Chimes at Midnight

“Jazz’s dress is actually nice,” I protested.

Jazz smiled. “I’m good either way.”

“Too late for me to argue now. We’re here.” I pulled into an open space between an old VW van and a shiny new Prius too nice for the neighborhood and thus almost certainly protected by a stack of anti-theft charms. If the owner was smart, mortals couldn’t even see the car. Anti-theft charms don’t do anything to stop people from throwing a brick through your rear window when they get frustrated by their inability to touch the car.

My own VW bug was protected by anti-theft, anti-detection, and anti-bird-crap charms. You’d never have known to look at it, but my car had been basically totaled three months ago when an Afanc—a big beaver-looking monster from the deeper realms of Faerie—decided to take a nap on the roof. Thankfully, my friend Danny has a really good Gremlin mechanic, and my liege was footing the bill. After the repairs were finished, I was pretty sure my car was functionally indestructible. That would be a nice change, considering the fates my vehicles normally suffered.

“It’ll be fine,” said May.

“Tell me that in an hour,” I countered. I left my jacket on the front seat as I got out of the car. There was no point in tempting the Queen to turn it into a bolero or something.

We walked across the pavement to the sand and started down the beach in a ragged line. I didn’t realize Tybalt was beside me until he took my arm. I jumped, turning to face him. He smiled.

“Good evening, little fish.”

“You know, if you were anyone else, you’d have gotten decked just now,” I said. But I didn’t jerk my arm away.

“That is one of the many reasons I am thankful, each and every day, not to be anyone but myself.” Tybalt considered my ballet-style bun for a moment before he nodded. “It’s simple, but should avoid the Queen’s ire.”

“So glad you approve,” I said dryly.

“I just don’t want this to be harder than it has to be,” he said, sounding briefly quieter, more like the Tybalt I saw when I was alone than the hard, brilliant King of Cats. He turned to May and Jazz while I was mulling over the difference, and said, “You both look lovely tonight, but I believe this is where we part company. May I assume I’ll be seeing you inside?”

“Unless there’s a velvet rope now,” said May. “You crazy kids stay out of trouble, or at least wait until we get there to start it!”

“We’ll try, but I can’t promise anything.” I took Quentin’s hand in my free one. Tybalt led us forward, into the deepest shadows on the beach. Then we stepped through the wall of the world into darkness, and everything was cold, cold, and there was no air, but Quentin’s hand was warm in mine, and Tybalt’s body was warm beside me, and we were moving forward . . .

. . . into the sound and light of the Queen’s ballroom, where more than a few courtiers turned to look at us, some in surprise, some in more assessing disdain. I pulled my arm away from Tybalt, dropped Quentin’s hand, and looked down at myself. Then I sighed.

“You know, since the dress I was wearing was her work, I thought she might leave it alone. Silly, optimistic me.” My red silk gown was gone, replaced by an equally simple, equally floor-length gown. This one was gray silk, so pale it looked almost white when it wasn’t right against my skin. A complicated braid of red ribbons circled my waist. Even my hair had been restyled, my simple bun replaced by a waterfall of layers held separate by a thin net of ribbons. That was going to be hell to take out.