No Sooner Met

by

Seanan McGuire

No sooner met but they looked,

No sooner looked but they loved.

—William Shakespeare, As You Like It

June, 2012

I had taken plenty of time to consider the courtship of October Daye, giving it much and thorough thought. What it would entail. How it would proceed. How the very nature of October would change each of the essential steps, transforming a time-honored tradition into something strange and new and potentially hazardous to my health. It was an exciting prospect. I have never lost my fondness for being surprised, nor my eagerness for novelty. Not, I hasten to add, that October herself was a novelty to me. No. She was so much more, and always had been, even in the days when I denied myself the honest admission of loving her.

What I had not expected, admittedly, was October’s reaction to being courted.

I stood on the porch with a bouquet of flowers in my hand, watching her eyebrows as they climbed toward her hairline. The blossoms perfumed the air between us with a riotous mix of scents, obscuring the traces of magic that I knew had to cling to her skin in the wake of the human disguise she’d spun before answering the door. Finally, sounding almost bemused, she said, “Tybalt?”

“These are for you.” I offered her the bouquet. She took it—a seemingly automatic gesture, one that must have been trained into her years ago, alongside all her other, occasionally idiosyncratic manners. “They would do best if placed in water. I can help with that, if you would like.”

“Oh. Um. Okay.” She looked down at the flowers, her swallowed thanks practically visible in the shape of her lips. Then she looked up again, pushing past it to find a smile. “Would you like to come in?”

My heart, never the most trustworthy of organs where October was concerned, gave a lurch. I would have answered any question she put to me in the positive, if only she would smile at me so. “I would like nothing better,” I said, and stepped across her threshold.

“You don’t usually come in this way,” she commented, closing the door behind me and releasing her human disguise in the same motion. The smell of copper briefly overwhelmed the flowers, with only the slightest hint of fresh grass underneath it, like a secret she was keeping from the world.

And oh, Lord and Ladies, she was beautiful. She was wearing sweatpants and a tank top the color of dried blood, with her unbrushed hair pulled into a messy ponytail, and from the way my heart hammered in my chest, you would think I had never seen anything lovelier. There was no question: I was lost.

I quirked an eyebrow upward, trying to hide how flustered I was by the sudden revelation of her undisguised face. It was like seeing her for the first time twice in a matter of minutes, and my poor affections could not handle the strain. “What, precisely, does that charming sentiment mean?”

“It means you step out of the shadows when I least expect you, usually with the goal of scaring the living crap out of me. You don’t ring the doorbell like a normal person.”

“Ah.” To be honest, I had stood in her yard for several minutes, debating that exact issue. The door was not my customary mode of entry, no, but this was not a customary visit: this was the beginning of something new, and it deserved to be acknowledged as such. “What manner of entry would you prefer I use? I am your servant in this, as in all other manners.”

To my surprise, she grimaced. “Okay, I get that you’re older than me, and you’re pureblooded, and sometimes you use courtly turns of phrase because, I don’t know, you like reminding me that you were born before the invention of indoor plumbing. But can you please not call yourself my servant? It’s creepy. Especially coming from my boyfriend.” Her cheeks flamed red on the last word, betraying the fact that her heart was as unruly as my own.

That was something of a relief. One does not survive for three hundred and fifty years without seeing one’s affections go unreturned a time or two, but that was different. This was October. Perhaps not even I could put my finger on the moment when she transformed from troublesome nuisance and occasional cat toy into the woman with whom I hoped to spend the rest of my days…but the change had happened, and I, like the rest of the world, would have to live with it.

“Am I, then? Your boyfriend?”

Her eyes widened in shock and a small measure of unexpected hurt. I was sorry for that. It had not been my intent to cause her pain. “I…you said…”

“October.” I reached out and caught the hand not occupied with holding my bouquet, realizing for the first time that perhaps she did not know how to interpret the message I had so carefully crafted for her in stem and petal, one artfully selected blossom at a time. The modern age has lost so much in the craft of subtlety. “I do not ask because I do not love you. Please, think anything you like of me, but do not think that. I ask because I don’t know. Am I your boyfriend? Your lover? Your consort? It’s been a hundred years. The language, much as it pains me to admit, has changed.”

She blinked. And then, to my relief and delight, she laughed. “Seriously? You don’t know what to call yourself?”

