“But she didn’t.”
“She didn’t,” May agreed, putting her head down against my shoulder. “She said she’d been in relationships with way bigger problems than one of us being a transitory manifestation of impending doom. Like this one girl who liked her computer more than she liked her girlfriend, and another one who smoked.”
“She sounds sweet.”
“She is.” May sighed again, the sound seeming to come up all the way from the soles of her feet. “I think I could’ve loved her.”
“Hey. Don’t talk like that. It’s not over yet.”
“It may as well be.” She closed her eyes. “I tried to be different from you. I tried so hard. I guess I just wasn’t good enough.”
“Hush,” I said. “It’s not your fault. It never was.”
May wasn’t to blame. She didn’t choose what she was. She did her best with what she had, and that’s all any of us can do. We’re handed the balance of our blood and the shape of our lives and told to do something with them. May started with nothing but a copy of my past, and became someone I couldn’t have been. The universe made her to show that I was going to die, but she developed a life of her own. She became real.
We all have our roles to play. Even wayward Fetches with no fashion sense.
We sat that way for a long time before she asked, “Will it hurt?”
I hate the hard questions. “I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe you can tell me.”
“I don’t know, either.” She pulled away. “I think it will. I can almost remember that it will, but it’s not there yet. I can’t know how you’re going to die in time to stop it.”
“It’s okay,” I said, and I meant it. “I didn’t expect you to know.”
“Good.” May settled against me, putting her head on my shoulder. “I’m scared.”
“So am I.” I was starting to cry again, and my head was killing me. I wanted to stay with her and hold her forever, where nothing would ever find or hurt us. I wanted us both to live forever. I just didn’t see any way to make that happen.
FIFTEEN
EXHAUSTION CAUGHT UP WITH ME while I was sitting with May; serial killers and sleep deprivation are practically part of my daily life. I woke to the sound of a ringing phone. We’d slept through the dawn, me slumping forward until my elbows rested against my knees, May falling backward to sprawl across the mattress. She looked so damn fragile, one arm thrown over her eyes to block the light.
“I’ll fix this,” I said, and kissed her forehead before I left the room. I propped the door with a pillow to keep the cats from complaining and still managed to reach the kitchen before the machine picked up. Snatching the receiver from its cradle, I tucked it under my ear and walked toward the kitchen. “It’s Toby.”
“It’s Connor,” replied the voice on the other end, sounding even wearier than I felt. My breath caught in my chest. I hadn’t realized I was worried about him until I heard his voice. “Are you okay?”
Connor’s known me longer than almost anybody else. There wasn’t any point in lying to him. “No,” I said. The coffeepot was still half-full. I grabbed a mug and filled it before shoving it into the microwave. Hot coffee. I was not going to survive the day without hot coffee. “You’ve heard?”
“About Lily? I’ve heard. Luna’s no better, Sylvester’s not talking to anyone, and Rayseline … ” He hesitated, taking a breath before he continued, saying, “She’s stalking the battlements looking for victims. It’s like the haunted halls of Elsinore around here.”
“Did you just make a
“Yeah, I guess you are.”
A brief silence fell while I prepared my coffee, broken only by the sound of our breathing. Finally, quietly, I asked, “Is Raysel a danger? Do we need to start thinking about getting you and Quentin out of there?”
Connor smothered a bitter chuckle. “Has Raysel ever
“Like pinning the attack on Luna on me,” I concluded, before taking a gulp of scalding coffee. “I’m serious. She starts looking like she’s going to hurt one of you, you get the hell out of there.”
“Why, Toby. I didn’t know you cared.”
“I never stopped caring.”
Silence fell between us again, lasting an impossibly long-seeming time before Connor said, “Toby … ”
“I know. We need to talk about it. Can it wait until things are a little less hectic, maybe?”
“So, fifty years?” Connor laughed again, this time without the undercurrent of bitterness. “It sounds like a plan. I’ll call again if anything changes.”
“Okay. Stay safe. Please. For me.”
“I will.” There was a pause where it seemed like he was about to say something else. Then he whispered, “Open roads,” and the connection went dead, leaving the dial tone buzzing in my ear.
I sipped my coffee as I walked the phone back to its cradle in the hall. That was an interesting way to start the day. At least everyone at Shadowed Hills was still alive. Lily was gone, but Luna still had a chance.
The phone rang again as soon as I put it down. I snagged it, asking, “What now?”
“It’s good to see you’ve been taking telephone etiquette lessons from the Luidaeg,” said Tybalt. He sounded exhausted. “Have I called at a bad time?”
My stomach twisted into a knot as his tone registered. “I don’t think there are any good times left,” I said, walking back toward the kitchen. “Is everything okay?”
“Intrigued as I am by the fact that you apparently think I’d call when everything was ‘okay,’ I’m afraid I have to answer that in the negative. No. Everything is most assuredly not ‘okay.’ How quickly can you come to the park?”
“I can be there in half an hour.” I grabbed a thermos from the dish drainer next to the sink, tipping my coffee hastily into it. “Can you hold out that long?”
Tybalt chuckled humorlessly. “I don’t suppose I have a choice. Hurry, October.” He hesitated before adding, “Please.” The line went dead.
I stared at the phone before dropping the receiver on the counter and bolting for my bedroom. It only took me a few minutes to get ready. I detoured by the kitchen on my way to the door, grabbing my thermos and a box of Pop-Tarts. I wasn’t hungry. That didn’t mean my body didn’t need to eat. At least spending several hours dozing with May had helped my headache—I could think again, even if I wasn’t happy about the things I had to think about.
Spike was still huddled on the couch. I paused to run a hand along its back, hoping it would wake up and come with me. The company would have been nice. It made a faint snuffling noise and didn’t move.
“Okay, buddy” I said, and moved away from my sleeping rose goblin.
There was an empty duffel bag at the bottom of the closet. I shoved the velvet-swaddled cup into it and tucked it under my arm before pulling the baseball bat from the umbrella stand. My knives were belted at my waist, but there’s something to be said for street-legal weapons and blunt trauma.
There was a knock at the door.
I frowned. “Who is it?” Better safe than sorry-you’redead.
“Manuel.”
“Manuel?” I dropped the duffel next to the umbrella stand and switched the bat to my left hand before opening the door. Manuel Lorimer was on the porch with his hands shoved into his pockets and his startlingly golden hair almost hidden under a baseball cap. It looked like he was trying to be inconspicuous. It wasn’t working. “Look, Manny, this isn’t a good time—”
He looked at me challengingly. “Can I come in?”
I blinked. He’d probably been sent on official business. I thought of human process servers tracking people to their homes, but dismissed the idea. I didn’t think they’d send an untitled half-blood to arrest me.
