9. The Eyes

Three more weeks, four more dates, twenty-one nights of staying up late on the phone with each other. Despite their difficulties with Micah's Fae side, everything with each other felt…right. Intimate. Easy.

"Any trouble with the Folk?" Micah asked, every day.

"Just you," Andrew answered every time.

By the third week, every night they greeted the dawn as it spilled periwinkle across a navy watercolor sky, sitting on Micah's front steps or in the park across from Magic's. Talking, or sometimes not even talking, they were simply learning the shapes of the spaces they each took up.

The fifth date was the wettest so far. It was raining, and their shoes were soaked. The movie theater parking lot had been bursting with cars, necessitating a long walk in growing puddles to and from the theater. The movie was fine, mostly uninteresting to both of them, given that the main incentive was to make out in the dark like they were high schoolers.

"What do people call it?" remarked Micah, scratching his cheek. The Saturn idled in front of his brownstone on Saint Claire, headlights cutting into the shadows. Through the static of the rain, the windows on the row of tall houses glowed with buttery light or were already dark with the oncoming night.

"Call what?" Andrew couldn't help but notice his heart do a little somersault.

"Oh yeah. Want to come in for a nightcap?" Micah faked a very poor British accent.

"Sure. If you never do that accent again. It's worse than Sam's." He shut off the Saturn and they got out together, not really minding the rain since they were already damp.

Micah said smugly, "I'm going to perfect it. Just you watch."

When Micah unlocked the front door and it swung inward, a crash resounded from up the stairs. His eyes widened. He dropped his keys on the landing and tore up the stairs, slipping on the top step, but recovering and disappearing just as fast.

Andrew hurried in after him, throwing the lock shut on the front door as yelling echoed down from the level above him. Tripping out of his shoes, he staggered into the living room, but nobody was there. Andrew followed the clanging and yelling down the hall and came to an open kitchen on his left.

Baking sheets laid across the floor like corpses, the flour coating the tiles like blood. A fire alarm was screaming as smoke streamed from an oven door hanging open. Julian knelt in the mess with shoulders hunched and tears streaming down his face. He yelled, "It's not the same! It's not right. I can't get it. I'm gonna die."

After throwing open a window over the dining table and twisting the knob on the oven off, Micah crouched near his father. Hands up, focused on Julian with desperate intensity, Micah said only just loud enough to be heard over the smoke alarm, "Dad. Dad, hey. You're safe. You're not alone. It's okay that you can't get it right. That wasn't good for you."

Julian screamed, "I don't care! I want to go back." He picked up a spatula and cast it aside so it cracked into the refrigerator. Then he leapt to his feet and lunged at the knife block near the sink. "If I can't—" Micah was on him in a heartbeat, pinning his wrist to his stomach, turning him away from the counter. The knife clattered to the ground.

"Dad! Dad. Take a breath. Come back. You're safe here. I know it's not the same, but it's safe."

Julian gave a guttural wail and hunched down to try to free his hand from Micah's grasp, clawing at his wrist.

Micah glanced furtively at Andrew and said through gritted teeth, "Can you help me get him out of this room?"

Andrew stepped in and Micah directed him to grab a hand and an elbow, and together they hauled the crying man from the kitchen and into the living room. Micah dropped Julian onto the couch and came around and knelt in front of him, forcing his father to hold both his hands.

"Dad. What do you smell? Soil, from the plants next to you. You keep them alive," said Micah, crooning as if to an infant. Julian groaned, dropping his head. Micah continued, "What do you hear? I'm turning on your favorite music. It's that old John Denver stuff." Micah had his phone in one hand and he tapped at it without looking. Heavy, slow guitar began and Julian shuddered violently. "Do you feel my hand on yours? Do you feel the couch under you? The springs are old, they're probably poking you." Julian went still, chin to his chest, breathing raggedly. "It's late," said Micah softly. "You should be in bed."