“No. I will have to take that cue from you.” I released her hand. “And I will have to teach you the language of flowers, or this courtship will consist of my sending you increasingly impassioned declarations of love, all of which you will patently ignore.”

“I know the language of flowers,” she protested. “I was trained in Shadowed Hills, remember? You’re lucky Sylvester and Luna don’t send out all their proclamations in wrist corsage form.”

“Well, then,” I said, mock-bowing. “I stand corrected. What, then, have I said to you, o most educated of ladies?”

She stuck her tongue out at me before turning her attention to the bouquet, studying it with a bit more care this time. Finally, she said, “Tulips are a declaration of love, and moss rosebuds are a declaration of affections. What are these little purple flowers?”

“Flax, for fate,” I said. “And the fern is to represent my sincerity. It’s not the finest bouquet I have ever crafted, but I am out of practice; give me time, and I will put together something deserving of your beauty.”

October snorted. “Am I going to have to deal with over-the-top flattery forever, or just for the first few weeks?” Then she stuck her nose in the flowers, inhaled, and flashed me a smile for which I would have climbed a thousand mountains, or forded a thousand overflowing rivers. “They’re beautiful, Tybalt. The flowers, and the message.”

“Then might I ask two favors of my lady?” I paused. “Three, actually.”

“You can ask,” she allowed, amusement still written in the soft lines of her mouth and the way her eyes crinkled upward at the corners.

“I ask of you a kiss, a night—tonight, if you are amenable—and that you please, for the love of Oberon, put those flowers in water before they die.”

October blinked at me. Then she smiled.

“I can do that,” she said.

*

After the flowers were safely placed in a plastic jug that October had dug out of the back of her kitchen cabinet, she vanished upstairs to change, leaving me to wander the downstairs alone. No, not entirely alone: no sooner was she gone than I heard footsteps approaching down the hall. I turned to see her squire, Quentin, step into the doorway, a thoughtful frown on his face.

“You’re here to take Toby on a date, aren’t you?” he asked, giving me a slow once-over. “It’ll need to be in the mortal world. There’s no good restaurants near here in the Summerlands, and I don’t think she’d like eating in the Court of Cats.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Are you offering me advice, or working your way up to giving me a warning about treating gently with her heart? I assure you, my intentions are honorable ones.”

“I don’t care that much about your intentions. I care about your results.” The young Daoine Sidhe continued to frown at me. “Toby thinks she can take care of herself, and she’s wrong. She takes worse care of herself than almost anyone else I know, because she’s always so busy taking care of other people, and she doesn’t like to let anyone help her. But she lets you help. That’s a new thing. That’s changed since I met her.”

“It’s changed since I met her as well.”

“Don’t change it back.”

This time, my expression of surprise was a sincere one. There had been an unexpected weight of command in those four words, something heavier and surer of itself than this stripling should have been able to summon. “I have no intention of damaging Sir Daye either personally or through her reputation,” I said, choosing my words with rather more care than I had only a moment before. “Still, every courtship carries its risks, especially in this age, where so few people are willing to proceed directly from holding hands to the marital bed. If I hurt her, it will be accidental. That does not mean it will have been avoidable.”

“I need you to try your hardest not to hurt her.” Quentin looked at me with the same open sorrow that I saw sometimes on my young nephew’s face—more often, since the death of his parents, than I would have liked. “She’s my family.”

“I know.” In a very real way, October was my family now, too, and had been since the day she staggered naked out of the Japanese Tea Gardens, sending the cats of Golden Gate Park into a tizzy. It hadn’t been the first time she’d thrown my life into upheaval. Maeve willing, it would be far from the last. “Do you believe I love her?”

“Yes.”

“Then will you do me the honor of believing that I will not hurt her in any way that can be prevented? She has just as much power to hurt me, you know, and far more motive.”

“Raj says you’re really serious about courting Toby.”

The change of topics was enough to throw me, but only for the barest of seconds. I nodded. “Yes. I am.”

“Are you going to marry her?”

“That is a matter for discussion between the lady and myself.” I drew my dignity around me like a shroud, unable to fight the feeling that Quentin had torn more than a few holes in it. “If such a state is eventually desirable to us both, you will be informed.”

Quentin eyed me. I knew what his expression meant; he wanted to poke, and keep poking, until he got whatever reaction he was hoping for. At last, he relented, nodding. “You’ll do okay with her, I guess.”

