SUMMER AND IRON.

The days settled into a safe, if not comfortable, routine. At dawn, before the sunlight touched the forest floor, I went out to the little clearing to practice sword drills with Ash. He was a patient yet strict teacher, pushing me to stretch beyond my comfort zone and fight like I meant to kill him. He taught me defense, how to dance around an enemy without getting hit, how to turn my opponents' energy against them. As my skill and confidence grew and our practice scuffles became more serious, I began to see a pattern, a rhythm in the art of swordplay. It became more like a dance: a tempo of spinning, darting blades and constant footwork. I was still nowhere near as good as Ash, and never would be, but I was learning.

Afternoons were spent talking to my dad, trying to get him to come out of his crazy-sh.e.l.l, feeling as if I was repeatedly bashing my head against a wall. It was a slow and painful process. His moments of lucidity were few and far between, and he didn't recognize me half the time. Most of our days progressed with him playing the piano while I sat on the nearby armchair and spoke to him whenever the music stopped. Sometimes Ash was there, lying on the couch reading a book; sometimes he disappeared into the forest for hours at a time. I didn't know where he was going or what he was doing, until rabbit and other animals started showing up on the plates for dinner and it occurred to me that Ash might be impatient with the lack of progress, too.

One day, however, he came back and handed me a large, leather-bound book. When I opened it, I was shocked to find pictures of my family staring back at me. Pictures of my family...before. Paul and my mom, on their wedding day. A cute, mixed-breed puppy I didn't recognize. Me as an infant, then a toddler, then a grinning four-year-old riding a tricycle.

"I called in a favor," Ash explained to my stunned expression. "The bogey living in your brother's closet found it for me. Maybe it will help your father remember."

I hugged him. He held me lightly, careful not to push or respond in a way that might lead to temptation. I savored the feel of his arms around me, breathing in his scent, before he gently pulled away. I smiled my thanks and turned to my father at the piano again.

"Dad," I murmured, carefully sitting beside him on the bench. He shot me a wary look, but at least he didn't flinch or jerk away and start banging on the piano keys. "I have something to show you. Look at this."

Opening the first page, I waited for him to look over. At first, he studiously ignored it, hunching his shoulders and not looking up. His gaze flickered to the alb.u.m page once, but he continued to play, no change in his expression. After a few more minutes, I was ready to give up and retreat to the sofa to page through it myself, when the music suddenly faltered. Startled, I looked up at him, and my stomach twisted.

Tears were running down his face, splashing onto the piano keys. As I stared, transfixed, the music slowly stumbled to a halt, and my father began to sob. He bent over, and his long fingers traced the photos in the book as his tears dripped onto the pages and my hands. Ash quietly slipped from the room, and I put an arm around my dad and we cried together.

From that day on, he started to talk to me, slow, stuttering conversations at first, as we sat on the couch and thumbed through the photo alb.u.m. He was so fragile, his sanity like spun gla.s.s that a breath of wind could shatter at any moment. But slowly, he began to remember Mom and me, and his old life, though he could never connect the little kid in the alb.u.m with the teenager sitting beside him on the couch. He often asked where Mom and baby-Meghan were, and I had to tell him, again and again, that Mom was married to someone else now, that he had disappeared for eleven years, and she wasn't waiting for him anymore. And I had to watch the tears well in his eyes every time he heard it.

It made my soul ache.

Evenings were the hardest. Ash was as good as his word and never pushed, keeping all interactions between us light and easy. He never turned me away; when I needed someone to vent to after an exhausting day with my father, he was always there, quiet and strong. I would curl into him on the couch, and he would listen as I poured out my fears and frustrations. Sometimes we did nothing but read together, me lying in his lap while he turned the pages-though our tastes in books were vastly different, and I usually dozed off in the middle of a page. One night, bored and restless, I found a stack of dusty board games in a closet, and bullied Ash into learning Scrabble, checkers and Yahtzee. Surprisingly, Ash found that he enjoyed these "human" games, and was soon asking me me to play more often than not. This filled some of the long, restless evenings and kept my mind off certain things. Unfortunately for me, once Ash learned the rules, he was nearly impossible to beat in strategy games like checkers, and his long life gave him a vast knowledge of lengthy, complicated words he staggered me with in Scrabble. Though sometimes we'd end up debating whether or not faery terms like to play more often than not. This filled some of the long, restless evenings and kept my mind off certain things. Unfortunately for me, once Ash learned the rules, he was nearly impossible to beat in strategy games like checkers, and his long life gave him a vast knowledge of lengthy, complicated words he staggered me with in Scrabble. Though sometimes we'd end up debating whether or not faery terms like Gwragedd Annwn Gwragedd Annwn and and hobyahs hobyahs were legal to use. were legal to use.

