heart drawn on the back in pink nail polish. Sloppy and childlike, he could almost see one of them biting the full lower lip they shared, tracing its contours in some ramshackle rotting tin can of a trailer, while screams throbbed in the kitchen or bedroom.
How he had wanted to give her more, but the sum of Daisy’s dreams was a trailer of her very own. We can’t afford a house, she’d said, with a peculiar smile. This is good enough.
Stupidly, he had thought she was right. Now he wondered who had taught her not to want, because it would be taken away.
She never mentioned a sister, either. She didn’t talk about her past, and neither did he. Better to say nothing than to lie—maybe she had thought it was better to say nothing than to tell the truth. Had she known what he was?
Since you like your milk so much. But nobody believed in the sidhe anymore. Still, with a Half sister…
It was no use. Daisy was gone, mortal clay, and no skill or chantment would bring her back to answer any questions.
Robin, still pale, wrenched herself from his grasp. He could have kept her, if he didn’t mind bruising her afresh. Maybe she thought to flee him, but she only took two staggering steps, bent over, and retched, a deep, awful noise that nonetheless carried no vomit to the pavement.
Had she loved him? Sean. A young mortal boy.
She spat as if to clear her mouth, and slowly straightened. Her eyes were closed, her head tipped back, and the beads of sweat on her neck were diamonds.
“I’m sorry.” Harshly.
Whatever reply he’d expected, it wasn’t her bitter laugh. She hugged herself, tightly, thin traceries of steam rising from her bare shoulders. “Why? You did nothing.” She was hoarse, too.
At least she wasn’t singing.
You’re right. I did nothing. Curse me for a fool, twice and thrice over. The tingling and itching up his arms receded, but the effort left him sweating afresh. “This… Sean. Did you love him?”
She regained her breath, shook her head. “What use is love?” Each word low and rough as a cat’s tongue. “He was a baby, just a baby. I fed him. I bargained brughnies to care for him. I… I taught him…”
She ran out of words, and Jeremiah realized all at once what she meant. “Ah.” The curdling in him went away, and fresh loathing rose to take its place. Had he really thought she would… and that relief, deep down in him, because… why?
You know why.
In any case, it was time to move. “Come.”
“I will hurt her,” she said quietly. “I will kill—”
He did not remember moving; he found his hand clapped over Robin’s mouth as her wide, dark blue eyes rolled. He had her arm again, in case she decided to struggle, but she went limp.
“Hush, now.” As if there was a rock in his own throat. “Don’t swear an oath that will get you killed, woman.”
He could almost hear her reply. What do you care?
There was the heart of the riddle.
He didn’t know.
SIDHE ENOUGH
28
She held her tongue while he dragged her along. There was a small diner nearby, one of the twenty-four-hour variety, full of grease, fluorescent light, and mortal desperation. The waitress—a just-past-teenage girl with deep shadows under her eyes—looked at Robin’s bruises and probably assumed… several things.
The Armormaster ordered for both of them, and Robin stared at the cup of pallid boiled liquid that passed for coffee. A chipped rim, settled on a table tacky-wet and wiped with bleach water she could still smell.
If she hadn’t bargained herself away so young, perhaps she would have been a waitress, too. Backsore and hole-eyed, the vigor of youth drained away by drudgery and her sidhe half still sleeping. Instead, she was here.
Mother, gone. Her sister, gone.
Sean, gone.
Robin was not fool enough to think Summer would ever restore him to flesh. Was he struggling to draw breath inside that stone-resin prison? Nausea thumped into her middle, and she fought the urge to simply put her forehead on the mortal-dirty table and weep afresh. This time, the tears would not be rage, so she denied them.
Gallow watched her. What had he made of all this?
When she spoke, it was a surprise to hear her own soft, throaty tone. “He was stolen away.” Her hands lay on the table, discarded gloves. “She told me to sing the thief a song, and I did; then I… I begged him as a boon. I thought… I do