“No, I’m not,” I said automatically as I reached out and took the plate. Blackberry juice leaked from the sides of pie, forming a viscous purple slick. “Luna, are you okay?”
“Oh, no, dear. No, I’m not okay at all.” Her smile was beatific and almost dazed. It was a madwoman’s smile. My mother used to smile like that in the years just before I disappeared. “I’m so many miles from okay that I don’t even know where it is anymore. Eat your pie.”
I glanced to Sylvester. He nodded. Taking that as instruction of a sort, I picked up a fork and prodded at the pie before taking a cautious bite. It was excellent pie. The crust was light and flaky, and the blackberries were perfect, managing to be sweet and tart at the same time. It was even still warm. Too bad I was too wound up to enjoy it.
Sylvester cleared his throat after I’d taken two bites, saying, “I do appreciate your returning Quentin. His parents would be rather put out if I lost track of him.”
“I bet,” I said, taking that as a sign that I could put my plate aside. “How long is he fostered here, anyway?”
“Oh, we’re to have all of his training. We’ll be assigning him a knight soon enough, getting him started on his time as a squire.” Sylvester’s smile was almost nostalgic. “I was squired to Sir Malcolm in Gray Fields. That was how he met my sister. I’m not sure our parents ever forgave me.” He glanced toward Luna. “Parents so rarely do.”
“I never asked them to forgive me,” said Luna. “I only asked them to leave me alone.”
“Um, guys?” I raised a hand. “Can we get back to why Quentin was on my doorstep this morning? I can’t stay for long. I have to go take care of things.”
“You have no idea what you’re trying to take care of,” said Luna, in that same sharp tone. “You have no idea at all.”
Spike rattled its thorns, chirping at her.
Luna’s attention switched to the rose goblin. “I don’t believe that’s relevant.”
Spike chirped again.
I blinked at the pair of them. “Luna? Do you understand what it’s saying?”
The strangeness cleared from her expression for a moment, replaced by perplexity. “Well, yes. Didn’t you know?”
“Uh, no, I didn’t.”
“You’re not surprised when Tybalt talks to the cats, are you?”
“No; he’s their King.” Tybalt’s kingship meant he could probably get running updates on how I was doing just by coming by the apartment and talking to Cagney and Lacey. I tried not to think about that too much.
“By that same logic, you shouldn’t be surprised that I can talk to my roses.” She looked back to Spike, the darkness returning to her face as she said, “Although there are times I wish they had less to say.”
“Luna.” Sylvester leaned over, placing a hand on her arm. “Please.”
She sighed deeply, seeming to pull the sound up from the very center of her being. “I don’t want to,” she said.
“I know.” He turned toward me. “Toby?”
I know a cue when I hear one. Taking a deep breath, I said, “Stacy Brown called me this morning. Two of her kids went missing sometime right around dawn.”
“How old were they?” asked Luna. There was no surprise in her words, only sorrow.
“Jessica is six, and Andy just turned four.”
“Such perfect ages,” said Luna, and closed her eyes. “How many others?”
“Five from Tybalt’s Court,” I said, slowly. “Quentin’s girlfriend, Katie, is missing, too, but I’m not sure whether it’s connected or not. She’s mortal.”
Luna’s answer was a bitter laugh. Shaking her head, she said, “Oh, no. She’s the proof. Without her, this still might be something other than what it is. At least eight in a single night, with two more nights to go? How many haven’t called for help yet? Always take them just before dawn. That leaves the most time before they sound out the alarms.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said. That didn’t stop her words from upsetting me.
“Oh, you will, soon enough. Are there any others?”
“Mitch and Stacy’s middle daughter, Karen. She’s eleven. She isn’t missing, but she won’t wake up, no matter what we do. Lily has her now.”
“That should do for the time being.” Spike rattled its thorns again. Luna looked down at it, frowning. “Really?” Her attention swiveled back to me. “What time did she arrive?”
Somehow, I knew which “she” Luna was talking about. “A little bit before dawn.”
“Who?” asked Sylvester.
I sighed, looking down at my partially-eaten pie. “My Fetch.”
Silence fell among the three of us, broken only by the sound of leaves rustling in the wind. Even Spike had stopped rattling. When the silence got to be too much, I raised my head and found myself looking into Sylvester’s eyes.
“Really?” he asked, in a dangerously soft voice.
“Really,” I said, swallowing. Forcing a smile, I added, “She said her name was May.”
“October …”
“Her Fetch came when he was taking the children from their beds like a farmer taking apples from his tree,” said Luna. Sylvester whipped his head around to stare at her. She met his gaze without flinching. Her expression was more than solemn—it was sad and frightened and wounded, all at once. “He Rides, Sylvester. He Rides, and she’s bound to go following after.”
“Amandine—”
“Isn’t here,” Luna said, quietly. “Hasn’t been here. Won’t be here again anytime soon. Those roots fell on shallow ground, and you know it. Now will you keep him from our gates and let me tell her what she needs to know?”
Sylvester’s expression hardened. The look he turned on Luna was colder than any I’d seen him cast her way. Standing, he crossed to me, pulled me to my feet, and hugged me, almost hard enough to keep me from noticing that he was shaking. Then he released me and strode away down the garden path without a single word. He didn’t look back.
I was staring after him when I felt Luna’s hand on my shoulder, and turned to see her standing next to me. “He needs to warn the Court. It’s his duty and his privilege, because … because of who he is.” Her voice faltered. “I need to talk to you. Alone.”
I couldn’t take it anymore: the demand burst out of me, born of fear and frustration. “Oberon’s
“You’ve been to see Lily.” It wasn’t a question. “She told you to ask the moon.”
“Did Spike tell you what color my underpants are today, too?” I scowled. “I have no idea what she was talking about.”
Luna didn’t answer. She just looked at me.
“Oh,
She sighed. “Toby, if I say challenging him is futile, that you’ll change nothing and only grant the omen you saw this morning power over you … if I say you can save your life and your heart by walking away from this, will it matter?”
Part of me—most of me—wanted to say, “Yes, it would matter; please tell me to stay here. If you tell me, I’ll stay.” I didn’t want to go. I’m not a hero; I never have been. I just do what has to be done.
But when you get right down to it, isn’t that the definition of hero?
“No,” I said. “It won’t.”
Sounding resigned, but not surprised, she said, “His name is Blind Michael.”
“Blind Michael?” I frowned. “But that doesn’t make sense. He and his Hunt only harass you if you go into the Berkeley Hills on the full moon. They—”
