Free The Winter Long by Seanan McGuire

perfect mix of terror and exasperation.
    â€œWhy didn’t you wait at the house?” He let go of my arm. “I came as soon as the cats reached me, but you had already gone.”
    â€œLook at it this way,” I said. “If I wasn’t there, Simon had no reason to come back.”
    That was the wrong thing to say. Tybalt’s face contorted with sudden fury, washing everything else away. “He found you once,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “He should never have been allowed to come near you again.”
    â€œBut he did, and I survived,” I said. “Now come on. We need to tell Sylvester his brother’s back in town.” I took a breath before adding, “He probably wants to get his hands on Simon, and he may have some idea why Simon would come back to the Mists. I think that’s the sort of thing we need to know.” And I could confirm that Sylvester was who I thought he was. If I’d been Simon, the first thing I would have done was replace my brother. Most people aren’t as sensitive to the scent of magic as I am. He could have gotten away with it, as long as he’d distracted Luna and kept me—and my mother, I suppose—far away from Shadowed Hills. Simon might have had ways to cross the Bay Area faster than I could manage in a car. He could be the acting Duke by now.
    Tybalt stared at me for a moment. Then, with a shake of his head, he moved to follow me up the hill that would lead us to the entrance to Shadowed Hills.
    Quentin moved faster than either of us, although he kept his word and stayed close, never roving more than a few yards away as he went through the complex series of steps and turns necessary to unlock the door into the knowe. I slowed down until Tybalt and I were walking side by side, then reached over and slid my hand into his, lacing our fingers together.
    â€œYou have no idea how terrified I was when Cagney and Lacey came to the Court of Cats and told me you’d been attacked,” he said, voice pitched low to keep it from carrying to where Quentin was now running circles around a hawthorn bush.
    â€œI have some idea,” I said, ducking under an oak branch. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t wait.”
    â€œIt would have been safer to take the Shadow Roads.”
    â€œThat assumes you’d be available immediately. You were, but that’s not the point. I couldn’t wait when there was a chance that Sylvester was in danger.” I dropped his hand long enough for us to run our own circles around the hawthorn.
    When we were done, Tybalt reclaimed my hand. “That argument has merit. A pity it’s not the real reason you made this journey.”
    â€œNo, it’s not,” I admitted. “I just . . . I need to see him. I keep closing my eyes and seeing Simon’s face.”
    â€œThat, I can appreciate. You cannot, however, force me to like it.”
    â€œNo, I can’t. But I can be glad you’re here now.” I paused before chuckling to myself.
    Tybalt gave me a sidelong look. “What is it?”
    â€œJust thinking. The last time Simon Torquill came into my life, you and I were what, enemies? Adversaries? Definitely not friends.”
    â€œI was certainly not sleeping with you at the time,” said Tybalt, the ghost of a smile flitting across his lips.
    I managed not to grin in relief. That smile, brief as it had been, was all I could have asked for. A smiling Tybalt was a Tybalt who was still capable of stepping back and looking at the situation rationally. I loved him, but even I could find him frightening when he was fixated on vengeance. Not that Simon didn’t deserve a little vengeance; it was just that I wanted him alive to answer my questions when it was over.
    We passed the final obstacle to find Quentin waiting by the door in the burnt-out old oak tree, an expression of polite disinterest on his face. I let go of Tybalt’s hand and