Ashes of Honor: An October Daye Novel

THERE WAS SOMETHING WEIRD about having Etienne in the car, rather than having him teleport us all to our destination. The fact that I was maintaining his illusions was even stranger. Quentin was in the back with Chelsea, keeping up the illusion that made her look human. Between the two of us, we were almost up to the challenge.

When this was over, I was going to spend a week sitting on the couch, watching television, and not using any damn magic at all.

I pulled up in front of Bridget’s house, turning to look at Etienne. He looked back at me, edges slightly blurred by my hasty human disguise. “Are you sure you’re up for this?”

“This is something I should have done sixteen years ago,” he replied. “Chelsea?”

Chelsea sighed. “I don’t think it’s going to get any easier if we put it off.”

“If it were done…” I muttered. More loudly, I said, “You’re right. Okay, everybody. Let’s go.”

Etienne and Chelsea were the first out of the car. I lagged behind, and Quentin did the same, waiting until the passenger-side doors were closed before he asked, “Do you think Bridget’s going to go after us with her frying pan?”

“Just be ready to run,” I advised as I opened my door. It was a little ironic; here we were, escorting the most powerful teleporter in the last few hundred years to her mother’s house, and we didn’t have a means of making a quick escape if we needed one. Tybalt had gone to check on Raj as soon as Chelsea was ready to make the trip to her mother’s house. We’d stopped at Tamed Lightning long enough for Elliot to work a little Bannick magic on everyone’s skin and hair, while April produced fresh clothes from an undisclosed location. I just hoped she hadn’t robbed an Old Navy or something.

Oh, well. Not my problem if she did.

Bridget must have been watching the street. She was out her front door by the time I was out of the car, and she intercepted Etienne and their daughter midway down the front walk. I saw the frying pan in her hand a split second before she flung its contents over both of them, resulting in Chelsea and Etienne being doused again with Walther’s power-dampening solution.

Etienne blinked. Chelsea blinked. Bridget dropped the frying pan, threw her arms around her daughter, and burst into tears.

Quentin gave me a sidelong look. “Did you hold back because you knew that was going to happen?”

“I suspected it might. It was either going to be something like that, or it was going to be water balloons.” I gestured for him to follow as I started up the walk. Bridget was still hugging Chelsea. Possibly a little too tightly—I wasn’t sure the girl could breathe. “Hi, Bridget. Nice use of aim, there. I’m glad I didn’t go first.”

“The bastard deserves it.” Bridget lifted her head, glaring daggers at Etienne, who looked uncomfortable. “He can learn how it feels to live like the rest of us mortals.”

Etienne’s look of discomfort deepened. “Bridget, please. Can we take this indoors?”

“Why?”

“Mom,” said Chelsea. She sounded more tired than any girl her age should be capable of being. “We need to go inside.”

Bridget looked at Chelsea, the animation draining from her face. Finally, she nodded. “All right, sweetheart. We’ll go inside. All of us.”

“Can we get some towels?” asked Chelsea.

Bridget didn’t answer her. She didn’t even smile. She just walked a little faster, reaching the door ahead of the rest of us, and she held it open while Etienne and Chelsea walked past. For a moment, I thought she was going to slam the door on me and Quentin, but she relented before she did more than twitch in that direction. “Come in if you’re coming,” she said.

“We’re coming,” I replied, and walked past her into the house.

Silence fell once the door was shut, all of us standing there like strangers, no one quite sure where to begin. Finally, Etienne said, “October. The masks, if you would be so kind.”