Chimes at Midnight

She sounded like a California native. I smiled back and raised my coffee cup, using the action to mask opening my mouth and breathing in a brief taste of her heritage. Human. I lowered the cup. “Actually, maybe. My sister was here recently, and she said she was supposed to get a call from a lady who works here? Um . . . her name was Arlene or Denise or . . . something, I don’t know. My sister’s not too organized.”

To my relief, the woman grinned. “I’d be willing to bet you’re looking for Ardith. Give me a second. I’ll see if she’s ready to start her shift.”

“I’d appreciate that,” I said. I’m technically allowed to thank humans. That doesn’t stop it from feeling weird. I avoid it when I can.

“Just be glad you came in early—Ardith helps open, and then she’s gone until late afternoon,” said the woman. She moved out from behind the counter, heading toward a door at the back of the room and vanishing through it.

Her motion, meanwhile, had startled the store’s cat, which had been curled unseen on one of the chairs behind the counter. It leaped up next to the register, where it crouched, wrapping its tail around its legs, and considered us with eyes the color of Midori liqueur.

Tybalt recoiled, horror and shock in his face. “What,” he demanded, “is that?”

“It’s a cat,” I said. There was a sign next to the register. “It says her name is Ripley. She’s a Sphinx. They’re hairless cats from Canada. Huh. Who’d have thought hairless cats would come from Canada?” I gave the cat another look. “I wonder if I should get one for Quentin.”

“It’s naked,” said Tybalt.

He was right: the cat was almost completely hairless, with only a few stubby, half-curled whiskers and some patches of fuzz on her toes and tail. Her skin was pink blotched with black and orange, like part of her remembered, deep down, that she was supposed to be calico. She was still watching us. I’d been around Tybalt and my own cats long enough to interpret her expression as a smirk.

“She’s pretty, in a weird, alien life-form, probably steals souls in the night kind of way,” I said. I held out a hand. Ripley sniffed it with the expected gravitas before deigning to butt her forehead against my fingers. “I think she likes me.”

“Delightful,” grumbled Tybalt.

“You don’t get worked up over Manx cats.”

“Missing a tail is nothing like missing all your hair,” said Tybalt primly.

I snorted laughter, and took another drink of coffee. That was all I had time for before an unfamiliar voice from behind us said, “Oh, you met Ripley. She’s granting you a great favor, you know. She doesn’t always let first-timers see her. Now what’s this about a sister?”

This time, when I tasted the air to feel out the heritage of those around us, I got more than just Dóchas and Cait Sidhe. The flavor of Tuatha de Dannan overlaid them both, strong and very, very close. Lowering my coffee, I turned. Tybalt turned with me.

The voice had come from what looked like a perfectly normal shop girl. She was wearing jeans, and a black shirt with red cap sleeves and the store’s logo printed across the chest. Each of her ears had been pieced three times, something that was easy to notice, since we were almost the same height. Her eyes were two different colors, one brown, one so blue it was almost disconcerting, and her hair was chestnut brown, worn long. Her bangs overhung her eyes, and her skin was even paler than mine. She was looking at us with cheerful curiosity, like she couldn’t wait to help with our question, and for a moment I hated myself for coming here to drag this girl back into the world she’d clearly walked away from when her father died. I knew all too well what it was to have people putting their expectations of your parents onto your shoulders. It wasn’t fair of us to come here and ask this of her.

It wasn’t fair for the Queen of the Mists to bring goblin fruit into the city. It wasn’t fair for me to be exiled from my home. The Luidaeg was right: Faerie isn’t fair. Maybe it was never meant to be.

“There’s no sister,” I said, talking fast to get the words out before the human clerk came back. “Well. I have a sister, but she’s never been here. None of us have. Your charms made sure of that, Your Highness, and I know they’ve kept you safe for a long time, but it’s time to stop hiding. Your Kingdom needs you.”

Her eyes widened. Then they narrowed, taking on a calculating cast as she looked from me to Tybalt and back again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Now please leave, or I’ll tell Jude you’re harassing me, and she’ll call the police.”

“Princess.” Tybalt’s voice was a slow rumble. She turned to him, expression melting toward confusion. He has that effect on most women, including me. “I knew your father. He was a good man, and he equipped you with the means to hide yourself for good reason. I was a reluctant Prince, in my own time, and I know the terror of the throne. I claimed mine when to do otherwise would have been to fail my people. Can you owe your people any less?”