is on display as she writes from her bed of sickness:
Today I fever-dreamed a meeting with the secret fifth Shea boy, who had been taken at birth and raised by Faeries. The Faeries had wiped your memories of him. He knew magic and had some fantastical-sounding faery name that I can’t remember now. We got along great though.
Actually, I remember everything. Never liked the kid and really needed the faerie gold at the time for some old gambling debts. Never understood why the Man with the Thistledown Hair insisted on taking my pinky finger too. Oh well, what could it hurt?