I walk outside with every intention of looking up to watch the stars dance and find out where these other faerie people are, so I can get this stupid prophecy over with and save Mom and Mother. But I take two steps and almost keel over.
Luckily, Trow was walking close enough to me that he catches me before I hit the ground. "Merrow?" he says, confused.
"What is it?" Roger asks eagerly, scurrying up to me. "What did you see?"
"Nothing," I gasp, which is true. "I heard it. A baby. Crying. No. Three babies crying."
"Three babies crying," says Trow numbly.
I look at him. Three babies. I think of his triplet toddler sisters. "Yes."
"I have to go home," says Trow quickly, and takes off at a run.
I chase after him. I know I need to read the stars and save my mothers, but I'm not going to let any other people get hurt if I can help it, especially not anyone related to Trow, who has done nothing but be there for me in all of this craziness. I've already failed my mothers today by fleeing when I should have stayed to help. I will not also fail Trow.
We run for long enough that I am panting. "Trow, how far away do you live? Maybe we should get a ride. Would it be quicker?"
"From who?" he snaps back scathingly. "Roger Williams?" He is running unerringly now, following the river down, and then a car with bass thumping comes up out of nowhere. This car is lit up like a Christmas tree. I have never seen a car like it. It draws to a halt next to Trow, who turns immediately to face it.
The passenger window rolls down. "Trow," says the kid who's driving the car. He has a black-and-white Red Sox cap pulled down over impressive dreadlocks. "Your sisters have been worried sick about you. They sent me out to find you. You okay?"
"Yeah," Trow says and pulls the car door open. "Can you give me a ride home?"
I slip into the car too.
The kid driving says, "I'm Mark. It's nice to meet you." He shakes my hand. "Are you Trow's girlfriend?"
We've never clarified it like that, but I say, "Yes. I am absolutely Trow's girlfriend."
· · ·
Mark gives me a lecture on what a catch Trow is as he drives us. It would be totally sweet if my mothers weren't both lying in danger in Edgar Allan Poe's house and I hadn't heard three babies crying.
Trow, understandably, practically bounces in his seat with nervous energy.
Mark finally says, "Trow, calm down. They were fine; they were worried about you. This is why you guys need cell phones, you know."
"We can't afford cell phones, Mark."
It sounds like an old argument. Mark shakes his head and mutters under his breath. He looks at me in the rearview mirror. "You got a cell phone?"
"Yeah," I admit, feeling like I'm betraying Trow as I do it.
"Of course you do. You are normal. I like you, Trow's girlfriend."
I am, according to my new pal Roger Williams, apparently anything but normal. "Actually, I'm a faerie who can tell the future. Or something," I remark.
Mark laughs like I'm hilarious. "She is a funny one, Trow," he says delightedly.
Eventually we pull up to a three-tenement house on a crowded street. The first two floors are dark but every light is on in the third-floor apartment, and I feel sure that's where we're going.
"Thanks for the ride, Mark," Trow says as he gets out of the car.
"No problem. Tabby said you might be needing some more diapers?"
"We are always needing more diapers."
"You have got to train those kids, you know," Mark says, as if he is the foremost expert in toilet training.
Trow says, "I know, I know."
I say, "Nice to meet you, Mark," as I follow Trow out of the car.
"And you," he replies brightly. "See you around."
He drives off, and Trow tips his head back and looks at the top floor of the three-tenement. "Can you still hear them crying?" he asks.
I shake my head. "It was a flash, really. It came and it went. Who knows if it's anything?"
"You're supposedly able to tell the future or something, and you happen to hear three babies crying when I have three babies at home." Trow sounds grim. "If Roger Williams was telling the truth, and you seem to think he was telling the truth, then it's something."
I follow Trow as he dashes up to the top floor, where everything is chaos. There are no babies crying, but there are three toddlers who seem to be constantly underfoot, throwing things and causing general chaos. There's a set of twins, maybe seven or eight, sitting at the mismatched kitchen table and also throwing things. Generally, there just seems to be a lot of throwing in this household.
"Hi, Trow," they all chorus when he comes in.
"Where have you been?" asks one of the twins.
"You are in trouble," says the other.
And then two more girls come in, older, closer to our own age.
"Where've you been?" asks one, giving Trow a tight hug. The other is eyeing me in confusion. "We got nervous when you didn't come home after work."
"I didn't go to work," says Trow.
"Didn't go to work?" says the one still eyeing me.
"This is Merrow. She… It's confusing," Trow says. "But the triplets are okay?"
"What?" asks the girl who had hugged Trow, sounding confused, and the one eyeing me looks at him finally. "They're fine. Why wouldn't they be fine?"
"Merrow heard them crying."
"She what?"
Now I am the center of all quizzical attention.
I open my mouth, not sure what I intend to say.
And then I hear the bells chiming.