“I’ll see you tried under Oberon’s Law once she’s gone. You’ll pay for everything you’ve done to us.” There was no sorrow in her eyes; just the petulance of a child whose wishes haven’t been granted. She was waiting for her mother to die and her father to go mad, and she was impatient because it wasn’t happening fast enough.

If I ever really hated her, it was then.

“I’d like to see you try,” I said tightly.

“You can take your trash and go, before I decide you’re better kept confined.” Raysel made a shooing motion with one hand. Glancing at Quentin, she added, “Best you don’t forget who holds your fealty, boy.”

“I know where my loyalties lie,” said Quentin.

His tone made me wince. Making an enemy of Rayseline Torquill might seem like the “noble” thing to do, but it sure as hell wasn’t smart. Quickly, before Raysel’s attention could fix on him, I said, “You know I didn’t hurt her.”

“You killed my grandfather. Some would say that’s enough.”

“She deserves a medal for that,” said Quentin. I blinked, surprised at the venom in his tone. “Any parent in this Kingdom would agree. My parents would agree.”

Almost sweetly, Raysel said, “Your parents have no power here.” Smirking, she turned on her heel and stalked away. The echoes of her footsteps filled the hall until she turned the corner, and was gone.

May stared, openmouthed. “What a—”

“That’s enough, May.” I turned to look at Connor. “Are you okay?”

“No.” He met my eyes without hesitation, shoulders falling into a resigned slump. “I don’t think ‘okay’ is really an option. But I’ll keep an eye on things. Let you know if I see anything suspicious.”

“Good. Keep an eye on Quentin.” If anyone was going to be “keeping an eye” on someone, it would probably be Quentin keeping an eye on Connor. Still, arguing over who was watching out for whom might keep them both occupied, at least for now.

“What?” protested Quentin. “I’m going with you!”

“No. You’re staying here.” He started to speak. I raised my hand, cutting him off. “If you follow me, Raysel won’t let you come back, and you need a way to contact me if she gets out of control.” Her tenuous sanity was clearly slipping, and I was getting worried about the people I was leaving in harm’s way. Especially Connor. Selkies aren’t built for combat on land, and she could break him if she really tried.

Quentin frowned, studying me before he said, “I’ll stay because you told me to. But I don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to.” I turned to Etienne. “You know I didn’t do this.”

“I’d kill you where you stand if I thought you had,” he said calmly.

“That’s fair.” I’d have done the same thing in his place. “Raysel . . . ”

“I know.” He glanced at the others. “We all do.”

“She might be dangerous.” It was a gamble, but I couldn’t walk away without warning them.

To my relief, he nodded, Garm mirroring the motion. “I know.”

“You’d best find out who did this,” Etienne said. “If you don’t—”

“I’m not stupid. I know what the risks are.”

“No,” he said, stepping back, “you’ve never been stupid, have you?”

“Only on occasion. Good night, Etienne, Garm, Connor. Quentin.”

“ ’Bye, Toby,” said Quentin. Connor didn’t say anything at all. He just stepped shakily over and hugged me. I returned his embrace as tightly as I could with the possibly poisoned cup tucked under my arm, closing my eyes for a split second. Then I straightened, pulling away, and reached for May’s hand.

“Good night, October,” said Etienne. He bowed awkwardly to May, obviously unsure of the etiquette involved in addressing a Fetch. “Ma’am.”

She managed an unsteady smile, grabbing my jacket as she stood. “See you later.”

Leaving them standing where they were, I led May down the hall and out the door, into the warm dark of the mortal night. We were halfway to the parking lot before she asked, “Toby? What just happened?”

“Luna was attacked, and Raysel’s telling people I did it.” I kept pulling her along, my shoes slipping on the damp crabgrass. “So now we have to find a way to fix things.”

“What if there’s not a way?”

“We’ll burn that bridge when we come to it.” We were approaching the car. Spike was curled in a ball on the hood. “Tired, guy?” I asked, picking it up and slinging it over my shoulder. It made a vague, sleepy sound as I unlocked the car.

“Don’t you mean ‘cross’?”

“What?”

“You said ‘we’ll burn that bridge when we come to it.’ Don’t you mean ‘cross’?”

I turned to look back up the hill. Somewhere up there, in a different world, a killer was on the loose, a Duke was mourning his wife before she was even dead, and that same Duke’s crazy daughter was already trying to take control.

“No,” I said, “I don’t.”

TWELVE

MAY WAITED UNTIL WE WERE IN THE CAR before turning to me and saying, “You’re going to tell me everything. Got that? Everything.”

“You’re right, but first you’re going to cast a don’t-look-here on us.” Her expression turned quizzical. I explained: “My head’s killing me, and I’d rather not risk getting followed home.” The statement “it’s not paranoia if they’re really out to get you” may be a cliché, but it’s a cliché I think I’ve earned the right to use.

Her eyes widened as my words sunk in. Nodding, she pressed her hands against the dashboard, and chanted, singsong, “A-tisket, a-tasket, a green and yellow basket, I wrote a letter to my love, and on the way I lost it.” Her magic gathered, rose, and slammed down on the car in a wave of cotton candy and ashes. We weren’t wearing human disguises, but we didn’t need them; no one would see us. Hopefully “no one” included Oleander.

I pulled the car out of the parking lot, grateful for the familiarity of the route as I began my terse review of the situation. It helped that May shared enough of my memories to understand why the situation felt so wrong. She’d never seen Luna’s true form—she was “born” before that particular revelation—but she didn’t seem to have any trouble seeing how deep the shit would have to be before Luna’s grip on her Kitsune skin started slipping. I laid it all out, every bit of it, and went quiet, waiting for her response.