“I hate you sometimes.”

“That’s fine. We’re still going.”

The Beltane Ball at Shadowed Hills is one of the Duchy’s biggest social events, and has been for centuries. It’s a night of dancing, drinking, and welcoming the summer. In short, May’s sort of party. My sort of party involves less of a crowd, and a lot more physical violence. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“It’s not,” she agreed. “But you can’t become Countess of Goldengreen, run out of the Queen’s Court like your ass is on fire, and then miss the big party. Not if you want to keep the Queen from figuring something’s up.”

“Crap,” I said, staring up at the ceiling.

“Basically.” I heard her sip her coffee. “You okay?”

I laughed bitterly. “I’m peachy.”

“There’s the manic-depressive sweetheart we all know and love. Get up. You’ll feel better after you’ve had a shower.”

“Look, can’t you just call Sylvester and tell him I’m not coming?” I threw an arm over my face to block the light. “Tell him I’m busy saving the world. Better yet, how about you just be me for the night? You look the part.”

“Uh, one, no way. Two, I might look like you, but the jig would be up the minute I opened my mouth.” She walked over and kicked the bed. “Get up before I get the ice water. You’re trying to wallow in your misery, and I’m not putting up with it.”

I moved my arm to glare at her. “I hate you.”

“I know. Now come on. We’ll go to the Ball, and you can meet my date.”

That was news. I sat up, blinking. “You have a date?”

“I do. See, unlike some people, I know a good thing when I see it.”

“I’m going to leave that alone,” I said, scooting to the edge of the bed. My skirt snarled around me, hampering my movement. “I’m up. See? I’m up.”

“Good girl. Just for that, you can have a hot shower.”

“Don’t make me kick your ass.”

“You can try. Now come on: breakfast, coffee, shower, clothes.” She stepped out into the hall, whistling. I flung a pillow after her. It bounced off the doorframe.

May was in her room with the door shut when I emerged, clearly having chosen retreat as the better part of valor. Smart girl. I made a beeline for the phone in the hall, only to find a cup of coffee sitting next to it. I had to smile a little at that. It’s weirdly reassuring to live with someone who knows me better than anyone else does, even if she is the living portent of my inevitable, probably messy, demise.

I leaned against the wall, dialing the number for the Tea Gardens. The phone rang enough times that I was giving serious thought to panic when Marcia picked up, saying, “Japanese Tea Gardens. How may I help you?”

“It’s me, Marcia. How is she?”

“Toby!” Her voice was naked with relief. “I’m so glad you called.”

“I would have called earlier, but I just woke up.” I sipped my coffee, scalding my lip. The pain wasn’t enough to stop me from sipping again. “May gave me a status report. Has anything changed?”

“No. Lily isn’t any worse. That’s good, right?”

I wanted to reassure her. I couldn’t do it. “I don’t know. Has there been any progress in finding her pearl?”

“Not yet. Everybody’s looking.”

“Keep looking, and make sure that whoever you have watching Lily knows to ask about it if she wakes up. I have to go to Shadowed Hills and make an appearance at the Beltane Ball before I can come. Call there if you need anything.”

“Okay.” She sniffled. “I will.”

There was nothing to say after that. We exchanged a few vague reassurances before I hung up, still unsettled. Attending a Ball while Lily was sick felt too much like Nero fiddling while Rome burned, but May was right; I didn’t have much of a choice, especially not the day after I’d been elevated to Countess. Playing by the political rules was suddenly a lot more important.

I took another large gulp of coffee before dialing Mitch and Stacy’s. “Almost sunset” meant everyone would be up; fae kids may be nocturnal, but that doesn’t make them immune to the allure of afternoon TV.

“Brown residence,” said the solemn, almost toomature voice of Anthony, the older of the two Brown boys. He was ten on his last birthday.

“Hey, kiddo,” I said, relaxing a bit against the wall. “Is your sister up yet?”

“Auntie Birdie!” he crowed, sounding delighted. Then he sobered, the moment of exuberance fading as he said, “Karen went back to bed, but she told everybody that if you called, we should say you know everything she knows, and she doesn’t know why it’s important. Did she dream with you last night?”

“Yeah, she did,” I said, resisting the urge to start swearing. “Look, when she wakes up, tell her to call if she thinks of anything, okay? And tell your mom I’ll try to come over soon.”

“Promise?”

“Double-promise. I miss you guys.” The Browns are some of my favorite people in the world. It just seems like there’s never time for the good parts of life these days, like hanging out with my old friends and their kids. It’s been one emergency after the other, practically since I got out of the pond.

“We miss you, too, Auntie Birdie,” said Anthony gravely.

Much as I wanted to stay on the line and ask him to tell me what he was studying, what his brother and sisters were doing, all the things a good aunt would ask, there wasn’t time. I repeated my promise to visit soon and hung up, realizing as I did that I was hungry. Apparently the coffee had been enough to wake up my stomach.

I went to the kitchen and filled a bowl with Lucky Charms and coffee. Cliff used to make gagging noises and pretend to choke when I did that, but it’s how I’ve always liked my cereal. I paused with the spoon halfway to my mouth as I realized that, for the first time in a long time, the thought of Cliff didn’t hurt. It made me sad, sure—he wasn’t just my lover and the father of my child; he was one of my best friends, and losing friends is never fun—but it was only sadness. No pain. No longing.

Maybe I was starting to move on.

I did feel better after eating, and a shower would probably make me feel almost normal. I left my empty bowl on the counter, fighting with my dress all the way to the bathroom. I’ve worn enough formal gowns to know how to move in them, but they were almost all illusionary, making changing out of them nothing more than a matter of dropping the spell. This dress was heavy, dirty, and all too real. Getting it off felt almost like a moral victory.