The man lifted his head. He looked at Micah and screamed, flailing an arm that connected with Micah's chin and sent him crashing into the coffee table. "The eyes!" screamed Julian. "Her eyes. No! Don't touch me."

Dazed, Micah tried to shake his head clear and rubbed his chin, groaning. Before he collected himself, Julian jumped off the couch and grabbed Micah by the collar, shaking him. "How could you do this to me?" he demanded.

Andrew sprang onto Julian. He hooked the man from behind by his elbows and hauled him off his son, pulling him back and calling over Julian's protests and sobs, "Where's his room?"

"Next floor up," Micah managed, shielding his eyes, knees pulled up to his chest.

The first few steps, Andrew had to drag Julian. Twice, he lost his footing and almost sent them both falling down the stairs.

Then, once Micah was out of sight, the fight left Julian. He grew quiet, sagging against Andrew as he dragged his feet up the stairs. When they got to the landing above, Julian tugged him toward an open door where a large bed was visible. Andrew wasn't ready to release him, but he let him lead them.

When Julian reached the bed, he picked up a prescription bottle on his nightstand, threw back a pill with a swallow from a mostly empty cup of water, and then kicked off his slippers. Julian climbed into the bed and curled up like a child, eyes closed, hands tucked up under his chin. He was still audibly panting, but he was motionless. Andrew lingered near the foot of the bed. He knew all too well how these kinds of meltdowns went. Sometimes there was a second wind.

The stairs creaked, and Micah padded onto the landing in the hall. Arms crossed, he stepped into the doorway, watching his father with a furrowed brow and a deep frown. Andrew backed up, hands in his pockets, until he stood next to the doorframe to wait with Micah. For several minutes, heavy silence blanketed the three of them like muffled winter air. A fluffy orange cat crept out from under the bed, its minty green eyes finding Micah and staring at him for several beats. Micah rubbed his chin, which seemed to break the cat from its paralysis. It jumped on the end of the bed and sat there, eyes on Julian's still form.

Finally tearing his gaze off his father, Micah turned back toward the stairs. Without looking, he said quietly, "Hey, uh, if you have any extra time, you wanna stick around?" His voice started strong, but faded into something soft that quavered like a leaf.

"Yes," whispered Andrew. "Of course."

Micah led them up another flight of stairs to the top floor of the brownstone. There was a door in the far corner cracked open to a bathroom lit dimly by a nightlight plugged in next to the sink. The rest of the floor was wide open with a tall beveled ceiling. A large open wardrobe displayed a somewhat unkempt collection of garments. An L-shaped desk sat in the far corner with a desktop computer on one end and paint supplies on the other. Plants were everywhere. A black cat edged into sight and acknowledged them with its tail down and thrashing.

Micah dropped down on his bed. His face crumpled, and he pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and began to cry. Sitting so their thighs touched, Andrew pulled Micah into his side and held him in silence.

"I'm so sorry you had to see that," Micah said wetly, using his shirt to wipe his cheeks. "It hasn't happened in like, a month."

"That happens regularly?" Andrew balked. "I'm so sorry for you guys."

Micah said through his tears, "I stopped bringing him to the hospital. They only make it worse, asking nosy questions, trying to call him delusional, but it's trauma from a place nobody thinks exists. He relives what she did to him and he craves the Redwoods and it's—" He covered his face, hardly intelligible as he moaned, "That fucking bitch."

Andrew asked tentatively, "What happened to him?"

Micah got up and began to pace over the rugs on his floor, tangling his hands in his hair, breathing more raggedly. "He was just a…a tool, so she could make me," Micah said, quaking beneath the rage and the injustice of it all. "Can you imagine?" Eyes narrowing, teeth bared, he said, "An eighteen-year-old oblivious kid, probably a virgin, on his first solo trip with his friends—she killed all of them, by the way, because that's the type of crazy shit she does—and he's snatched from the woods on a hike and…that's it!" He gestured violently. "That…that…that's it! His whole life. Just fucking…ripped away from him. And now he's that." He swung an arm in the direction of the stairs. "God, every time this happens, every time he struggles, it…it…it just makes me want to kill her!" He lashed out, kicking over his desk chair, which clattered into the floor and bounced several times with its wheels spinning.