Regardless, I cherished our time together, knowing this peaceful lull would come to an end someday. But there was an invisible wall between us now, a barrier only I could break, and it was killing me.

And, even though I didn't want to, I missed Puck. Puck could always make me laugh, even when things were at their bleakest. Sometimes I'd catch a glimpse of a deer or a bird in the woods and wonder if it was Puck, watching us. Then I'd become angry at myself for wondering and spend the day trying to convince myself that I didn't care where he was or what he was doing.

But I still missed him.

One morning, a few weeks later, Ash and I were finishing up our daily practice session when Grimalkin appeared on a nearby stone, watching us.

"You're still telegraphing your moves," Ash said as we circled each other, blades held up and ready. "Don't look at the spot you're trying to hit, let the sword go there on its own." He lunged, cutting high at my head. I ducked and spun away, slashing at his back, and he parried the blow, looking pleased. "Good. You're getting faster, too. You'll be a match for most redcap thugs if they tried to start anything."

I grinned at the compliment, but Grimalkin, who had been silent until now, said, "And what happens if they use glamour against her?"

I turned. Grimalkin sat with his tail around his feet, watching a yellow b.u.mblebee bob over the gra.s.s in rapt fascination. "What?"

"Glamour. You know, the magic I tried to teach you once, before I discovered you had no talent for it whatsoever?" Grimalkin swatted at the bee as it came closer, missed, and pretended no interest at all as it zipped away. He sniffed and looked at me again, twitching his tail. "The Winter prince does not just use his sword when fighting-he has glamour at his disposal as well, as will your enemies. How are you planning to counter that, human?" Before I could answer, he perked up, his attention riveted on a large orange b.u.t.terfly flitting toward us, and leaped off the rock, vanishing into the tall gra.s.s.

I looked at Ash, who sighed and sheathed his blade. "He's right, unfortunately," he said, raking a hand through his hair. "Teaching you the sword was supposed to be only half of your training. I wanted you to learn how to use your glamour, as well."

"I know how to use glamour," I argued, still stinging from Grimalkin's casual statement about my lack of talent. Ash raised an eyebrow, a silent challenge, and I sighed. "Fine, then. I'll prove it. Watch this."

He backed up a few steps, and I closed my eyes, reaching out to the forest around me.

Instantly, my mind was filled with all manner of growing things: the gra.s.s beneath my feet, the vines slithering along the ground, the roots of the trees surrounding us. In this clearing, Summer held full sway. Whether through Leanansidhe's influence or something else, the plants here had not known the touch of winter, or cold, or death, for a long time.

Ash's voice cut through my concentration, and I opened my eyes. "You do have a lot of power, but you need to learn control if you're going to use it." He bent down, plucked something from the gra.s.s, and held it up. It was a tiny flower, white petals still tightly closed, curled into a ball.

"Make it bloom," Ash ordered softly.

Frowning, I stared at the little bud, mind racing. Okay, I can do this. I've pulled up roots and made trees move and knocked a barrage of arrows from the air. I can make one teensy little flower bloom. Okay, I can do this. I've pulled up roots and made trees move and knocked a barrage of arrows from the air. I can make one teensy little flower bloom. Still, I hesitated. Ash was right; I could feel the glamour all around me, but I was still unsure how to actually wield it. Still, I hesitated. Ash was right; I could feel the glamour all around me, but I was still unsure how to actually wield it.

"Would you like a hint?" Grimalkin asked from a nearby rock, startling me. I jumped, and he twitched an ear in amus.e.m.e.nt. "Picture the magic as a stream," he continued, "then a ribbon, then a thread. When it is as thin as you can possibly make it, use it to gently tease the petals open. Anything more forceful will make the bloom split apart and cause the glamour to scatter." He blinked sagely, then a b.u.t.terfly near the stream caught his attention and he bounded off once more.

I looked at Ash, wondering if he was irritated at Grimalkin for helping me, but he only nodded. Taking a breath, I held the glamour in my mind, a swirling, colorful vortex of emotion and dream. Concentrating hard, I shrank it down until it was a shimmering rope, then even further, until it was only a shining, oh-so-delicate thread in my mind.

