Ashes of Honor

The policeman stopped talking, apparently waiting for me to say something. I quickly reviewed the last few things he’d said and ventured, “It was dark.”

“You’ve said.” He scowled, picking up another piece of paper. “You told Officer Brannon that you were walking home when gunfire broke out, and you didn’t see the shooters.”

“Yes. It was dark, I didn’t expect people to have guns…” Darkness isn’t actually an issue for me—I see better at night than most humans do in daylight—but it was an excuse. I needed excuses, since there was no way the truth was going to fly with the SFPD.

“Have you lived in San Francisco long, Ms. Daye?”

“All my life.” I’ve never been fond of dealing with the human police. In addition to being a knight errant, I’m a changeling—part fae, part human—and most of the time I manage to restrict my interaction with authority figures to the fae side of things. I don’t like dealing with them either, but at least they’re honest about what they want. Sure, “what they want” frequently involves my head on a platter, but nothing’s perfect.

“Yet somehow you wound up in a very disreputable neighborhood, by yourself, after dark. That doesn’t seem like the move of a native.”

It was getting harder to keep smiling. I gritted my teeth as I said, “I had a fight with my sister and went out to clear my head. As soon as I realized where I was, I turned around.”

“Ms. Daye—”

“Let it go, Carl.” The new voice came from behind me, male, and familiar in a “maybe we were in the same Starbucks once” kind of a way. I twisted in my uncomfortable plastic chair. He was in his mid-thirties, Caucasian, brown hair, with a face as vaguely familiar as his voice.

Carl glowered at the newcomer. “I have a few more questions for Ms. Daye.”

“We’re not charging her with anything, and that means we can stop taking up her valuable time.” Translation: I wasn’t telling them anything useful, and they had better things to do. That was okay by me.

“Fine,” said Carl, with obvious reluctance. His attention flicked back to me. “You’re free to go. Officer Thornton will take you to retrieve your things.”

“I appreciate it,” I said, standing. I hadn’t surrendered my most important things—the silver knife at my belt and the Summerlands-compatible phone in my front pocket. Both were hidden by the illusion that made me look human. That was for the best, since San Francisco law frowns on carrying hidden weapons and explicitly forbids loitering while armed. Being in the wrong place at the wrong time and loitering aren’t quite the same, but I was willing to bet they’d have at least tried to make the charges stick, and I couldn’t afford a lawyer.

Carl grunted, hunching over the paperwork he’d been toying with during my amateur interrogation. Officer Thornton gestured for me to follow him out into the station’s dingy hallway.

“Let’s get you out of here while you can still get a few hours sleep,” he said. Out of habit, I squinted at him sidelong, trying to detect the flicker of an illusion. There was nothing. Officer Thornton might be unusually calm for a grave-shift policeman, but he was human. “Your friend is waiting for you up front.”

I blinked. “My friend?”

“Yes.”

“Right.” That could be any one of a number of people. I gave Officer Thornton another sidelong look, this time focusing on his face. “I’m sorry, but you seem familiar. Do I know you?”

“Golden Gate Park. You were wearing a leather jacket in the middle of summer.” Officer Thornton grinned at my obvious surprise. “I don’t forget a pretty face, especially when it’s refusing help for heatstroke. You’re not going to do that again this year, are you?”

“Oh! That was you?” I remembered that day in the park. I hadn’t been suffering from heatstroke; I’d been poisoned by an old enemy, Oleander de Merelands, who was trying to drive me out of my mind. She came disturbingly close to succeeding. Sometimes I wish my problems were as simple as heatstroke.

“That was me,” he confirmed. He turned to the officer manning the desk, and said, “Ms. Daye is being released. Can we get her things, please?”

“You’ll have to sign for them,” said the officer, frowning at me.

“I’ve been signing my name since I was six,” I said. “I think I can manage.”

The desk officer rolled his eyes as he got up and vanished into the back, leaving me alone with Officer Thornton. We stood in silence for a few seconds before he cleared his throat and said, “You have an interesting file.”

That was probably an understatement. “Yeah?” I asked, trying to sound uninterested.

“You were the subject of a missing persons case that remains unsolved, since you never told us where you’d been. Your teenage daughter was abducted last fall—”

“Are you implying something?” I interrupted. I didn’t care if that looked suspicious. I didn’t want him saying anything else about Gillian.