Enchanted Ivy

out into the taproom. They laid him down onto tarp-size black garbage bag.

Lily stared at the unicorn's chest, waiting for it to rise. It didn't.

The men closed the garbage bag around him, and then they heaved the unicorn's body onto the pile of other bags. Lily felt her knees shake. All those bags ...

Stripping off his latex gloves, Mr. Mayfair joined Lily in the taproom. 'You look pale,' he said in his cultured voice. 'Would you care to sit down?'

It was one thing to watch Jake kill the troll that had been about to kill her, but this ... She kept thinking of the council unicorn, luminous in the sunlight. She forced herself to picture Grandpa prone on the lawn with the unicorn about to strike. 'I was looking for my mother. And my grandpa.' Her voice sounded thin to her ears.

'This is not a pretty sight, I know,' Mr. Mayfair said. 'But keep in mind that these are monsters, no matter what the storybooks say. They cannot be allowed to continue to prey on humanity. At least this way, their deaths serve a purpose.'

Her eyes slid to the pile of garbage bags.

'Our only edge against them is the magic,' he said. 'It enhances our natural skills and enables us to hold our own in battle against supernatural beings. The death of these monsters ... their magic will help us fight to keep humans safer.'

The flasks, she remembered. They hadn't drunk a toast; they'd drunk magic. She bet Tye didn't know that. She wondered what he would say.

'We need to do this,' Mr. Mayfair said. 'We're fighting a war, and we are not winning.' For the first time since she'd met him, he sounded troubled.

'Oh?' she said. She knew her response was inadequate, but she felt as if her mind was shrieking. She hadn't asked for this, not any of it. She didn't want to know about Feeders and wars and ...

'Always before, Feeders were loners. We could hunt them down one by one. But for the first time in generations, Feeders have united under a single leader, and the hunted are now the hunters. ... But this is my problem, not yours.' His eyes were full of sympathy. 'I know all of this must be a terrible shock to you.'

She nodded and thought that was the greatest understatement she'd ever heard.

'I'm afraid I have difficult news for you,' he said.

Lily felt her heart freeze. 'Mom?' she said. She scanned the taproom. This sight must have traumatized her mom beyond belief.

He shook his head. 'Your mother is fine. She's upstairs.'

Lily sighed in relief.

'It's your grandfather,' Mr. Mayfair said. 'His injuries were severe.'

'Where is he? Will he be okay? What's wrong?' Her mind caught in a loop, repeating, Oh no, oh no, oh no.

'Come with me,' Mr. Mayfair said.

He led her up the stairs to the main room and then up the grand staircase, past more oil paintings and more stained-glass windows. Her heart was pounding. Please, be okay, she thought.

At the end of a corridor, Mr. Mayfair opened a plain white door. Lily rushed inside. Grandpa was tucked into a hospital bed with an IV in his arm and an oxygen mask over his face. Bandages covered his left arm. His eyes were closed.

Beside him sat Mom. She turned when Lily entered the room. Lily saw that her eyes were so pink and puffy that they looked bruised. 'Oh, Lily,' Mom said. She held out her hands.

Lily ran to her.

Mom wrapped her arms around Lily's waist and pressed her cheek against Lily's stomach. Lily stroked her orange hair.

Behind her, Mr. Mayfair said, 'He slipped into a coma last night.'

This is my fault, Lily thought. If she hadn't shown herself at Forbes ... Lily drew in a shaky breath. She had to hold it together. She kept petting Mom's hair as she stared at Grandpa.

He looked frail. She'd never seen her grandfather look frail. 'What's wrong with him?' Lily asked. 'When will he wake?'

Mr. Mayfair hesitated. 'Rose, will you stay with him? Watch him for any change? I'd like a few words with Lily.'

Releasing Lily's waist, Mom laid her head on the edge of the hospital bed. Her fingers wove between Grandpa's fingers. She didn't speak.

'I'll be right back,' Lily told her.

She followed Mr. Mayfair out of the room and into a study stuffed with antiques. Oriental rugs covered the hardwood floor, and a carved wooden fireplace filled one wall. Other walls held bookcases with gilded leather books. Mr. Mayfair gestured to a leather chair beside a Tiffany dragonfly lamp. He himself went to stand beside a window with his hands clasped behind his back. He looked out onto the street below.

Lily didn't sit. 'I need the truth,' she said. 'Is he going to be okay?'

'The truth is that I don't know. He could wake in five minutes; he could wake in five years.' His clasped hands, she noticed, had tightened so that his knuckles were as white as his oxford shirt. 'We must brace ourselves for the possibility that he does not wake ever.'

Lily felt as if the walls were leaning in. She sank into the chair. 'Ever,' she repeated. 'But ... it hasn't been that long. You can't have tried everything. He should be in a hospital! There should be doctors! Specialists!'

'Our facilities here are top-notch,' Mr. Mayfair said. 'But if we do not see significant improvement in the next twenty-four hours, then yes, we will transfer him to a hospital with specialists in combat injuries.'

She couldn't think. Her brain felt like sludge. Lily sucked in a deep breath, willing herself to stay together. Mom and Grandpa needed her to not fall apart.

'However, there is a problem.' Mr. Mayfair turned from the window. His eyes bored into hers. They were the same brilliant blue as Jake. 'Your mother cannot go to a hospital. With her mental problems, it would be frighteningly easy for her to change from visitor to patient, and that would be disastrous. If a doctor examined her ...'

'Mom's been to doctors before,' Lily said. She'd accompanied her on lots of visits.

'Our doctors,' Mr. Mayfair said. 'Princeton knights.'

Lily had never noticed. She tried to remember the degrees on the wall. She hadn't paid attention. It was possible. Grandpa had always picked the doctors and arranged the appointments. For a second, she thought about all those people in on the secret, all keeping everything from her and Mom, but she pushed the anger away to deal with later. 'Then she's ... different inside?'

'Very,' Mr. Mayfair said gravely.

Lily tried to digest that, and then she pushed it away for later, too. 'Can she ... stay here?' she asked. She hated the idea of leaving her in a place that wasn't familiar, but Mom couldn't be left alone.

'There is another option,' Mr. Mayfair said. 'You could send her home.'

'Home?' Lily repeated. She was certain that he didn't mean Philadelphia and their attic-floor nest of flowers and pillows and sunlight and pottery. He meant the other Princeton.

'It is what your grandfather wanted,' Mr. Mayfair said. 'It is why you are here this weekend. Your grandfather believed that your mother's problems are due to her heritage, and that her family might be able to help her, even cure her.'

Lily had begun to think she was done being shocked, but this ... Mr. Mayfair's words exploded like fireworks in her head. She remembered how Grandpa had said there was hope. This must have been what he'd meant.

'He had intended to explain it himself, but ...' Mr. Mayfair gestured toward the hall. 'He wouldn't want you to wait. You must know that your mother is worsening. The magic doses aren't enough. If she doesn't have true help soon, she will lose herself entirely.'

He left her to think. So she returned to Grandpa's room and curled up in a chair next to Mom. Mom lay where Lily had left her, cheek pressed against the hospital bedsheet and hands wrapped tightly around Grandpa's limp fingers. She didn't move or speak.

Lily studied the back of her mom's head, her orange hair splayed out like bright seaweed, the orange spray paint tinting her scalp. Mr. Mayfair was right; Mom was worsening. Her rate of decline is worse than we expected, Lily remembered Grandpa saying. We must act now.