15. The Crash

Afternoon sun melted the snow from the limestone steps in Lilydale. Micah trudged down from the east end of the commune scraping his fingers through his hair. Ingrid's news sat in the pit of his stomach like sour milk.

Outside their tent, Andrew stared contemplatively over the valley. He was still in the cozy kind of sweats they wore while in the bluffs, his hair up in a bun. Micah wolf whistled him, drawing a smirk to his lips and a gleam to his eyes. He wished that Andrew's lovely face could cut through some of the fog in his thoughts, but since it didn't, he doubted anything could. He descended the last few steps that separated him from Andrew and then dropped his cheek onto Andrew's head. They both staggered while Andrew got his footing and threw an arm around Micah's waist. Micah draped himself around Andrew's shoulders, sighing until his lungs were empty so he could fill up on the almond-laced smell of campfire and sweat clinging to Andrew's soft skin.

"All right, love?" Andrew rubbed a circle in Micah's back. Micah's sadness felt like a cold puddle of rainwater in autumn.

"I'll tell you later," Micah rasped. "You're supposed to go meet your mum."

"Ah, you must be upset. You said ‘mum' with a straight face." Andrew squeezed Micah's waist and nudged his chin with his nose. He stepped onto the next highest stair so he could cover Micah's mouth with his own, kissing him until some of the petrichor faded from Micah's scent. Then he moved back and asked, "Can you come with me?"

Micah blinked, looking up at him and searching his face. "Really? Yeah. Of course."

"Splendid." Andrew kissed his cheek. "Let's get to the brownstone. Shadows, right?" He clasped their hands.

"Oh, Andrew, I'm sorry but I don't think I can risk folding shadows. I think we'll have to walk." He grimaced. "We should really figure out a better way in and out of here…maybe get a snowmobile…"

Andrew's heart sank. "Oh." He rubbed his brow. "All right. I…guess if that's our only choice."

The tragic slump of his shoulders and the way the spirit sank out of Andrew's voice dragged a sigh out of Micah's throat. "Ah, no. I can manage. You're right."

"Are you sure?" Andrew asked, grazing his lips over Micah's knuckles.

"Yeah, what the hell. How bad could it go?" Micah turned them toward the river valley. "Ready?"

When Andrew nodded and twined their arms together, Micah reached an empty hand toward the river. He pulled them into a shadow shafting across the bluffs from the branches of an enormous pine. The curtain of liminal space yanked them in, bucking and jerking like driving a car bottoming out on a gravel road. Despite this, Micah felt sure-footed for a few beats, carrying them down the hills and out onto the river, almost like flying. Maybe he was going to make it to the brownstone. Then he felt his shoe slip and plunge through shadows as unstable as broken planks on a bridge. Gasping, he hung tightly onto Andrew and pulled himself back in, staggering half a dozen steps as the frozen river raced up to meet them. Swearing and tripping, Micah dragged them forward, but the shadows rejected his efforts and spat him out.

They crashed into a switchyard west of the riverbank, breaking apart from each other, tumbling over the unforgiving steel tracks and into the wooden beams between. The rasping snarl of metal on metal pummeled the air, too loud, and growing louder.

Micah jammed both forearms into the gravel and jerked his head up. Monstrous headlights like wide staring eyes swallowed his vision. Flying straight toward them. The deafening horn of a freight train rattled his teeth. Too terrified to make a sound, Micah grabbed handfuls of Andrew's sweatshirt and folded him into his arms before somersaulting them off the tracks. The tornadic force of the engine roaring past sent them tumbling again before they rolled into a deep muddy ditch. The train cars rumbled past with merciless ignorance, twigs and gravel raining down on them.

Groaning, Andrew rolled onto his back. He stared at the cheerful blue sky while he sucked in ragged gasps of air. "Bad listening, Andy," he moaned. Then he lurched upright, twisted, and vomited into the gravel. Andrew didn't move, curled up, coughing quietly.

Numb with dread, Micah grabbed Andrew's arm and helped him sit up. "Shit! Andrew, I'm so sorry. You okay, babe?"