Andrew jumped. For a second, he was twelve years old, hearing his mum's lawn chair crash from the force of his father's violence. He dug his fingers into the soft fleece blanket under him, focusing on the way the fibers caught on his skin, the small rustling noise they made. He inhaled, smelling sandalwood and vanilla, counting to five in his head before he exhaled.

Micah snapped free of his rage, freezing. He listened to the silence in the house, face toward the stairwell like a cat listening for someone at the door. The silence remained undisturbed, the two of them the only conscious people in the house.

"Oh my god," groaned Micah, leaning over his desk, head between his shoulders. "I'm sorry."

"No," Andrew managed to whisper. "It's okay."

"No, I saw you jump, and I…"

"It's just old baggage."

"I shouldn't have lost my shit," Micah murmured. He rubbed his eyes with his fingers and sighed. "My dad…there's…there's been so much of this since we came here. He doesn't even know what his name used to be, before the Redwoods. I'm all he has. I…I have to care for him. But it's so triggering for me too."

The way Micah's voice broke brought Andrew fully back to the present. He leaned toward the desk and said softly, "Yes, I see that. Please tell me about it. I can handle it."

"I'm not sure," said Micah. "I don't want you to…"

"Keep talking," Andrew insisted.

Micah shook his head slightly. "I don't even know. It's…it's unrelentingly cruel, that rather than let him go after I was born, she…she kept him high on her fucking little cakes, year after year after year, displayed for everyone to see next to her throne. I think she did it to keep me docile." He blinked. Tears dropped onto his hands. "So I was."

"How awful," Andrew said quietly.

"I was twenty when we got out of there." He slowly straightened, hugging his arms across his chest. "I was brand new to living around humans. I worked at two coffee shops and went to community college so I could try to figure out what the fuck I was supposed to do to survive here alone. I had to learn fast. My dad was…way worse than this back then. None of the meds the hospitals put him on did anything."

Andrew nodded grimly. "He's not psychotic. Those kinds of meds won't work. I've tried them."

As he tore a paper towel off a roll on his desk and wiped his face, Micah flashed Andrew a quick smile. "Now you see why I didn't question you." The smile faded almost at once. "The only thing that ended up working? Pretending like we were a happy little human family. Going to school, getting the tea shop, cooking meals together. Giving him the kind of mundane little life he was supposed to have. Eventually, most days out of the month he felt okay. Burying that shit kept him safe." Sniffing, his breathing still unsteady, Micah glanced at Andrew and concluded, "Until I met you, I was able to deny that the Nightshade Boy really existed. And when I charmed you, it made all my worst fears come true."

Andrew paused. "Which are?"

Leaning against the windowsill a safe distance from him, Micah looked overhead at his hanging plants, chewing on his words. "I…don't know what I am. What I could be. I'm not just a guy, like I was supposed to be."

"I imagine that would disappoint you," Andrew said.

Micah nodded. On the pothos above him, he turned over a leaf with a crispy brown edge, using his nail and thumb to clip off the dead part. "I wish it made me feel more ready to retreat and give you up." He brushed his fingers over the other leaves, looking for blemishes. "But I still want to be with you, even though I'm a liability."

Andrew snorted. "Shit, I am too. I'm very unstable."

"I respect your opinion," said Micah wearily, crossing his arms, "but you're not the one with the dangerous magical potential."

"That we know of."

Micah frowned.

