Free The Winter Long by Seanan McGuire Page A

approached the door, murmuring, “Didn’t hear a thing, did you?” to my squire as I passed him.
    â€œNope,” he said, without hesitation.
    I smirked, raised my hand, and knocked.
    Only a few seconds passed before the door was opened by a black-haired teenage girl in the livery of Shadowed Hills. Half the livery, anyway: she was wearing a proper page’s tunic, but her breeches had mysteriously vanished, replaced by blue jeans and tennis shoes. Quentin stiffened with automatic dismay, his own training doubtless providing a running inner commentary on how inappropriate her attire was. I just smiled, amused despite my exhaustion and the events of the day.
    â€œHi, Chelsea,” I said. “Can we come in?”
    Chelsea Ames was a full-blooded Tuatha de Dannan, and the daughter of the head of Sylvester’s guard, a man named Etienne. She was going to be an immensely powerful teleporter when the potion that was currently blocking her powers wore off. For the moment, however, she had no magic at all, so it was no real surprise when she frowned at me, unrecognizing.
    â€œYou are . . . ?” she asked.
    â€œToby,” I said. My human disguise used to look more like my true face. That was a while ago. I indicated my companions. “This is Quentin and Tybalt. You know us all. Now please, can we come in? I need to talk to the Duke.”
    â€œToby!” Her confusion fled, replaced by delight. “Wow, I didn’t know you were coming over today! Um . . . the Duke’s asleep. That whole daylight thing, you know?” She stood aside to let us enter the knowe.
    â€œOh, don’t worry,” I said, unable to keep a note of grim certainty from creeping into my voice. “He’ll want to see me.”
    The look on Chelsea’s face as she closed the door told me just how disturbing I sounded. “I, um . . . you guys wait here, okay? I’m going to go get my dad.” She took off without waiting for an answer, running down the hall and skidding out of sight around a corner.
    Chelsea and I met under strange circumstances—something that’s true of me and all the teenagers in my life. Chelsea’s mother had raised her knowing that she was a changeling, but not knowing exactly what that meant, and when Chelsea’s powers activated, Bridget had had no idea how to cope. Etienne might have been able to help, but he’d been unaware of Chelsea’s existence. Lots of complications later, Chelsea was purely fae—a consequence of my having burned out her human blood in order to save her from her own out-of-control teleportation—and her parents were finally living together. It seemed to be working out for them so far, thank Oberon. Bridget would not have taken being permanently separated from her daughter well at all, and that would have been unavoidable if she had chosen not to stay with Etienne.
    Sometimes I think Faerie is overly hard on the children it creates when it brushes up against the mortal world. And then I pause and realize that it’s even harder on our parents.
    â€œShe’s a good choice for daytime door duty,” I said, as I released my human disguise. Tybalt and Quentin did the same. “She’s full-blooded fae, but she hasn’t gone nocturnal yet.”
    â€œShe’s a
terrible
choice for door duty,” said Quentin. “She doesn’t know any of the proper forms, she can’t see through illusions or even know for sure when someone’s wearing them, and did you see what she was wearing?” He sounded most offended about the last part.
    I smiled at him, shaking my head. “My little conservative.”
    â€œI may disagree with his assessment of the young lady’s attire, but I cannot argue with her lack of powers,” said Tybalt, slowly. “If she cannot see someone’s true nature, how is she to bar your enemies from entry?”
    â€œOh,