Dusty and stamped with grease from the tracks, his elbow bleeding through a tear in his sleeve and his forehead scraped open, Andrew swayed unsteadily with a pained smile. He wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. "I'm…er, fine?"

"I can't believe I almost got you hit by a train!" cried Micah, digging his nails into the soft underside of his forearms. The guilt was enormous, temporarily paralyzing him as he tried to plan their recovery, pulling up nothing but self-loathing.

Andrew stared up as the caboose of the train rattled away from them, barking a laugh and blinking in expressionless shock. "All right, pip pip, let's try again." He tried to get up, lost his balance, and fell into Micah.

"Like hell I will!" said Micah. "I don't know how that could go any worse, but it could, and I'm not going to find out how."

"Oh, tush. I'll just help you." Andrew squinted at the sky with a smile.

Perplexed by his dismissiveness, Micah pulled Andrew closer and peered seriously at him. "I…I think you have a concussion."

Andrew looked at Micah like he was speaking French. "What'd I hit?"

Micah gripped Andrew's chin and turned his face toward him, but he didn't actually know what he was looking for. He'd heard that mismatched pupils didn't always occur with a concussion. Micah dabbed at the pricks of blood on the scrape on Andrew's forehead. The sight made him ill, and he had suddenly more understanding of how Andrew had felt the day before, after Red Rabbit.

"Look at the sun for me." Micah pointed to the sky.

"You're the sun." Andrew giggled.

"Andrew."

Huffing, Andrew blinked his eyes toward the midmorning sun. His pupils were difficult to see in the depths of his dark irises, but they were undoubtedly way too big. Micah held his hand up to cast a shadow over Andrew, his nose almost touching Andrew's cheek. But when the light should have changed Andrew's pupils again, nothing happened.

"Fuck," Micah whispered. "Okay, we were on our way home to the brownstone. I need to get us there right away and…er…figure out what to do with you."

Andrew sat in silence, swaying slightly, staring at the tracks over them with his lips parted quizzically. Micah looked westward. They had fallen near the sharp escarpment that rose up toward Cliff Street, right beyond which was his brownstone. He'd literally almost made it. Kicking himself mentally, he knew with certainty he couldn't trust himself to fold shadows the rest of the way home. It was too bad Ingrid had stopped tailing him since Andrew had come home. Maybe if she'd witnessed this disaster, she would rethink leaving Lilydale for the Redwoods.

But…the escarpment was all rough limestone under a scraggly line of barren trees. That he could work with. He hyped himself up with one more look at Andrew's blank expression and bleeding forehead. Making the terrain work for him was not an option. It was a necessity.

"I'm not going to fold shadows," said Micah, "but I think I can get us home in one piece." He stood up and brushed off gravel dust from his pants and elbows, and then he reached down for Andrew, who tried to grab his hand but missed.

"I'm so sorry, babe." He miserably rubbed Andrew's arms. "I really messed you up."

"I'm fine." Andrew squinted, his brow furrowing. "Just feels like I got hit by a train." He froze for a moment before the pun dawned on him and he tumbled into childish laughter. With a beleaguered groan, Micah summoned the birchwood staff and hauled Andrew to his feet.

Andrew slapped his hand over his mouth, gagging so hard his shoulders heaved. Micah cringed involuntarily, shutting his eyes, braced to be covered in vomit.

Swallowing and smacking his lips, Andrew shook his head slightly and said, "Got ‘er down. Sorry." He hooked the staff under his armpit like a crutch.

"Okay, babe. Hold tight." Micah shifted his attention to the escarpment. Rather than relying on petulant shadows, Micah asked for help from the roots and the stones. The roots grew down toward him at once, like a giant's tangled hair, slithering over the limestone. The limestone was a new friend formed by his kinship to Lilydale, ever more familiar, ever more willing to work with him. The stones groaned, waking up. And as Micah fed the stone and the roots with the lively energy from his staff, a ragged and wild staircase formed, steep and uneven but functional. Micah breathed a sigh of relief and gratitude.

"Feels like my arm is falling asleep." Andrew hiccuped with laughter.

Micah dropped to a squat and leaned back between Andrew's thighs before rising sharply and throwing the taller man completely off balance. As Andrew fell forward with a gasp, Micah used his momentum to wrap Andrew's arms and legs around him.

