“Of course,” said Tybalt, in a dry tone. “I came entirely to wait on your pleasure, not to avenge a dead Queen of my line at all.”

Ignoring the sarcasm, I smiled. “Excellent. This won’t take long.”

I meant that seriously. What I didn’t expect was how accurate my words would be. I dialed the pay phone in Paso Nogal, waiting until a winded Melly answered the phone, managing to gasp out, “Hello?”

“Melly?”

“October! Ah, child, it’s good to hear your voice.”

“Melly, is Sylvester still there? I need to—”

Melly cut me off, saying, “His Grace has already ridden out, along with most of the knowe, I’m afraid. Even Her Grace went along. Is it . . . is it true that dear January’s left us?”

The image of Luna attacking a killer with an army of rose goblins was interesting, but not useful. “I’m afraid so.”

“Oh, that poor lamb,” she said, with a deep, wounded sigh. “Just take care, if you would. There’s been death enough.”

“I will,” I said, before hanging up. I’ll give Elliot this much; of the pair of them, he was the only one pretending not to listen. “Sylvester’s on his way. He’ll get Quentin out of here.”

“Good,” said Tybalt. “Now may we go inside?”

“Of course,” said Elliot.

Tybalt fell into step beside me as we followed Elliot into the knowe, saying quietly, “I would have come straight to you, but the place is warded. None of the Shadows would open.”

“They have a Coblynau on staff.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “That would do it. Why are you so concerned with what becomes of this ‘Quentin’? Is he a new swain of yours?”

“First, Tybalt, no one says ‘swain’ anymore. Secondly, no. He’s a foster at Shadowed Hills, and he’s been injured. Someone was trying to shoot me, and they got him instead.”

His eyes narrowed. “Who?”

“I don’t know.” I paused. “But you might. Elliot, take us to the cafeteria.”

“Why?”

“Because we just got ourselves a bloodhound,” I said, smiling thinly. Tybalt snorted at my comparing him to a dog, but didn’t object. The news that I’d been shot at seemed to have disconcerted him more than I expected. If it made him agreeable, well, I wasn’t going to argue.

The cafeteria was empty. Wherever the surviving denizens of ALH were spending their day, it wasn’t here, perhaps because they were avoiding the grisly sight of Quentin’s blood, which had dried to a dirty, unpleasant brown on the floor all around the soda machine. Elliot stiffened at the sight of it. “No,” I said, before he could ask. “You can’t.”