“I appreciate your approval.”

“Oh, don’t get too cocky. I’m sort of the training wheels of the ‘if you hurt her, I will end you’ talk. Wait until May gets her hands on you.”

I grimaced. “The lady Fetch. Yes, that will be…delightful.” A thought struck me. I tensed. “She’s not lurking in the hallway waiting for you to tag her in, is she?”

“No, she’s out at the movies with Jazz. But you should get ready for her, because she’s going to come after you with all guns blazing.”

“With…ah. I hope these are metaphorical guns?” I was a little embarrassed to realize that I didn’t know for sure. It had been so long since I’d been involved in actively courting someone, and Anne had been mortal. The Cait Sidhe didn’t involve firearms in the dating process, but who knew what the Divided Courts considered reasonable these days? Perhaps dueling was still common behind closed doors.

“Uh, yeah. May can’t even drive a car. We’re sure not going to let her have a gun.”

“That is a considerable relief.” I was trying to figure out what to say next—was it still customary to discuss the weather with the male relations of the woman you were attempting to court? If anyone deserved that title, it was Quentin, who was October’s squire and had grown into her kin in all but blood—when the sound of footsteps on the stairs saved me. I turned toward the door, fixing a smile on my face.

Toby stepped into the doorway. My smile turned genuine.

“Ah, my dear October,” I said, stepping toward her, hands outstretched. “As always, the sight of you can brighten a dark night like nothing else.”

She raised her eyebrows. “And as always, you are one hundred percent full of crap.”

“He’s just happy to see you because I had him cornered,” said Quentin, sounding smug.

“Quentin!” October rounded on him, planting her hands on her hips, and began to scold him for bothering me. I tuned her out—eavesdropping can be useful, but it is generally regarded as rude when not strictly necessary—and focused, instead, on admiring her attire.

She had traded sweat pants and tank top for a dark red sundress with black vines printed around the collar and hem, and matching black flats that managed to be ladylike while still affording her the ability to run if she felt the need. The skirt fell to her mid-calf, and I had little doubt that if she hiked it much above her knee, I would find one or more knives strapped securely to her thighs. The thought of performing a weapons check was pleasing enough that I allowed myself a slow smile. There would be time for that later. That, and so much more.

“What are you smirking about?”

October’s voice snapped me back into the present, and away from the pleasant contemplation of her well-turned ankles. I offered her what I hoped was a gentlemanly smile, and not an outright leer.

“I am simply considering the evening,” I said, and offered her my hand. “If I may be so bold?”

“The Shadow Roads? Really?” October frowned. “I can drive.”

I barely suppressed my shudder. “Yes,” I said smoothly, “but I thought you might enjoy a few drinks with dinner, and I know how strict you are about obeying the laws of the land.”

“You’re just saying that because you hate riding in the car,” she said.

“Perhaps. But my point remains an accurate one.”

She tilted her head, looking at me. I held myself very still, giving her time to consider what she saw. I had chosen my attire for the evening with care, trying to tread the line between showing off—which could also be interpreted as showing her up, given that I had appeared without warning, surprising her with a promise of dinner in an unknown location—and seeming to have lost all concern for my appearance. I needed to be seen to make an effort, even if it was not a large one. I had, I believed, struck the appropriate balance, in dark denim trousers, a white button-down shirt, and a brown leather vest that was as much a concession to my own tastes as it was to the ideals of fashion. I will never adjust to a time when men can consider themselves appropriately clothed in so very little.

“Have it your way,” she said finally, and slipped her hand into mine, where it fit like we had been intended by fate to stand together. “Are you going to at least tell me where we’re going?”

“Ah, but my darling October, that would spoil the surprise.” I flashed a toothy smile at Quentin. “She is safe in my care.”

“I’m more worried about how safe you are in hers,” said Quentin.

October laughed, and was still laughing as I led her out of the kitchen, toward the dark beneath the stairs.

*

The Shadow Roads are complicated, in their way: they dislike the unfamiliar, and will push back against those who resist the darkness, making passage more difficult for all involved. Traveling them with October had once been a chore, something to be done out of necessity, but never out of joy. All that had changed when she stopped fighting them, finally accepting that I had her: that I would not leave her stranded in the dark and cold that has no ending. She held fast to my hand as I ran down the unseen path, her fingers warm in mine, and I felt as if I could have run forever, so long as she was running by my side.

