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trouble did the two of you get into last night?” The old woman loaded two plates into the dishwasher.
    Corny looked blank for a moment, then forced a frown. “Last night. Right. Well, I left early.”
    “What kind of gentleman leaves a girl alone like that, Cornelius? She’s been sick all morning and her door’s locked.”
    The microwave beeped.
    “We’re supposed to go to New York tonight.”
    Kaye’s grandmother opened the microwave. “Well, I don’t think she’s going to be up to it. Here, take her this. See if she can keep something down.”
    Corny took the mug and bounded up the stairs. Tea sloshed as he went, leaving a trail of steaming droplets behind him. In the hall outside Kaye’s door, he stopped and listened for a moment. Hearing nothing, he knocked on the door.
    There was no response.
    “Kaye, it’s me,” he said. “Hey, Kaye, come on and open the door.” Corny knocked again. “Kaye!”
    He heard shuffling and a click, then the door swung open. He took an involuntary step backward.
    He’d seen her faerie form before, but he hadn’t been prepared to see it here. The grasshopper green of her skin looked especially strange when contrasted with a white T-shirt and faded pink underwear. Her shiny black eyes were rimmed with red, and the room beyond her smelled sour.
    She lay back on the mattress, bundling the comforter around her and smothering her face against the pillow. He could see only the tangled green of her hair and the overly long fingers that pulled the fabric against her chest as though it were a stuffed toy. She seemed like a cat resting, more alert than it looked.
    Corny came and sat down on the floor near her, leaning back on a satiny tag-sale pillow.
    “Must have been a great night,” he whispered, experimentally, and her ink black eyes did flicker open for a second. She made a sound like a snort.
    “Come on. It’s the ass crack of noon. Time to get up.”
    Lutie swooped down from the top of the bookshelves, the suddenness startling Corny. The faery alighted on his knee, her laughter so high that the sound reminded him of chimes. He resisted the urge to recoil.
    “Roiben’s chamberlain, Ruddles himself, along with a bogan and a puck, carried her back. Imagine a bogan gently tucking a pixie into bed!”
    Kaye groaned. “I don’t think he was that gentle. Now, can everyone be quiet? I’m trying to sleep.”
    “Your grandma sent up this tea. You want it? If not, I’ll drink it.”
    Kaye flipped over onto her back with a groan. “Give it to me.”
    He handed over the mug as she shifted into a sitting position. One of her cellophane-like wings rubbed against the wall, sending a shower of powder down onto the sheets.
    “Doesn’t that hurt?”
    She looked over her shoulder and shrugged. Her long fingers turned the tea cup, warming her hands against it.
    “I take it we’re not going to make it to your mother’s show.”
    She looked up at him and he was surprised to see that her eyes were wet.
    “I don’t know,” she said. “How am I supposed to know? I don’t know much about anything.”
    “Okay, okay. What the hell happened?”
    “I told Roiben I loved him. Really loudly. In front of a huge audience.”
    “So, what did he say?”
    “It was this thing called a declaration. They said—I don’t know why I even listened—that if I didn’t do it someone would beat me to it.”
    “And they are…?”
    “Don’t ask,” Kaye said, taking a sip of the tea and shaking her head. “I was so drunk, Corny. I don’t ever want to be that drunk again.”
    “Sorry…. Go on.”
    “These faeries told me about the declaration thing. They were kind of—I don’t know—bragging, I guess. Anyway, Roiben told me I had to stay in the audience for the ceremony, and I kept thinking about how I didn’t fit in and how maybe he was disappointed, you know? I thought that maybe he secretly wished I knew more of their customs—maybe he wished I would do something like that before he