People who walk slow irritate me.
Call me impatient if you like, but I’m a realist; time is money, after all. I suppose my father taught me that, among a myriad other things. Not all of his lessons were so easily learned, but he also taught me how to watch. Nobody sees a teenager sitting on a bench. The subway especially is a great place for this, everyone running with someplace to go and no time to take it all in. Mostly I just like to watch people pass, count their wedding rings or Nikes, iPods and hats… I dunno. People interest me. I guess I’m a little eccentric.

In New York, a person’s pace is a marker of their origins. The tourists amble like lost ducklings, gaping at shop displays and pedicabs like they’ve found religion in lockdown. It’s a childlike wonder I envy them, but not very much; Ignorance is bliss, too, and it’s not my cup of tea. I don’t envy the angry stiffs like my father, either, all sharp collars and fine-pressed shirts, trotting along on stilts. They look like animatrons while they clack down the sidewalk, always pressed for time and too proud to run, or else afraid to muss their hair. The private schoolgirls with their practised waddle, the undercover cops with their ill-concealed vigour, the ubermoms with their steady bustle and their hair pulled out of their face…
And then there are the fey, with their easy, gliding grace. They’re never quite able to drop it. I glance to my left at the young mother who’s fallen into the seat, fussing with her packages. Her hair is a tangle of brown brambles cascading down her back.
“Hello, Lady Thornebird.”
The tired brunette looks up from her shopping bags, the Dagostino logo crinkling in her hands. When she grins at me, the teeth are yellow and pointed, translucent Mermish bone.
Lady Thornebird gives me the creeps, but I’m pretty sure she does it on purpose. Around me she always lets the glamour slip a little; ears sloping into blunted points, eyes glittering ammonite. She’s a halfie, but not the usual kind, in charge of the Rogue Court. Her territory covers most of the tri-state area. Rumour has it her father was a king in his day, and he dabbled with a Mermish servant. If that’s true, she’s been around long enough to watch the city grow up around her, since the kingdom was trashed years ago. She’s certainly good with her politics, if not her subtlety. We’ve all got goals, right?
“Is that any way to treat your godmother?”
Oh, yeah. And there’s that.
See, most halfies are human-Fae. It makes sense, if you think about it. All those stories and Irish folktales, those weird-ass people on the train… My mother was one of the garden-variety, abandoned on Milady’s doorstep. I guess I’m technically one-fourth selkie. It’s the most common mix for unrealised halflings, or halfies that didn’t turn full-Fae. Mom lucked out, from what I hear; the Change’s supposed to hurt like a bitch. Dad fell in love with those big Selkie doe eyes though, all black and soulful. So I guess she got something good out of it, if you count me as a good thing.
“Well?”
I take out one headphone and raise an eyebrow at her. “Nobody in our family believes in God, and technically aren’t you more of a grandmother?” The ancient woman’s lips twitch. “Anyway, why are you out in the open?”
She tuts disapprovingly and eyes a man leaning against a pole. His dreadlocks hang past his waist in thick ebony cords, and I watch as he glares openly at every person who stepping too close to our bench. Apparently I’ve missed the thugs. I’m probably surrounded.
Isn’t she just charming?
“Your father certainly believes in God. He wanted to exorcise me, remember?” Her voice is high and full of false cheer, but I can see the tension in her fingers. “Issue is, darling, I require a bit of assistance.”
“Oh, really? I never would have guessed,” I mutter, tossing a glance heavenward. “Because you’re so fond of me you’d come all the way up here just to have a chat.”
Milady gasps dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest. “You wound me, darling. I love your company.” I snort as she bites back a sneer. “But those rich mortal jackals want the Court’s hotel. My hotel. They want to convert it, and they’re willing to battle the Historical Society to do so.”
“What do humans want with an old abandoned building?”
“To ruin hundreds of lives and convert it into condos,” she growls, roses and thorns sprouting in her long mane of hair. No one screams, so I suspect I’m the only one to see it. Probably better that way.
“And you want me to what? Get pictures and blackmail whoever it is?” I turn to stare her full in the face for the first time in the conversation. “You know how mom feels about-”
“Oh, stars forbid,” she interrupts, pulling an apple from her bag. I shake my head at the offer, and she bites into it with delicate venom. “You get yourself into any more legal trouble and I’ll never hear the end of it. Cassie can be so overdramatic sometimes.”
