“Alan does a lot of woodworking down here, when he has time, so really, Alan more talks about doing a lot of woodworking down here while the rest of us nod and pretend to believe him,” said Madden, as Simon moved to help me up. “That’s his workbench.”
“Oh,” I said. Simon’s hands were a solid weight against my back. I allowed myself to lean against them, not fighting against the drag from my own body, as I reached my hands toward the familiar shape of Madden—and more, the mug in his hands. “Gimme.”
“Manners, October,” chided Simon gently.
I began to bristle. Then I recognized the note in his voice for what it was: relief. He was making a joke, such as it was, because I wasn’t dead, and I wasn’t broken, and sure, I was currently more mortal than I’d ever been in my life, but what’s a little humanity between friends?
“Mama never taught me any manners,” I said. Madden pressed the mug into my hands. True to his word, it was topped with a heaping mound of whipped cream and studded with chocolate shavings. I raised my eyebrows. “Glad I’m not lactose intolerant.”
The coffee was hot and sweet and washed the last of the gummy, bloody taste out of my mouth, replacing it with that old, familiar earthiness. I could practically feel the caffeine reaching my bloodstream. Maybe that was half wishful thinking, but under the circumstances, I’d take it. Whatever I needed to get through the rest of this—day? Night? I swallowed and frowned, twisting around to look at Simon.
He was wearing a human disguise. I realized with a pang that it was probably at least in part to keep me from falling down in awe at the sight of him.
“What time is it?” I asked.
“It’s almost three,” he said. “I’m going to need to smuggle you out of here under an illusion. Otherwise, your friend,” he nodded toward Madden, “will be in signal danger of losing his job.”
“Oh, oak and ash,” I muttered, before taking another long drink of hot, sweet coffee. I wanted to inhale the entire mug and ask for more, maybe with a few rare roast beef sandwiches on the side. Without my preternaturally fast healing to keep me up and running, my body was starting to make complaints to the management.
My body was going to have to suck it up and deal. I finished my coffee, resisting the urge to run my finger around the inside of the mug and snag the last of the whipped cream. Then I stood. My legs wobbled but didn’t buckle. For all that I had done myself some serious damage, I hadn’t actually injured myself. I was splitting hairs. I knew it. That didn’t matter. Sometimes splitting hairs is what keeps the world from falling down.
Through it all, Simon kept his hand against my back, refusing to let me stand unassisted until he was sure that I could do it. I turned to offer him a nod and a wan smile.
“I’m okay,” I said. “Not sure how much use I’m going to be, but I’m okay.”
“I may have a solution for that.” He leaned over and picked up a to-go cup from the end of the workbench, solemnly offering it to me. “Here.”
“More coffee?” I took the cup. It was heavier than it should have been, and nothing sloshed. Cautiously, I removed the lid and peeked inside. It was full of a thick jellylike substance that glittered when the light hit it, like it was filled with the dust of a hundred stars. My eyes widened. “Fairy ointment! But how—?”
“Really, October, you underestimate me,” said Simon. “You seemed intent on napping for hours. I had to do something with my time, and brewing a batch of something that could keep you halfway useful seemed like the least annoying option.”
The words “thank you” rose to my lips. I swallowed them as hard as I could. I didn’t want to insult him when he was helping me—and this was a huge, huge help. With this, I would be able to see Faerie, even if there were great stretches of it that I could no longer touch. “This is amazing,” I said instead, and dug my fingers into the gel before wiping them across my eyes in a great, gooey streak.
The basement flickered. Suddenly, the shadows had more depth to them, and they sparkled faintly, like they were filled with pyrite. The air around Simon and Madden glittered, alive with the shadows of their human illusions.
And of course, there were the pixies.
They covered every surface above the floor, clustering on the beams and clinging to the walls, their wings moving in constant silent agitation. I couldn’t hear them chiming. My heart sank at the realization. The chiming of the pixies was one of those things I’d never considered I could miss, and now it was gone.
“The last time I needed fairy ointment, I could hear them,” I said.
“The last time you needed fairy ointment, you must not have been this mortal,” said Simon gently. “I am so sorry.”
“Don’t be.” I put the cap back on the to-go cup and shoved it into the pocket of my jacket. It didn’t quite fit, but it was secure enough that I wasn’t worried about losing it. If anything, I was worried about how much Simon had made. Just how long did he expect my newfound humanity to last?
Madden was still looking at me anxiously. I smiled at him, trying to look encouraging, or at least like I wasn’t on the cusp of dropping dead.
“It’ll be okay,” I said. “Call Arden when you think she’ll be up, let her know that I’m going to need to borrow the hope chest. I’ll explain everything when I get to Muir Woods.”
“When will that be?”
The Luidaeg’s deadline was almost upon us. I sighed. “Not too long now.” Turning to Simon, I asked, “Do you know where she’d have gone? It’s not like I can sniff her out when I can barely find my own magic.”
Simon shook his head. “Anyplace familiar enough that I could put a name to it is too likely to be considered ‘home’ by the damned curse the Luidaeg sold her. I’m useless.”
I hesitated. “Not entirely,” I said finally, and reached into my other pocket, producing the candle. It was still tall and red, and the wax was cool and clammy in my hand, like the skin of a corpse. I swallowed a shudder of revulsion. Faerie was trying to reject me, reminding me that no one as human as I was could possibly belong there.
Faerie could stuff it. Unlike August, I had made no deals that would sunder me from my home, and I knew where I belonged. After so many years of running, I finally, genuinely, knew where I belonged.
“Here.” I held the candle out to Simon. “Tell it to follow her.”
His eyes widened. “October,” he said, slowly and carefully, like he was speaking to a child. “Are you sure you want to do this? I’m not bound any longer. I could take the candle and run after my daughter, and leave you here to face the consequences of my actions.”
“I trust you,” I said, and I did; I was telling the whole and honest truth. I trusted him. I knew that he wouldn’t leave me. Because he hadn’t told Riordan the truth. Because his illusions had covered me.
Because sometimes the best intentions could lead to some very dark places, and once you were there, it could be almost impossible to find your way home again, unless there was someone willing to help you. Unless you could get there and back by the light of a candle.