He gave a dry sort of chuckle and shook her hand. His was warm. “A pretty name for a pretty girl.”

Dru felt herself blush. Jaime wasn’t as perfectly handsome as Perfect Diego—his nose was a little too big, his mouth too wide and mobile—but his eyes were a brilliant sparkling brown, his lashes wickedly long and black. And there was something about him, a sort of energy that Diego didn’t have, handsome as he was.

“Cristina must have told you terrible things about me,” he said.

She shook her head, drawing her hand back. “She hasn’t said much about you to me at all.”

Cristina wouldn’t have, Dru thought. She wouldn’t think of Dru as old enough to confide in, to share her secrets with. Dru only knew what the other girls had dropped in casual conversation.

Not that she’d admit that to Jaime.

“That’s very disappointing,” he said. “If I were her, I wouldn’t be able to stop talking about me.” His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Do you want to sit down?”

Feeling slightly flustered, Dru sat beside him.

“I’m going to confide in you,” he said. It seemed like an announcement, as if he’d made up his mind on the spot and felt it was important to publicize as soon as possible.

“Really?” Dru wasn’t sure anyone had ever confided in her before. Most of her siblings considered her too young, and Tavvy had no secrets.

“I came here to see Cristina, but she can’t know I’m here quite yet. I need to communicate with my brother first.”

“Is Diego all right?” Dru said. “The last time I saw him—I mean, I heard he was all right after the fight with Malcolm, but I haven’t seen him or heard from him, and he and Cristina—”

She clammed up.

He laughed softly. “It’s all right, I know. Ellos terminaron.”

“They broke up,” she translated. “Yes.”

He looked surprised. “You speak Spanish?”

“I’m learning it. I’d like to go to the Mexico City Institute for my travel year, or maybe to Argentina to help rebuild.”

She saw his long eyelashes sweep down as he winked. “Not eighteen yet, then?” he said. “It’s all right. Neither am I.”

Not even close. But Drusilla just smiled nervously. “What were you going to confide?”

“I’m in hiding. I can’t tell you why, only that it’s important. Please do not tell anyone I’m here until I can talk to Cristina.”

“You haven’t committed a crime or something, have you?”

He didn’t laugh. “If I said no, but I might know who did, would you believe me?”

He was watching her intently. She probably shouldn’t help him, she thought. After all, she didn’t know him, and from the few things Diego had said about him, it had been clear he thought Jaime was trouble.

On the other hand, here was someone willing to trust her, to put their plans and safety in her hands rather than shutting her out because she was too young, or because she should be looking after Tavvy.

She exhaled and met Jaime’s eyes. “All right,” she said. “How were you planning on not being seen until you can talk to Cristina?”

His smile was blinding. She wondered how she’d ever thought he wasn’t as good-looking as Diego.

“That’s where you can help me,” he said.

* * *

Having climbed up the side of the cottage and onto the roof, Emma reached out to help Julian up after her. He declined the hand, though, flipping himself easily up onto the shingled surface.

The roof of Malcolm’s cottage was tilted at a slight grade, overhanging the front and back of the house. Emma walked down to the edge of the roof where it protruded over the front door.

From here, the trap was visible. Mark had told them what bait was best: Piskies loved milk and bread and honey. They also loved dead mice, but Emma was unwilling to go that far. She liked mice, despite Church’s deep-seated antagonism toward them.

“And now we wait,” Julian said, sitting down on the edge of the roof. The bowls of milk and honey and the plate of bread were out, shining temptingly on top of a pile of leaves near the path to the door.

Emma sat down beside Jules. The sky was cloudless blue, stretching away to where it met the darker sea on the horizon. Slow mackerel boats traced white patterns on the sea’s surface, and the dull booming roar of the waves was a soft counterpoint to the warm wind.

She couldn’t help but be reminded of all the times she and Jules had sat on the roof of the Institute, talking and looking at the ocean. An entirely different shore, perhaps, but all seas were connected.

“I’m sure there’s some kind of law about not trapping piskies without permission from the Clave,” said Emma.

“Lex malla, lex nulla,” said Julian with a regretful wave of his hand. It was the Blackthorn family motto: A bad law is no law.

“I wonder what other family mottoes are,” Emma mused. “Do you know any?”

“The Lightwood family motto is ‘We mean well.’ ”

“Very funny.”

Julian looked over at her. “No, really, it actually is.”

“Seriously? So what’s the Herondale family motto? ‘Chiseled but angsty’?”

He shrugged. ‘If you don’t know what your last name is, it’s probably Herondale’?”

Emma burst out laughing. “What about Carstairs?” she asked, tapping Cortana. “ ‘We have a sword’? ‘Blunt instruments are for losers’?”

“Morgenstern,” offered Julian. “ ‘When in doubt, start a war’?”

“How about ‘Has even one of us ever been any good, like ever, seriously’?”

“Seems long,” said Julian. “And kind of on the nose.”

They were both giggling almost too hard to talk. Emma bent forward—and gave a gasp, which combined with the giggle into a sort of cough. She slapped her hand over her mouth. “Piskies!” she whispered through her fingers, and pointed.

Julian moved soundlessly to the edge of the roof, Emma beside him. Standing near their trap were a group of scrawny, pallid figures dressed in rags. They had near-translucent skin, pale hair like straw, and bare feet. Huge black pupilless eyes stared from faces as delicate as china.

They looked exactly like the drawings on the wall of the inn where they’d eaten the day before. She hadn’t seen a single one in Faerie—indeed, it seemed true that they had been exiled to the mundane world.

Without a word, they fell on the dishes of bread, milk, and honey—and the ground gave way under them. The frail construction of branches and leaves Emma had laid over the mouth of the pit Julian had dug fell away, and the piskies tumbled into their trap.

* * *

Gwyn made no attempt at small talk as his horse soared through the air over Alicante and then the woods of Brocelind Forest. Diana was grateful for it. With the wind in her hair, cool and soft, and the forest spread out below her in deep green shadow, she felt freer than she had in what seemed like a long time. Talking would have been a distraction.

Dawn gave way to daylight as she watched the world rushing by under her: the sudden flash of water, the graceful shapes of fir trees and white pine. When Gwyn pointed the horse’s head downward, and it began to descend, she felt a pang of disappointment and a sudden flash of kinship with Mark. No wonder he had missed the Hunt; no wonder that even when he was back with his family, he had yearned for the sky.