“I know that. Can you tell me why?”

“Not yet,” she said, leaning down and prying Karen’s right eye open. She peered into it, apparently looking for something, before leaning back and letting go. Karen’s eye closed again, but otherwise, she didn’t move. “Huh. How about that.”

“What’s wrong with her?” I balled my hands into fists, resting them against the bed. I hate feeling helpless almost as much as I hate bleeding.

“Could be a lot of things,” she said. “A curse, a hex, bloodworms, food poisoning—you got that knife of yours?”

“What?”

“Your knife. The one I know you carry. Do you have it with you?”

“Yes, but—”

“Good.” She held out her hand. “Give it to me.”

“Why?” The Luidaeg had a nasty tendency to cut things when she was armed, and frequently, that meant me. I didn’t think I could stop her by refusing to hand over my knife, but I had to ask.

She lifted her head. “Do you want to know what’s wrong with her?”

“Yes!”

“Then give me the knife. I don’t have the patience for your little games right now. This whole situation is pissing me off.”

Wordlessly, I pulled the knife out of my belt and handed it to her. Odd though it might seem, I trust the Luidaeg. I may not always approve of her methods, but I trust her.

She lifted Karen’s arm and paused. “I’m not a child killer. You know that, right?”

“I know,” I said. “If I thought you were going to hurt her . . .”

“You’d challenge me and lose. You know it, I know it, but you’d still do it. Sometimes your sense of honor confuses the hell out of me.” She grinned. “All changelings are crazy.”

“Yes, we are. What are you going to do?”

“I’m not going to hurt her; I just need a little blood.” She slid the knife across Karen’s thumb. Blood beaded to the skin, the scent of it filling the air until it drowned out the salt water. “There we go.” Lowering her head, the Luidaeg pressed the cut to her lips in a bizarre parody of kiss it and make it better, and held that position, swallowing. Karen didn’t move.

The Luidaeg raised her head after several minutes, licking her lips. “Well, well, well. I see,” she said, and stood, dropping Karen’s hand. Her eyes had gone white. “I don’t believe it.”

“What is it?” I asked, rising. “What’s wrong with her?”

“I should have killed you when I had the chance,” she said, licking her lips again. Her fangs showed when she spoke. “I’d have ripped your heart out of your chest and had it for a toy. It would’ve been a beautiful death.”

“I’m sure,” I said, shuddering. The Luidaeg seemed to like me, but that didn’t mean anything. “Let’s skip that for now.”

She shrugged, licking her lips a third time. “It’s your funeral. She’s an oneiromancer.”

“A what?”

“An oneiromancer, a dream-scryer. She sees the future—and probably the present—in her dreams.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

The Luidaeg sighed. “You’re not getting it. Look, the brat can read the future in her dreams. That means she doesn’t have a very good connection with her body. You with me?”

“Yes . . .” I said. Karen was an oneiromancer? I’d heard of them, but never met one. Fortune-telling is a rare gift, and that’s a good thing; people who see the future don’t have the best connection to the present. They tend to say too much and wind up dead. Stacy comes from Barrow Wight stock; Mitch is part Nixie. Neither breed is known for seeing the future. Where the hell did this little curveball come from?

“Michael stole the others physically. Karen wasn’t in her body when the Riders came, so they took her to him a different way; they took her in her dreams.”

“What?” I stared at her. “How?”

“What you and your mother read in the blood is the self; it can be removed. Karen’s self isn’t anchored like yours or mine because of what she is. That’s what he stole.”

“Is that why she won’t wake up?” And why I see her when I dream?

Her expression hardened. “Yes.”

“Fine.” I stood, squaring my shoulders. “I’m going to get her back.”

“You make it sound so simple.” She crossed her arms. “It really is just like watching Daddy get ready to ride out and subdue another group of rioting idiots. Sword, shield, suit of shining armor, ingrained stupidity, and you’re ready to go.”

I blinked. “What are you talking about?”

“Heroes, Toby, heroes. You’re all idiots—and don’t tell me you’re not a hero, because I don’t feel like having that argument tonight. You’ll need this.” She pulled my candle out of the air, dropping it into my left hand as she pressed my knife into the right. “You can get there and back by the light of a candle, after all. Trouble is, you’re off the Children’s Road. I can’t set you on it more than once. Against the rules.”

“So how am I supposed to get to Blind Michael?”

“Patience! Dad’s balls, they don’t teach kids any manners anymore. I should slaughter the lot of you.” She shook her head. “There are other roads.”

“How do I find them?”

“You’ve been on one of them before. The Rose Road.”

“What?” I frowned. “But I thought—”

“Luna sent you on the Rose Road the first time you came here, and that means you have the right to pass there. I can’t open it for you, but she can.”

Luna Torquill was one of the last people I wanted to deal with. I put the thought resolutely aside, nodding. “All right. I’ll ask her.”

“Little problem. It won’t be that easy.”

“What do you mean?”

“It starts now.” She snapped her fingers. My candle lit, burning blue-green. I felt the shock of the blood inside the wax waking up again. “When you leave this room, you’re on the road. You can get there and back by the candle’s light, but Lily didn’t do you any favors; it’s going to be harder now. The Rose Road has rules when you use it for more than just a shortcut.”