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I
t’s nothing.” Sonny lowered his voice so that Fennrys, following behind on Lucky, wouldn’t hear him.

“Sonny . . . you’re being weird.” Kelley was staring at him, waiting for an answer to her question. “It’s
not
nothing.”

They had stopped in a nondescript clearing just off the path they’d been following. Sonny turned from Kelley, avoiding her searching stare, and concentrated for a moment. With a thought he lifted the veil from around his cottage, and the squat little house with its tiny, stone-fenced yard shimmered into view. Kelley blinked, her mouth in an O, and gazed at the place for a moment. But as Sonny reached for Lucky’s bridle to lead him into the yard, she put a hand on his arm.

“What’s
wrong
?” she asked again.

“You were hugging him!” he blurted.
You idiot,
he cursed himself silently.

“What? When?”

“When . . . when you came through the rift,” Sonny stammered, not wanting Kelley to know that he’d been spying on her with Mabh. “You were . . . hugging.”

Kelley slowly turned her face to look up at him. “Okay. See, that’s something.”

Sonny felt his heart sink. “It is?”

“No!” She almost shouted at him. “You were right the first time. That really
is
nothing! For one thing, it was dragging, not hugging. And for another, what if I was? I’m in the
theater,
Sonny. We hug everyone.”

“I’m in the Janus Guard,” he muttered stubbornly. “We don’t.”

“Aw, c’mon, Irish,” Fennrys interjected, even though he had to do it through clenched teeth as he slid off the kelpie’s back. “For my part, I thought it was more of a cuddle than a hug.” He winked at Kelley.

She gave him a flat, annoyed stare. “Don’t make me finish the job that Faerie creep started, Fennrys,” she warned.

Fennrys laughed, a low growling sound in the back of his throat, and limped off toward the cottage.

A small, secret shame flared up behind Sonny’s eyes, making him see red for a moment. It was irrational, but many-sourced: foremost was the fact that, when Mabh had shown him the vision of Kelley in the mortal world, she’d had her arms wrapped around Fennrys. Adding to the conflicting emotions was the fact that, while he and Fennrys had never been exactly close—certainly not as close as he and Maddox—the Wolf was a colleague. A friend, even, of sorts. And it appeared as though he had almost been killed defending Kelley.

While Sonny had been notably absent.

That’s what made it infinitely worse—the fact that Sonny could only watch as Kelley’s expression filled with sympathy when Fennrys ground his teeth in pain . . . and wish it had been
him
.

“Sonny?” she asked as his silence stretched long.

“What were you doing in the park?” he asked, taking her arm and trying to sound more casual as they walked toward the cottage.

“What?”

“When you were attacked. Why were you in the park?”

“I . . .” Kelley looked away, her cheeks coloring. “I just like to spend time there. Sometimes.”

“With Fennrys?” The words were out of Sonny’s mouth before he could stop himself, and he instantly regretted the asinine question.

“What?” Kelley’s eyes flew wide, and she yanked her arm away. “No! No. He was just walking me home.”

“Walking you home from where?”
Flannery, you idiot, stop!

Kelley crossed her arms over her chest, stopping just inside the door of the little house, and her gaze went a bit flinty at the interrogation. “If you must know, I was at a place called the River—”

“What? Titania’s place?” Sonny rounded on Fennrys, who was lowering himself gingerly onto the narrow cot in the corner of the cottage’s single room. “Damn it! What were you thinking, taking her there?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Fennrys protested. “
I
didn’t take her anywhere, Irish.” His pale eyes gleamed with amusement. “I just kept her company once she got there. Somebody had to show the lady a good time—”

“Fenn,” Kelley interrupted sharply as Sonny spluttered in outrage, “you can slip into unconsciousness from the pain
any
time now, okay?”

“I have an unfortunately high tolerance.” He shrugged apologetically.

“You want to test that theory?” she said acidly, glaring at him, and went to sit in the little window bay.

Fenn chuckled.

Sonny fetched the large wooden box he kept well-stocked with first-aid supplies. “Get up and go stand against the wall,” he told the Wolf brusquely.

“That’s right, Irish,” Fenn murmured—just softly enough so that Kelley couldn’t hear—as he rose stiffly. He leaned back, bracing his good shoulder against the wall of the cottage. “I almost died saving your girl.”

Sonny ignored the goad. Fennrys was a jackass. Always looking for a fight—even within the ranks of the Janus Guard—and Sonny refused to indulge him. “You might want to look elsewhere for a few moments,” he suggested to Kelley, and firmly grasped Fennrys’s arm, careful to avoid his broken wrist. Holding it out straight, he told the other Janus to lock his elbow. “You want something to bite down on?” he asked.
Like a gag?

