Mom wrinkled her nose. 'We'll buy you flip-flops and Lysol.'
At this rate, Mom would have her packed for college before Lily had finished junior year. 'I'll be right back,' Lily promised. And then she'd decide when and how to tell Mom the truth. Lily kissed her mother's cheek, fetched her towel, and headed down the hall to the bathroom. She didn't know how Grandpa had lived with such an enormous lie. It wasn't a love-the-new-hair-color kind of lie; it was a lie to top all lies.
Lily showered quickly and then tiptoed over the gritty and crusty hall carpet back to the dorm room. Still not sure what to say to Mom, she opened the door anyway. 'Mom, did Grandpa ever ...'
Mom wasn't there.
Lily froze, imagining goblins and trolls and faceless men with fire at their fingertips. She noticed the window was open, but she couldn't remember if it had been open before. Mom did like fresh air, possibly a dryad thing. Lily crossed to the window and looked down at the 50th Reunion tent below. She lacked X-ray vision to see through the tent roof. Spinning back toward the room, she scanned for a clue or a note or anything.
She spotted a piece of paper taped to the ceiling. Her shoulders relaxed, and she grinned. Dryad or human, Mom was still Mom. Craning her neck, Lily read,
Lily dressed quickly and wished she'd thought of a way to warn Mom about Feeders. She shouldn't be wandering around campus by herself. Lily tried Mom's cell phone. Voice mail. Standing on a chair, she added to her mom's note:
Chances were that the Feeders weren't a danger anymore. Someone had returned Lily to her bed and Mr. Mayfair had called Mom, so the battle had to be over and the Feeders taken care of. But still, this was Mom. Lily wasn't about to take any risks with her.
Across the courtyard, Lily spotted a table stocked with bagels and croissants—if Mom had wanted breakfast, she could have foraged there, but the volunteers at the table didn't recognize Mom's description. Chomping on a bagel, Lily tried the registration desk.
The same perfect-teeth elderly woman beamed at Lily as she approached. 'Richard Carter's granddaughter, yes?' she asked.
'Um, yes,' Lily said. She hadn't expected to be remembered. 'I'm looking for my mother. She was wearing a Princeton shirt and has neon-bright orange hair. Did you see her leave the tent?'
'Oh, yes, she passed by here with Joseph Mayfair a few minutes ago,' the woman said. 'So lovely that your families stayed close after the tragedy.'
'Um, yeah,' Lily said. 'Thanks.'
The woman beamed with all her white teeth. 'Happy to help!'
Lily hurried past her. She tried Mom's cell phone one more time and then Grandpa's. Mr. Mayfair should have fetched Lily as well as Mom. She should be there when Grandpa explained why he was bruised and burned. She should make sure Mom was told the truth. It was time.
On Prospect Avenue, Lily had to stop. She'd walked, not run, across campus, but she was panting anyway. She sucked in air, but it felt as if the oxygen had been leached out of the atmosphere. Her chest felt tight, and her muscles trembled.
She leaned against a maple tree to catch her breath. She felt the tree's bark against her arms, but she heard nothing. No static. No chimes. Just ordinary noises. She remembered how she'd felt with the trees at Forbes, as if the magic were pouring out of her. Maybe it had been. Maybe she should have taken a dose of medicine this morning instead of just a bagel.
Lily continued down Prospect Avenue, stumbling twice. She felt a headache pinch between her eyes as she entered Vineyard Club. She hoped Mom had remembered her medicine this morning.
One of the Old Boys lounging on a red leather couch rose as if to stop her, but a second one nodded. She recognized him from her first meeting with the Old Boys. 'She's one of us,' the man said. The first Old Boy sat down and picked up his newspaper. He continued to watch her, though, as the second man flipped open a cell phone and said, 'Richard's granddaughter is here.'
Almost immediately, Jake emerged from the stairwell to the taproom. 'Jake, have you seen ...,' she began. God, he looked terrible—or at least as terrible as a golden boy could look. His eyes were puffed and red, and his skin looked pale and waxy. 'Are you okay?'
'First time helping with cleanup ...,' he mumbled, and then he darted for a trash can in the corner of the room. Clutching the sides, he vomited into the can. He straightened after a moment and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. 'Nice,' he said, to either himself or the trash can. 'Very manly.'
'Do you want some water or ...?' she asked.
He flashed a weak smile at her. 'I'm fine. Fine.' And then he scowled. 'What were you thinking last night? You were supposed to stay hidden.'
She flushed bright red. 'I thought I could help.' Instead, she'd barely helped herself. She should have ordered the shrubs to stretch faster or the trees to seal bark around her and the knights. If she'd been more specific, maybe she could have been more effective. As it was, she'd only succeeded in getting people hurt. 'Is everyone ... all right? Is my grandfather here? Have you seen my mother?'
'Ask my grandfather,' Jake said. 'He's downstairs, running the clean—' His face contorted, and midsentence, he dove for the trash can again. She started to approach him, but he waved her away. 'Don't watch.'
She lingered another minute in case he needed help, and then she headed downstairs. She slowed as she got closer to the taproom. Odd noises drifted up the stairwell, groans and growls. Lily wondered what exactly had caused Jake to vomit. Maybe she should wait upstairs.
But Mom could be down there, too.
Fixing thoughts of Mom firmly in her mind, Lily reached the bottom of the stairs and halted. 'Oh, my God,' she breathed.
The taproom was crammed full of monsters. All of them were tied, blindfolded, and gagged. Most lay on the floor. A few were tied to chairs. To one side, three men in elbow-length gloves were stacking full trash bags. She vaguely recognized their faces from Forbes. Each of the men looked at her and then returned to his task.
'Mr. Mayfair?' she asked tentatively.
One of them pointed to the hidden room, now wide open. She stepped toward it and peered inside. Lying on the wood floor, with shackles from the chair stretched around his delicate legs, was a unicorn.
Between streaks of dirt and dried blood, his flank was mother-of-pearl. He was the kind of white that proved that white is composed of all colors. He shimmered beneath the grime like a pale rainbow about to disappear.
With a rasping breath, the unicorn lifted his head an inch off the floor and opened his eyes. They were so blue that they nearly glowed, but the lids were ringed with pus and blood. Shutting his eyes, he sagged his head back down on his silver hooves. The shackles clanged as they shifted.
Standing over him, Mr. Mayfair held steady a syringe that was plunged into the unicorn's hind leg. The drainer glugged and whirred. Silver liquid flowed through the tubes and into a bottle.
As the level in the bottle rose, the unicorn twitched. He flailed his head, cutting the air with his horn. His horn, which should have been luminescent gold, was black with blood.
Mr. Mayfair consulted his watch, and then with one hand still holding the syringe steady, he deftly replaced the full bottle with an empty one. Lily could see every vein in the unicorn's neck pulsing. The ragged breathing hurt to hear. He sounded as if his throat had been raked with nails.
She flinched as the unicorn spasmed. His head lolled forward onto the floor. Lily waited for Mr. Mayfair to stop. But he didn't. The unicorn's shakes lessened until his body merely vibrated. And then the beautiful beast was still.
Mr. Mayfair squeezed the remaining drops from the tube, and then he removed the syringe from the unicorn's flank. He turned off the drainer, and then he discarded the needle. 'Ready,' he said.
The three men bustled past Lily into the room. She watched, glued in place, as they removed the shackles from the unicorn's legs. Released, he didn't move. Together, the three men hefted the unicorn up and carried him
