I shake my head. No. It hurts too much to stay. I sit up slowly. There is dried blood crusted on my neck. I touch my fingers to it, think of him showi me stars, the bright burst of my happiness at seeing it, and I have to close my eyes.

"You should stay here," I say. "It is not safe for you back at the carnival. Management will be unhappy." I make myself stand up. In the dark I can still smell the flowers blooming in the grass. It was a stupid kind of magic, not half as practical as giving him furniture, a dry roof. An idiotic boyish whimsy. I shake my head, feeling sick.