Dorian wasn’t nearly as impressed as he should have been by the storm.

“You couldn’t control it,” he told me. “It did you no good. Until you master the small things, you’ll never control the large ones. They’ll control you.”

He didn’t seem upset; he simply showed that infinite patience and good-natured attitude he always had. Still enchanted by human stuff, he wanted us to take him into the city and show him entertaining things-particularly the aforementioned women with low inhibitions. Considering the car ride would have literally killed him, we ordered pizza instead.

You could tell it was sort of a letdown for him, but he still enjoyed it. He found delight in everything, I realized. Well-except for those extreme moments of boredom that seemed to plague him, although even in those he still managed to find some sort of joke. I didn’t know many people like that.

I saw him once more that week, this time at his place. He made me repeat the boring water experiment five times, but it only yielded the exact same results. At least this time I didn’t conjure any storms. When I asked if we could do something else next time, he laughed and sent me home.

The day before Dorian’s ball, I mustered up the courage to do something I’d been thinking about for a long time now: visit Wil Delaney.

He still left messages with Lara almost every other day, but that wasn’t what finally made me go see him again. Ever since my mom’s visit, I hadn’t been able to shake the idea of her locked away, miserable and alone, in Storm King’s castle. The pain of that image transferred to my impressions of Jasmine, and no matter how reluctant the girl had been to leave, I knew she was still a victim. I wanted to do something-anything-to help her but had no idea where to start or even how to do it, considering last time’s disaster. Talking to Wil again seemed like a semireasonable beginning.

Kiyo went with me, driving us in his rental car since his poor Spider was out of commission. This car was a brand-new Toyota Camry that seemed pretty nice to me, though it obviously caused him considerable distress.

When we knocked on the door, Wil didn’t answer right away.

“You sure he’s here?” Kiyo asked.

“Yeah. I don’t think he ever leaves. We’re probably being thermal-scanned or something.”

Kiyo gave me a puzzled look.

“Just wait,” I warned.

A minute later, I heard the legion of locks and bolts being undone, and Wil’s face appeared.

“Oh, my God,” he gasped, face lighting up. “You’re back. Wait. Who’s that?”

“A friend. Now let us in.”

Wil gave Kiyo a hesitant look and finally opened the door wider. As we walked in, I could tell from Kiyo’s expression that he was having exactly the same reaction I’d had to the weirdness of Wil’s lair. In particular he paused in front of a magazine lying open on a coffee table. An article’s large headline read: THEY’RE USING YOUR DNA TO TRACK YOU! WEAR A HAIRNET WHEN LEAVING THE HOUSE!

“I knew you’d come around,” Wil burbled out, leading us into the kitchen. “When are we going back?”

“I don’t know that we are, Wil.”

“Then why-”

I held up a hand to silence him. “I just want to talk right now, that’s all.”

His face fell, but he nodded and walked to the refrigerator. “You want something to drink?”

“Sure. What do you have?”

He opened the refrigerator. Inside were about ten jugs of water whose labels guaranteed ultra-ultra-ultra purification and refinement against impurities.

“Water,” he said. “Most soft drinks are laden with-”

“Water’s fine.”

He poured three glasses and sat down with us, watching me expectantly.

“I want to know more about Jasmine,” I explained. “If we’re ever able to go back…” Again, that pale face loomed in my mind. I swallowed. “It might not do us any good if she doesn’t want to go. Is there anything about her…anything you can tell us that might sort of explain that?”

The fanatical gleam left his eyes, replaced by something sober and sad. “I don’t know. I mean, I guess half of it’s being fourteen, you know? Not that she ever seemed all that impressionable. I guess she could have been brainwashed. There’s lots of documentation on that; the government does it all the time. I imagine even fairies have conditioning techniques…”

He started going off on that, and I felt Kiyo’s hand rest on my thigh under the table and give a slight squeeze. It was less of a sexual thing and more of a What the hell have you gotten us into?

Keeping my expression blank, I finally interrupted Wil’s lecture. “Can you give us any information about her? Like…what she was into? Likes? Dislikes? If we could just get some idea about that, it might help us understand her better.”

“Well,” he said doubtfully, “I could show you her room.”

He took us farther into the house, which was just as dark as the kitchen, and into a small room that smelled of dust and disuse. Probably making a great sacrifice to his values, he flipped on the lights. For half a second, I was relieved that Jasmine’s room did not mirror the rest of Wil’s crazed existence. It looked like a normal teenage girl’s room.

At first.

Then I saw the fairy posters.

They were interspersed with other airbrushed fantasy pictures-unicorns and dreamscapes-but fairies definitely made up the dominant theme splashed against the room’s rose-pink walls. These images weren’t accurate representations of the very humanlike gentry but depicted more of what pop culture perceived fairies to be like: small and winged, playing with flowers and fireflies. Those sorts of beings did exist in the Otherworld, though technically they were pixies.

“You didn’t think this was relevant?” I breathed, gazing around.

“This is fluff,” said Wil dismissively. “Stuff girls are into. She’s liked this stuff since she was little.”

I walked farther into the room and knelt in front of a small bookcase. J. R. R. Tolkien. C. S. Lewis. J. K. Rowling. More and more fantasy titles. A shrine to escapism.

Glancing around, Kiyo seemed to be thinking along the same lines I was. “Are there any photos? Any friends of hers?”

Wil shook his head. “She didn’t have a lot of friends.” He sat down on the ruffled pink bed and found a small album on the floor. “Here are a few pictures.”

Kiyo and I sat next to him. The album was sort of a record of Jasmine’s childhood. There were some baby pictures and some shots of her as a little girl. Wil figured into a lot of the pictures, but we saw little of their parents. I recalled his bitter comments about their chronic absence. We did find a few pictures of her with other children, but as she grew older, those became more rare. Mostly these seemed to be candid shots that someone-Wil, most likely-had snapped while she was busy with something. One showed her curled up with a book, another found her lying in a backyard hammock while bright sunshine lit up her strawberry-blond hair. She had noticed the photographer in that latter one and regarded the camera with a sad, sweet smile.

“What did she do for fun?” I asked when Wil closed the album. “Hobbies? Sports?”

He gestured to the shelves. “She liked to read, obviously. And she liked being outside. She went for walks, sometimes planted flowers. Wasn’t really into sports or anything like that.”

“She must have hung out with some people,” I pointed out. “Didn’t you say she was at a party when she was taken?”

“Yeah…kind of surprising, actually. But she went to things like that once in awhile. Not often. But sometimes. I mean, she did things with me sometimes too. We went to Disneyland once. Saw movies. But mostly she was alone.”

“Do you know why?”

“No. I think…I think she just had trouble relating to kids her age. She was smart, always sort of ahead of her time.”