Rosemary and Rue

Devin himself was behind the desk, half reclining in his chair. I stopped in the doorway, just looking at him, trying to breathe.

You’d never guess by looking at us that Devin had more than a hundred years on me; he was a changeling, but his blood was stronger than mine, and the years had been more than kind. Everyone’s born to fill a certain role in life. Devin was born to rule his own private Neverland, and he came almost supernaturally well-prepared for the part. His hair was a dark, wavy gold that made my fingers ache to run through it, and his face would have been better suited to a Greek god. Only his eyes betrayed his inhumanity—dark purple crossed with white starburst patterns, like flower petals. You could fall into the crossed and counter-crossed flower-petal darkness of his eyes if you looked into them for too long, finding out what he really was even as you lost track of yourself.

No matter how hard I tried to taste the balance of his blood, I never figured it out, and he never told me. I always suspected that there was Lamia somewhere in his background; the serpent-women have been known to slow their dances long enough to love human men and it’s not impossible that there could be children. Stranger things have happened in Faerie. It would have explained the way he sometimes seemed to look deeper with those eyes of his than anyone had any right to look.

He raised his head, a smile lighting his features as he met my eyes. With a small pang, I realized that he was genuinely glad to see me. “Toby!” he said. “You finally decided to come home. I was starting to worry. I didn’t think you’d stay away this long.” He paused, and smirked before adding, “Nice dress.”

“I was a little busy being enchanted and abandoned . . . and please, for Oberon’s sake, don’t mention the dress.” I dropped myself into the chair in front of his desk. It groaned under my weight. Keeping my eyes on his face, I asked the most neutral question I could. “How are you?”

Devin sobered, frowning. “Better than you, from what I hear. Toby, what happened? Why didn’t you come back? I would have let you come back. You’re always welcome here.”

“You know why I couldn’t,” I said, glancing down. “Do we really have to go over this again?”

“Maybe if we do, we’ll finally get past it.”

I took a deep breath, words catching in my throat. Twice. I saw Devin twice after I left Home for Sylvester’s Court. The first time was cold and bitter, but it was a natural end; he knew better than to challenge Sylvester’s claim on me. The second was the day I came looking for Julie and found him in the front room, waiting for me. He grabbed my arm and asked if the rumors were true—if I was really pregnant with my human lover’s child. And I told him I was.

That was the beginning of the biggest fight we ever had. I’m sure the kids still talk about it in the hushed tones usually reserved for natural disasters. We screamed, we ranted, we threw things at one another’s heads, and in the end, he let me go, but not without extracting one last promise in payment for the favors he’d done for me: I wouldn’t marry Cliff until Gillian was thirteen years old. She was only a quarter-blood, and if she hadn’t been forced to make the Changeling’s Choice by then, she probably wouldn’t have to. Until then, for her sake, he wanted me to be ready to walk away. I laughed in his face and told him I’d send him a wedding invitation. I’m sure he wasn’t surprised when it never came.

Finally, head still bowed, I whispered, “I didn’t even get to see her thirteenth birthday.”

“But that’s not why you’re here today.”