"I just…" Andrew laughed, a humorless puff of air lodged between the ridiculousness of their argument and the fear that Micah was actually going to push him away. "I'm sorry, Micah, but it's my risk to take. I'm an adult. And so are you. Of course, I can't make you get involved with me if you're constantly going to be worried that you'll go off like a firework or something."

"No…" Micah slumped against the window. "No. You're right." He glanced over at Andrew, unsticking his still-damp shirt from his chest. "You can always change your mind, okay?"

"Lovely. Same to you."

Micah rolled his eyes, but he grinned a little, covering his face with hands.

"C'mere. Quit cowering by the window. Or do I smell? Is it the wet socks?"

Pushing off the window, Micah glanced down and muttered, "God, yeah. Everything's soggy." He unlaced his sneakers and pulled them off.

"Do you need an ice pack? Your dad really clocked you."

"I'm okay." Peeling off his jeans with an admirable amount of self-assurance, Micah walked lightly over to the bed. The mattress shifted as he climbed on, tipping Andrew so he bumped into Micah's thigh. Soft curly leg hairs tickled Andrew's arm, making goosebumps rise on his skin. He stole a glance and confirmed that even the hairs on Micah's legs were faintly green. Andrew started to sit up, but changed his mind, flopping onto his back instead and gazing up at Micah.

Sitting back on his knees, Micah looked down at him and said with a faint smile, "So, are you staying?"

Faint light from the rain-doused street lamps turned the bare curve of Andrew's shoulder milk-white. He slept soundly among Micah's blankets, hair draped over his cheek, lips slightly parted. Micah climbed back into bed as gingerly as he could, the chill of the air sharper near the warmth rising from Andrew's skin. Outside, the rain was still trickling down in a whispered cadence, but evidently Micah still made too much noise—maybe it was the little creak of the mattress—since Andrew's eyes flickered open.

"Sorry," Micah whispered.

Brushing his hair off his cheek, Andrew mumbled, "You apologize too much. Everything okay?"

"Just went down to check on my dad." Micah tugged up the blankets and then tucked them under Andrew's chin after he'd pulled them loose getting settled.

Andrew made a soft noise of understanding followed by a sigh like he'd never been more comfortable in his life. His eyes slipped shut for a moment and then blinked back open. "Do you not sleep well?"

Micah paused, rubbing his cheek on his pillow. "Never," he finally said.

Andrew's cool, soft fingers found Micah's elbow under the covers and then trailed up to his wrist. "That sucks," he said, drawing Micah's hand to his lips so his breath coasted across his knuckles. He left Micah's hand draped against his face, which was faintly coarse with stubble.

Unable to resist, Micah shifted his thumb slightly and brushed Andrew's lower lip. The flesh curved softly under his touch as Andrew smiled, eyes still closed.

"Sorry," Micah murmured again. "I'm just really excited to have you in my bed."

Andrew's smile widened. "The pleasure's all mine," he said against Micah's mouth, lazily joining their lips. His palm grazed Micah's cheek, his neck, and came to rest on his chest, fingers pressing firmly. Spurred onward, Micah slipped his arm around Andrew and his tongue into his mouth. As their breathing stuttered faster, Micah pushed Andrew lightly onto his back, propping himself on his forearms and leaning over him. His mouth left Andrew's to explore elsewhere, sucking lightly on his sharp clavicle, on his pectoral, then his nipple. It was salty and warm and dragged out the most delicious gasp from Andrew's throat. Andrew's hands slid down and gripped Micah's rear. Growling softly, Micah unclasped from Andrew's chest and ran his hand along his firm stomach, which quivered beneath his touch. When his fingers reached Andrew's waistband, Micah paused.

Andrew's cheeks and eyes shone with desire, and when Micah stopped, his brow crinkled. "What's wrong?"

"I want to have sex with you," Micah told him.

Andrew raised an eyebrow. "But…?"

"But not because I just got carried away." Micah lay back onto his side next to Andrew, who frowned at the ceiling as he scraped his fingers through his hair.