Sweat beaded and rolled down my forehead, and my arms started to shake. Holding my breath, I carefully touched the flower with the glamour thread, coiling magic into the tiny bud and expanding gently. The petals shivered once and slowly curled open.

Ash nodded approval. I smiled, but before I could celebrate, a bout of dizziness. .h.i.t me like a tidal wave, nearly knocking me down. The world spun violently, and I felt my legs give out, as if someone had pulled a plug and let all my magic drain away. Gasping, I pitched forward.

Ash caught me, holding me upright. I clung to him, feeling almost sick with weakness, frustrated that something so natural was this hard. Ash lowered us both to the ground, pulling back to watch me with troubled silver eyes.

"Is...is it normal to be this tired?" I asked, as feeling slowly returned to my legs. Ash shook his head, his face dark and grim.

"No. That little amount of glamour should have been nothing for you." He stood, crossing his arms over his chest, regarding me with a worried expression. "Something is wrong, and I don't know enough about Summer magic to help you." Holding out his hand, he pulled me to my feet with a sigh. "We're going to have to find Puck."

"What? No!" I let go of him too fast and stumbled, nearly falling again. "Why? We don't need Puck. What about Grimalkin? He can help, right?"

"Probably." Ash looked over to where Grimalkin was stalking b.u.t.terflies through the gra.s.s, tail twitching in excitement. "Do you really want to ask him?"

I winced. "No, not really," I sighed. Stupid, favor-collecting cat. "Fine. But why Puck? Do you really think he'll know what's going on?"

Ash lifted one lean shoulder in a shrug. "I don't know. But he's been around longer than me and might know more about what's happening to you. The least we can do is ask."

"I don't want to see him." I crossed my arms, scowling. "He lied to me, Ash. And don't tell me that faeries can't lie-omitting the truth is just as bad. He let me believe my dad abandoned us, and he knew where he was all along. Eleven years, he lied to me. I can't forgive him for that."

"Meghan, believe me, I know what it's like to hate Puck. I've been at it for longer than you, remember?" Ash softened his words with a rueful smile, but I still felt a stab of guilt. "Trust me, I don't particularly want to go begging for his help, either." He sighed, raking a hand through his hair. "But if anyone is to teach you Summer magic, it should be him. I can only show you the basics, and you're going to need more than that."

My anger deflated. Of course, he was right. My shoulders sagged and I glared at him. "I hate it when you're reasonable."

He laughed. "Someone has to be. Come on." He turned and held out a hand. "If we're going to find Goodfellow, we should get started now. If he's hiding, or if he doesn't want to be found, we could be searching awhile."

Taking his hand, I resigned myself as we crossed the meadow and slipped into the thick forest surrounding it.

IN THE END, PUCK FOUND US.

The woods surrounding the cabin were sprawling and vast, mostly pine and big, s.h.a.ggy trees with furry trunks. It made me think we were high in the mountains somewhere. Ferns and pine needles littered the forest floor; the air was cool and smelled of sap.

Ash slipped through the woods like a ghost, following some invisible path, keen hunter instincts showing the way. As we hiked, ducking branches and scrambling over needle-covered rocks, my insides churned angrily. Why did Puck have to help us? What would he know? My dad's face swam before me, tears shining from his eyes as I told him, once again, that Mom was married to someone else, and I clenched my fists. Whether my dad's abduction was planned or not, Puck had a lot to answer for.

Ash brought us to a grotto surrounded by pine trees and stopped, gazing around. I joined him, taking his hand as we searched the trunks and shadows. It was very quiet. Threads of sunlight slanted in through the trees and dappled the forest floor, covered in mushrooms and pine needles. The trees here were old, thick creatures, and the air seemed filled with ancient magic.

"He's been here," Ash said, as a breeze stirred the branches, ruffling his dark hair. "In fact, he's very close."

"Looking for something?"

The familiar voice echoed from somewhere above us. I turned, and there was Puck, lying on an overhead branch, smirking at me. His shirt was off, showing a lean, bronzed chest, and his red hair was all over the place. He looked more...I don't know...fey out here, something wild and unpredictable, more like Shakespeare's Robin Goodfellow, who turned Nick Bottom into a donkey and wreaked havoc on the humans lost in the forest. out here, something wild and unpredictable, more like Shakespeare's Robin Goodfellow, who turned Nick Bottom into a donkey and wreaked havoc on the humans lost in the forest.

