“Some method of contact would be appreciated.”

“God, you’re a piece of work, Walsh. That arrogance might work in a courtroom, but in the real world, people don’t just give you whatever you want—”

“True.” Gabriel pinned the guy, forearm at his throat, silencing him, as I began searching his pockets. “But I do like to give them the option. It’s only reasonable.”

I found a cell phone and a knife tucked in his shoe. I took both. That’s when the guy on the ground decided rather belatedly to make a run for it. Gabriel tossed mercenary #1 aside and caught #2 by the back of the jacket. The guy didn’t bother waiting for me to pat him down. He handed me a phone and a knife while his partner cursed him out. I still did the pat-down, and found only a set of car keys. We released the men, and I watched them struggle to pull their dignity back in place as they strode away.

CHAPTER TWENTY

We sat in the car, on a hill near the city limits, and watched the sun rise. It was Gabriel’s idea. Even if he cannot quite fathom the appeal of watching something that occurs—without fail—every day, he knew that it’d been a ritual with my father and brought back good memories. So he got me a mocha and brought me here.

I went through the phones we’d confiscated. Texted instructions confirmed the two guys were hired help and that their mission had indeed been to provide proof that I was alive and well. Which was a little weird, and made Gabriel and me both wonder if the client knew who I was—not Olivia Taylor-Jones or Eden Larsen, but Matilda, prized by the Tylwyth Teg and the Cŵn Annwn, both of whom were not pleased I’d nearly died.

I was going through those when my phone buzzed. Incoming voice mails. A whole bunch of them.

“Seems the new phone is taking its time releasing my messages,” I said as I flipped to the inbox. “I have three from Ricky. One—oh, shit. Pamela got my number, and I totally forgot to tell you.”

Dismay crossed his face, disappearing under an impassive mask. I knew it was difficult for him to talk about her, as much as he pretended otherwise. This was the woman who’d had him framed for murder.

“She called right before I met up with Aunika Monday night. She found out about Ricky somehow. That he’s in trouble. She says she has information that can help him.”

“I’ll speak to her.”

“Absolutely not. She’s just manipulating me, and I’m not even going to listen to her messages.” I scrolled down the list. “Despite the fact she left six of them. How the hell is she doing that? When she called, I didn’t get the penitentiary warning.”

“She’s borrowed or stolen a phone. It happens. However, it might be wise for me to contact her and tell her you’re all right, given that your accident made the paper.”

“Right,” I muttered. “Shit.”

“I ought to get a message to both Pamela and Todd, assuring them you are well.”

“Can you tell Todd to call me? So I can let him know myself that I’m fine. And have Lydia handle Pamela. I really don’t want you having contact with her.”

That flash of dismay again. He saw avoiding Pamela as weakness. He cleared his throat and said, “We need to talk. I …” Another throat clearing, then he looked out the car window to see the sun was finally up and said, with some relief, “You wanted to see Ms. Madole’s apartment. We’ll do that now.”

Gabriel picked the building’s rear-door lock. We made sure no one was inside, and then hunted for the apartment access. I found it easily enough—a set of stairs behind what seemed like a closet door.

“This is more likely to have a security system,” Gabriel said.

He picked the lock. As he pulled back, his bare wrist touched the metal, and he jumped as a red welt rose on his wrist.

“It’s electrified,” he said. “I don’t believe I’ve ever encountered that.”

“Mmm, maybe not.” I took off my glove and touched the knob with the back of my knuckle. Then said, “Try again. Carefully.”

He did, and his lips curved in an unspoken curse as he got another jolt.

“Cold-forged iron,” I said. “I feel it as a weird tingling, but it affects you more since you’re at least half—” I caught myself. “I mean, fae runs strongly in the Walsh side.”

“I can’t imagine I have more fae blood than you.”

“Todd’s line is Cŵn Annwn. It’s different,” I said quickly. “The point is that cold-forged iron affects you. So once we’re inside, avoid anything metal.”

He slipped inside to check for alarms. After a few moments he returned and said, “It’s disarmed.”

“That was fast,” I said, joining him.

“I mean it was already disarmed. Aunika must not have come back after that night.”

I didn’t like the sound of that but told myself that her pursuer hadn’t wanted her harmed. After our plunge off the bridge, she probably wisely decided to hole up and stay safe, which didn’t include making a trip back for her toothbrush.

Aunika’s apartment looked like a generic hotel suite—basic and cheaply furnished. It was the decorations that turned it into a home, yet they weren’t so much decorations as keepsakes. Homemade knickknacks. Faded greeting cards. Thank you Aunika, for making a difference.

Photos of girls covered the walls. Portraits, like the ones downstairs, plus a stack of photographs on an end table. These were the stories she wanted to remember. Memories of girls who grew up. Girls who weren’t the lamiae, who had a future if they could get their lives on track.