"I'm confused," said Andrew, panting, a note of desperation in his voice.

"I had a lot of reckless trysts in the Redwoods," Micah explained. "And…a few here. Ages ago. But you're not like any of them. Will you be patient with me?"

Andrew groaned. "Seriously?" He covered his face. "Ugh. Yes, of course. I respect your intentions." He peeked through his fingers at Micah, the beam of a street lamp glimmering in his eye, turning it topaz. "But I'm frustrated."

Micah clasped Andrew's face between his hands, laughing and pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose, his chin, and each of his cheekbones. "I swear I'll make sure it's worth your while."

"That's the trouble," murmured Andrew. "I very much believe you."

Andrew woke up to a cell phone chime he didn't recognize. Laying on his stomach, he peered through the veil of his hair. A large black cat crouched on the windowsill, which slitted its pale green eyes and glared at him. Andrew blinked slowly at the cat. Put off by his challenge, the cat flattened its ears. It stretched out its neck to the sharp leaf of a spider plant and opened its mouth of fangs, which glinted ivory in the morning light.

"Fadil," Micah called in warning.

The cat clamped its mouth shut. Its tail uncurled from its body and thumped against the wall under the window. It shot Andrew a look that suggested this was all his fault. Then it turned to glare sullenly out the window. Andrew couldn't resist a little grin of satisfaction before he rolled over.

Micah lay on his back beside him, frowning at his phone over his head. His thumbs tapped furiously, briefly, and then he dropped his phone on his chest and sighed.

"Everything good?" Andrew murmured to him.

Micah jumped. Scraping a hand through his hair—he seemed to do that when he was anxious—he looked over and managed a smile that almost passed as convincing. He reached behind him and let his phone clatter onto the milk carton he used as a nightstand. "Yeah," he said, nestling closer. "Yeah. Dad's gone out. I was checking in with him."

"Mm."

"And hey," Micah added, "thanks for staying over."

Andrew smiled faintly, slipping his arm under Micah's neck and drawing him into his side, where they lay together bathing in the warm morning light. He glanced down at Micah's closed eyes and then reached over and brushed his fingertip over his eyebrow. "Your eyebrows are turquoise."

"Oh." Micah touched them absently, eyes still closed. "Yeah. I usually put pomade on them. Draws less attention."

"I wish you wouldn't hide. It's unfair to you, masking your beauty."

Micah's eyes blinked open, gleaming lavender in the sunlight. "Beauty?"

"Of course." Andrew nuzzled his face into Micah's soft hair, toying with the heavy glass earring in his stretched lobe. "You're stunning." He inhaled deeply. "And you smell like summer. It isn't fair that you look the way you do and you are the most compassionate person I've ever met."

"You give me too much credit," Micah said against Andrew's throat.

"I'm not in the habit of that," Andrew said, hugging Micah tighter. "If I am, then it's because you've got me so smitten."

Micah moved back to scrutinize Andrew, who peered down at him with a sly and unapologetic curve of his slender peach lips. Snaking his hand out from under the covers, Micah tucked Andrew's hair behind the shell of his ear. "You too, huh?"

As realization brightened Andrew's features, sunlight glanced off the depths of his dark eyes. He cupped Micah's face between his hands and pressed a kiss to his brow, each cheekbone, his nose, and finally his lips.

In the kitchen, barefoot and wearing only track shorts, Micah poured boiling water into a coffee press and stirred around the grounds inside. He breathed deeply the rich, earthy smell of the beans to brace himself. Then he slowly began to pick up the pans and spatulas and dish rags his father had thrown around. He reached into the oven and pulled out the charred contents on the cookie sheet, frowning at the foul smell. It looked like they were supposed to be little cakes. Julian was trying to replicate the Fae-spelled cakes from the Redwoods. Those wretched little sweets.

