and my Fetch was already here, so there was no point in not going. Because I had debts to pay and no one else would do it for me. “You knew I was going after him. What did you expect me to do?”
“I was hoping you’d find a safer way.” He cast a sidelong look at Luna, who glanced away, looking ashamed. “If that wasn’t possible, I hoped you’d take someone with you.”
“Got any suggestions?” I sighed. “Quentin followed me, or I wouldn’t even have taken him. I try not to risk anybody’s neck but my own.”
Sylvester shook his head. “You never think about keeping yourself alive, do you?”
“Well, if you listen to what people keep telling me, I get that particular tendency from my mother,” I said. “I get it from you, too, you know.”
“You don’t get a bit of it from your mother,” he said, reaching out to brush my hair away from my face. “She never would have gone. Now stop it. You don’t want to be a hero.”
“Never said I did,” I replied, with a sigh. “Forgive me?”
“Always.” He dropped to one knee and hugged me. I wanted to stay there and let him hold me for a little while—he’s the closest thing I have to a father, and I needed the reassurance—but Quentin needed me as much as I needed Sylvester, and I had duties to fulfill. I slipped out of his arms with a murmur of apology, walking back to where Quentin was waiting with Katie.
Quentin was stroking Katie’s hair with the back of his hand, staring into her wide, empty eyes. I wasn’t sure he’d even heard my conversation with Sylvester after his interjection; he was far away, wrapped in his own potential loss.
I put my hand on his shoulder. “How is she?”
He turned to look at me, expression pleading for me to tell him that everything would be okay. I could see it in his eyes. And I couldn’t do it. “What did you do to her?”
“It’s just a little confusion spell—it’s all I was strong enough to cast. She’s sinking all on her own. I can’t stop her.” I looked back to Sylvester and Luna. “Can you help her?”
“Fix what’s been done?” Luna shook her head. “I can’t . . . we can’t . . . no. There’s nothing we can do for her.”
Why didn’t I believe her? Keeping my eyes on Luna, I asked cautiously, “Blind Michael’s that powerful?”
She chuckled without a trace of humor. “You have no idea.”
“Yeah, well. There’s no field guide to the Firstborn.” Quentin shivered under my hand. I tightened my fingers. “I just keep tripping over them.”
Luna made a small, pained sound, visibly forcing herself to keep her composure before she asked, “How many . . . how many of the children did you get out?”
“The ones I went for and as many of the others as I could manage. About twenty, all told.” I kept watching her. “Katie’s the only human kid I got out.”
“You stole twenty children from my—from Blind Michael?” asked Luna, eyes going suddenly wide.
“They weren’t his to have,” I said simply.
“Oh, Toby. Oh, my dear.” She shook her head, eyes closing. “Do you know what you’ve done?”
“What I had to.” I turned toward Sylvester. “Can they stay here with you? I have to finish taking care of the others.”
“Of course,” he said. “They’ll be safer here than they could be anywhere else.”
That was one less thing for me to worry about. “Great.”
“Are you hurt?”
“Not really. A little scraped up, and I could use some Band-Aids for my hands, but I’m mostly just stressed and exhausted.” I looked back toward Luna, very deliberately removing the black rose from my hair and holding it out to her. “I brought you a present.”
She paled, staring at the flower like she expected it to bite her. It was like she hadn’t seen it until it was offered. “Where . . .” she began, in a stunned whisper, and faltered before saying, “Where did you get that?”
“From your mother,” I said, calmly. “She misses you.”
“Oh, Toby, what have you done?” She sounded like she was somewhere between choking and crying. Not taking her eyes from the rose, she said, “Sylvester?”
“It was bound to happen one day, Luna,” he said wearily. “I’m honestly amazed that it’s taken this long. Maybe if Amandine hadn’t stood aside—”
“But she did,” said Luna. Her tails were lashing, stirring her skirt into a wild tangle. “Please, Sylvester.”