"Hold on, okay?" said Micah. "Just squeeze me for all you're worth."

Andrew hummed happily. "Okay, Micah." Andrew was actually very slight on his back, his thighs and arms clenching so tightly that his muscles trembled. Micah fought for purchase on the rough stairway, pretending he was just scaling the familiar cliff outside Lilydale. But his fingers quickly became sore with cold, and Andrew didn't feel light for very long. Panic jangled like alarm bells in his ears, knowing how easily he could lose his grip and his fiancé if he failed. He climbed frantically until at last he grasped the wrought iron railing next to the sidewalk and sent a final burst of energy into the staff, which vaulted them up onto the pavement. To safety.

Tripping onto one knee, Micah let go of the birchwood staff and shook out his numb red fingers. Andrew dropped off his back, landing heavily on his ass with a groan. Micah turned toward him as Andrew's head swung down between his shoulders, and he dropped his forehead onto his scraped up palm.

Andrew groaned. "I'm gonna barf." He heaved, and then swallowed, saliva pooling in his mouth. Swallowing again, he took a deep breath. "No. I'm okay."

"All right," said Micah. "Just gotta make it down the block. Easy, right?" He stood up with the staff grinding into the pavement and closed Andrew's hands around it. "Come on, then. Hang onto my staff, okay?"

"I'll hold onto your staff any day." Andrew tried to wink, but he shut both his eyes. He climbed the length of the birchwood staff and got shakily to his feet.

Micah sighed. "Come on, big boy." They moved like an enfeebled old couple down the street, Andrew becoming slightly steadier as he went but keeping an arm around Micah's shoulders and a hand on the staff. The brownstone had never looked more inviting than now with its safe aloe ward, solid brick walls, heated interior, and running water. Andrew's boots scuffed on the iron steps as Micah got them to the front door, fumbled with his keys, and let them inside.

He called, "Dad? Fi? Can I have a hand?"

"Handful of that ass," slurred Andrew, and groped Micah's ass just as Julian came around to the vestibule.

"Uh." Julian turned around to go back up the stairs. "Can't unsee that."

Blushing, Micah hollered wordlessly before he managed, "Dad! Wait!"

Micah's tone made Julian turn back around. "What's the matter?"

Andrew stood over Micah, grooming his hair with his fingers. Making a face, Micah clung to Andrew's waist. "I…I was trying to get us home from Lilydale, and I messed up and dropped us on the switchyard off Shepard. Andrew has a concussion."

Julian tsked. He ushered the two of them further inside and shut the door behind them. "You need to be careful with him, Micah. Andrew is more mortal than you."

Micah's cheeks burned. His scalp tickled as Andrew braided his hair until Micah shooed him away. Andrew whined and dropped his hands, dejected. To Julian, Micah said, "I have to get him to see his mom in, like, thirty minutes. I need to get him cleaned up and changed and…I need help."

Julian nodded. "Tell me what you need."

"I can fun…function," stammered Andrew, grabbing the railing before the stairs that led to the living room. He tripped over the first two steps and made it up the rest with Julian and Micah herding him with hands on his arm and waist. Embarrassment heated to frustration in Micah's belly. Frustration and regret and a deep, deep sense of shame. At least when Micah had been shuffling around earlier in the week, it was because of evil mystical forces working against him. Andrew was tripping over himself—truly an unsettling sight with how graceful he usually was—because Micah couldn't successfully utilize one of the first skills Folk learned when they were children. He'd seen faerie children that were mere months old slip into the shadows when they tantrumed. Micah was forty-two and couldn't even travel a mile without almost getting hit by a train.

And what was worse: Andrew was in no condition to discuss this with him. The isolation was insurmountable, and it made Micah's eyes burn with the threat of tears.