Micah used a spatula to scrape them loose and into the garbage under the edge of the counter. Wiping the bottoms of his feet free of flour, he pulled out a cordless vacuum and powered it on to suck up the rest of the fine layer of powder on the tiles. With a sigh, he returned to his coffee and used the palm of his hand to slowly send the plunger down to the bottom.

When it was almost ready, Andrew appeared in the doorway. He'd rummaged through Micah's clothes to find a pair of black jersey shorts, tied tightly Micah noted, and thrown on a striped tee that was baggy in a way that made Andrew look unwittingly street chic.

"Hey, handsome," said Micah, smiling automatically at the sight of him. "You look adorable in my clothes."

Andrew tugged at his collar. "I don't think Fadil liked that I borrowed from you."

"He's very protective," laughed Micah.

Crossing the kitchen tiles to reach him, Andrew thumbed Micah's cheek and asked, "Flour?"

"I had to clean up." He pulled two mugs down from a hook. "Do you drink coffee, or just tea?"

"Coffee's fine if a cute guy is making it for me."

Micah puckered his lips at him, making Andrew giggle. He poured the steaming drink in both cups and picked up a sugar dish shaped like a house. Andrew shook his head when he held it out. Micah frowned at him and added a generous scoop of sugar to his own cup. Then he led them out through the living room and nudged open a door to the balcony.

The balcony was maybe ten paces long in perimeter, its triangular shape making it feel cramped. But to compensate, Micah had strung twinkling lights from the rafters overhead and put down bright yellow rugs on the planks underfoot. He had a hanging bench against one of the railings with throw pillows tossed across the wooden seat. There were plants sitting on the floor, plants hanging from the rafters, and planters on the railing.

Micah folded up on the cushioned bench and patted the space beside him for Andrew before taking a long sip of coffee. Behind his head, white violets twined through a small lattice he'd secured between the chains holding up the bench.

Andrew sat beside him with one knee tucked under and the other brushing Micah's. He blew gently on the steaming cup and then took a drink. "Where's your dad?"

"He usually avoids me the day after a meltdown." He pulled his phone out to check the Family app that let him track his dad. Micah's frown deepened. "But this feels…worse than usual. He's pretty far away. Like, over in Chaska. We don't know anyone out there…too far…west." Micah typed up a text to him asking where he was going and then set his phone aside. He held his mug in both hands and drank the coffee down quickly, its warmth filling his belly fast enough to make him feel nauseous. Staring distantly, he gazed at the tree-speckled space behind the brownstones, and the children's toys that splashed bright colors on the grass below them. Micah's phone dinged. I'm fine, was all Julian wrote. He groaned. "Wonderfully vague." He tried to start a call to him, but it was sent to voicemail after two rings. He texted instead, Why are you in Chaska?? Please call.

Tapping his thumbs together, he stared at his phone and waited. Ellipses bobbed over Julian's side of the screen.

Ellipses. They bobbed. And bobbed. Then they disappeared. Micah groaned again and tossed his phone onto the bench.

Andrew reached for it. When Micah didn't object, he thumbed through the exchange, and then frowned. He fished out his own phone, tapped in Julian's number, and dialed it. His lips pressed into a thin line.

"What?" Micah demanded.

Andrew looked between the two phones before his frown deepened. "Says his number isn't in service."

Micah snatched his phone back. He dialed his dad again, but Andrew was right. He hung up and pulled back up the Family app. Julian's icon was gone.

"What the fuck?" Micah muttered. A chill spread from his shoulders, turning his stomach and his legs numb, a buzzing sound rising between his ears. The Family app let Micah track Julian even if his phone was shut down. If Julian's icon had completely vanished…

He glanced up at Andrew, who was silent and watchful, a faint furrow in his brow. It was apparent that Micah didn't need to say aloud what he feared the most. Micah pulled up Chamomile's contact information and dialed her. The first time, it didn't make any noise. He dialed Chamomile again. A click.

"Who is this?" She slurred her words.