Alas, we would both have suffocated if I had chosen that activity, and so it was out of self-preservation, and with no small amount of regret, that I stepped out of the shadows, pulling October with me, and into the walled courtyard behind a low brick building that smelled like good steak and better wine. As expected, October pulled away from me to wipe the frost from her face and hair, panting a little.

“Are you well?” I asked.

“I’m good.” She turned back toward me. “You?”

“That was nothing compared to our usual runs,” I said, with a reassuring smile. “Nothing was trying to kill us, you were not bleeding out in my arms…truly, it was a pleasure.”

“Your standards are incredibly low,” she said. “I should probably feel bad about that, since I’m pretty sure I had a hand in lowering them.”

I laughed. “My dearest October, you have only ever forced me to improve myself, and my standards. Now come; we need to dress for dinner.” I grabbed a handful of the air, bending it into a suitable human disguise with which to hide myself. It took only a few seconds.

October needed more time; her bloodline did not equip her well in the area of illusions. I looked politely away, pretending not to notice how long it took for her to spin a human face out of the night air. Finally, she said, disgusted, “Okay. I’m good.”

I turned back to her. A thin veil of blue covered her eyes, and her features were blunted, softened, until she could have passed in any human home. She was still beautiful. Perhaps it was a flaw in my character, but I could not imagine any face that she could wear that I would not be hopelessly enamored with. “No, you are excellent.” I linked my arm through hers. “Now come along. Your dinner awaits.”

“Right.” She looked around as we walked around the outside of the building, clearly scanning her surroundings for some identifying mark. Finally, she shook her head, and said, “Okay, I give up. Where are we?”

“Not all changelings of my Court choose to stay with us, although most do. Some make their way in the human world, even after choosing Faerie in their childhoods. And some of those decide to open restaurants.” I stopped next to an unmarked door, knocking briskly. “But even those who leave the Court must answer to their King.”

The door opened, and a plain-faced man with hair that was far grayer than his smooth skin would have indicated appeared, peering out at us. Then he smiled, and was transformed from something ordinary into something extraordinary. He was absolutely stunning, when he smiled. “Sire! I thought that might be you. And this must be your date.” He turned his brilliant smile on October. I tightened my grip on her arm, swallowing the most unkingly desire to growl at him. “It is a pleasure to meet the woman who could get our King to admit that he possesses a heart. I’m Jason. Welcome to Cat in the Rafters.”

“October Daye, meet Jason Thomas,” I said. “Jason, please do remember that my name for this evening—”

“Is Rand, yes, of course, or Mr. Stratford. My staff shouldn’t have much need to address you by name, and your table is already prepared.” He held the door open wider, motioning for us to step inside.

“Cat in the Rafters—I’ve heard of this place, which is something of a miracle, since I usually live on fast food and cereal,” said October, looking around as we entered the kitchen. “My friend Stacy said the steak was excellent.”

“Then your friend Stacy has remarkable taste in both steaks and friends,” said Jason, smiling again. This time, I had much more difficulty swallowing my growl. “This way.”

He led us out of the kitchen and into a dimly lit, wood-paneled dining room with stained glass windows. The glass was patterned with cats, which I appreciated; black cats, gray cats, tabby cats, and calicos, their green, gold, and blue eyes fixed on the tables inside. There were no other diners in evidence as we walked to the table in the middle of the room. It was set for two.

October frowned, looking around. “Where’s everyone else?”

“In the main dining room,” said Jason. “I thought you might like some privacy. Your waiter will be with you in a moment.” With that, he turned and fled, no doubt guessing that my tolerance for his presence was at an end.

“You were a little short with him,” said October, releasing my arm and turning toward the table.

“He is of my Court, but he does not fully respect my authority,” I said, smoothly pulling out her chair before she could reach it.

She raised an eyebrow and changed direction, pulling out the chair I had intended to take and plopping herself down into it with a distinct lack of decorum. “So that means you should be snippy when he’s feeding us dinner? That’s the way you get waiters spitting in your food.”

“No, it means that I must reassert my dominance if I want him to remember that I am, however technically, his regent.” I settled into the remaining chair, feeling distinctly as if I had just failed some small but crucial test. “I assure you, my manners are as practiced as the next man’s, but among cats, there is sometimes the need for…more aggressive interaction.”