In the bathroom on Julian's level, Micah peeled off Andrew's sweatshirt, wiping off the dust from the railway using a damp cloth before cleaning Andrew's bloody scrapes, while Andrew remained pliable but pale and clammy. Disappearing up the stairs, Julian retrieved a change of clothes for both of them from Micah's room before returning to his bathroom. Fionna trailed after him without her wolfskin, clinging to Julian's shirttails, whimpering when she saw the blood on Andrew before Micah bandaged him up. Andrew was quiet and distant when Micah closed the bathroom door to change Andrew and himself into clean clothes. Julian must have had the same sense as Micah, giving them nicer button-downs and sweaters so they'd look presentable for Liath.

"I'm so sorry," Micah said to him as he fixed Andrew's collar and brushed his long red hair.

"I'll be okay," Andrew assured him softly, still with a distant gaze and white lips, and a steady pounding in his forehead so thunderous that he felt the pain in his ears.

Micah opened the door to Julian and Fionna waiting anxiously.

"Thanks," Andrew said to the pair. He reached out to try to pat Fionna's head, but he missed twice before he managed to touch her.

"I'm coming with," said Fionna. "I want to help Dad-Andy. And see Liath."

"Oh." Micah blinked. "Yeah. I guess you lived with her."

"Around her," Fionna corrected. "Not allowed inside."

Julian frowned. "That's sad. You were very easy to housebreak."

She looked up, confused.

"The toilet," Julian clarified.

"Oh." She nodded knowingly. "Toilet much better than going in cold."

Julian held up a finger. "In the cold."

Fionna butted her forehead into Julian's elbow and scampered away.

"Or just be a barbarian!" Julian called after her with a roll of his eyes. "See if I care!"

Next to the bathroom, there was another spare room which Julian had converted into a bedroom for the wolf girl two weeks ago. He took pleasure in making the room cozy and childlike, with lacy white curtains and a silky purple bedspread. Fionna took pleasure in slamming her own door, frequently, like now.

While they were waiting, Andrew leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his stomach and chin on his chest.

"Drink some water," Julian said, pulling Andrew's wrist and setting a cup in his hand, hanging on so he couldn't spill. "Careful." He glanced at Micah, taking in his son's anxious hand-wringing and how he gnawed on his lip. "Hey, I know this sucks, kiddo, but it's not the worst thing that's happened this week," Julian remarked with a slight glare of his amber eyes. "I'm still very, very upset about how you almost died last night."

Andrew flung the glass into the air and showered all three of them with water as he exclaimed, "Same here, Julian!" Micah and Julian gave identical cries of protest as Micah caught the glass and held it out of Andrew's reach. Julian sucked his teeth, ripping his spectacles off his face and shaking them dry.

Fionna galloped out from the bedroom next to the bathroom, tamping down her wild hair with her hands. She eyed the three of them and demanded, "Why you wet?"

Micah closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. "Never mind. We gotta go, Fi. Give me a hand with him."

Fionna held out her hand for Micah to shake.

Julian smothered a snort of amusement.

Micah didn't relax until Andrew was safely buckled into the leather passenger seat in Micah's car. About halfway through the twenty minute drive, Andrew's complexion greened. Over his shoulder, Fionna stretched around the seat and opened the paper bag Julian had sent with them, just in time for Andrew to vomit into it.

"Dreadful," Andrew muttered.

Micah groaned. "Oh, babe. I'm so sorry."

"Quit apologizing." Andrew wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, leaning back against the headrest. "Just turn the air up for me or I'll be sick again."

Though Micah started to shiver, he obeyed, blasting air conditioning and pointing the vents at Andrew's pallid face. Andrew's long fingers touched the bandage on his forehead, exploring the extent of the injury, which caused him a wince and a long sigh.

Fionna plucked the bag out of Andrew's hand and crumpled the mouth of it so the smell was sealed inside. She replaced the bag with a water bottle, twisting off the cap, and nudged Andrew's wrist till he lifted it to his lips.

Micah looked back at the road, chewing hard on the inside of his cheek, gripping the wheel more tightly. He followed the console map's directive off the highway and idled at a red light. While he waited, he ordered the birchwood staff to grow. "Here. Maybe this'll help."

As Micah seized Andrew's wrist, the bark flaked off Micah and onto Andrew's bony wrist, reshaping itself into a bulky bracelet.