"Rumor going round these parts is that you're looking for me," he said, tossing an apple in one hand before biting into it. "Well, here I am. What do you want, your highnesses? your highnesses?"

I bristled at the implied insult, but Ash stepped forward. "Something is wrong with Meghan's glamour," he said, brief and to the point as usual. "You know more about Summer magic. We need to know what's happened to her, why she can't use glamour without almost pa.s.sing out."

"Ah." Puck's emerald eyes sparkled with glee. "And so they come crawling back for Puck's help after all. Tsk tsk." He shook his head and took another bite of the apple. "How easy it is to forget grudges when someone has something you need."

I swelled indignantly, but Ash sighed, as if he'd expected this. "What do you want, Goodfellow?" he asked wearily.

"I want the princess to ask me," Puck said, switching his gaze to mine. "I'll be helping her, her, after all. I want to hear it from her own frosted pink lips." after all. I want to hear it from her own frosted pink lips."

I pressed my pink lips together to keep back a nasty reply. Glad to see at least one of us is being mature about this, Glad to see at least one of us is being mature about this, I wanted to say, which wouldn't have been very mature at all. Besides, Ash was watching me, all solemn and serious, and a little bit pleading. If he could swallow his pride and ask his archnemesis for help, I guess I could be the grown-up here, too. I wanted to say, which wouldn't have been very mature at all. Besides, Ash was watching me, all solemn and serious, and a little bit pleading. If he could swallow his pride and ask his archnemesis for help, I guess I could be the grown-up here, too.

For now.

I sighed. "Fine." But there will be repercussions later, believe me. But there will be repercussions later, believe me. "Puck, I'd really appreciate it if you helped me out a little." He raised an eyebrow, and I grit my teeth. "Please." "Puck, I'd really appreciate it if you helped me out a little." He raised an eyebrow, and I grit my teeth. "Please."

He flashed me a smug grin. "Help you out with what, princess?"

"My magic."

"What's wrong with it?"

I was sorely tempted to fling a rock at his head, but he wasn't flashing me that stupid grin anymore, so maybe he was being serious. "I don't know," I sighed. "I can't use glamour anymore without getting either really tired or really sick. I don't know what's wrong with me. It didn't used to be like this."

"Huh." Puck jumped down from the tree, landing as lightly as a cat. He took two steps toward us and stopped, peering at me with intense green eyes. "When was the last time you used glamour, princess? Without getting sick or tired?"

I thought back. I'd used Summer magic on the spider-hags and nearly thrown up with the effort. Before that, my glamour had been sealed by Mab, so... "The warehouse," I answered, remembering the battle with another of Machina's old lieutenants. "When we fought Virus. You were there, remember? I stopped her bugs from swarming all over us."

Puck bobbed his head, looking thoughtful. "But that was Iron Iron magic, wasn't it, princess?" he asked, and I nodded. "When was the last time you used Summer glamour, normal glamour, without feeling sick or tired?" magic, wasn't it, princess?" he asked, and I nodded. "When was the last time you used Summer glamour, normal glamour, without feeling sick or tired?"

"Machina's realm," Ash said softly, looking at me. Understanding was beginning to dawn on him, though I had no idea where this was leading. "You pulled up the roots to trap the Iron King," he went on, "right before he stabbed you. Right before he died."

"That's where you got your Iron glamour, princess," Puck added, nodding thoughtfully. "I'd bet t.i.tania's golden mirror on it. You somehow got stuck with Machina's Iron magic-that's why the false king wants you, I'd wager. It has something to do with the power of the Iron King."

I shivered. Glitch had said as much, but I hadn't wanted to think about it. "So what does that have to do with my glamour problems?" I asked.

Ash and Puck shared a look. "Because, princess," Puck said, leaning back against a tree, "you have two powers inside you right now, Summer and Iron. And, simply put, they're not getting along."

"They can't exist together," Ash put in, as if he'd just figured it out. "Whenever you try, one glamour reacts violently to the other, the same way we react to iron. So the Summer glamour is making you sick because it touched Iron magic, and vice versa."

Puck whistled. "Now that's a Catch-22."

"But...but I used Iron glamour before this," I protested, not liking their explanations at all. "In the factory with Virus. And I didn't have any problems then. We'd all be dead otherwise."