“Ah.” She smiled with one half of her mouth, an affectation I found quite charming. “And here I thought you just didn’t like the way that he was looking at me.”

“I assure you, that was the bulk of my motivation,” I said gravely.

She was still laughing when the waiter appeared with our menus, and to fill our water glasses. A basket of bread appeared on the table at the same time, and then the waiter was gone, leaving us with some much-desired privacy. October picked up her menu, ignoring the bread in favor of perusing the entrees. I picked up my water glass and took a small sip, taking advantage of her distraction as I studied something rather more interesting than the menu.

“I can feel you staring at me, you know,” she said, without looking up from the list of available cuts of beef.

“I refuse to be ashamed of staring at a beautiful woman,” I said.

Now she did glance up, raising an eyebrow as she frowned at me. “Shouldn’t you be deciding what you want to have for dinner?”

“Ah, but you see, I am a simple soul, which is part of the reason we are dining here, and not someplace more adventuresome. Meat, potato, something green to ward off scurvy, and I am a happy man.”

“It probably doesn’t hurt that you eat here for free, huh?”

I allowed myself a shrug. “Kingship leaves me little time for gathering finances in the mortal world. A few free meals is a small enough price to pay for such an accommodating regent.”

“You are such a cat,” said October, laughing, and looked back down at her menu. “Do you have any idea what’s good?”

“I have not enjoyed the entire menu. The pork chops were not to my tastes, but all the beef dishes I have tried were excellent. I highly recommend the wine-sautéed mushrooms. He cooks them in port, with garlic and shallots.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Not unless you’re eating them too,” she said. “I refuse to kiss you if I’m the only one with garlic breath.”

I beamed at her like a schoolboy. “My dear, I am happy to eat garlic for you.”

*

The waiter reappeared long enough to take our orders—steak for the both of us, medium-well for her, rare trending into uncooked blueness for me, with baked potatoes and a communal order of the port mushrooms—before retreating once more into the place where good servers go when they are not needed. October twisted her hands together on the tabletop, suddenly unsure without a menu to hide behind, and finally reached for a piece of bread, as if that small distraction would change who we were, or what we were doing.

I caught her right hand with both of mine as she was reaching for the butter. She froze, holding her position for a few precious seconds before raising her eyes to meet mine.

“October,” I said. “Toby. You don’t have to be nervous with me. We are still ourselves.”

“Uh, yeah, but the you that you were a month ago wouldn’t be taking the me that I was a month ago, or the me that I am now, or any other version of me out to a fancy steakhouse for dinner and did that make any sense at all or am I just rambling?” She twisted her hand and her mouth at the same time, breaking the one free of my grip and shaping the other into a scowl. “This is just weird for me. Like, really, really weird. I haven’t…I don’t want to mess this up, Tybalt. It’s bizarre, but you’re sort of one of my closest friends these days, and I’m terrified we’ll ruin that.”

“Ah.” I tilted my head, watching as she began almost violently buttering her bread. “You know, normally I try to underplay how much older I am than you. It seems for the best. Our age difference will not matter forever, but in the here and now, I do not want to seem like a strange old man chasing after a woman less than half his age.”

“And suddenly this date is creepy,” muttered Toby, glaring at me.

I smiled. It was difficult not to. “Yet for all that I try to avoid reminding you that I have centuries of experience which you do not, sometimes I must do exactly that. October. Nothing will spoil our friendship. If we are lovers for a thousand years or part amicably tomorrow, we will always have been friends first.”

“I’ve heard lines like that before,” she said. “They usually end with tears.”

“I won’t pretend that you do not have the capacity to break my heart. The fact that I would trust you enough to risk the breaking of it is a compliment, and I believe in telling people when they have earned such trust from me. Would I sulk for a time, years perhaps? Yes. I am only a man. But I would return to you with my hat in my hands and ask that my friend take me back, even if my lover had journeyed forever into that strange and distant country known as ‘Memory,’ where never a living soul may go.”

She blinked once, slowly and deliberately, before putting her somewhat mangled bread to the side and saying, “You know, sometimes I can’t tell whether you realize how much you sound like a romance novel.”

“My dearest October.” I pulled myself up straight in my chair, smiling at her languidly. “The romance novels learned everything they know from me.”

She laughed, picked up her bread again, and flung it at my head.

Really, in all regards, the date was going quite well indeed.

