thing. “I don’t have the facilities to give you stitches without them turning septic, and I’ve got to stop the bleeding before you need a transfusion. Unless you want to try telling some human doctors what you’ve done to yourself?”
“Right,” I muttered, and huddled against Connor, trying to distract myself from the pain. It wasn’t working. My headache was making it hard to think straight.
Elliot looked at me, saying, “Jan, she met with Alex just before she did . . . whatever it is she did. I think she might need to lie down for a bit.”
There was that expression again, flickering over her face and vanishing. “Are you sure?”
“I asked Terrie.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked. Neither would meet my eyes. I looked down at Gordan, and saw that even she was focusing on my hand, not looking at me. “What am I missing? What does Alex have to do with anything?”
“It’s nothing you need to worry about now,” Jan said. I eyed her. She sighed. “I promise. You just need to rest for a while.”
“And you’ll tell me what’s going on when I wake up?”
“I will. You have my word.”
I looked at her. She looked back. Finally, I shook my head. “Quentin? Connor?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m going to take a nap. I want you two to stay together. Wake me if there’s any sign of trouble. Understand?” Reluctantly, they nodded. “Good. And, Quentin, I don’t want to hear about your fighting with Gordan while I was asleep.”
“But, Toby—”
“No buts. I don’t care if she’s the one starting everything. I’m too tired to deal with this on top of everything else.”
He sighed. “All right.”
Jan fixed a stern eye on Gordan. “The same thing goes for you. Both of you behave.”
“Whatever,” Gordan said, taping the gauze on my hand before starting to repack her first aid kit.
I eyed this and asked, “Can I have some painkillers first?”
Jan smiled, almost sadly. “Gordan?”
“Yeah, she can have some Tylenol.” She pulled a bottle from the kit, tossing it to Jan, who removed the cap with a flick of her thumb. I held out my unwounded hand, and she placed three small white pills on my palm as solemnly as if she were handing me the crown jewels of India. I popped them into my mouth, dry-swallowing them in a single convulsive gulp. I don’t know how we dealt with magic-burn before we had over-the-counter painkillers, but I think there’s a reason the faeries in the old stories are so incredibly cranky.
Gordan snatched the bottle out of Jan’s hand, scowling. “Be careful,” she said. “Your hand will be weak for a while, and you should really have stitches. Don’t strain yourself if you don’t want to lose a finger.”
“Got it,” I said, nodding.
“Don’t mention it.” She raked a hand through her spiky hair, shooting a glare toward Quentin. He glared right back. “I sure won’t.”
“Gordan . . .” Jan began.
“Whatever,” Gordan said. She turned, shaking her head, and walked out of the room.
Quentin scowled as he watched her go. “What a—”
“Stop right there,” I said, levering myself to my feet. Connor moved to support me. “I know she is, okay? You don’t need to stress. Just don’t hit her again.”
“Fine,” he said. The tips of his ears were red, although I couldn’t tell whether it was from anger or embarrassment.
Elliot sighed. “That went well.”
“It could’ve been worse,” I said, as diplomatically as I could.
“I’m sorry, both of you,” Jan said.
“It’s all right. We’re all stressed.” I forced a smile, leaning on Connor. “If you don’t mind, I need to fall down until my head stops hurting.”
“Of course.” Jan looked away, but not before that strange, half-aware expression had crossed her face a third time. What the hell was going on? “Elliot, are you coming?”
“Sure.”
I kept leaning on Connor as we left the cafeteria and made our way down several of the knowe’s endless halls. Quentin took up the rear. We stopped at a small room containing a futon, a table and an ancient color television. Ignoring the TV and the fact that I was almost definitely showing how vulnerable I was, I collapsed on the makeshift bed, closing my eyes.
“Toby?” Quentin said.
“Stay with Connor,” I said, eyes staying closed. “If you get bored, ask April to come talk. You like April. Don’t . . . make trouble . . .” I was more tired than I’d thought: I was already starting to drift away.
“All right,” he said. “Sleep well.”
Connor bent over me; I felt him brush my hair back, fingers lingering against my skin before he whispered, “Don’t you dare bleed to death.”
I smiled, not opening my eyes. “I’ll just work on that.”
“You’d better. Don’t you leave me again.” Then he was gone. I heard three sets of footsteps leave the room. I stayed quiet, waiting.
I didn’t have to wait long. Jan stepped closer, sneakers scuffling on the carpet, and said, “Toby? We haven’t—
“I’ll find you,” I mumbled. I wanted to make her tell me now, but I couldn’t find my legs, much less make them work. We all have our limits, and I’d exceeded mine.
“Okay. What you said about the memory? This may explain. And I think it’s important that you know.” She sighed. “I need you to know everything.”
“Promise . . .” I said. Something in me was screaming for answers, but the fog didn’t care. I don’t remember how long she sat there or when she left; all I remember is the fall into darkness and the half-dreamed sound of the night-haunts’ wings.
TWENTY-TWO
MY DREAMS WERE A TANGLE of twisted snapshots. April disappearing in front of the building in a hail of sparks and oak leaves; Gordan shouting in a dozen languages as she ran down an endless hall; Alexa and Terrie, bloody hands intertwined, laughing. Pale-faced knights and maidens littered the ground, and I was looking for the birds. I had to find them. A phrase kept repeating, scrawled on walls and bulletin boards: “. . . and no birds sing.” Why did it matter whether or not the birds were singing? And above it all there was the faint, constant buzzing of the night-haunts’ wings, and a voice saying, “You were my hero. I’ve had few enough of those.”
“What about the birds?” I shouted. The walls were falling, leaving me scrambling for purchase on the dissolving ground. “I have to find the birds!”
“Do you think that they will sing for you?” the voice asked, almost gently.
The world continued to fall. Someone I couldn’t see was shaking me. I thought it was part of the dream and swung wildly, only to find my arm caught. Alex’s voice broke through the remains of my dreams, vibrating with barely restrained terror: “Toby, wake up.
Panic is a wonderful stimulant. I pulled my arm free and sat up. “What’s wrong?” I was too busy processing the situation to get mad at him for touching me. Yet.
“We can’t find Jan.” He looked haggard but alert; at least someone had been finding time to rest. Connor was asleep next to me, and Quentin was curled up on the floor, using his coat as a pillow. I must have been asleep for
