Description: Cold Case by Jim Butcher "You understand what you must do," said Mab, the Queen of Air and Darkness. It wasn't phrased as a question. I gripped the handrail on the side of the yacht and held on as it whumped and thumped through choppy water on the way toward a bleak shore. "I get it," I told her. "Collect the tribute from the Miksani." Mab stared at me for a long moment, and that made me uncomfortable. It takes a lot to make that happen. I mean, you should see the stares my mother can give-Charity Carpenter is terrifying. And I got to where I could shake those off like nothing. "Lady Molly," Mab said. "Regard me." Not Look at me. Oh no. Not nearly dramatic enough. I looked up at her. We weren't around any mortals at the moment, but we were technically moving through the mortal world, among the Aleutians, and Mab was dressed in mortal clothing. The Queen of the Winter Court of the Fey wore white furs and a big, poufy white hat like you might see on a Northern European socialite in an old Bond movie. No mortal alive would have been wearing white heels on the frozen, dripping, bucking deck of the yacht in those seas, in the beginnings of a howling winter storm, but she was Mab. She would take the path of least resistance when practical, but her willingness to tolerate the possible alarm and outrage of the human race extended only so far. She would wear what she felt like wearing. And at the moment, it would seem that she mostly felt like wearing an expression of stern disapproval. My own clothing, I knew, disappointed her gravely, but I was used to doing that to mother figures. I was dressed in flannel-lined winter jeans and large warm boots, with several layers of sweaters, a heavy bomber jacket, and an old hunter's cap with ear flaps that folded down. Practical, sturdy, and serviceable. I didn't need them any more than Mab needed the furs, but it seemed like it would be simpler to blend in-to a point, anyway. "Appearances matter, young lady," Mab said, her voice hard-edged. "First impressions matter." "You never get a second chance to make a first impression," I said, rolling my eyes. I might have sounded a bit like this guy I know. Maybe a little. Mab stared at me for a long second before she gave me a wintry smile. "Wisdom wrapped in witless defiance." "Witless," I sputtered. "I am offering you advice," Queen Mab said. "You have been a Queen of Faerie for less than a week. You would be wise to listen." The yacht began to slow and then slewed to one side, throwing a wave of icy spray toward the rocky shore. It handled too well to be a mortal craft, but out here, where few eyes could see, the Sidhe who piloted her were only so willing to be inconvenienced by seas that would have daunted experienced mortal captains and advanced mortal vessels. Not mortal, I told myself sternly, in my inner, reasonable voice. Human. Human. Just like me. "Thanks for that," I said to Mab. "Look, I get it. My predecessor hasn't performed her duties properly for, like, two hundred years. I've got a huge backlog. I've got a lot of work facing me. I understand already." Mab gave me another long stare before saying, "You do not understand." Then she turned and walked back toward her cabin, the one that was bigger on the inside than it was on the outside. "But you will."

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