I began to wonder if Miss Gold was trying to lose someone she thought might be following us, or if she'd never driven anywhere in her life and, to her, roads were merely theoretical. She gave directions with supreme confidence despite a lot of obvious backtracking. I didn't entirely mind. Following her instructions gave me something immediate to focus on that didn't burden me with options.

We'd been outside the city limits of Elwin for close to an hour, driving through Redgrove, the sprawling, urban sister to our college town. I'd been to the mall with Katherine, but apart from that I lacked any proper knowledge of the city. Becca's familiarity with it saved us more than once, however, and she provided helpful, if hesitant, comments from the back seat, which Miss Gold took in stride.

I bit back my concern for the two girls and focused on the road. Wherever they were, I couldn't help them. I'd made the decision to trust Miss Gold repeatedly since drinking her tea and while I had plenty of objections to her methods, she'd never intentionally betrayed that trust. She'd also never lied and had assured me both girls were in the best possible care. Right or wrong, it was all I had.

"Here," she said suddenly, pointing across me as we passed an intersection, "down this street."

I had to circle the block to make the turn, but we soon crossed a bridge, long past its prime, spanning a wide, dark river that meandered far below. At one time, its steep banks had been neatly planted with an even row of spruce, but it had long since gone feral with gnarled oaks, wild juniper, red dogwood and what might have been holly, topped off with a barbaric mess of runaway undergrowth. A person could walk through that dense, narrow wood oblivious of the watercourse until they found themselves rapidly sliding down an incline of dead leaves and loose dirt to splash abruptly in its placid flow.

"Turn to your right, Thomas. We are close," Miss Gold said, peering carefully through the foliage. Beyond the bridge, the sights and sounds of downtown Redgrove faded into trees and a service road so cracked and littered with potholes that it couldn't have serviced many vehicles in the past decade. We might as well have been a hundred miles from civilization. We bounced along for another ten minutes, following the river with nothing out the window but more trees and a fox that watched with casual interest as we passed.

"Slow down, Thomas, the road is just ahead," she indicated a turn through a break in the trees where a dirt road sloped downward to meet the shore.

"Are you sure?" I asked cautiously and slowed the Jeep to a crawl, "That doesn't look safe."

"The road is steep and in disrepair, but it was once used for transporting shipments of heavy cargo. I suspect your vehicle will not be the one to end it."

I took a deep breath and turned. The descent wasn't quite as bad as I'd expected and it finally evened out just a few feet above the water line.

"What's that?" Becca asked, leaning forward to peer through the trees at a shadowy building that looked as if it emerged straight out of the water.

"You shall soon see," Miss Gold replied.

We cleared the woods on the lower bank after a few seconds, and the road ended in an open space flanked by a ramshackle cabin and a rickety dock jutting into the river. Before I could protest staying in the derelict shack, I noticed that the other end of the "dock" was attached to a small, dead looking island twenty yards from the shore. The huge building that sat upon it loomed darkly over tall, dry grass with a corrugated, tiered roof sitting atop long rows of broken windows, rusted metal beams, and crumbling gray stone. By comparison, the shack looked like a luxury.

"We're staying there?" I asked, feeling even less comfortable with the island than the driveway that got us there, "that warehouse must have been abandoned before I was even born."

"It is quite old." Miss Gold acknowledged, her tone unreadable. "Ships once traversed this water depositing their cargoes here to be moved overland. It is the reason this city exists, but highways introduced less expensive means of transport. Few vessels now travel the Winderwil, and none remember this was once its heart."

"That's so sad," Becca whispered.

"Indeed, but that is not what makes it valuable to us. Park the vehicle beneath those trees. For now, we must proceed on foot."

I did as I was told, and we left Rachel's Jeep partially hidden beneath a thinning canopy, leaving everything we brought with us inside.

"Did you say the Winderwil?" Becca asked as we followed Miss Gold toward the bridge. "Isn't this the Borneau River?"

"Time passes and things change. Stay back a moment, it may not yet be safe to cross." She held out one arm, warning us to be still, but strode boldly across the rotting wood. Becca stepped close and took hold of my arm.

"What's she doing?"

"I wish I knew."

"This place is kind of..." she froze and trailed off.

"Kind of what?"

"Look," she whispered. Her eyes had gone wide, and instead of answering, she pointed at something huge, dark, and shiny that stirred the surface of the river.

