Speaking over his shoulder at Sherwood as he made his way briskly toward Ruth, Uncle Mike said, “If all you needed to do was break the blade, I could have done it at the beginning.”

“No,” said Sherwood. “I needed to do it. I’ve got a touch, a link with our enemy, thanks to my work with Ruth—and the witches’ work, too. Breaking it that way will have hurt the owner of the athame, almost as much as she hurt Ruth. And if it had tried to blow up in our faces, I could have contained it.” He looked at the broken blade on the handle that he still held. “I’m pretty sure, anyway.”

* * *

? ? ?

Ruth, scrubbed and dressed in fresh clothes, had not had a lot to add to what she’d already told us. She was frightened, for which none of us blamed her. Uncle Mike assured us—and her—that since Sherwood had broken the witch’s hold on her, he and his could keep her safe.

“You did it,” Sherwood told her.

“Did what?” The pub was warm enough, but one of Uncle Mike’s people had brought Ruth a blanket and she had it wrapped around her as if it were a shield against the dark.

“By coming here,” said Uncle Mike. “You put the fox in the henhouse for them. If you had arrived at Mercy’s house with that knife, I don’t know that anyone could have broken what they tried to do. But you came here and created a weakness in their curse. Sherwood here was able to break the rest.”

Uncle Mike looked at Sherwood. “I didn’t know you were witchborn.”

Sherwood shrugged.

“But they are all dead,” Ruth said. “And they have Jake.”

“There wasn’t anything you could do about that,” I said. “But you held out against them. You won us a chance to find the senator and get him back from them.”

I was worried that the witches had Adam and the pack, too. That the pack bonds were strong was good. That I couldn’t tell a darned thing from them, except that everyone was healthy, was worrying.

There was still the faint possibility that the president had shown up and all the werewolves had turned off their phones. But that seemed increasingly unlikely.

“Because you held out,” Sherwood said—and it was Sherwood again—“we have dealt them a blow, and we have a chance to find them.” He held up the broken knife, which he was carrying in a kelly green take-out box from Uncle Mike’s.

We left Ruth in the safety of Uncle Mike’s hands. As we stepped out into the parking lot, Sherwood held up the box again.

“The trouble being,” he said, “I don’t know how to use this to find them. May—”

He stopped abruptly and turned in a slow circle.

“It’s just me, wolf,” said the goblin king, emerging from the shadows along the side of the building.

Larry seemed more tired than he had the last time I’d seen him. He usually looked like a smile was a moment away, if it wasn’t already on his face. Not tonight.

“I’m here to give you some information,” he said. “In exchange for calling me out to your hunt the other morning.”

I had sort of thought the ball was in the other court, but I wasn’t about to argue with him.

“Don’t go to the senator’s house in Pasco until daylight,” he said. “And don’t let anyone else go, if you can help it. We goblins lost much to the witchcrafting around that place.”

“What happened?” I asked.

“I sent three of my best to follow Ruth Gillman after your lunch with her,” he said. “One of them was my daughter, who I have had in my heart to be my successor when I quit this duty. She called me to tell me that the witches had set up an immense circle around the house. They set up watching places outside the circle as I directed her.”

“That is a very large circle,” I said.

He nodded. “The work of days and much power,” he agreed. “If they had been working in town where my people patrol, we would have seen it long since. They waited until the witches left with Senator Campbell. They knew that all were dead inside except for Ruth—do not ask me how, because I will not tell you. Our survival depends upon us being aware of things that others try to hide from us. She and her compatriots could feel Ms. Gillman’s distress. They thought that the witches had missed one of their targets. She called me and explained all of this. I told her not to go in.”

He looked off into the distance. “She made her own decisions, my daughter, from the time she first learned to walk. It was why I chose her to replace me. A leader needs to make her own decisions.”

“What happened to her?” I asked.

He sighed. “The other two tell me that she crossed the circle with no trouble. Took another two steps, then turned and looked at them. Said, ‘Tell Father I was wrong.’ And she died, standing on her feet.” He closed his eyes. “But I had to kill her body and we lost four more of my people before we managed to kill them all.”

“Them all?” I asked.

“All of the dead rose as reanimates—you call them zombies. With my daughter’s fate to warn us, my people crossed the circle and dealt with the dead. I brought them out. But any who cross that circle before daylight without my intervention—and I will not go back there—will suffer the same fate as my daughter.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

He made a slashing gesture with his hand. “Not your fault, Mercedes Hauptman. But Uncle Mike told me you are out hunting the witches, and I thought to tell you what we found. The witches are not where Ruth Gillman came from tonight. Doubtless there are clues to be discovered, but they will do you no good until daylight cleanses the land. Do not repeat my daughter’s mistake.”

I tried to figure out when Uncle Mike would have had time to contact Larry. When Ruth was showering, maybe.

“The senator’s residence was the first place I would have gone searching,” I told Larry. More carefully I said, “I appreciate your warning.”

“We destroyed the bodies,” Larry said. “But their wallets are piled by the front door so that their deaths can be made known to their people.”

“Good,” I said. “Ruth took pictures, so we’ll know who they are.” That part of this day wasn’t going to be my job.

He nodded, turned to leave, and then, with his back to me, said, “You’ll be tempted to go to Siebold Adelbertsmiter and his son. You probably know that there is a good chance that the old fae will go with you.”

He turned back to me, his features stark. “You could probably ask me, after this night, and I would go with you, too.”

“But,” I said.

He nodded. “But. It may be that without us you will fail, and with us you will take the day. But the Gray Lords have been quite clear. They will not—cannot allow any of us to take part in this battle. They will make sure that if any helps you in direct confrontation with the witches, that fae will die in this day and all days.”

“But,” Sherwood said in a low voice, “warning us of a trap—that is not direct confrontation.”

Larry nodded. He tipped his head toward Uncle Mike’s. “And giving shelter is part of the guesting laws, as is protecting an innocent victim.”

I looked at Larry. “That’s why he couldn’t break the spell holding her.” Because that had bothered me. Uncle Mike wasn’t a Gray Lord, but other fae walked warily around him. That he could not break a witch’s spell . . . had made the witches seem a lot more powerful than I had thought they were.

His face became bland. “I don’t know what Uncle Mike can or cannot do, Mercedes. All I can tell you is that if he had broken the spell, he would have faced the wrath of the Gray Lords. He asked me if I thought you were clever enough to have a path forward that he did not see.”

“Nope,” I said. What if we had not had Sherwood? Then I felt a touch of relief. I could have called upon Elizaveta or even, heaven help me, Wulfe. “Not that clever. But I am a coyote and apparently stupid lucky.”

Larry did smile then. “And that is exactly what I told him.”

11

I checked my phone on the way to Sherwood’s Toyota and stopped dead. Somehow I’d silenced the phone, and I’d missed a call from Adam. I tried calling him back. This time it rang through to his voice mail.

“Adam called you?” Sherwood asked.

I nodded and checked my voice mail. Sure enough there was a new message from Adam. Two of them. The first voice mail was from around the time we’d left home to come to Uncle Mike’s.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Adam said. “Sorry for being out of communication all day. POTUS decided he wanted to have a day at the zoo. Expect pictures of him bravely petting Warren in tomorrow’s papers.” His voice was very dry, but there was a frisson of excitement behind it.

He’d voted for this president, canceling my vote as apparently we’d done all of my life and would do for the foreseeable future, but Adam didn’t really approve of him. Still, he had a reverence for the office itself that I didn’t feel. The president of the United States had come to visit—and Adam was thrilled.

My worries for him fell away, and I found myself smiling.

“Anyway, we’re all headed home, see you soon.” He ended the message.