It's been months since I took Gilly's memories of the Choice away; I did a good job, she won't remember.

Still I jump when the phone rings - part of me hoping it's her, with questions I'd rather not answer, but for her asking them of me.

"Toby, get your ass over," the Luidaeg's voice orders, and for once she sounds almost as old as she is; "if you're going to mope you can at least bring tacos."