"Add my goddamn number to your phone," snapped Micah.

"Micah?"

"Obviously."

"What do you want? I'm still drunk."

"Chami, listen. Please. It's my dad."

"It always is." The lilt of her voice held a sigh of dismay and tenderness. "What's wrong with Jules?"

"I think it's serious."

The line went flat.

Micah swore and pitched his phone. Andrew flinched. It bounced away and lay screen-down on the rug. Then Chamomile stepped out of thin air onto the balcony, yawning and stretching her shoulders. She was completely naked.

Micah and Andrew screamed. Micah's full coffee cup tipped into his lap and his scream of surprise turned into a yell of pain. He jumped to his feet and swiped at his lap. Leaping up, Andrew pulled off his shirt and used it to mop up the coffee on Micah, sliding the fabric under the hem of his shorts to keep the heat off him.

Chamomile's eyes were half-closed as she looked around like she wasn't sure where she was. She wiped her arm across her eyes and shook her head as if to gather her senses. Her thigh-length hair was loose and bedraggled, her cheeks rosy, the tips of her ears and the contoured muscles of her belly sage-colored. She had smears of gold on her face and shoulders and a crown of flowers on her head.

"What the hell, Chami!" cried Micah. "You scared the shit out of us."

"Phones make my ears ring," she answered with a shrug. There were prominent golden kiss prints trailing down from behind her ear toward her chest. "What's wrong with you?"

Micah sagged back onto the bench. Andrew followed him, reluctant, eyeing Chamomile with mild contempt.

A scrabbling at the door made Chamomile turn around. She popped open the door inside and a black shadow streaked onto the balcony. "Fadil!" Chamomile squatted and scooped up the cat, whose purr rattled his body. Then she turned back, incidentally covering her chest with the cat, and raised her almost invisible eyebrows at them. "Well? What is it?"

"How did you do that?" Andrew demanded. "Just appear here."

"I folded some shadows," Chamomile said dismissively.

Ignoring their aside, Micah told her, "My dad fell off the grid. He was talking about my mother last night and then left on his own this morning. I have a bad feeling about it."

Chamomile frowned. "What am I…"

Micah interrupted, "I need you to tell Ingrid. I need her help. If he's trying to get back to my mother, I don't trust her to keep him alive."

"Why would Ingrid help you with that? She has better things to concern herself with than one human desperate for the Redwoods."

His expression darkened. "She'll help me."

"Then I will take you back with me so you can ask her yourself." Chamomile jutted out her chin.

"Chami—"

"You act as if you haven't spent the last twenty years rejecting your status and avoiding Lilydale," she added, not with as much cruelty as Andrew expected. "And also, you know I care about you, but I am not at your beck and call."

Micah blinked his stinging eyes, looking away with a nod.

Andrew let out an audible sigh. "I'll go with you," he said to Chamomile, standing up.

"No! Why would you do that?" Micah pulled Andrew back down to the bench, making its chain ropes grind.

"Because you don't want to," said Andrew, shrugging.

"That's insane. You're human. Don't recklessly go in and fuck with the Folk," said Micah.

"Ah." Andrew gave a humorless smile and wagged a finger. "Important thing to know about me. I am actually incredibly reckless."

"Hey, hello. Loverboys." Chamomile waved, annoyed. "I don't care who tells her, just not me. Can I go now?"

"Maybe I'm overreacting about my dad." Micah looked at his hands and said halfheartedly, "He keeps telling me I'm babysitting him."

Andrew and Chamomile didn't speak for a moment, the plants on the balcony whispering among themselves.

"Ingrid learned how to scry," Chamomile said helpfully.

Micah's heart leapt. He stood up, his mind racing. "So she can check where my dad is."

Andrew held his hand out to the faerie. "Let's go."

After blowing Micah a kiss, Chamomile clasped Andrew's fingers. As Micah yelled and jumped to his feet, the two of them vanished.