“Nah. I’m a straight-up hero.”

Or my fist . . .

“Hold still, hero,” Sonny said in a flat voice and, gripping Fenn’s arm, thrust the dislocated shoulder joint up and in, snapping it back into place with a sickeningly meaty
pop
. The muscles in Fennrys’s neck bulged and his eyes rolled white with flaring agony. But the only actual sound he made was a barely audible gasp as he sank down the wall. Sonny watched as the Wolf’s gaze slid over to where Kelley sat on the windowsill to see if she was watching. It was pretty obvious that he was expecting her to be massively impressed. She just shook her head.

“Are you done trying to be stoic, Fenn?” she asked.

“Wh—what?” Through the fog of pain (which he was clamping down on—stoically), Fennrys blinked up at Kelley, his expression bemused.

Sonny grinned smugly.

“And Sonny?” Kelley continued. “A little compassion is a sexy thing.”

The grin crumpled and died on Sonny’s face.

“Boys,” she muttered in disgust, and turned away, staring out the window and thoroughly ignoring them both.

“She always that touchy?” Fennrys whispered through clenched teeth, as he moved toward the narrow bed and settled down carefully with an unstoic groan of pain.

Sonny just looked at him, undecided as to whether he should thank him for helping Kelley or hit him over the head.

T
he air remained thick with animosity between the two Janus Guards, even after Sonny had managed to splint and bandage Fennrys’s wrist. Kelley had gone from sneaking glances over her shoulder at the procedure to watching outright as Sonny worked with deft assurance: fashioning a sling for Fenn’s wounded arm, tying the cloth—none too gently—around the other Janus’s neck; running another strip of cloth around his torso, tying that off too; immobilizing Fenn’s arm against his chest. It reminded Kelley in no uncertain terms that the Janus were seasoned warriors—and used to dealing with the consequences of their vocation.

The sun was near to setting as Sonny finished the job, and Kelley noticed that tiny little winged specks of light had begun to drift about the room, setting alight the candles and lamps that were scattered on the few flat surfaces as the day grew dim outside. Two or three of the minuscule sprites drifted close enough to inspect Kelley where she sat—one brave spark even diving into her auburn hair, squeaking with what sounded like delight as it reemerged, and running a strand of her hair through the tiniest hands Kelley had ever seen. The teensy creature was soon joined by several of its fellows, and Kelley had a hard time keeping a straight face as they burrowed and yanked and dove in and out of her curls as if they were waves on a beach.

From the corner of her eye, she noticed a stack of rumpled paper lying on the tiny table beside the bed, next to an oil lamp. As a fire sprite coaxed the lamp to life, the flame from the trimmed wick cast enough light to gleam off the two brass fasteners left holding the pages together, and illuminate a few of the words on the top page.
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
—it was her old script. She’d told Sonny to keep it. For luck. For her . . .

He still has it.

And he kept it beside his bed.

Oh, Sonny . . .

A warm glow filled Kelley that had nothing to do with the tiny fire sprites now hovering in a curious cloud all around her head. She
hadn’t
imagined things. Hadn’t embellished over the months he’d been gone. What they had felt for each other had been real. It still was—she was sure of it!

She looked up and was startled to see Sonny’s gray eyes fastened on her face as he put away the first-aid gear. He had seen her looking at the script, and she could tell from his expression that he had read her thoughts. She felt her heart flutter as the corner of his mouth turned up and a fierce heat flooded his gaze that made her own cheeks turn from blush to blaze. She smiled back and moved to go to him.

But as she stood, Kelley felt a breeze on her shoulders, and the curtains hanging at the sides of the open window blew inward. Motes of dust danced in the reddening shafts of light from the setting sun, glinting with a subtle green glow as they drifted through into the shadows of the room. And then a voice from beside the fireplace hearth said: “I see time works differently in the mortal realm, too, now.”

“Bob!” Kelley jumped back, startled, scattering her impromptu crown of fire sprites.

“Bob?” Fennrys asked.

A notorious member of a powerful, ancient race of Faerie called boucca, Bob was better known by the name of Puck, and insofar as his true name could be used to compel him against his will, he did his best to keep “Bob” a secret. The fact that he only threw a sour glance at Kelley and snapped “You didn’t hear that!” at Fennrys was symptomatic of some grave distraction that otherwise occupied his thoughts.

“What’s wrong?” Kelley asked.

“I’ve been waiting for you for nigh on a mortal month now, lady,” the boucca sprite remarked dryly. “Were the words
urgent and time is of the essence
somehow vague? Or perhaps less communicative than I’d hoped?”

“Umm . . .” Kelley blinked, confused. She looked from the Fae to the Janus Guards, both of whom wore less-than-helpful looks. “Okay, I’ll go with
vague
. What are you talking about?”