"Look out!" I shouted in panic and darted toward Miss Gold, but my godmother stopped me with a gesture before continuing across. The thing in the water dove beneath the surface and disappeared.

"It is safe," she called back, "The wards have not been maintained, but they yet discern between friend and foe. You may cross now."

"The whats?" I asked, mostly to myself, but Becca had an answer ready.

"A ward is like a protection spell."

"Did you learn that from the Glim?"

"No," she shook her head, "just a lot of books and movies."

We began moving together, crossing the remaining distance carefully. Thankfully, we didn't end up in the river and the dark mass didn't return. By the time we reached the far side, Miss Gold had crossed a field of dead grass and old junk and waited beside a huge sliding door.

"What was that thing?" I asked as we approached.

"To what do you refer?"

"In the water."

"A river dragon."

Becca gasped and clutched my arm while I protested weakly in denial, "Oh, come on, really? Dragons? You can't be serious."

Miss Gold turned away and pulled open a smaller, human-sized door next to the first, which threatened to come off its one good hinge. "Do not be so dramatic, it is not a true dragon. The creature is also called a péist."

"Paste?"

"Péist, Thomas, please pay attention."

"I am," I said, grumpy and more than a little afraid. "None of this makes any sense."

She looked over her shoulder and paused. "No, I suppose it does not," she replied, and we followed her inside. If anything, the interior was in worse shape, with smells reminiscent of raw sewage and old machinery. Layers of filth covered the floor so appallingly that it took me several minutes to grasp the scale of the place. It was enormous, longer than a football field with a tiered roof supported by a network of iron girders. A rusty, motorized crane hung suspended from a beam that ran the length of the building.

"Ungild has been a poor caretaker." Miss Gold said under her breath, stepping carefully through piles of rubble. A family of rats scattered from beneath what looked like an old water heater.

"Who, ma'am?" Becca asked, still clutching me tightly, trying to maintain her balance.

"The one responsible for this property." She looked up and I followed her eyes to a large, windowed container nested among the I-beams on the west side of the building, "We will wait there."

I helped Becca step across something wet, smelly, and otherwise unidentifiable. "Who are we waiting for?"

"For one who can make this place available to us. Arrangements must be made."

"You make a lot of arrangements."

She ignored my comment and continued as we stepped carefully over piles of filth and rot. "When Katherine and Rachel have been secured, Finola will join us here." Her announcement appeared to annoy her, and she added quietly, "If she does not encounter something shiny on the way."

At the far end of the warehouse a black iron stair gave access to a creaking catwalk fifteen feet above the floor, the only access to the room overhead. With barely half the distance covered, I felt my old nausea settling in. There was no way we could live a single day in that dump.

Despite their appearance, the stair and walkway were sturdy and we made it across without incident, though the lack of a railing did nothing to help my rolling stomach. Watching Becca confidently navigate the mesh platform, following an even more confident Miss Gold, who was doing it in heels, stung my masculine pride, and I kept my complaints to myself.

The elevated room turned out to be an old industrial office lined with cheap wood paneling, and was an improvement only compared to what lay below. Old fast-food wrappers were piled in one corner behind a desk with a stack of bricks where one of its legs used to be, and a moth-eaten, corduroy couch occupied the opposite wall. The best part, by far, was that smells from the warehouse failed to penetrate the walls, replaced by mildew and a stale, musky odor, like an old locker room.

"Are you sure this is our only option?" I asked, wrinkling my nose at dark stains on the upholstery.

"If you wish to remain alive, yes. Many powerful Fae will be active in your neighborhood and on your campus for several days. That is in your favor. Caratacos also has no wish to be found."

"Can we go back to the apartment when it blows over?"

"I can not answer that. It should be reasonably safe once the protections I spoke of are in place, but even were that option available to you, do you believe that your room will suffice for four?"

I'd been thinking the same thing but was reluctant to give up on it, especially if it meant adopting a garbage heap as our new home. "You don't really expect us to live like this, do you? There are probably diseases nobody's ever heard of cultivating in that mess."

"No, Thomas, I do not, but you only need to endure it for the night. I will do what I can to make it tolerable."

An absurd image of Miss Gold in a maid's uniform and a feather duster popped into my head. "What can you possibly do in an evening?"

"Make arrangements." She glared coldly and withdrew her phone, instructing us to stay put and wait for her to return, then stepped out and closed the door behind her. Becca worked her hand into mine and held it tight.

