"Tybalt looks like he got hit between the eyes by a two-by-four," Quentin says, eyeing the local king of cats judiciously.

"He'll get over it," I say in what is clearly not the slightest bit of a reassuring tone. But Quentin's a polite kid, so he just nods.

He hasn't looked at me once since he saw the dress I was in. Can't imagine why. He's done high school, he has to have seen worse.

'Course, usually the girls filling them out are just that - girls. Not women.

Also, the high school girls probably aren't wearing something woven by the Luideag.

"So," I say with forced cheer, "let's go find May."