Andrew blinked. His vision was blurred, but the wooden bracelet was quite clear, and warm around his wrist. When the car lurched back into motion, he felt less sick than in the moments before.

"It did," agreed Andrew. "Are you sure I should wear it?"

Micah shrugged. "Why not? If it helps, that's that."

Relaxing into the cocoon of Micah's magic, Andrew rested his hand on Micah's knee and shut his eyes for the remainder of the drive winding through wide suburban streets past red and white drive-thrus and upscale grocery stores.

It had been some time since Micah had driven out of the city into the suburbs. It had been some time since he'd been even this far away from Lilydale. It felt foreign, like he was a bit empty. Like some pit in his stomach opened up with longing to be back. The address Andrew had for where his mum was staying led to a house in a generic neighborhood belonging to a wide but old rambler with a well-groomed lawn and a steep driveway that had a red truck parked in it.

Fionna unbuckled herself from the backseat and hurried over to the passenger door to let Andrew out. She took Andrew's hand and helped him to his feet. He looked almost as green as Chamomile standing outside the car wrapped in his tartan scarf.

When he caught Micah staring at him, he tapped the birchwood bracelet on his skinny wrist and managed a thin smile. Micah and Fionna mirrored Andrew's uncertain pace as they went up to the door, crunching over a healthy layer of salt on the slushy chunks of ice on the driveway. There was a trellis that had dried up roses clinging to it, and a doormat that said SPEAK FRIEND AND ENTER. Micah rang the doorbell.

A short, round old woman opened the door. She had wisps of white hair, enormously thick red glasses, and an equally enormous mole on her nose. Some kind of crocheted shawl hung over a black dress that was too tight for her. Maybe he was being a little paranoid, but Micah's heart flipped in his chest. She looked like a witch.

She eyed him up and down. "Lord Heartwood, I presume."

Expression carefully blank, Micah said, "Beg your pardon?"

She snorted. "Mm-hm."

In a buttoned flannel and worn jeans, Liath appeared at the woman's elbow. Her short, faded auburn hair was streaked with white and partially obscured by a cream-colored beanie. She might have been Irish, but she looked like an archetypical Minnesotan.

When Fionna danced from foot to foot and squeaked excitedly, Liath smiled and held her fingers out to the girl. Delighted to be acknowledged, Fionna bumped into Liath's chest and nuzzled her shirt while keeping her hand tightly clamped on Andrew's.

"Come on, then, you lot," said the old woman, receding into the shadowy house which wafted the stale scent of incense out into the mild air.

As he stepped over the threshold and into the house, Micah already had regrets. Before he could bite his tongue, he said flippantly as he passed Liath, "If anyone tries to kill me in here, so help me, I will go feral."

"Me too!" Fionna chomped her white teeth. She put Andrew's hand on her head and led him inside.

Guilt sank into the crease of Liath's frown as she looked away. "I vouch for your safety on my own life, for whatever that's worth," she told him quietly. She glanced up as Andrew passed her and caught his elbow immediately. "Andrew?" She touched the bandage on his forehead. "Are you all right?"

"Totally," Andrew mumbled, leaning a hand on the door jamb.

Liath's dark gaze turned to Micah for an answer.

"Well, ma'am, I'm afraid I gave your son a concussion." Micah's neck prickled with the heat of shame, back with a vengeance. His first real conversation with Andrew's mother and he had to confess to stupidly injuring her child.

Liath stiffened.

"Mum, it's no big deal," Andrew said seriously, talking to the door frame two feet to Liath's left.

Clicking her tongue, she muttered a profanity. "Come on, then. We'll have to take care of that if we expect him to remember why he needed me."

Micah slid out of his sneakers and adjusted the peeking hem of his striped dress shirt beneath his cardigan. "Ma'am, don't you think maybe he just wanted to see you?"

Liath smiled ruefully. She led him out of the vestibule into a sitting room with a bay window which allowed in cheerful afternoon sunlight. "You overestimate his affection for me." She sat in a floral upholstered chair adjacent to the window and cast a serious glance at the ceiling in a way that Andrew did when he was anxious.

