“You could have warned me, you know,” I said, walking over to settle as directed. My knees complained when I tried to kneel, and so I sat instead, sticking my legs straight out in front of me. Tybalt appeared to be kneeling as comfortably as Lily. I shot him a dirty look. Show-off. “Was there a reason you needed to shunt me halfway across the damn knowe?”
“Yes,” she said, continuing to pour. That was really no surprise. I rarely get out of the Tea Gardens without stopping for a cup of tea with Lily, no matter how urgent my business seems to be. Still . . .
“I’m not sure we have time for this, Lily,” I said. “We should be looking for the kids.”
“There’s always time for tea,” chided Lily, placing a cup in front of me. “I ‘shunted you,’ as you so charming put it, because you needed to be healed. The damage was magically done, which made it fixable, if I was willing to be firm with it. As for why I didn’t warn you, your dislike of water is difficult to miss. I thought you might resist if you knew what was intended.” A small smile creased her lips. “A certain resistance to getting wet is a trait you share with our royal friend here.”
Tybalt made a face. “I don’t consider avoiding pneumonia to be a bad thing.”
“If you can contract pneumonia in the waters of my land, you have more troubles than a touch of moistness,” said Lily. Sobering, she looked toward me. “I am sorry, October, but I can’t wake the child. I tried. I can keep body and spirit together for the time being, but I fear that may be the extent of my capabilities.”
“But what’s wrong with her?”
Lily raised her teacup, using the habitual gesture to try to conceal the worry flickering in her eyes. “I don’t know.”
“Should I take her to Jin?” Jin was the Court healer at Shadowed Hills. She wasn’t in Lily’s league—almost no one who isn’t an Undine even comes close—but she was good, and her skills were somewhat different. The Ellyllon aren’t environmental healers, like the Undine; they work with charms and potions, and that can make them try harder. They aren’t limited by what the water can do.
“I don’t think so,” said Lily. “Moving her before we know the source of her condition may do more harm than good. You did well to bring her here. I can watch over her until more is known.”
“So we don’t know why Karen won’t wake up, we don’t know what happened to the missing kids—I don’t even know where I should start with this one.”
“Ask the moon,” said Lily.
“You keep saying that,” Tybalt said, with a frown. “Perhaps you’d like to translate it.”
“I can’t,” said Lily, calmly meeting his eyes. “If you wish to find your answers, you’ll need to begin thinking, not merely reacting.”
“Thinking,” I said, and turned toward him. “Tybalt, when you went looking for the missing kids, did you notice anything unusual about the places where they normally slept?”
“Beyond their absence?” His frown deepened. “The air was sour. It smelled wrong, like things that shouldn’t have been there.”
“Things like what?” I asked, a grim certainty growing inside me.
“Blood and ash. And candle wax.”
There was a crash from the other side of the table. We turned to find Lily picking up the pieces of her teacup with shaking hands. I stared. I’d never seen Lily drop anything before.
“I’m so very sorry,” she stammered, rising. “Please move away from the table . . . I’ll clean the mess directly . . . I am so sorry . . .”
I started to scoot back, but froze, staring at the tea leaves smeared across the table. There were shapes in the mess, almost clear enough to understand. Three loops, like arched gateways; a wilted rose; a tall, slim column tipped with a triangular smear. A candle . . . ?
Lily’s hand reached across the table and grasped my chin, turning me to face her. Her eyes seemed darker, less like eyes and more like pools of water. “It’s time to go,” she said. “I’m sorry, but the leaves have spoken. He’s too close for the safety of me or mine.”
“Lily, what—” Tybalt began. Lily shot him a sharp look and he quieted.
“You have business to conduct, both of you, although the weight of it stands on Amandine’s daughter,” she said. “You must speak to the moon, October. Leave the girl in my keeping. Perhaps I can wake her, perhaps not, but she’ll be safer with me than she could be on the road with you.”
“But—”
This time the sharp look was for me. “You know there are things I can’t discuss. I’m sorry they touch on your affairs. I can tell you this much only: you must ask the moon, for you’ll find no answers here, and you must leave the girl behind.”
“I can’t just leave her!” I protested. “Her parents trusted me with her.”
“Have you had an unexpected visitor?” she asked. I froze. She continued, “One who belongs to your line even as mistletoe belongs to the oak? You can’t lie to me. I know you.”
“How . . . ?” I whispered. Tybalt was frowning, but I didn’t care. If Lily knew about my Fetch, what else did she know?
Her smile was sad. “There are always ripples on the water. Some of us just watch them more closely. Leave the child and go. You have miles yet to travel on this road.”
“Lily, I—”
“There’s nothing else to say. You will go on your errand, and Tybalt’s, and all the others who haven’t time to reach you. You will go, because you must. Go now, October.” She looked at the mess on the table. “You have little enough time to find your way. Go.”
Seanan McGuire, A Local Habitation
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