When she took her hands from the little pot, I saw letters written in silvery light upon it and upon neighboring pots, as if the letters had been awakened by the warmth of her hands.

The writing on the cracked pot said simply, Wormwood.

The letters began to fade, but I saw some of the others: Typhos. Pox. Atermors. Choleros. Malaros.

Typhus. Smallpox. The Black Death. Cholera. Malaria.

And Wormwood.

And there were lots of other jars on the shelf.

My hands started shaking a little.

"It is not yet the appointed time for that one to be born," Mother Summer said quietly, and her hard eyes flicked toward Mother Winter.

She didn't look back toward us, but her teeth gleamed from within her hood.

Mother Summer slipped her hand through my arm. I gave it to her more or less out of reflex, and walked across the cottage. She picked up her basket and then we went to the door. I opened it for her and offered her my arm again, and we walked together out of the cottage and into a modest clearing surrounded by ancient forest with trees the size of redwoods. They blazed with the colors of fall, their leaves carpeting the forest floor in glorious fire as far as the eye could see. It was gorgeous, but it wasn't anywhere on Earth.

"I think she likes you, young man."

"Yes, ma'am," I said. "I could tell, because of the cleaver."

"It is her way," Mother Summer said, smiling. "She rarely leaves our cottage anymore. She lost her walking stick. While your summons was impertinent, it was a necessity and you had the right. But it is terribly painful for her to travel, even briefly. You, a mortal, hurt her."

Mother Summer's words made the whole chopped-up-for-stew-meat situation more understandable. Beings like Mother Winter tormented mortals-not the other way around. I'd injured her pride along with the rest of her, and in the supernatural world such insults were rarely forgiven and never forgotten.

"She was balancing the scales," I said quietly. "Is that what you mean?"

Mother Summer nodded approval. "You phrase it simply, but not incorrectly." She stopped and turned to look up at me. "She cannot take you to the places we must walk if you are to understand."

"Understand what?" I asked.

Her green eyes reflected the colors of the autumn forest. "What is at stake," she said. "If you choose to walk with me, what is seen cannot be unseen, and what is known cannot be unknown. It may harm you."

"Harm me how?" I asked.

"You may never know a night's peace again. Knowledge is power, young man. Power to do good and power to do harm. Some knowledge can hurt. Some can kill."

"What happens if I don't have it?"

Mother Summer smiled, a gentle sadness in her eyes. "You keep the blissof ignorance-and consign our fates to fickle chance. Do not choose lightly."

I pondered it for, like, ten whole seconds.

I mean, come on.

I'm a freaking wizard, people.

"It's better to know than not know," I said quietly.

"Why?" Mother Summer challenged.

"Because you can't truly make a choice without knowledge, ma'am."

"Even if it may haunt you? Harm you? Isolate you?"

I thought about it some more and then said, "Especially then. Show me."

An emotion flickered across Mother Summer's face-gentle pain and regret.

"So be it," she said quietly. "Come with me."

Chapter Thirty-three

I walked into the ancient forest with Mother Summer on my arm, following a wide, meandering footpath.

"Do you mind if I ask you a question while we walk?" Mother Summer asked.

"Not at all, ma'am," I said.

"What do you suppose will happen to you if you do not heed Mab's command?"

"Command?" I asked.

"Don't be coy, child," Mother Summer sniffed. "What my counterpart knows, I know. Mab commanded you to slay Maeve. What do you think will happen if you disobey her?"

I walked for a while before I answered, "It depends whether or not Mab's still around when the smoke clears, I guess," I said. "If she is . . . she'll be upset. I'll wind up like Lloyd Slate. If she isn't . . ."

"Yes?"

"Maeve assumes Mab's mantle and becomes the new Winter Queen."

"Exactly," Mother Summer said. "In time, the difference will hardly show. But in the immediate future . . . how do you think Maeve will treat you?"

I opened my mouth and closed it again. I could imagine that vividly enough-Maeve, high as a kite on her newfound power, giggling and tormenting and killing left and right just because she could do it. Maeve was the sort who lived to pull the wings off of flies.

And I was pretty sure whose wings would be the first to catch her eye.

"Well, crap," I said.

"Quite so," said Mother Summer. "And if you do heed Mab's command?"

"Maeve's mantle gets passed on to someone else," I said. "And if . . . the adversary? Can I say that safely?"

Mother Summer smiled. "That's why we use that word rather than a name, Sir Knight. Yes."

"If the adversary has taken Mab," I said, "then it gets to choose an agent to take the Winter Lady's mantle. Two-thirds of the Winter Court will be under its influence." I looked back toward the cottage. "And that seems like it might be bad for Mother Winter."