Fionna yelped; in the vestibule, she was crouched helping Andrew get his shoes off, but he'd lost his balance and was leaning his elbow on her head. Micah hurried back to help as Andrew muttered defensively, "I almost made it." Micah held onto his waist and finished pulling off his boots, kissing his jaw when they were steady.

When the three of them turned back to the living room, Liath's eyes were fixed on them with thoughtful intensity. She looked away when Micah noticed her.

Nosing Andrew's elbow, Fionna led him into the living room and pushed him down onto a yellow velvet couch opposite Liath. It reminded Micah of a service dog attending to an owner in distress.

With Andrew situated, Fionna turned to Liath and said as she rocked on her heels, "Hi, Liath." Her little voice was a tentative petition for attention.

Rising from her chair, Liath reached for Fionna and pulled her onto her lap. "Oh, little one. I'm so happy to see you again."

Fionna squeaked joyously, squirming in the woman's arms. "I missed your smell. Like candles and ginger."

Eyebrows raising, Liath said, "Listen to those sentences. You've learned so much English."

Beaming, Fionna nodded. "Grandpa Jule teaches nicer than Dad-Andy. So does this." Fionna pulled Andrew's phone out of the pocket of her sweatshirt. Across the room, Andrew hummed in protest.

"I bet you know how to use that better than me," remarked Liath.

The old woman hobbled into the room with a decorated tray that Micah politely took from her and placed on a low oak table in the center of the room.

Liath looked down as Fionna hovered over the carpet bag by her feet, her tongue poking out of her lips. Giving Fionna a slightly exasperated look, Liath picked up the bag and fished out a shortbread cookie, dropping into Fionna's outstretched palms. Micah grinned despite himself.

Liath extracted a red square tin with a lid from her bag, glancing up at Micah's curious expression. "I always have the supplies for concussion relief. It's an old habit."

"Concussion relief?" he repeated.

"Aye. Part naturopathic—willow bark and ginger—and part enchantment."

"Andrew's been doing a lot of that herb mixing since he came back," said Micah. "Mostly on my account, trying to help my shoulder. But you should be proud to know that his concoctions were frequently effective."

"I am proudly not surprised," Liath replied. The old woman noisily cleared her throat, which Liath ignored with a frown until she did it a second time.

The women regarded each other in silence, making Micah feel like he was intruding on a private conversation. He backed up to the yellow couch and lowered himself to the cushion beside Andrew, sliding his arm around Andrew's small waist like he was holding onto a buoy in angry waters. Between Ingrid's announcement, Andrew's injury, the complex relationship Micah understood Andrew and Liath had, and this…witchy-looking woman, Micah's stomach was in knots and his blood pounded in his ears. He hoped this healing concoction worked for Andrew fast.

Shaking her head slightly as the old woman sat in the twin to Liath's chair, Liath returned her attention to her tea. She shuffled through plastic packets in the tin and then sprinkled several different colored herbs into the teacup. Her lips moved inaudibly while she cocked her head and studied her tin of ingredients. Then she filled the cup with steaming water and stirred for several quiet minutes, her eyes barely open.

The old woman smoothed her shirt and fixed her necklace before eyeing Micah without speaking. It felt like she was either reading his mind, or setting another curse on him. He stiffened, moving a bit closer to Andrew. The woman sniffed and said, "My name is Eda."

Swallowing, Micah said, "You already know me, apparently. But you can call me Micah."

The woman nodded. Her jaw worked for a moment and then she said, "I heard what those young girls did, and I'm personally concerned."

It took Micah a beat to realize she meant the witches. He flexed his shoulder, the thought of them bringing back a phantom pain to his sunburst scar. "All right," he said warily.

"Those girls violated a very old treaty," she went on. "And then so did the Ruby Daughter."

Clinking the spoon gently against the teacup, Liath handed it to Fionna, who hurried over to the couch and gave the cup and saucer to Micah. She sniffed Andrew's forehead, pawed at his cheek, and then returned to Liath. The cup wafted a stinging, heavily grassy fragrance into Micah's face that made his head briefly spin. He hoped this wasn't dangerous to feed to Andrew, but Andrew confidently reached for the saucer.