“You haven’t come here to meet me?” It was Bob’s turn to look confused.

“No, Bob. Not that I’m not glad to see you, but—”

“Then what
are
you doing here?” he interrupted her brusquely.

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” Kelley threw her hands in the air in frustration. “As if I don’t
belong
. As if I’m some kind of interloper.”

“Some would say you are.” The sternness of Bob’s expression did not soften. “Me? I was simply hoping there was forgiveness in you. I guess I was wrong.”

“Okay.” Kelley clenched her teeth and spoke slowly so that she could avoid losing her temper again—which seemed to be on a hair trigger lately anyway, even without cryptic Faerie chastisement. “I’m going to ask you one more time: What . . . the hell . . . are you talking about?”

The boucca’s shrewd gaze raked over her. “You didn’t get my messages?”

“No.”

“Any of them?”

“No!” Kelley screeched. “What freaking messages?”

“I’ve been leaving them on the mirror of your dressing room for weeks now,” the boucca said, perplexed. “Secretly, but
you
should have been able to see them.”

“I . . . oh.”

“Oh?”

Kelley winced. “I . . . I switched dressing rooms. I traded with Alec because his didn’t have a mirror in it.”

“I see. And you did this because wardrobe gave you a particularly ugly Juliet costume?” Bob asked, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

“I did it because
Mabh
kept showing up in my reflection! She’s all keen on these little mother-daughter chats.” Kelley made a sour face. “It was driving me nuts! I told Alec it was some weird superstition I had.”

“Excuse me.” Sonny spoke up. “Bob, what is this all about?”

Bob’s eyes flicked back and forth between Sonny and Kelley, coming to rest at last on her. “It’s about your father, Kelley.”

“You mean Auberon?” she said tartly.

“I mean your father. He’s not well.”

“Really,” Kelley said, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“I think he may be dying,” Bob said.

“What?” Fennrys struggled to sit up on the narrow cot. “He can’t die! He’s the bloody King of Winter.”

“Don’t be absurd,” said Bob, rolling an eye at the wounded Janus. “Just because he’s immortal doesn’t mean he can’t die!”

“What in hell does that mean?” Fennrys asked.

Bob sighed in impatience. “Faerie live forever only if something doesn’t
kill
them, you great oaf.” He turned back to Kelley and Sonny, who both stared at him, openmouthed. “What do you think
you
do for a living?”

“Well, yeah—but, I mean, he’s the
king
and all,” Fennrys muttered.

“How . . .” Sonny had gone an ashen color. “What’s wrong with him?”

“I don’t know!” Bob snapped. “I thought I just said that!”

“No, you missed that part,” Fennrys noted.

“Well, I don’t. No one does. He’s been in a slow decline since that business at Samhain, but he’s not about to ask anyone for help. If word of this were to get around—I mean a mere
breath
on the air that the Unseelie king had weakened—and you know as well as I that the vultures would start circling before you could say ‘Bob’s your uncle.’ Which I’m not.” Bob turned to Kelley where she stood frozen like a statue. “Kelley, you have to come home.”

Kelley didn’t answer. She just watched, feeling strangely detached, as Sonny nodded—seemingly without even a second thought—and moved toward the door.

“I’ll go get Lucky,” he said. “It’ll be faster if we ride.”

“Not you, Sonny.” Bob lifted a hand. “You’re to stay and finish your job here.”

“But—”

“Boss’s orders.”

Sonny’s mouth set in a grim line. “Fine. I’ll get Lucky for Kelley, then.”

“No.”

Kelley saw Sonny glance back at Bob, as if he’d thought for an instant that it was the boucca fae who had spoken again. But the word had dropped from
her
lips.

“Sorry?” asked Sonny, perhaps thinking he had misheard.

“No,” she repeated. There was a kind of pressure building behind Kelley’s eyes—like the way the air felt back home in Manhattan just before the skies opened on a major thunderstorm. “I’m not going.” She looked back and forth between Sonny and Bob. “Why would I want to?” Her gaze settled on Sonny. “Why would you want to?”

“He’s my king.”

“He’s your keeper!” she scoffed.

“He’s
your
father, Kelley,” Sonny said in a quiet voice.

“He tried to kill me!” Her mouth was hanging open now in utter disbelief. Kelley couldn’t believe her ears. “He woke the Wild Hunt, Sonny! In the middle of New York City—what—have you all
forgotten
that? Is living in this place so marvelous that you don’t mind living as a slave?”

“What would you have me do?” Sonny’s beautiful silver gaze was flat and lifeless. “He raised me. He cared for me. If he’s dying—”

“Let him die!” she said, hearing the current of savagery in her own voice as if it came from someplace else. From someone else.

