make her anything more than mortal. The fae that live in Golden Gate Park look out for their own.
This woman’s heritage was a small blessing to me; it would make her more susceptible. Even if I couldn’t convince her I wasn’t what she thought I was, I should be able to enchant her long enough for me to get into the Tea Gardens. Lily might not be able to help me, but she was the most likely of a very slim set of options. At least I knew that if I got onto her land, I could die in peace.
Biting my tongue, I whispered the first three lines of “The Owl and the Pussycat” under my breath, and stumbled as the iron wound in my shoulder burst from distant numbness into bright new pain. I caught myself on the edge of the booth, taking a deep, unsteady breath, and handed my bloody lint and mushrooms to the woman behind the counter.
It almost wasn’t enough. What little power I had was starting to fade as I slipped in and out of full consciousness. She frowned before squinting at the contents of her palm, seeming to see through my hasty illusion.
“Welcome to the Japanese Tea Gardens! Have a nice day,” she said, radiating that odd brand of insincerity that seems bred into gatekeepers of all types. I forced myself to smile and half walked, half staggered onward. It had been a great day for petty thievery—between the gatekeeper and the toll taker, there were at least two people who’d be coming up with short registers at the end of the day. Of course, I’d been rewarded for my tricks with an iron gunshot wound. Who says there’s no such thing as karma?
The paths through the Japanese Tea Gardens are made of narrow, weathered planks. Trees and beds of flowers surround them, occasionally yielding to rock gardens or shallow stretches of water. Bridges punctuate the landscape, some arching up at angles that actually require stairs. It takes a pretty good sense of balance to make it through the Tea Gardens without falling, even if you avoid the bridges. At the moment, balance wasn’t something I had a large supply of. The paths were slippery with water and decay, and the lack of traction nearly knocked me over half a dozen times before I managed to get out of sight of the front gate.
At the base of the moon bridge I gave up, sitting down in a patch of ferns. The movement just made me dizzier, throwing the world into a kaleidoscope dance of water, blood, and shadows. I shuddered, falling forward, and caught myself with my good arm before I could pitch face-first into the water. My reflection rippled in front of me, giving me a clear picture of the situation. My illusions were entirely gone—any tourist coming down the path would find themselves looking at more than they had bargained for—and blood caked my lips and hair, soaking my sweater almost to the waist.
I looked into my own eyes, and knew I was going to die.
One of the koi surfaced to stare at me, breaking my reflection into countless ripples. I looked down at it, almost smiling as I reached out to stroke its head with my numb left hand. It didn’t shy away from the gesture. “Hey, remember me?” I whispered. “Did you miss me? I think . . . I think I may be staying this time ...” The fish sank back below the surface, leaving my fingers dangling in the water. Faint rings of red rippled out from where they touched.
I didn’t even feel my face hitting the pond. Everything was darkness, glorious darkness and the final, perfect absence of pain. It was done, all of it, the running and the fighting and the pain. After everything that I’d gone through, it was finally over, and this time, the waters would carry me home.
FIFTEEN
“TOBY, DON’T BE DEAD, don’t be dead.” It sounded almost like Tybalt’s voice, too distorted and far away to really tell. Water was soaking through my sweater, plastering my hair down against my cheeks; my eyelids were heavy. Too heavy to bother opening. I leaned into the arms that were holding me up and let myself go limp, falling back down into the darkness.
Time passed. How much, I couldn’t say; I only knew that I was rising toward consciousness, and I fought that ascent with everything I had. Waking held pain and duty and too many questions, while sleep held only peace, and the shadows of sunlight on the water. I was done. Sleep was all I wanted now.
You can’t always get what you want. The pain hit without warning. I gasped, opening my eyes in surprise, only to squeeze them shut again as my head began throbbing. What little I’d seen told me next to nothing about where I was, only that there was a roof above me, and that the dim light wasn’t natural. I was inside; I just didn’t know where. Not that it mattered, since I was too weak to move and in too much pain to care. Hopefully, I wasn’t slated to be somebody’s dinner. At least if I was, it would probably help my headache.
A little experimentation showed that I could move my right hand. The ground beneath me was soft, springy, damp to the touch, and faintly warm. I frowned, becoming curious despite myself. Where
Footsteps approached from behind me. I couldn’t run; I couldn’t even make my eyes open again. All I could do was lie there, frozen, as a hand caressed my temples and a soft voice whispered, “She is not yet ready for you. Sleep.”
The blessed dark rose again, reclaiming me.
I dreamed of glass roses and the taste of pennyroyal.
Waking came faster the second time, even if I was no more willing; going back to my body meant going back to the pain, and it had gotten worse while I slept, spreading out from my head and shoulder until every breath caught in my chest. But I was alive. The realization hit me, and I opened my eyes, too startled to play dead any longer. I was alive.
I was looking up at a ceiling of woven willow branches, held up by a series of arches that appeared to have grown from the mossy floor. Pixies clustered on every available surface, their shimmering glow lighting the room. The moss beneath me was soaking wet, and as a consequence, so was I. I knew where I was. Lily’s knowe.
The only entrance I know of to the knowe required climbing straight up the steepest bridge in the garden. I was pretty sure I hadn’t done that before I blacked out. I was honestly surprised I’d reached the Tea Gardens at all. “Hello?” I said. My voice came out in a whisper. “Is anybody there?”
“You’re awake.” It was the voice I’d heard earlier, soft, feminine, and faintly worried. “Stay where you are. Do not move. We will fetch her.”
“Got it,” I said, and closed my eyes. Not moving wouldn’t be hard; I doubted my ability to roll over, much less run away. I didn’t hear the speaker leave, but after some indefinite amount of time—minutes or hours, I had no idea—soft footsteps approached, accompanied by the rustle of silk. They stopped just beside my head.
“Hello, Lily,” I said, not opening my eyes. “Sorry to just drop in like this.”
“You are always welcome here,” she chided. Her voice was like water over stones, laced with a Japanese accent. “Even when you do not choose to come, you are welcome.”
“Sorry,” I said, still whispering. I wasn’t sure I could raise my voice if I wanted to. “I got a little banged up.”
“I noticed. Everyone noticed. What did you do to poor Marcia?” A hand touched my shoulder, testing the edge of the wound. Her fingers were cool, and the pain faded where she touched. “She was very upset, and there were mushrooms in the cash register.”
I let out my breath in a hiss, relaxing as the worst of the pain slipped away. “I didn’t have any money, and I needed to get inside.”
“Silly changeling,” she chided. “Does it never occur to you that you could ask?”
“Not my style,” I said, managing a faint smile.
Lily made a clucking noise, like she was scolding an unruly child, but continued stroking my shoulder, fingers leaving trails of numbness behind. I opened my eyes, tilting my head back to watch her. “Hush,” she said, “be still.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, watching as she reached over me to pluck a sprig of foxglove from the mossy bank.
Her hands were slim and covered with delicate silver scales, the fingers webbed to the first knuckle. Only her