*

Dinner, when it arrived, was superb, as was the wine which accompanied it to our table. I would have expected nothing less from Jason, who knew full well that he needed to impress me if he wished to continue his current, relatively unsupervised existence. Oh, there was very little he could have done to cause me to impinge on his freedom to run his restaurant as he wished—an assassination attempt, perhaps, or a sincere insult to my lady’s honor—but knowing a thing does not make it so, and I would not necessarily be his King forever. It was best if he continued treating me with the respect that my crown demanded, even if the man who wore the crown cared sincerely little.

October tackled her steak with admirable gusto, causing me to sit back in my seat and observe in wide-eyed fascination. She glanced up and frowned, swallowing a mouthful of half-chewed meat before asking, “What?”

“I have known you for, what? Some thirty years, discounting the ones you passed unaware of our acquaintance?”

Her brow furrowed a bit at my mention of her time in the Tea Gardens, however delicately veiled. After a moment, however, she nodded, and said, “That sounds about right, once we subtract the fourteen years.”

“Well, then. It should come as little surprise to you that I have often wondered how you stayed alive, given how rarely you seemed to take the time to eat. It is thus pleasant to see you indulging in a decent meal, and somewhat gratifying to know that I am the one who has fed you.”

Her laughter was more surprised than anything, which made it all the more delightful to my ears. “Is everything about food for you cats?”

“Not everything,” I said, and leaned forward to spear one of the port mushrooms with my fork. “Just most things. Cait Sidhe hunt for their children, and for their loved ones. Bringing prey to someone else is the greatest admission of an affectionate disposition.”

“Does that mean dead birds on my doorstep? I ask because I need to know whether I should scream or be flattered.”

I smirked. “I cannot imagine you screaming over something so paltry as a dead bird, but no. There will be no disemboweled wildlife at your door. Just food, to show my regard.”

“I’ll be sure to bake you cookies when we get home, then,” said October, with a smile as unguarded as her laughter. “I hope you like chocolate chip. That, or I hope you like midnight trips to Safeway.”

I blinked, unable to conceal my surprise as I asked, “You bake?”

“Not often, but yes, I bake.” She looked amused. “Wait, are you telling me there’s something about me that you don’t already know? Be still my heart.”

“I never took you for the type, that’s all.”

“Everyone is the baking type in the modern world, Tybalt. That’s what Nestle cookie dough in the big yellow tube is for.” October picked up her fork, snagging a mushroom of her own. “All the deliciousness of bakery-fresh, none of the necessary skill.”

“Truly, we live in an age of wonders.” I cut a piece of my own steak. “Is everything to your liking?”

“Everything is great,” she said. “My steak is cooked perfectly.”

“I must admit, I didn’t take you for a ‘well done’ kind of girl. I always found that it spoilt the flavor when things were cooked too thoroughly.”

This time, her laughter had a bitter note to it. “Yes, but if the steak’s cooked enough, I don’t run the risk of sharing a cow’s last moments while I’m eating it.”

I blinked, cheeks flushing as I realized what I had done. “My dear October, I am sorry. I did not think—”

“And I didn’t say ‘um, sorry about this, but I can’t eat here,’” said October, cutting me off in mid-apology. “Did I like my steaks better when I could have them a little rare? Yeah, and I’ll risk it sometimes, when I really feel the need. But well done meat is still tasty, and everything else is delicious, and we’re on a date. You and me, in a public…” She paused, glancing around our private dining room. “Well, in a place. This is something I thought would never happen in a million years. Maybe two million. Believe me, it would take a lot more than an overcooked steak to ruin my night.”

Relief washed over me. I smiled, reaching out to tuck her hair behind her ear and wishing that I could be so sure of our privacy as to allow us to eat without these troublesome human disguises. I wanted to see her smiling at me with her own lips, not with the borrowed face of the human girl that she had never truly been. “I am a very lucky man.”

“Remember that the next time that following me on one of my little adventures gets you covered in assorted bodily fluids,” she suggested.

“Oh, you misunderstand,” I said. “That is when I am most aware of my good fortune.”

Her lips, when she leaned across the table to kiss me, tasted of port wine and good, if somewhat overdone, steak. I smiled, closing my eyes, and leaned into the kiss, deepening it into something that felt like it could last forever. I was many things, but in that moment, I was a very lucky man indeed.