"I'm sorry about all of this," I told her, feeling the full weight of the last two hours. She shrugged and looked around, dim lights reflecting in the lenses of her glasses.

"I'm not. Not sorry, I mean. For the other girls I am, but not for me. If adventures weren't hard they wouldn't be adventures."

"You say that like it's a good thing."

"It is," she answered with a shrug. "If I had to pick between this and my life before I met you, I wouldn't even have to think about it." She let me go and began to pace excitedly. "Sleeping on a dirty floor isn't all that bad, especially when you think of what Frodo and Sam had to do to get to Mordor, or when Hazel and Fiver were stuck in Efrafa, or when Kelsier had to escape the pits of Hathsin... going through all the hard stuff and making it out the other end is what heroes do."

"I don't know what any of that means," I interrupted, "well okay, I know Frodo, but I'm just trying to get from one day to the next. I'm not a hero."

"You could be."

Her reply was soft but forceful and the hope in her eyes was more than I could bear. I changed the subject.

"So what are we going to do until morning?"

"Well," she said, looking at her feet, "I didn't say anything before because—because it didn't seem important—but I don't think I can—I mean—I need—" I understood what she meant, but like a coward I made her spell it out. "It—it kind of started just before Rachel came over, when I was putting on Katherine's clothes, and I didn't have a chance to tell you, but it's been getting worse ever since, like I've been floating and now I'm starting to fall, and it's getting faster and faster and I'm scared I'll hit the ground soon."

"It's probably going to make you sleep," I said as calmly as I could, trying to control my expression while I looked around the room for the least disgusting place to lay her down.

"I sort of figured. I don't think I'll be very good company. I know you're worried and you can probably really use a friend right now."

"It's okay, but I don't see a good spot for—"

"The sofa is fine." She said. I made a face and she giggled nervously, "I'm washable. So, could—would you—?"

"Of course," I said, sounding as awkward as I felt. Becca was a good six inches taller than Katherine, but still went up on her toes, as if trying to inconvenience me as little as possible. Her cheeks and ears were bright red, but her eyes contained a bold determination that was completely out of place.

Our second kiss was less dramatic than the first and I retained most of my senses. It was also less brief, and that was at least as much my fault as hers. I didn't pull away until she stumbled, and then I helped her to the sofa where she smiled sweetly before closing her eyes. I removed her glasses and set them on an old crate that passed for an end table.

The next thirty minutes dragged and I spent them thinking about Katherine, Rachel, and the girl on the couch, wallowing in misery over the trouble I'd caused them. Then I kicked myself for being so self-indulgent while Katherine lay who-knows-where being treated for a wound that had been meant for me. Frustrated with my own negativity, I decided to explore as much of the office as I dared. I was spared the worst of it when Miss Gold finally returned.

"Well?" I asked with a shrug.

"It is done."

"What is?"

She paused to survey the room. "You will be pleased to know that Katherine is recovering and Rachel sleeps but is otherwise unharmed. You will see them tomorrow, and against my better judgment I must introduce you to Finola."

"She was the one in the van?"

Miss Gold nodded and then seemed to contemplate the desk chair for a moment before deciding she'd rather stand. "I do not wish to see you suffer further today, so I will leave you to clean while I fetch accommodations."

"It'll take several pounds of explosives to clean this place," I grumbled.

"Perhaps," she said seriously. "If you must explore, remain on the island while I am away, but I suggest you attend to this room. There should be towels and a cleaning solution somewhere, and it is a near certainty that they have not been spent." With a few additional instructions that amounted to staying put and keeping busy, she left again, and rather than let my mind wander I chose to take her advice.

There were two dead squirrels in the first desk drawer I opened, but the second contained a pile of rags, a half-full bottle of Windex, and a bag containing a large, unopened container of liquid soap and a can of disinfectant. The rags were only slightly less filthy than the surfaces in the room, and the spray bottle was covered in something sticky, but lacking better options I put them to work.

I don't know how long Miss Gold was gone. In that time, I'd moved all of the garbage I could find into one pile and wiped down the desk, walls, and chair until my shoulders ached. I had just stopped to rest when Miss Gold pushed open the door.

The smell of food hit me first, and she dropped a large, white bag stained with grease onto the desk along with a cardboard drink tray, and deposited a large canvas sheet onto the floor at her feet.

"Spread this out. I will return in a moment."

