"Hey, Ash?" Leslie called, once they were far enough apart that she had to yell, far enough that everyone would hear. "You do know there's no test in there this month." Rianne shook her finger. "Naughty, naughty."

The people walking by didn't pay any attention, but Aislinn's face still burned. "Whatever."

Aislinn cut across the park toward the library, thinking about Seth, about Deadgirl following her. She wasn't paying much attention to her surroundings until someone—a human someone—grabbed her arm and pulled her against his chest, holding her securely immobile.

"Well, if it isn't a nice little Catholic girl…Nice skirt."

He tugged her pleated skirt, and the other two guys with him laughed. "Whatcha doing, baby?"

Aislinn tried to kick him, but her foot made little impact on his leg. "Stop it."

"Stop it," his friends mocked. "Oh no, stop it."

Where is everyone? The park wasn't usually deserted this early. No people, no faeries, no one at all was in sight.

She opened her mouth to scream, and he clamped his other hand over her jaw, his index finger between her half-open lips.

She bit down. It tasted like old cigarettes.

"Bitch." But he didn't remove his hand. He squeezed tighter until the inside of her cheek was pushed so tightly against her teeth that it bled.

The guy to her right laughed. "Guess she likes it a little rough, huh?"

Aislinn felt tears in her eyes. The arm around her was bruisingly tight. The hand over her mouth squeezed again, and she could taste fresh blood in her mouth. She tried to think, to remember what she knew about self-defense.

Use whatever you can. Scream. Go limp. She did, letting her weight droop.

He just shifted his hold.

Then she heard a growl.

Beside her was Deadgirl's wolf, teeth bared. He looked like a big dog, but Aislinn knew what he was. Plainly visible to everyone and looking deceptively human, Deadgirl stood holding the wolf's leash, letting him close enough to the three losers that it wouldn't take much of a lunge to draw blood.

Her voice was frighteningly calm. "Remove your hands."

The two guys who weren't holding Aislinn backed away, but the one holding her said, "Not your business, blondie. Keep walking."

The faery waited for a moment, and then she shrugged and let go of the leash. "So be it. Sasha, arm."

The wolf—Sasha—ripped a gash in the guy's wrist.

He shrieked and let go of Aislinn, clasping his bleeding arm. She dropped to the ground.

Without another word they ran, all three of them. The wolf sprinted behind them, nipping at their legs as they went.

Deadgirl crouched down. Her expression was unreadable as she asked, "Are you able to stand?"

"Why did you…" Aislinn flinched away as Deadgirl reached out toward her chin. "Thank you."

Deadgirl winced at the words.

"I don't know what happened." Aislinn stared in the direction they'd run. Huntsdale wasn't a bad city, maybe a bit rough in the late hours; maybe the lack of jobs and excess of bars made it wise to skip too many shortcuts through dark alleys late at night. Still, any sort of attack in the park…it was beyond odd. She caught the faery's gaze and whispered, "Why?"

At first Deadgirl didn't answer, then—avoiding the question—she reached her hand out slowly. "I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner."

"Why were…" Aislinn stopped, bit her lip, and stood.

"I'm Donia."

"Ash." She offered a shaky smile.

"Come then, Ash." Donia started toward the library, staying beside her, not touching, but too close for comfort.

Aislinn stopped in front of one of the columns that stood on either side of the door. "Shouldn't you go find your, umm, dog?"

"No. Sasha will come back." Donia offered what would be a comforting smile were she a human. Then she motioned toward the door. "Come."

Aislinn opened the ornate wooden door, starting to calm down. The door to the library, like the columns, was at odds with the nondescript architecture that dominated Huntsdale. It was as if some city father had decided that they needed one beacon of beauty among the otherwise dingy structures.

She felt like laughing, not in amusement, but at the growing sense that the rules she'd lived by were suddenly off. It wasn't faeries that attacked her, but humans. Rule #1: Don't ever attract faeries' attention. She had, though, and if she hadn't, what would've happened outside?

Aislinn's feet felt heavy; her stomach lurched.

"Do you need to sit?" Donia was gentle, steering Aislinn toward the hallway where the restrooms were. "It's frightening, what they did."

"I feel foolish," Aislinn whispered. "Nothing happened, not really."

"Sometimes the threat of a thing is awful enough…" Donia shrugged. "Go wash your face. You'll feel better."

Alone inside the tiny bathroom, Aislinn washed the blood from her face and felt her side. She'd have a bruise where his fingers had dug into her skin. Her already-dry lip had split. All things considered, it wasn't bad. It could have been, though.

Aislinn washed her face again and straightened her hair. She tugged off her uniform, balling it up and shoving it into her bag, and slipped into a well-worn pair of jeans and a long tunic-cut blouse she'd found at the thrift store. Then she stepped back into the seemingly empty hallway, letting the bathroom door close softly behind her.

Donia stood, invisible now, talking to one of the bone-girls. Like the rest of the bone-girls, this one was ghastly white and so thin that each of her bones could be seen under her almost-translucent skin. The fact that she was mobile seemed to break some basic law. Surely things that looked so frail should have trouble moving? But the bone-girls glided over the ground without any visible effort. Despite their cadaverous mien, they were eerily beautiful to watch.

It was Donia who was terrible to behold: her white hair whipped around as if a storm surrounded her, and only her. Tiny icicles clattered to the ground beside her. "Find them. Find out why they attacked the girl. If anyone compelled them to do so, I want to know. Aislinn is not to be harmed."

The bone-girl's voice was a dry whisper, as if the words had to rush over something rough before they found form. "Should I tell Keenan?"

Donia didn't answer, but her eyes darkened to the same oil-black sheen they had in Comix.

The bone-girl stepped back, hands held up in supplication. And Donia stepped around the corner, away from the bone-girl, and out of sight.

Momentarily, though, she came back around that same corner—plainly visible to humans now—and smiled at Aislinn. "All better?"

Aislinn's voice wasn't much louder than the bone-girl's had been when she answered, "Sure. I'm fine."

She wasn't fine, though; she was confused about so many things. They—Keenan and Donia—had some reason for following her, but she couldn't ask. Are they just bored, toying with me to pass the time? There were lots of old stories like that, but Donia seemed livid about the guys outside, seemed to believe someone could have sent those guys to hurt her. Why? What's going on?

"I was just reading while I waited. I wanted to see if you have someone to walk you home before I leave." Donia tilted her head, smiling. Her whole posture seemed friendly, safe. She walked back toward the rows of tables. "Ash? Are you…well?"

"Yeah." Aislinn followed Donia around the corner to a table with an open book and a ragged bag.

"Is there someone you can call?"

"Yeah. I'm good."

Donia nodded. She stuffed her book into her leather bag.

The door opened, and a mother with a couple kids came in.

Behind them was a group of faeries, invisible to the other patrons. All six were beautiful—moving like models, wearing clothes that looked like they'd been tailored for their willowy bodies. If it weren't for the flowering vines slithering across their skin, they'd look human. The vines, though, were like living tattoos, moving of their own volition, crawling on the girls' bodies.