“Kelley—this isn’t like you. You’re not—”

“What? Ruthless? Like you?”

Sonny’s head snapped back as though she’d slapped him.
“What?”
he whispered, his expression stricken.

“I’ve seen you, Sonny . . .”
I should shut up. I should close my mouth up tight and just stop talking.
She knew that. “I’ve seen what you do when you . . . hunt.”

“Kelley, I—”

“No!” Her hand sliced through the air. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“Hear what?” he asked her, the tone of his voice suddenly sharp as the sword she’d seen him wield mercilessly in the dreams her mother sent her. “What exactly is it that you think I’ve been doing here? What exactly do you think of
me
?”

“I don’t know.”
Shut up, Winslow.
“I don’t really know you, do I?”

“I thought I knew
you
. . .” His eyes were full of misery.

“You didn’t see!” Kelley choked on a sob, her mind flooding with memories of that horrible night in the park when she had stared into Sonny’s eyes and seen nothing but a monster. A monster that had wanted her dead. Her father had done that. “You don’t know what he did to you! Auberon deserves whatever he’s got coming to him—”

“He’s your
father,
Kelley.”

“I don’t care!”

“He’s my king,” Sonny said again.

“And what does that make me?”

Over her shoulder Bob said, very quietly, “It makes you a queen of Faerie. If he dies.”

Silence like a deep winter snowfall blanketed the room. In the corner, Fennrys shifted uncomfortably on the cot. Bob and Sonny were still as statues.

Kelley shook her head, suddenly weary. “You know, I guess I can accept that sort of insinuation coming from you, Bob. You’re Faerie, after all. All your kind care about is politics and power.” She turned to Sonny. “But from you? It’s like you’ve been living among these creatures so long, you’ve forgotten how to be human.”

“No—you’ve forgotten, Kelley,” Sonny answered her in a voice so low that she had to strain to hear him. “I never learned.”

“Sonny . . .”

“Maybe a year in your world isn’t enough to teach me what it is to be a mortal man.” He stood straighter, spine stiff. “But growing up here I think I at least might have learned some of what it is to be a son—mortal or not. I’ll come with you, Bob.”

“I don’t think—”

“I owe him that much.” Sonny cut the boucca short.

“He tried to kill me,” Kelley murmured again, the shock of disbelief at Sonny’s actions settling over her. Smothering.

“And now he’s dying,” Fennrys remarked dryly, his keen-eyed gaze narrowed in her direction. “A less sentimental person than me might call that poetic justice.”

Kelley went cold with anger. She turned on her heel and stalked out of the cottage, a luminous cloud of fire sprites following in her wake, like surrogates for the sparkling wings she could not now make appear.

Storming away from the cottage, Kelley kicked at a small rock bordering the path that led through the yard and sent it skittering into the bushes. Something small and spiny scolded her from under a shrub and lobbed the stone right back at her. Kelley hopped out of the way, startled by the reminder that she was no longer in her own world. And that things hadn’t turned out as she’d imagined.

Her reunion with Sonny was supposed to have been a magical, floaty, sparkly thing. With kissing and tears—strictly of joy, mind you, wherein she cried prettily and without blotchiness—and more kissing. And maybe distant fireworks going off as some kind of backdrop to the moment.

“Yeah,” she said out loud. “Not exactly.”

She hadn’t thought anything could come between them—certainly not her father! But now she worried that Auberon had taken Sonny away from her—not just
physically
when he’d commanded him to return to the Faerie realm, but also in other, more intangible ways. She wondered whether Sonny had changed in their time apart, or whether he remained the same and she was only now seeing aspects of him that she had not noticed before.

She couldn’t stop thinking about her visions, in which she barely recognized the boy she’d fallen in love with such a short-long time ago.

Why is this all so hard?

Why couldn’t she just wrap her arms around him and melt into his embrace as though only hours apart had passed between them?

“Why?” she asked.

Standing in the little yard, Lucky whickered in what sounded like commiseration. Kelley went over to him, stroking the kelpie’s neck. She could feel where battle scars on his hide had healed, leaving behind raised ridges in the deep russet coat. His mane and tail were a mass of knots—not like before, when he’d had the enchanted beads tied into his hair with elf knots—but rather, just from a lack of care. He and Sonny both seemed to be suffering in that regard.

Kelley thought of the way Sonny had looked on the riverbank. Of the way the slanting sunlight had cast deep shadows under his silver-gray eyes. Of the stains—they were bloodstains, she knew, there was no sense pretending that they weren’t—on his clothes. She’d noticed the bandage wrapped around Sonny’s hand, and she shuddered to think of all the times she had seen him bleed—and shed blood—in her dreams.