I didn’t need to cut her; the wound in her shoulder was still bleeding. I sliced my own wrist shallowly, adding the smell of my own blood to the dizzying mixture. “Don’t watch this,” I said, and lowered my mouth to her shoulder without looking to see whether the others listened to me. I didn’t have time to care.

Gillian’s blood filled my mouth, the poisonous bite of elf-shot running through it like rot lurking under the skin of an apple. It was too diluted to hurt me. My mostlyhuman daughter was another story. The crackle of my magic rising around us was almost audible, and the cut-grass-and-copper smell of it was stronger than it had ever been before, sharpening until the metallic tang that always accompanied my spellcasting sweetened into the near-twin of my mother’s bloody signature.

I closed my eyes, focusing on the magic. Please, I thought, putting everything I had into the word. Please, Gillian. Let me help you.

“Help me with what, Mom?”

I opened my eyes. I was standing in the middle of a wide green field. The sky overhead was a bright, flawless blue. The taste of blood still filled my mouth, and if I really focused, I could see the shallowing where I fought for my daughter’s life, but for the moment, this scene was just as real as that one.

Gillian stood about ten yards away from me, her bare toes digging nervously in the grass. She was unhurt, and her eyes were open. The breeze blowing by ruffled her hair and the primrose-patterned pink sundress she was wearing.

“I don’t understand what’s going on,” she said. “Am I asleep? Is this a dream?”

“It can be.” I took a step forward, moving slowly, so as not to frighten her. “Honey, we don’t have much time. I need to talk to you about something.”

Her brow knotted briefly, a frown twisting her mouth. “Is it about why you left us? Because if it’s not, I don’t know that I want to hear it.”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“Everything’s a choice.”

Her words were truer than she could have known. I flinched. “I didn’t know what I was choosing when I did it. I didn’t find out until it was too late.”

“Why did you do it?” Her frown cleared, replaced by an aching confusion that I knew all too clearly. She looked more like the little girl I remembered in that moment than she’d ever looked before, and it hurt my heart. “We needed you, and you left. Where did you go?”

I took a breath. “Your Uncle Sylvester asked me to do him a favor. It wasn’t supposed to take more than a few hours.”

“It took my whole life.”

“Mine, too.” I took another step toward her. “Gillian, believe me, if there’d been any way for me to come home to you, any way, I would have done it. I would have given anything to come back to you faster than I did. I couldn’t. I tried, and I couldn’t. I came as soon as I could.”

“It wasn’t soon enough.” There was no anger in her voice. Just resignation. “Am I dying?”

“What? No! No, you’re not dying. Don’t even think that, Gilly.”

“Then what’s going on, Mom? Where are we? Why do you look like that?” She gestured toward my ears, and I realized that in this liminal place that was real and not real at the same time, she could see me as I really was.

“Honey—”

“What are you?”

It was too late to lie to her, especially with what I was about to ask. “I’m fae, Gillian. I’ve always been fae.”

“What, you mean, like an elf? Like from the movies with the Hobbits and everything?”

“Not quite, but . . . yes, like an elf.” I hesitated before adding, “You are, too.”

Gillian stared at me for a moment, brown eyes wide. Then she started to laugh. “Oh, right. Like I could be some kind of magical whatever.”

“You’re my daughter. You can be whatever you want to be.”

Bit by bit, her laughter stopped. The meadow behind her was getting misty, losing definition. I knew from my own Choice—the second one, the one Amandine led me through—that time here ran differently than it did in the real world; this was like a dream, and it could condense a great deal into a few seconds. We still didn’t have forever.

“You’re serious,” she said.

“Yeah, honey. I am.” I closed the rest of the distance between us, offering her my hands. “You’ve been hurt, but it’s going to be okay. I just need you to make a decision now, and then everything can be all right again.”

“What?” Gillian looked at me nervously. Her own hands stayed by her sides. The smell of primroses was strong this close to her, all but rolling off her skin.

“Your father’s human. I’m not. Right now, you’re somewhere in the middle, and that makes you vulnerable. The thing that hurt you, it’s going to hurt you worse if you stay where you are. So I need you to decide. You can be fae, or you can be human, but you can’t be both.”

Her eyes widened. “What? I can’t . . . you can’t mean that I . . .” She stopped in the middle of her sentence, suddenly focusing on a point just past my left shoulder. I knew what I would see if I turned around. I turned around anyway.

Another Gillian was standing behind me. This one’s sundress was red, still patterned with pink primroses. Her ears were sharply pointed, and her eyes were the no-color gray of mist rolling in off the water. There were streaks of gold in her dark brown hair. There was nothing human about her, and she was beautiful.

Next to her stood a third version of my daughter, this one wearing a white sundress. She was almost identical to the girl in front of me. There was a faint, nearly indefinable difference in the shape of her face and the way she held herself, but she was close to Gillian as she’d always known herself, and she was beautiful, too.

I tore my eyes away from these possible futures, turning my attention back to my daughter as she existed in the here and now. “Gillian.” She was still staring past my shoulder, awe and horror mixing in her expression. “Gillian. You need to choose. Either of them can be you, but, honey, we don’t have time to stand here arguing about which one it’s going to be.”

“What if I get it wrong?” Gillian met my eyes, fear finally washing away her awe. “What if I want to change my mind?”

“You can’t. This is a choice you only get to make once. You’re either fae, like me, or you’re human, like your father. Please.”