"Your regular magic was sealed then." Ash frowned, deep in thought. "When we went to Winter, Mab put a binding on you, sealing away your Summer magic. She didn't know about the Iron glamour." He looked up. "After the binding shattered, that's when you started having difficulty."

I crossed my arms in frustration. "This is so not fair," I muttered, as Ash and Puck looked on with varying degrees of sympathy. I glared at them both. "What am I supposed to do now?" I demanded. "How am I supposed to fix this?"

"You'll have to learn to use them both," Ash said calmly. "There has to be a way to wield both glamours separately, without one tainting the other."

"Maybe it'll get easier with practice," Puck added, and that irritating smirk came creeping back. "I could teach you. How to use Summer glamour at least. If you want me to."

I stared at him, searching for a hint of my former best friend, for a spark of the affection we'd had for each other. The obnoxious smirk never wavered, but I saw something in his eyes, a glimmer of remorse, perhaps? Whatever it was, it was enough. I couldn't do this alone. Something told me I was going to need all the help I could get.

"Fine," I told him, watching his smile turn dangerously close to a leer. "But this doesn't mean we're okay. I still haven't forgiven you for what you did to my family."

Puck sighed dramatically and glanced at Ash. "Join the club, princess."

CHAPTER EIGHT.

UNDERSTANDING MEASURES.

So, there we were again, the three of us: me, Ash, and Puck, together once more but not really the same. I practiced sword drills with Ash in the morning, and Summer magic with Puck in the afternoon, usually around the hottest part of the day. In the evenings, I listened to the piano or talked to my dad, while trying to ignore the obvious tension between the two faeries in the room. Paul was doing better, at least, his moments of confusion fewer and farther between. The morning he made breakfast, I got teary-eyed with relief, although our resident brownies threw a fit and nearly left the house. I was able to woo them back with bowls of cream and honey, and the promise that Paul wouldn't intrude on their ch.o.r.es again.

My glamour use didn't get any better.

Every day, when the sun was at its zenith, I'd leave the lunch table and wander down to the meadow, where Puck waited for me. He showed me how to call glamour from plants, how to make them grow faster, how to weave illusions from nothing, and how to call on the forest for help. Summer magic was the magic of life, heat, and pa.s.sion, he explained. The new growth of Spring, the lethal beauty of fire, the violent destruction of a summer storm-all were examples of Summer magic in the everyday world. He demonstrated small miracles-making a dead flower come back to life, calling a squirrel right into his lap-and then instructed me to do the same.

I tried. Calling the magic was easy; it came as naturally as breathing. I could feel it all around me, pulsing with life and energy. But when I tried to use it in any way, nausea hit and I was left gasping in the dirt, so sick and dizzy I felt I would pa.s.s out.

"Try again," Puck said one afternoon, sitting cross-legged on a flat rock by the stream, chin in his hands. Between us, a mop handle stood upright in the gra.s.s like a naked tree. Puck had "borrowed" it from the broom closet earlier that morning, and would probably incur the wrath of the brownies when they discovered one of their sacred tools missing.

I glared at the mop handle, taking a deep breath. I was supposed to make the stupid thing bloom with roses and such, but all I'd done was given myself a ma.s.sive headache. Drawing glamour to me, I tried again. Okay, concentrate, Meghan. Concentrate... Okay, concentrate, Meghan. Concentrate...

Ash appeared at the edge of my vision, arms crossed, watching us intently. "Any luck?" he murmured, easily breaking my concentration.

Puck gestured to me. "See for yourself."

Annoyed with them both, I focused on the mop. Wood is wood, Wood is wood, Puck had said that morning. Puck had said that morning. Be it a dead tree, the side of a ship, a wooden crossbow, or a simple broom handle, Summer magic can make it come alive again, if only for a moment. This is your birthright. Concentrate. Be it a dead tree, the side of a ship, a wooden crossbow, or a simple broom handle, Summer magic can make it come alive again, if only for a moment. This is your birthright. Concentrate.

Glamour swirled around me, raw and powerful. I sent it toward the mop, and the sickness descended like a hammer, making my stomach clench. I doubled over with a gasp, fighting the urge to vomit. If this is what faeries experienced every time they touched something made of iron, it was no wonder they avoided it like the plague.

"This isn't working," I heard Ash say. "She should stop before she really gets hurt."