I can’t help the nasty sound that jumps out of my throat. “Gee, wonder who taught her that.”
Lady Thornebird eyes me sharply. “Don’t get crass with me, darling.” Her tone is the only warning I get before I find sharp nails digging into my wrist. “Do this little favour for me, hmm? You’ll be a hero. I’ll have the courtesans falling all over you. Anything you want.”
I don’t like the way she’s looking at me; there’s danger in desperation. People do stupid things when they want bad enough. “Why? What’s the little favour, that it’s worth all that?”
Lady Thornebird pulls back, rummages in her bag, offers me a tin of sour raspberry Altoids. My favourite, which I’m pretty sure she knows.
Man is she a creeper.
“Well,” she begins, drawing the syllable out until it drips like badly spun sugar. “The thing is, darling… this is a legal problem.”
I close my eyes, somehow unsurprised. “And, of course, my father’s a lawyer.”

His building always smells like disinfectant. Chemicals; the Fae hate them. I bet a faery couldn’t get within fifty feet of this place. The cleaning was nightly, regular, vigorous. He could’ve easily killed someone and bleached out the evidence. Mom would never have known.
The receptionist changes pretty regularly. Probably because no one can stand him for too long. That and the fact that he keeps banging them, but never fulfils his end of the bargain. By that I mean his dumb ornaments stay just that, which I guess is a calculated gain. The girls get offended and quit cause of the lack of promotions, and he gets another hot assistant; it doesn’t take a scheming genius to figure that one out. I like to think he never cheated on Mom, just to keep my sanity. He fell hard and fast for her once. Too bad he became a jackass.
“So. The prodigal child returns.”
I glance up at the doorway, past the perky blonde behind the desk. My father’s propped himself up in the frame, fingers messing with his cufflinks. I don’t know if he knows he has a tell, but knowing him he probably does. I can’t imagine why he’d be nervous, though. I expected him to be angry.
“Returns to what? You don’t even call.”
“You two never return my calls,” he snaps, voice rough, and he stiffens and smooths back his salt and pepper hair. “And to what do I owe this dubious pleasure?”
I grin. “Oh, I’m just the messenger,” I drawl, enjoying this part. “See, I’m here about Grandma.”
His eyes only widen for a fraction of a second, but it’s enough to make the whole trip worth it. “Why don’t we take this inside,” he grinds out, jaw set as he glares down at me.
“Well, I’m comfortable out here on the couch-”
“Now, Aubrey.”
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” I follow him into his office.
The room’s always been too clinical to me; too much glass and not enough houseplants. He keeps everything OCD-neat, but I didn’t really expect anything different. Selkies are packrats; they keep everything, in part to hide wherever they’ve hidden their skins. Mom’s no different even if she didn’t turn full, and it used to drive him crazy. It’s no surprise that here in his office all his binders are colour coded, his labelling system a strange fanaticism. I sit down in his chair and prop my sneakers on the desk, just to piss him off.
“Must you?”
I eye him innocently. “What?”
His lip curls in disgust, and I snicker silently. Lady Thornebird really got the sour deal this time. I was having way too much fun. “So anyway, a little birdie told me some Wall Street fatcat wants to convert the old hotel.”
Father sits down in the client sofa across the room and adjusts the flowers on the side table. “So?” he demands, and I roll my eyes at him.
“She wants you to take the Historical Society case. She knows you can win it.”
He drops the last stem into its vase. “And why would I do anything to help that devil spawned… unnatural…” He shudders. “I have no reason-”
“Oh, she thought you might say that.” I grin and kick off from the desk, spinning in circles and watching the skyscrapers fly in and out of view. “And she said I should remind you about what happened on Samhain when I was seven. She wants to know if you’re still considering a political career. Or that merger, with Franklin and Wellington, for next year? She wants to know if you can take a little scandal.”
I offer him a wink to stave off his ill-concealed horror. “Imagine nymphs running naked through Union Square, Lady Thornebird’s impeccable heavy glamour in place as she makes her statement to the police, naming you personally as the father of her grandchild… Kelpies drowning prostitutes in the river and letting a serial killer take the blame while you sit in the DA’s office and try to talk about a crackdown on crime… Phookas and nixies attacking people sunbathing in parks, some Halfling kids taking credit for it and pointing at Lady Thornebird as their loving caretaker. Lady Thornebird, who will have publically linked herself to you-”
Father stands up, nearly knocking over the table. He winces when the mahogany hits his shins.
