I looked for girls in snakeskin belts. Dark-haired girls with ancient eyes. I didn’t see them until I went into her bedroom, where I found a collage on the wall. They were smiling here, caught off guard and tossing Aunika a genuine smile—girlish and innocent.

I took pictures of that wall. Intrusive, yes, but putting faces to the local lamiae would help.

When I heard a beep in the front room, I went in to see Gabriel standing over an answering machine.

“Hey, Aunika,” a male voice said. “Wow, you really do have an answering machine. Very old-school. But I guess you have to, if you don’t carry a cell phone.” A nervous laugh. “Anyway, it’s Rob. From last week? I know things didn’t go too well, but I’d like a, uh, second chance. I promise I won’t talk about my ex. Okay? Call me back?”

The next message was from a neighbor complaining about two men who were asking after Aunika and could Aunika please tell her friends not to pester her neighbors?

“Those ‘friends’ were stalkers, lady,” I said.

The next message was an appointment reminder. The next was a returned call from a service company. And then,

“Hey, Ani. It’s Erin. I opened up today, which isn’t a problem. But you aren’t answering your door or your cell, so I’m getting a little freaked. Can you call me back?”

“That’s the girl who works downstairs with her,” I said. “And apparently Aunika does have a cell phone. She just doesn’t give the number on first dates.”

Another couple of non-important calls followed. Then, “Ani?” A girl’s voice paused and then gave a low chuckle. “Answering machine, right? I remember those. It’s Melanie. Where are you? Erin says you’re taking time off, but I can’t reach you on your cell, and we were supposed to meet up for coffee, and it’s not like you to forget. You know how to get in touch with me. Just let us know you’re okay, all right?”

The next one was the same girl. “Ani? I’m getting worried now. It’s been three days. The others are freaking out. After Lucy and Rina and Steph, well, they’re really freaking out. Please tell us you didn’t go after this guy yourself. Get back to me. I’ve got a number you can use.” She rattled it off and I jotted it down.

The number provided by the lamia—Melanie—was answered by a guy who grunted that he’d take a message. Gabriel dropped me off at the office, where the nurse met me for a checkup while he headed to meet a client. Gabriel’s admin assistant—Lydia—and I were chatting when my phone blipped with an incoming text from Pamela.

I was about to erase the message. Then I stopped, seeing the words.

Ciro Halloran. Lucy Madole. Lamiae. Ricky.

Another came in.

I can help you.

I slid off Lydia’s desk. “I need to talk to Pamela. If Gabriel comes back early, can you give me a head start before you tell him?”

“Enough time so he can’t catch up and stop you?”

“Please. Pamela’s being a pain in the ass, and I don’t want him dealing with her. I’ll shut her down myself.”

I arrived at the prison and was putting my phone in the glove compartment when it started to ring with Gabriel’s tone. I hit Ignore, murmured an apology, tucked it away, and hurried off.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

I was ready to do battle with Pamela. Ready for that wide I’m-so-happy-to-see-you smile that lights up her face and makes me feel guilty for cutting her out of my life. Ready for the I-just-want-to-protect-you-Eden bullshit that led to a good man’s death.

But for the first time, my mother walked into the visiting room with her head high, no hint of a smile on her face. No smiles for the guard, either. No whispered words of thanks for the escort, whom she dismissed with a flick of her fingers.

“Eden,” Pamela said. “You got my message.”

“I did.”

“You’re well?” Her gaze surveyed me. It was a thorough assessment, but a cool one, as if ensuring one’s prize mare hadn’t been injured. “Gabriel left me a message detailing all of your injuries and your prognosis and your release from the hospital.” A humorless smile. “I would thank him for being so considerate, if it didn’t come with a warning to stop contacting you. Screw him.”

This was my mother. My real mother. Looking in her eyes right now, I could finally reconcile the woman before me with the one who’d murdered four people.

“What do you want, Pamela?” I asked. “You’re offering me information. Therefore you want something. Quid pro quo. It’s the Tylwyth Teg way.”

That icy composure cracked at the edges. My mother hates the fae, even if we both share their blood.

“I want to renew contact,” she said. “With you.”

My laugh came harsh. “Bullshit. I see through you now, Pamela. Don’t play the doting mother—”

“You don’t see me at all, Eden. And yes, I will call you that. You are Eden to me. You are Eden to your father, even if he is more circumspect. I am the doting mother. I’m simply not the kind of doting mother you’re comfortable with—the one who bakes cookies and sings you to sleep. Look to your father for that sort of love. Look to me for protection.”

“All right. Since we seem to be putting our cards on the table, let me lay out mine. Don’t ever use that word with me again.”

“Mother?”

“Protection. We both know where your maternal protection led, and I’m sick of hearing how everything is for my own good. Move on.”