*

We cleaned our plates and then the waiter cleared them, pausing long enough to top off our wine before he vanished back into the shadows. October picked up her glass and swirled its contents lazily, commenting, “I could get used to this.”

“To fine dining?”

She actually blanched. “Sweet Titania, no. I mean, this has been swell and all, but if we weren’t in a private dining room, I’d be a nervous wreck by now. You do not want to see me trying to remember which one is my salad fork, you just don’t. I survive banquets by sticking to the outskirts, not eating much, and mimicking whatever Sylvester does.”

“Ah,” I said. “To what, then, were you referring?”

“The other this,” she said, with a smile. “You and me and everything being sort of calm for a change, which is just this side of a miracle. I keep expecting someone to come running through here shouting ‘dragon’ at the top of their lungs.”

“And if they did, we would simply arrange for another date,” I said. “We will have plenty of time to grow weary of calm evenings together, at least if I have anything to say about it. I have waited through plenty of adventures, and while I am not averse to more in the future—I am, in fact, actually looking forward to them—I do believe that one must occasionally pause and reflect on one’s good fortune. Preferably over wine and in the company of a beautiful woman.”

October blinked, all the color she had lost before coming back into her cheeks, and bringing reinforcements with it. “Flattery will get you everywhere,” she said.

I nodded solemnly. “That has been my experience in this world, it’s true.”

A throat was cleared off to the side. We both turned to see our waiter standing there, a serving tray in his hands. “Compliments of the chef,” he said, before leaning forward to place a slice of flourless chocolate cake and two dessert forks on the table between us. Then he was gone, moving away as silently and efficiently as before.

“Okay, I take back anything I may ever have said about you being a shameless flatterer,” said October, reaching for her fork. “You are a genius, and I don’t deserve you.”

I smirked. “In that case, ladies first.”

“Good, then I don’t have to break your fingers.” She stabbed the cake with more force than was perhaps necessary, slicing off a healthy forkful and bringing it toward her mouth. Then she froze, the chocolate only inches from her face, and frowned.

“October?”

“Hang on.” She pulled the fork away from herself, sniffing the air. “Cedar shavings and tomato leaves?”

“What?” I frowned in bemusement. “What are you talking about?”

“Here, smell this.” She thrust the fork out toward me. “Somebody’s been using magic on this cake. I know that sounds weird, but—”

“If you say it is so, then it must be so. You are more sensitive to magical signatures than anyone else I have ever known.” I took her fork, sniffing delicately. I could catch only the faintest shadow of wrongness under the rich smell of cake and icing—certainly nothing strong enough to have caught my attention as it had caught hers—but there was something more concrete that tickled my nose, now that I was looking for it. The cake, despite being rich chocolate, smelled very faintly of bitter almonds.

I sighed.

“Do you remember, my dear October, how we commented on the precious calmness of this night, and how pleasant it was for the both of us?” I asked.

“Yes…” she said, brows furrowing again.

“Apparently, we spoke too soon.” I put the fork down on the plate, next to the otherwise untouched cake. “Someone is trying to poison us.”

“Oh,” she said. “Well, that’s nice.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Nice?” I said dubiously.

“Yeah. If this is the other shoe, it’s dropped. Now let’s go kick somebody’s butt so that we can get back to having a nice time.”

This time, I was the one to burst out laughing. It seemed the only suitable response to the situation.

*

If Jason was surprised when October and I stepped back into his kitchen, he did an admirable job of not showing it. He straightened, a sauté pan of the port mushrooms in his hand, and said, “My liege?”

“Ah, good,” I said. “I had hoped that everyone in this kitchen was of our kind. Now let us get this over with.” I crossed the floor in a twinkling, wrapping my fingers tight around the soft flesh of his throat before he had an opportunity to react. “The meal was delightful. Your sommelier should be congratulated for the wine selections. The dessert was poisoned. Would you care to comment?”

“The bread was good too,” said October, following me at a more casual pace. She sniffed as she drew close, and said, “He didn’t do it. His magic smells like maple sap and chili peppers. We’re looking for somebody else.”

Jason pointed frantically at October. I realized that perhaps he was having some difficulty breathing, and loosened my grip a bit. He gasped before croaking, “She’s right. I didn’t poison anyone. I don’t have a death wish.”

“Someone did,” I said. “Have you any suggestions as to who I should be shaking in your stead?”