Helping Andrew get the cup to his lips, Micah kept his sights dubiously on this strange old woman sitting with Liath. He weighed his words carefully. "I'm sure Liath told you some of what happened, but I have a suspicion that you have other sources of information as well. I'm curious what your part is in all this."

"Yes, of course. I'm a witch," answered Eda calmly.

A growl rose in Fionna's throat and she edged further from Eda into the space between Liath's calves.

Eda waved dismissively at Fionna and said, "Peace, little faoladh. I have no interest in you."

"Sorry, but she's not the only one of us with a sour opinion on witches," Micah remarked.

The woman gave a long sigh.

Stroking Fionna's hair to soothe the girl, Liath said gently, "This is neutral ground. We needn't be dichotomous here. We meet in the gray areas."

Eda glanced at Liath, shuffling in her seat, and then shook her head slightly and slumped her shoulders. "Fine, fine." She pointed at Micah and explained, "Those girls—the ones who were there yesterday, who used your blood as a weapon—they are dabbling in dangerous magic with no respect for the context of any of it." Eda held him in suspense as she leaned forward and prepared herself a cup of hot water shot with honey, dropping a tea bag into it before sitting back in her chair. She blew gently on the cup. "I should know. I've been practicing witchcraft in Saint Paul for fifty years."

"That's an impressive resume," Micah admitted.

She nodded. "I helped write the treaty between the witches and the Folk in Lilydale with the goblin Chamomile."

Jaw dropping, Micah stared at her.

"What the fuck," Andrew muttered between sips.

"You haven't heard of it?" Eda quirked a brow.

"She was holding out on me," Micah remarked in wonder.

Eda shrugged. "The city creates many secrets as the decades pass. Those of us who hold them tend to preserve them."

"Apparently." Micah raised his eyebrows. This reframed many of the comments from Syabira and Nox about witches. They must have all known that Chamomile's treaty was falling apart.

"Tricky goblin," said Andrew, taking a deep drink from the teacup. He glanced at Micah and said, "She's always got something up her metaphorical sleeve."

Micah touched his hand. "You sound better."

He raised the teacup toward Liath. "She knows what she's doing."

Smiling uneasily, Liath gently pulled the bands for Fionna's pigtails out. She began a complicated braid with the wolf's silver-brown hair, slightly wild and very intricate. With a glance back up at Micah, she said, "I came up with that tonic when Andrew was a boy. I was able to perfect the recipe since his dad gave me quite a few concussions," she told him. "The drink will help him feel like himself—but he will need plenty of rest for the next week."

Micah grimaced, glancing from her to Andrew to ensure he didn't spill. "You two didn't deserve all that."

Liath shrugged. "We're safe now." She eyed Andrew. "Relatively."

Micah covered his face with his hands. "I'm sorry, Miss Ryan."

With a trace of a laugh, Liath said, "I'm only slagging you. Call me Liath." Her eyes crinkled the same way Andrew's did when he was teasing Micah, which was the only reason Micah knew what the hell she was saying.

"It was my idea that landed us on the train tracks," Andrew argued, his words slurring together.

"Did you say train tracks? Blimey," exclaimed Liath. "You two attract trouble, don't you?"

"Yes," they said together.

"So—" Andrew set the teacup and saucer on a rickety antique table on his side of the couch. He gestured to Eda. "What kind of ‘sponsor' is this woman, exactly?"

"Hmph," grunted Eda.

Liath shot him a very faint smile. "The kind of sponsor someone needs when they're addicted to magic."

"Is it her cabin you're living in?" asked Andrew.

"Aye, that it is."

"Liath told me about your involvement yesterday, as well, curse-breaker." Eda wagged a finger at Andrew. "You have an aptitude for magic, especially given your bloodline."

Micah quirked an eyebrow. "Bloodline?"

Giving Eda a sharp look, Liath said hurriedly, "Andrew, love, do you know what you needed from me today? You said yesterday you had something to discuss."

Andrew started to nod, which made his head swim until he stopped. He took another long drink from the tea cup and picked off a flower petal that stuck to his lip. He glanced at Micah and then leaned into him, taking comfort in the way Micah's thumb traced circles on his forearm. "I'll be in Lilydale too much for the hassle of getting in and out on foot or making Micah risk the shadows."