She came back before I'd finished and passed me two clean sleeping bags, a pair of pillows, a box of trash bags, and a roll of paper towels, then in two more trips she brought the things we'd left inside the Jeep.

"You can use this time to study," she said, setting the heavy trunk next to the desk with almost no effort.

"Miss Gold?" I said, sitting on the floor and cleaning my hands as best I could.

"Yes, Thomas?"

"Are you Fae?"

"Do you honestly need me to answer that question?" she replied while carefully scooping the trash pile I created into one of the plastic bags

"Can I ask what kind?"

"I daresay you will find that you can, but I will not answer."

"Why? Why so many secr—" I stopped myself, "safety, yeah I get it."

"Do you? This is the reason I required your trust from the beginning. There are some things I cannot tell you, and others I will not. I will not apologize for either." Her tone was final, but not stern.

"I'm sorry I'm a pain in the ass," I sighed. "I don't understand you, but you've been good to me and the people I care about. Thank you."

She stopped shoving trash into her garbage bag and stood, a little less stiffly than usual.

"I do not always value your gratitude as much as I should. You are welcome, Thomas." She left again not long after, taking the garbage with her, and didn't return.

I waited for Becca to wake before eating. She stretched and sat up after a couple of hours, cheerful and a bit rumpled. It suited her, but I felt it would be rude to point that out. We ate our cold lunch together on the canvas because it was the still the cleanest spot in the room.

"I'm so glad Katherine is going to be okay," Becca said between bites with one of the sleeping bags wrapped loosely around her shoulders. Among the many amenities the warehouse lacked was a heater of any kind, and she still wore only a thigh-length sleeveless dress and a pair of jean shorts that were almost too short on Katherine. I took a drink so I wouldn't have to respond. Of course I was happy, but those thoughts inevitably led to the reason she required healing, and I'd been avoiding them most of the day.

She tried again, "The room looks a lot nicer, thank you. I'm sorry I wasn't awake to help you clean."

"It gave me something to do."

"And Miss Gold with the sleeping bags? It'll be like camping," she smiled. Katherine hated camping, and I hadn't been since I was eight. "I know you'd rather be with someone else," she said after several minutes, "but everything will be okay."

"No," I shook my head, ashamed for making her feel unwelcome. "That isn't it. I like being with you, maybe a little too much."

"Huh?"

I set aside my unfinished burger and thought about my answer before speaking. "Becca, you're a comfortable person to be around. I like having you here, but I've got a lot on my mind and it didn't even occur to me to hide it. I guess it's easier to pretend when you're with strangers."

"Oh," she said, perking up, "well... I guess I'm glad you don't think of me as a stranger. You could talk about it though. With me, I mean. I know I talk too much but I can listen too, I'm not a bad listener."

"Thank you," I tried to smile, "but we still hardly know each other, and I'm not sure where to start."

"What does knowing each other have to do with it?" she looked genuinely confused, "just open your mouth and let the words come out."

"That's not as easy for me."

"Of course it is," she argued, "I mean I get it, talking works different on different people and it's hard to know how to say what you mean before you know how the person you're talking to will hear you, but for us—I mean I have to—we have to—" she took a breath and plowed straight through it, "if we have to kiss every day, I don't think you need to feel shy about smaller things. If you say something wrong the first time, it's okay if you go back and change it. I'll wait for you."

I understood her avalanche of words and it coaxed a spark and sudden warmth out of the dead coals in my chest. Impulsively, I leaned forward and kissed the top of her head.

"Oh no! No, no, I'm not ready to go to sleep again!" she said, dropping her sandwich and rubbing a hand in her hair, knocking the messy bun loose. I couldn't help smiling.

"It doesn't work like that. Not so far, anyway."

She looked up, unsure, "It tingles."

"If it makes you feel better I won't do it again."

"I didn't say that," she said with a grin, then covered her mouth with her wrist in embarrassment. "Oh gosh, that just slipped out, I'm sorry."

We both laughed quietly, and the rest of that afternoon was spent rambling casually through conversation in easy company, growing more familiar and slowly wearing down the sharp edges of my pain and fear. Sometime between lunch and nightfall Becca and I became genuine friends.

We placed our sleeping bags next to each other and I kissed her goodnight without thinking about it, but she didn't doze off right away, so we kissed again, softly, shyly, and not because we had to. The welcome tenderness of that moment dispelled once she fell asleep, and I laid awake in self-condemnation for another hour before the long night claimed me.