There was a clatter from the back of the room. I turned just in time to see someone’s back retreating down the hall toward the exit. I dropped Jason, who collapsed to the floor, coughing and clutching his throat.

“I love it when they run,” I said, and ran after our probable culprit.

October was fast, but she was no match for an angry Cait Sidhe monarch, although she gave a more than admirable showing. I had barely slammed the freckle-faced young changeling in the chef’s coat up against the wall when she came running up, her skirt hiked well above her knee. She was winded, and from her expression, annoyed.

“Shake him,” she instructed.

I blinked. “As my lady wishes.” The freckled changeling looked alarmed. I peeled him off the wall, shook him briskly, and slammed him into it a second time.

October inhaled deeply. “Cedar shavings and tomato leaves,” she reported. “This is our guy.”

“That’s my pastry chef, Blake,” said Jason, stumbling up behind October. “Blake, what did you do?”

“Yes, Blake,” I said, showing the erstwhile pastry chef my teeth. “Pray, what did you do?”

To my mild surprise, Blake squirmed against my grip and hissed at me, his pupils seeming to waver through his human disguise. Cait Sidhe, then; I should have known. Would have known, if not for the conflicting scents of the kitchen. “What someone should have done years ago. You are unfit to rule.”

I sighed. “I see. When did you last have traffic with the Court of Cats, Blake? How long has it been since you came home?” I remembered him now, dimly: a changeling slip of a boy, always on the edges, never comfortable with the savagery of daily life among his more feline cousins. I had always known that he would not stay with us, although my doors had never closed to him.

“He’s been here at least six months,” said Jason, almost too eagerly. I glanced at him, trying to determine the source of that helpful energy.

“As you say,” I said, and turned back to Blake. “You’re one of Samson’s, are you not? His little band of revolutionaries and sleeper agents. He planned to overthrow me, you know. To change the Court of Cats. But there was one thing he did not figure on.”

“What do you mean?” demanded Blake. “He will overthrow you.”

“He will not,” I said, as kindly as I could, given the circumstances. “He is dead. You see, he forgot that peace depends on an absence of war, and he threatened my lady-love. I cannot be peaceful in such a situation.”

Blake’s eyes widened. “Dead?”

“I am afraid so,” I said. I looked over my shoulder to October. “I hate to do this to you, my dear, but I have business to attend to. Can you find your own way home?”

“Oh, sure,” she said. “I’m sure Jason will be thrilled to call me a cab.”

“You are the finest of women. Jason, the food truly was delightful, but I am afraid I will be taking the rest to go.” I stepped backward into the shadows, hauling Blake with me. He wailed and struggled, but still I heard October’s voice, faint through the closing curtain:

“Showoff.”

*

My business at the Court of Cats was tedious, and needs not be recorded for the ages. Suffice to say that traitors are dealt with according to the magnitude of their crimes, and while Blake had intended me ill, no ill had been done. So long as he left my demesne entire, and did not linger in the neighboring lands, his life was his own. Let him run. Let him learn that all cats are cruel, and that if there was anything unique about my Kingdom, it was this:

Sometimes there are those who will leave room for cats to be kind, if that is what they truly wish to be.

I was a tired man when I finally stepped from the shadows into October’s backyard some hours later. Night was still stretched taut across the sky, like a thin black balloon waiting to be punctured by the morning. The kitchen lights were on, and laughter and the sound of voices drifted out the window, along with the smell of fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies.

The backdoor opened as I was stepping onto the porch, and October was there, still in her red sundress, a solemn expression on her face.

“You okay?” she asked.

I pasted on a smile. “My dear October—”

The sentence died as she stepped forward, leaned in, and kissed me. Her lips tasted of cookie dough. My arms went around her almost involuntarily, pulling her closer still.

The kiss lasted forever, and not nearly long enough. When she broke it off, she looked at me gravely, and asked again, “You okay?”

“Blake has been banished, but he has not been killed; you are unhurt; my Kingdom is secure.” I let out a long, shuddering breath. “Yes, I do believe that I am ‘okay.’”

“Good.” She pulled away, tangling her fingers with mine in the process. “Come on in. The cookies are getting cold.”

“Ah,” I said. “We can’t have that.” And I allowed her to pull me into the warm, bright kitchen, where the air smelled of sugar and the rest of the household was waiting. It had been a long night, but in that moment, with October’s hand in mine and only friends around us, it felt like we were finally finding the way home.

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