Micah looked down, shame heating up his cheeks.

Catching his look, Eda snorted derisively. "What do you expect, child? You are still a bit human."

Annoyance prickled Micah's skin. Why did this witch know so much about him?

Andrew glanced between him and Eda, his eyes slow to track and shift, his vision flipping upside-down. It made him nauseous, so he took another sip of the drink from his mum. Scooting into Micah's hip and pulling Micah's arm further around his waist, Andrew said to the women, "I…I was thinking, like, can we…er, Cirrus could just…disappear out of the restaurant. Can I find a way to disappear between Lilydale and the city and back?" He wrinkled his brow. "Does that make any sense?"

"Genuine curiosity here," said Micah, "but how do you know she didn't just sneak out the kitchen door when I was dying?"

"Could we make a waypoint?" asked Andrew, still watching Liath. "Like a—a video game?"

Liath and Eda traded a thoughtful look. Liath shrugged, but Eda nodded.

"But for whom?"

"At first I thought just for me, but maybe it's for anyone with a pee." Andrew blinked. "Key. Anyone with a key."

"It would certainly reduce careless access to Lilydale," said Liath.

Andrew nodded slightly.

Micah leaned his chin on his fist and asked Eda, "What did you mean, ma'am, about Andrew's bloodline?"

Eda looked at Liath, who widened her dark eyes with a silent plea.

Eda turned her watery blue eyes back between Andrew and Micah. She said with some scorn, "Don't you know where Druid magic came from, Lord Heartwood?"

Andrew kept his eyes on Liath.

Frustration boiled forth from Micah's carefully preserved calm, his palms going sweaty, blood pounding in his ears. "Look, Eda," Micah snapped, "I don't know what you think I'm supposed to know, but if you could cool it on the condescension, I would appreciate it. I came with my fiancé to support him, not to get lectured. Mind your own business."

Casting an uneasy glance between the women across from them and back to Micah, Andrew gripped Micah's knee, to comfort and to caution. Taking a breath, Micah leaned back with his arms crossed and narrowed his eyes, silent.

"I think you could use a pair of twin objects to make something function like a door for you, child," said Liath as Eda glared back at Micah and sipped her tea.

Faintly incredulous, Andrew told her, "I can't do anything like that without your help."

Liath grimaced. "Andrew, I…I don't know if setting foot in Lilydale is a good idea for me. For people in recovery…"

Andrew's shoulders slumped, almost imperceptibly, his sweater rustling enough to catch Micah's attention.

Micah said with sudden conviction, "I can ensure you have no access to anything with intoxicating properties. I don't like the idea of any humans accessing Fae-spelled foods. Folk don't even spell their food on purpose. It just happens. But now more than ever, most of the Folk in Lilydale would prefer just to be left alone, mind their own business, make simple foods to share with each other."

Eda raised her eyebrows.

Liath paused. "The Ruby Daughter has never restricted access to Lilydale. She's too ambivalent."

Andrew thought back to what Ingrid told him when they first met and he injured her. She couldn't be bothered. That had always been her stance; it was what Chamomile stated about her, as well. Ingrid couldn't be bothered. It was a significant obstacle even now for improving the safety of humans who meddled with the Folk. At least Micah had cast out Wex today, which would make the other Folk pause before distributing Fae-spelled foods outside the commune.

"The Ruby Daughter will be back in the Redwoods after Ostara," Micah told her firmly.

Andrew's jaw dropped. He suddenly felt like he was disoriented again, like someone gave him a violent shake just after his head began to clear. Ingrid was leaving? He turned to Micah. "Hold on. Ingrid is leaving?"

Micah glanced guiltily at him. "Sorry. That was why I was all out of sorts. She told me just before we came here, and…"

"Holy shit." Andrew leaned back and steepled his fingers over his mouth. "Oh, that's depressing."

"Fascinating," remarked Eda, sipping her tea.

"What happens then?" asked Liath.

Andrew looked over at Micah, silent, lips slightly parted.

Micah rolled his shoulders and squared his chin. "Lilydale is mine."