She looked to me and smiled, sadly. “Who I’ve always been: Luna Torquill, Duchess of Shadowed Hills. I’m Kitsune, for all that I have a few more . . . unusual traits than most. I’m also my mother’s daughter, but I’m not as strong as she remembers me. Much of my strength is spent in staying as I am.”

“What were you?”

“Something else, when the world was younger and had more room for roses.”

“Oh,” I said. What else was there? It made sense the same way everything in Faerie does: sideways and upside down, like looking in an underwater mirror.

Luna lifted her wounded hand, studying it. “I paid for the right to bleed when something cuts me. Mother won’t understand that, and I can’t expect her to. It’s not in her nature.”

“What isn’t in her nature?”

“Bleeding.” She closed her hand.

I looked at her, shivering, and said, “Now what?”

“Now you take the rest of your children home.” She smiled wanly. “Sylvester and I will . . . we’ll make our peace. We’ll do what we can for the children staying here, and for Quentin’s lady love. There must be a way around what Father did to her. Spells can always be broken.”

“All right,” I said, nodding. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Are you sure?” Her smile faded. “My father knows your name, and you’ve chosen Death for your driver. I’m sure she’s a sweet death, and one who wears your face most prettily, but she’s Death all the same. I’m sorry to be part of the reason that she’s here, but if you come back, it will be a miracle.”

“I’ll be back.”

“As you say.” She looked down, watching the blood trickling down her fingers. “You should go. The day is waning.”

I knew a dismissal when I heard one. I bowed and turned toward the door, shivering despite the warmth in the hall. Nothing was what it was supposed to be; I wasn’t sure I even knew who Luna was anymore. I certainly didn’t know who I was, and now I was going to die. The week just kept getting better.

I stepped back into the mortal world, closing my eyes as the door swung shut behind me, trying to reorient myself. The shock of transition is always there when we move between worlds; just another little consequence of being what we are.

For some reason I wasn’t surprised when I heard a familiar voice behind me, sounding amazed and a little frightened. It had been that kind of week. “That wasn’t you, was it?” I opened my eyes and turned to face Connor. He stared. “I saw your car, and you were with it, but you looked right through me. I thought you were mad, but you’re not, are you? That wasn’t you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Oh, there was a clever lie.

“Of course not. Toby.”

“Why are you calling me that?” My voice sounded childish and shrill, even to my own ears.

He shook his head, walking toward me. “Did you think losing a few years would fool me?”

“I sort of hoped,” I said, shoulders sagging.

“Wrong answer. I knew you when you were a kid, remember? You tried to drown me in your mom’s garden pond and got angry when I wouldn’t die. I used to spend hours watching you chase pixies in the hedge maze. I know you, October Daye, and you can’t hide from me.” He paused. “I’m sorry you feel like you need to. I don’t understand why.”

“I don’t,” I said, reeling. I don’t need anyone to know me that well. “This wasn’t voluntary—the Luidaeg did it to me.”

His eyes widened at the Luidaeg’s name, and he asked, “Why?”

“She said she needed to.” If he wanted the details, he could damn well drag them out of me. I didn’t feel like sharing.

“I see.” He looked at me for a moment, deciding not to press the issue. Smart boy. “So who’s the clone with the car?”

In for a penny, in for a pound. “That’s May.”

“She looks just like you.”

“We’re sort of related.”

“I didn’t think you had a sister.”

“She’s not my sister.”

“So who is she?”

“My Fetch.”

The world stopped as Connor stared at me, shock and terror warring for dominance of his face. Finally, voice barely audible, he said, “What?”

“She’s my Fetch. She showed up just after you called this morning.”

He swallowed hard before asking, “Is that why you didn’t eat anything at breakfast?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“You could have said something.”

“I was in denial.”

“That’s no excuse.”

“Sorry. Next time Death decides to show up at my door, you’ll be the first to know.”

He dropped to his knees with a barking sigh. I stepped forward to meet him, and we clung to each other like we could stop the end of the world, me on my tiptoes and Connor kneeling. Spike leaned against me, chirping as Connor buried his face in my hair and shuddered.

“Don’t die,” he whispered. “Please, don’t die . . .”

Funny—I shared the sentiment. I didn’t say anything, but I held him and let him hold me. Maybe it wouldn’t change anything, but it could help, for a little while.

We let go of each other after a long while. Connor stood, asking, “Where are you going?”

“I have to get the rest of the kids home.”

“I’m coming with you.”

I paused, thinking about arguing, and then shrugged. If I was going to die and he wanted to be there, I wouldn’t stop him. “Fine. I do have one question, though.”

“What?”

“Do you want to drive?”

NINETEEN

MAY MOVED TO THE BACKSEAT with surprisingly good grace, pausing to stage whisper, “He’s cuter than I remembered!” Connor heard her and turned beet red; May winked at him, grin broadening as I glared. If she hadn’t been my personal incarnation of death, I’d have smacked her. As it was, I was strongly tempted.

Connor eyed May, saying, “Toby—”

“I know, Connor.” I climbed into the car, fastening my seat belt. Spike jumped up onto the dashboard and chirped, thorns rattling.