They walked together until they found a somewhat secluded section of the hallway.

“Is everything all right?” David asked, touching her shoulder.

“I—” Now that she had him here she wasn’t sure she’d be able to squeak out any words at all. “I was wondering . . .” She took a deep breath and blurted, “Have you asked anyone to the winter formal?” Only as the words tumbled out of her mouth did she realize she’d made up her mind.

Surprise was evident on his face. She wondered if it was mirrored on her own.

“I was just thinking . . . I was hoping maybe we could go. Sorry if it seems awkward, I just think we shouldn’t let this . . . stuff . . . totally destroy our social life and I figured maybe—” She forced her mouth shut before she babbled any more.

“What exactly are you asking me, Laurel?” David asked, studying the tops of his shoes.

And with those few words, Laurel realized what she’d just done. She’d asked David on a date. What did that mean for them? What did it mean for Tamani? Her head spun and she was confused again. She looked down, avoiding his eyes. Not that it really mattered; he wasn’t looking at her, either. “I just want to go to the dance with you, David. As . . . as friends,” she tacked on, thinking of Tamani.

He hesitated and for a moment Laurel thought he might turn her down.

“Okay,” he said at last, nodding. “That would be great.” Then he was smiling and his eyes were shining with hope. Laurel wondered if she’d made a huge mistake.

But part of her was just glad he’d said yes.

“What day do you finish finals?” Tamani asked, flipping idly through Laurel’s Government textbook while she rummaged through the fridge for something to eat.

“Friday,” Laurel said, wondering if Tamani had ever done more than flip randomly through any of his schoolbooks. “Friday morning. After that I get the rest of the day off.”

“Are you going to go to that dance on Saturday—the winter formal?”

Laurel looked up at him, butterflies fluttering in her stomach. “What exactly are you asking me?” She knew they couldn’t go together—it was too dangerous—but she was suddenly feeling a painful sort of déjà vu.

“Well, Yuki sort of . . . expects that we’re going together. I never asked her, but she’s practically planned the whole thing already. She wanted me to ask if we could go as a group again. I guess she really enjoyed that, in spite of how it ended. I know you’re not with David anymore, so it’s okay if—”

“No, it’s fine,” Laurel said. She wondered how hard it had been for Tamani to even imply that she ought to pair up with David for something. “I actually already talked to David about it. We’re going together. As friends,” she added, before Tamani could read too much into this bit of news. “So a group thing would be nice. But let’s not invite the trolls this time.”

“Don’t worry,” Tamani said. “I’ve got it all figured out. No more troll ambushes. No more last-minute rescues by persons of questionable integrity. We’ll have two squads shadowing us all night, in addition to the ones behind your house, watching the cabin, making rounds through the city, watching traffic on the 101 and the 199, plus reserves standing by.”

Laurel stared at him, mouth agape, eyes wide. “How many sentries are here now?”

“About two hundred.”

Two hundred!

“I’m done playing games,” Tamani said darkly. “We had two squads in Crescent City when Barnes tried to grab you and David last year. We had three behind your house when he lured them off and snatched Chelsea. There were almost a hundred sentries in place two months ago and we still had trolls ambush us within a mile of your house. Any troll that tries to crash this party will be dead before it lays eyes on you.”

“Or Yuki,” Laurel added.

“Or Yuki,” Tamani agreed. “Or Chelsea, or anyone. It doesn’t matter who they’re after. The only thing I want trolls doing in Crescent City is dying.”

“Does that mean Shar is going to raid the cabin?” Laurel didn’t like talking so directly about killing—even trolls—but she had to admit she wasn’t feeling very sympathetic lately. Absently, she picked up a petal—one of her own—from a decorative silver bowl on the counter. Her mother had preserved several with hairspray and left them out where the sun could hit them, lending a hint of their beautiful perfume to the kitchen air.

“He keeps saying we should wait. I hate waiting,” Tamani said, “but I doubt he’ll wait much longer. It’s been almost a month and we haven’t learned anything.”

“Maybe we can start a club,” Laurel said ruefully. “I haven’t learned anything useful about the powder, either.”

“What about the phosphorescent?”

“Honestly? I haven’t tried anything new since I mixed it with your sap. I think individual faeries of the same season might differ as much as faeries of different seasons. I’d probably have to test half of Avalon before I could draw useful conclusions.”

Realizing she was digging her fingernails into the petal, Laurel forced herself to relax. She’d left four little half-moon gouges in the otherwise unblemished field of blue. Dropping it back into the bowl, Laurel rubbed her fingers together, wiping away the tiny droplet of moisture that hadn’t yet dried out of the preserved petal.