Clearly, I escaped. But in the end, the Lumberjack won. However he cured me—be it that soup, or whoever knows—I could never replicate it to cure myself again.

CLIENT 2

(shaking his head)

And then what happened? If this was the second potential cure, weren’t there two other ways of curing yourself?

WHITE FOX

(tsking)

Always analyzing. Well, yes. And the next bit might be more familiar to you.

TAI

The blinds cast stripy midnight-streetlight shadows on Noni’s face as she stands over me in bed.

“We are not going to Noxim alone, and that’s final,” she tells me, tucking me under a blanket at the Limatra apartment. I’ve spent the past half hour begging her to agree with my plan—the only logical next step, after reading Daria’s bombshell revelation and the lumberjack portion of White Fox for the umpteenth time. “We could run into him, Tai. The lumberjack.”

“If he even exists—or is still alive! It’s been ten freaking years! Be honest: Do you feel unsafe here?” I ask, sitting up in bed. “Tell me.” All I’ve felt on the streets is leftover adoration. The least safe place was probably the retrospective, where half the audience wanted us to have a wardrobe malfunction.

But Noni doesn’t look at me.

“The stalker’s probably too old and infirm to bother us now,” I continue. “And we’re too famous to kill in broad daylight.”

“How does that even make sense?” She narrows her eyes.

I pout. “I’m just doing all I can to find Mama.”

“Don’t give me that.” Her hands have curled shut. “You got your way tonight. You tricked me into coming on your creepy role-playing date.”

And I know she’s doing me a favor not asking for an explanation. The truth is: It was Linos who suggested I “dress incognito” and come in the back way, so I wouldn’t draw attention. As if I could ever be incognito here. Anywhere. To his credit, he handled my pink wig and yellow coat remarkably well for a pseudo-aristocrat with a silver spoon up his ass. God, I wish he wasn’t such a fucking snack.

“Fine,” I reply. “What if we text Teddy and ask him to send us a car in the morning?” I don’t specify which kind of car, but Noni’s too exhausted to read between the lines.

She exhales with the agonizing slowness of a beleaguered governess—her favorite role—as I pick up my phone to text Teddy.

“Fine.” She shuts off the light. “Now go to sleep.”

Ordering me around like I’m five. You spend money like a drunken sailor. You’re a high school dropout. Go to sleep, fool.

But I can’t do this without her.

“Wait!” I say, hands on my phone. “Will you sleep in here with me tonight?”

Because I kind of am five.