THE BIRTHDAY PARTY was more draining than I expected. Too many memories of Gillian and the few birthdays we’d shared before I disappeared, too many little laughing ghosts waiting to ambush me. I got home a little after midnight and crawled straight into bed, where I lay awake, staring at the ceiling, until sometime after four. I’d been asleep for less than an hour when the telephone rang, jolting me awake.

I bolted upright, sending the cats tumbling off my chest as I groped around in the dark to find the phone. I glanced at the clock as my hand closed on the receiver. 5:34 A.M. Whoever it was had better have a damn good reason for calling, or they were going to suffer. “What?”

“Morning, Toby! I didn’t wake you, did I?”

I suppressed the urge to swear. I only know one person who would risk physical harm by calling me that close to dawn. “What do you want, Connor?”

“Hey, nice voice recognition; you got it on the first try. How are you?”

“Do you know what time it is?” Most fae are notoriously late risers, as in “after sundown if at all possible.” That’s most of us, not all. Selkies are skinshifters. They don’t have any real magic beyond some basic illusions and the power contained in their skins. Dawn messes with them just like it messes with the rest of us, but daylight doesn’t bother them. Once the sun’s up, they’re fine. As a consequence, they have an annoying tendency to be morning people.

Exhibit A: Connor, who cheerfully said, “Half past five.”

“Right.” I groaned, wiping the sleep from my eyes. The cats had retreated to the foot of the bed, shoving Spike out of the way as they curled up in the warm spot it had created. Sadly chirping, Spike slunk toward me. “Now explain why I should let you live.”