you get right down to it, isn’t that the definition of hero?
“No,” I said. “It won’t.”
Sounding resigned, but not surprised, she said, “His name is Blind Michael.”
“Blind Michael?” I frowned. “But that doesn’t make sense. He and his Hunt only harass you if you go into the Berkeley Hills on the full moon. They—”
She looked at me. I stopped, biting my lip. After a moment, she continued; “His name is Blind Michael. His mother was Maeve and his father was Oberon. His domain was wider once, but none of us are what we once were.” Her smile was brief and bitter, gone in an instant.
“He’s Firstborn?”
“Yes.” She nodded. “He saw the races of Faerie born, yours and mine alike.”
“What does he have to do with this?”
“Have you never wondered where he gets the members of his Hunt?”
“What?” That wasn’t a question that ever occurred to me. Blind Michael and his Hunt were part of the landscape, like the trees or the rocks. They didn’t need to come from anywhere.
Her voice was calm and measured as she continued, like she was reciting something she’d memorized years before, something painful. “He rides them hard. Night after night through the darkest parts of the Summerlands, where there are still monsters, and old magic—he brings the madness with him. He rides them, and there are casualties. There are always casualties. Where do you think he finds his Riders? Who would willingly bow to such a fate?”
I stared at her, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach. It wasn’t easy to do; I’m not stupid. Damn it. “No one.”
“No one,” she agreed. Her eyes were too bright, but she wasn’t crying. Yet. “And when there are no willing Riders, the unwilling will suffice.”
“The children.”
“Yes. Once a century. Fae children to be his Huntsmen; human children to be their steeds. No locks can keep him out. No door can bar his way. He’s too old and too strong, and he follows the laws of Faerie too closely to be caught that way.”
I shook my head to clear away my growing horror, asking, “What does he do to them?”
“Do?” She cocked her head. “He takes them and he binds them. Fae children ride, so they grow strong and fierce; human children are ridden, so they learn the ways of hoof and bridle. And they are changed. Beware Blind Michael’s children, Toby—beware all his children, no matter how honest or honorable they seem. I can’t stop you from trying. Heroes never listen. That’s why they’re heroes.”
“Luna—”
I don’t know if she heard me; she just kept talking, words falling together like stones constructing my tomb. “You, at least, I can still warn: beware his children. They’re too lost. There is no peace for them. There is no salvation. There is nothing but the Hunt and the darkness and the hope that, one day, death will claim them.” She shivered and turned her face away. “Be wary, beware Blind Michael’s children and come back to us. Please.”
Slowly, I asked, “Where did Sylvester go?”
“There are ways to keep him out. Not gates, not locks or bars, but laws and rituals that make him less than welcome. Sylvester has gone to warn the Court so that we can keep the dark at bay a little longer.” She shook her head, ears flattened. “It’s all we can do. It’s not enough.”
I shuddered. Her words were taking on two meanings in my head. Neither of them was good. Maybe that was all they could do, but I had to do more; staying safe was a luxury I couldn’t afford. I wanted to ask Luna how she knew so much and why her eyes were so far away, why she was almost crying. I didn’t. I didn’t have that luxury either.
“How do I find Blind Michael?”
She glanced back toward me, expression bleak. “There are roads.”
“Can you tell me how to find them?”
“My roads are Rose Roads. If you seek darkness, ask the darkness. It can help you.”
“Luna . . .” I shook my head, biting back a groan of frustration. “What do you mean, ask the darkness? I’m getting tired of being told to talk to things that won’t talk back just because people don’t feel like saying, ‘Hey, go ask Bob, he knows what to do.’ ”
She sighed. “I’ve sent you to her before, when I thought we might lose you if I didn’t. Now I’m sending you again. This time, I’m afraid you’re already lost.”