map?” asked Quentin. “Not that I’m questioning your judgment—it’s a little late for that—but I’d like to know if we’re going to wander the rest of eternity through a flower shop from hell.”
“There’s a neat little lass and her name is Mary Mac, make no mistake she’s the girl I’m gonna track,” I recited, as slowly and sonorously as I could. “Lots of other fellas try to get her on the back, but I’m thinking that they’ll have to get up early
“Can we have real cranberry sauce?” asked a pale blue pixie. “The kind you make yourself, not the kind that comes out of a can.”
I’m going to torment you for days when this is all cleared up, because Tybalt isn’t the only one who’s noticed your reluctance to let that boy marry you. But I understand.
“Who the fuck told you Faerie was fair? You should deck them the first time you have the opportunity because they didn’t do you any favors with that one.” She lowered her hand.
It was impossible to say whether Disney had gotten something right, or whether she was making fun of them for being so far off the mark, and it didn’t matter either way, because she was diving, vanishing in an instant and leaving me alone.
Why wasn’t everyone an otter, all the time? Patrick would probably have had an easier time dealing with the transition to the Undersea if he’d been an otter. Just float around looking cute, eat the occasional raw fish, and swim like it’s your job.
Her dog, on the other hand, was looking directly at us, front paws braced in a defensive stance. He was ready to challenge the car for the sake of his mistress, which would have been more impressive if he hadn’t been a Corgi. I’ve never seen a Corgi fight a car and come out the victor, but this one was clearly ready to try.
“This will keep your eyeshadow from sliding down your face as the night goes on,” she said. “And it’ll help to keep your eyeliner from smearing. Tybalt loves you no matter what, but if you’re facing Mom tonight, you should do it looking majestic and heroic, not like someone’s slapped tits onto a raccoon.”
“I do,” said Dean. “As the one with a right to claim offense against the man, I think the punishment he deserves is my mother.”