“Your mother would never let her do that.”
“Do you think the old bird cares?”
Father licks his lips and looks away. “No.”
I let him say it because it’s a lie. If Lady Thornebird loved anything at all, it was her faux-relatives. My mother had been her favourite before she married a Christian mortal. To be honest, I side with my proverbial grandma on that one. Father’s a Class-A ass.
“Great! So you’ll do it, then. I’ll let her know.” I grin and spring out of his chair. “Good seeing you and all that. Have a good afternoon.”
“Wait, Aubrey, you can’t-”
I stop in the doorway and raise an eyebrow at him. “You want to piss off the Lady of the Rogue court, go ahead. But good luck getting anything done.”
Father closes his eyes and exhales slowly, pressing the palm of his hand to his forehead. “And how’s Cassiopeia?”
I stare at him for a moment, not sure what he’s asking. Mom hasn’t exactly been seeing anyone, but that’s none of his business. I don’t know what he wants me to say.
“Nobody calls her that anymore,” I mutter lamely. “And she’s okay, I guess.”
He makes a noncommittal noise and gestures towards the door. “Well.” He coughs. “Tell that vulture I will do as she asks. But it won’t be for her. Understood?”
I’m pretty sure that was understood before I’d even asked him, but I nod along anyway. It helps to let him think he’s still got power in a situation. It means I still get presents on my birthday.

“So it’s done.”
I glance up at the willowy woman before me with a vaguely amused expression, nodding absently as I stare. Lady Thornebird has abandoned all pretence of glamour here, instead swathed in layers of billowing tatters in beautiful autumn hues. The robes give the illusion of feathers or leaves, a dangerous crown wrapped around her temples marking her as royalty. The last of the great true queens.
Of course, her redcap and gytrash bodyguards on the other side of the bridge have me a little creeped out, so the awe isn’t quite as genuine. The Fae love the park for the low iron count, but not enough to spend all their time here. It gets too cold for even them to handle; they’d much prefer their indoor revel downtown. And the hotel was safe now, thanks to me. And, I guess, my father.
Funny how things work out.
“You did a wonderful job, darling. I’m proud of you.”
“Gee, really, Grandma? I’m in tears.”
The apple hits me so hard I see stars, but I never see her lob it. My glare is easily ignored.
“How’s your mother faring?”
I shrug. “Okay. As well as she ever is.”
She smiles, teeth shimmering glass in the stark bluish sun. “Your mother would have made a suitable successor had she made full-Fae. Everyone was so certain she would. But she never grew her fur.” Lady Thornebird laughs, a loud crackling noise. “If she did, she hid it well.”
“Well isn’t that the gift of the selkies? That they can become human if they want to?” I ask, but the old woman shakes her head. Rose petals and dust shake free as she moves: a strange, walking relic.
“Or a curse, to be able to taste humanity once, then choose between an eternity or feeling.” I raise an eyebrow at her, but she isn’t looking at me. She’s staring across the park at the skyscrapers reaching far beyond the trees ever could. “Of course, I would have preferred her to marry a proper Elfin man, but I suppose I’m glad she didn’t-”
“Because then I wouldn’t have been born?” I snort. “Because you’re so fond of me.”
Lady Thornebird chuckles. “I love you, child. Whatever you may believe.”
“Yeah?” I straighten up, cracking my neck. “Well, next time I just might make you prove it.”
She laughs again, bony hands wrapped in the folds of her clothes. “And what is it I owe you for your service, then?”
I nibble my lip considering. “You owe me one. We’ll see.”
Lady Thornebird inclines her head but says nothing more about it. I pick up my backpack in the silence, rocking on my feet.
“Tell me something, though, what do you need a successor for? Haven’t you always been Lady of the Rogue Court?”
Lady Thornebird turns to stare at me for a moment, glittering eyes bright and evershifting. After a moment she reaches out and takes my head in her hands, and for a moment she seems truly grandmotherly as she kisses me on the forehead.
“Always is a very, very long time.” She straightens, looking me in the eye.
“So?”
“So go to school, before you get me in trouble.”
I snicker. Classic. “Yeah, yeah. I’m going.”