said. No one had seen one in centuries. They weren’t indigenous to the Summerlands, and so far as I knew, they’d never managed to establish a population outside of Faerie. Even if they weren’t extinct, there was no way an Afanc should have been in the mortal world, crushing the roof of my car.
“This is wonderful!” Sylvester twisted around to beam at us, still scratching the Afanc. “I thought they had all been sealed in Tirn Aill!”
A sudden chill washed over me, bringing with it a host of realizations I really didn’t want to have. “Oh, Maeve’s tits,” I whispered.
“What is it?” asked Quentin.
I looked toward him and shook my head before saying—softly enough that Sylvester hopefully wouldn’t hear—“Chelsea.”
It’s easy to forget, living the way we do, that once, every race of fae had a homeland—a place that they came from. Modern fae make knowes and shallowings, carving their homes out of the membrane between the Summerlands and the human world. Firstborn made worlds. Blind Michael’s land, an islet anchored between the Summerlands and one of the lost realms, was the closest I had ever been to those Firstborn-made worlds, and it had been huge and terrible and incredible, all at the same time. Modern fae make homes. Firstborn made homelands.
They didn’t do it alone; maybe that’s why all Blind Michael had was an islet, and all my mother had was a tower. Tirn Aill was the ancestral homeland of a dozenraces, including the Tylwyth Teg, Ellyllon, and Coblynau. Their Firstborn had worked together to open and shape it, making it a perfect place for their descendants to live. None of the deep realms were paradise—paradise gets boring—but they were perfect. And they had been lost for over five hundred years, the doors sealed by Oberon himself before he disappeared.
Once, the Tuatha de Dannan were responsible for guarding the doors between worlds. It was their duty and their joy, at least to hear them talk about it. They kept each world’s monsters safely contained and prevented wars from spilling from one world into the next. When Oberon sealed the doors, the Tuatha were left with no purpose. But a Tuatha changeling with more power than she knew what to do with, who didn’t know yet what was impossible…
Chelsea was in real trouble. So were the rest of us.
Sylvester had managed to coax the Afanc off the car, although it had shattered the rear windshield in the process of getting down. It was flopped on its back in the gravel, letting him scratch its belly. One of its hind legs was waving lazily, like there was also a bit of dog worked into the beaver and crocodile soup of its heritage. “Come meet him!” he called. “He won’t bite.”
“Says you,” I said, stealing a glance at Etienne. He looked stricken. I suppose hearing me imply that his daughter might have started importing monsters from the deeper realms of Faerie was a bit of a shock. I started forward, gesturing for Quentin to follow. “How’s my car?”
Sylvester stopped scratching the Afanc as he looked up and grimaced. “I can pay for the repairs.”
I winced. “That’s not what I wanted to hear.” The Afanc was a lot less scary-looking stretched out on the ground with its tongue lolling. I gave it a thoughtful look, putting off checking my car as long as I possibly could. “Why does it have all those teeth if it’s friendly?”
“The Afanc is a fish eater, and some of the fish in Tirn Aill are well-equipped to defend themselves,” said Sylvester. “October, what
are
you doing out here?”
So Etienne hadn’t told him. Swell. “I’m on a case. We needed a place to park while the sun came up, and when we tried to get back on the road, your beastie was crashed out on the roof of my car.” That was it; I couldn’t put it off any longer. Lifting my head, I looked at the car and cringed.
I could probably have handled the cracks in the front windshield, and the sudden absence of the rear windshield.
“This is wonderful!” Sylvester twisted around to beam at us, still scratching the Afanc. “I thought they had all been sealed in Tirn Aill!”
A sudden chill washed over me, bringing with it a host of realizations I really didn’t want to have. “Oh, Maeve’s tits,” I whispered.
“What is it?” asked Quentin.
I looked toward him and shook my head before saying—softly enough that Sylvester hopefully wouldn’t hear—“Chelsea.”
It’s easy to forget, living the way we do, that once, every race of fae had a homeland—a place that they came from. Modern fae make knowes and shallowings, carving their homes out of the membrane between the Summerlands and the human world. Firstborn made worlds. Blind Michael’s land, an islet anchored between the Summerlands and one of the lost realms, was the closest I had ever been to those Firstborn-made worlds, and it had been huge and terrible and incredible, all at the same time. Modern fae make homes. Firstborn made homelands.
They didn’t do it alone; maybe that’s why all Blind Michael had was an islet, and all my mother had was a tower. Tirn Aill was the ancestral homeland of a dozenraces, including the Tylwyth Teg, Ellyllon, and Coblynau. Their Firstborn had worked together to open and shape it, making it a perfect place for their descendants to live. None of the deep realms were paradise—paradise gets boring—but they were perfect. And they had been lost for over five hundred years, the doors sealed by Oberon himself before he disappeared.
Once, the Tuatha de Dannan were responsible for guarding the doors between worlds. It was their duty and their joy, at least to hear them talk about it. They kept each world’s monsters safely contained and prevented wars from spilling from one world into the next. When Oberon sealed the doors, the Tuatha were left with no purpose. But a Tuatha changeling with more power than she knew what to do with, who didn’t know yet what was impossible…
Chelsea was in real trouble. So were the rest of us.
Sylvester had managed to coax the Afanc off the car, although it had shattered the rear windshield in the process of getting down. It was flopped on its back in the gravel, letting him scratch its belly. One of its hind legs was waving lazily, like there was also a bit of dog worked into the beaver and crocodile soup of its heritage. “Come meet him!” he called. “He won’t bite.”
“Says you,” I said, stealing a glance at Etienne. He looked stricken. I suppose hearing me imply that his daughter might have started importing monsters from the deeper realms of Faerie was a bit of a shock. I started forward, gesturing for Quentin to follow. “How’s my car?”
Sylvester stopped scratching the Afanc as he looked up and grimaced. “I can pay for the repairs.”
I winced. “That’s not what I wanted to hear.” The Afanc was a lot less scary-looking stretched out on the ground with its tongue lolling. I gave it a thoughtful look, putting off checking my car as long as I possibly could. “Why does it have all those teeth if it’s friendly?”
“The Afanc is a fish eater, and some of the fish in Tirn Aill are well-equipped to defend themselves,” said Sylvester. “October, what
are
you doing out here?”
So Etienne hadn’t told him. Swell. “I’m on a case. We needed a place to park while the sun came up, and when we tried to get back on the road, your beastie was crashed out on the roof of my car.” That was it; I couldn’t put it off any longer. Lifting my head, I looked at the car and cringed.
I could probably have handled the cracks in the front windshield, and the sudden absence of the rear windshield.
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