“Thank you. I’d appreciate that.”

OUTCLASSED

Tristan sat at the dining room table, watching Eden climb into the vehicle where Gabriel waited. A rental car apparently, not surprising given what Macy had done to his old one. Tristan was not accustomed to emotions, but at that moment he experienced a surge of what might be called anger. The stupid girl could have killed Eden with that stunt. Even killing Gabriel would have been problematic. He’d have incurred the wrath of the Cainsville Tylwyth Teg for that. One had to be careful playing these old games of power. Particularly if you weren’t on either team but, rather, hoping to sneak in from the sidelines and snatch the ball from the field.

Macy had been a poor play. That was the problem with the boinne-fala. They were unpredictable, easily swayed by ego and emotion. They didn’t understand the meaning of loyalty. He’d offered Macy the one thing she’d wanted most, and she’d betrayed him. Why? Because a small part of the plan hadn’t gone exactly as he’d hoped, and she hadn’t trusted him on the rest.

He should have foreseen that. Macy was pure human, without a hint of the old blood. When he’d seen how she’d envied Ciara Conway, he should have known she’d turn that envy on Eden, like a child seeing another girl get all the best treats. She’d stomped her feet and wailed, “Why her?” and then aimed all of her small fury at her supposed competitor and . . . been incinerated by it. Which was just as well, because if she’d survived that battle of wits with Eden and Gabriel, Tristan would have had to kill her himself. Not that there’d been much chance of her surviving it. Poor Macy. So terribly outclassed.

He was chuckling to himself when Alis came in the back door. She piled his mail and flyers on the counter and dropped a ripped sheet of notepaper in front of him.

“Her phone number.”

“I already have it.”

He continued watching through the drawn sheers as the car pulled away.

“She told quite a story,” Alis said as she fixed herself a tea. “Did you know you have a sister with cancer?”

“Do I? How tragic. Remind me to send a card.”

“She’s quite remarkable. Naturally charming and an accomplished liar. Some worried that living with those boinne-fala parents would hamper her blood, but she’s inherited gifts from both sides.”

“As befits Mallt-y-Nos.”

Alis walked over to him. She’d shed her “elderly neighbor” glamour and reverted to her usual form. It wasn’t her true form—no one used those anymore. Not only dangerous but pointless. Their true form was close enough to human that they were comfortable looking like them.

Alis appeared as a young woman, perhaps a little older than Eden. Dark-haired, slightly built, pretty but not head-turning. A perfectly ordinary form, not unlike his own.

“Do you need me to do anything else?” she asked.

She didn’t ask what he had planned next. Like most of their kind, she was content to leave such matters in the hands of one she trusted to see to her interests. He would win the prize and share the rewards, and there was no risk he’d use and discard her. That’s what Macy hadn’t understood. Of course, as far as Macy knew, she had been dealing with ordinary people. And, if he was being honest, the codes of loyalty that bound him and Alis did not extend to Macy. The boinne-fala existed to be manipulated and used, as they always had. The difference was that he’d given his word to Macy.

“Tristan?” Alis prompted when he didn’t reply.

“I’m thinking,” he said.

Edgar Chandler had set Eden on him, under his Jon Childs alias. The question was: Why? For answers? For help? For revenge? Any of the three was equally possible, but since the Cwn Annwn had silenced Chandler, he wasn’t about to find out. The equally pressing—and more disturbing—question was whether the Huntsmen knew Chandler had set Eden on him. If their hounds came sniffing around, his game was in serious jeopardy.

“Hold on to her number,” he said. “I may have you call her. Until then, I can handle things.”

CHAPTER TEN

What’s on the agenda for the rest of the day?” I asked Gabriel as we drove off.

“Nothing until tonight.”

My hand gripped the armrest. “Todd.”

“I trust that’s still all right? We can reschedule for tomorrow, but they have evening visiting hours on Tuesdays, which seemed convenient.”

I forced myself to say tonight was fine. He studied me for a moment, then said, “We’ll head back to the office. There’s work to do, unrelated to Chandler or the Larsen case.”

“Real work. That job you have, which I keep distracting you from.”

“Don’t apologize.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Not in words, but it was clear from your tone. Apology suggests that you are keeping me from doing what I need to do, which implies I am somehow powerless to do otherwise. It’s a choice, Olivia.”

“I know.”

“Then I would appreciate it, when I mention other cases, that you refrain from experiencing any twinge of guilt.”

“How can I refrain from experiencing something?”

“You simply need to put your mind to it.”

—

Dinner passed far too quickly, and before I knew it I was back at the office, in the bathroom, staring at my reflection in the mirror.

Will my father recognize me?

It was a silly question. My picture had been in every Illinois paper and plenty beyond. There was no way Todd Larsen hadn’t seen it. But that wasn’t what I meant.