Chapter 7

I pulled into Suzume’s driveway at just before one in the morning. My phone battery had died while I was in the mansion, and I braced myself for what I might find inside. If Matt remembered, then I was going to have to convince him to keep his mouth shut. I had no idea how that could happen.

I knocked, and Suze let me in. Her eyes went immediately to my face, and she raised her eyebrows. “Looking a lot better, Fort,” she said, and I could hear the speculation in her voice. I’d glanced in the vanity mirror a few times on my drive up, amazed at the way my injuries had healed almost fast enough to see.

I definitely didn’t want to talk about it, though, and I said, “I could say the same about you,” while looking significantly at her chest. She’d changed shirts, into a soft gray flannel men’s button-up that I guessed she’d liberated at some point from a boyfriend. The top few buttons were undone, revealing part of the cuts she’d received in the fight with the skinwalker. She must’ve found a quiet moment to shift forms at some point because the cuts no longer looked fresh and angry, but were heavily scabbed over and almost faded. The kitsune were able to heal injuries quickly in their natural form—unlike the were-creatures, which were people who could take an animal form, the kitsune were foxes who could take a human form.

Suze apparently decided to shelve the rest of her questions about my fast healing, though from the glance she gave me I knew that line of inquiry was only postponed, not forgotten, and waved me inside. Keiko was sitting inside on the sofa, and she curled her lip in clear disgust as I walked in.

I kept my mind on priorities. “How’s Matt?”

“He’s okay,” Suze said reassuringly. “He woke up on the drive here. Definitely wasn’t feeling good, but apparently he’s got a head like a cement brick. We tucked him into Keiko’s bed.”

Which explained Keiko’s bad attitude. “Should he be sleeping?” I asked. “He was knocked out for a while. He might have a concussion.”

“It’s fine. The doctor checked him out. He’s sitting in there with him now, giving him one last once-over.”

“Doctor?”

“Oh yeah.” Suzume shot a frosty glare at her twin. “Keiko’s boyfriend. The one she said she broke up with two months ago.”

Keiko’s expression was equally chilly. “You were happy enough to use him to check out the human.”

“It shouldn’t have been an option,” Suze said.

There was a lot of tension between the sisters, enough to make me regret that I couldn’t just make an excuse and hide out in the bathroom while they snapped at each other passive-aggressively. This was far too reminiscent of Thanksgiving dinner with my family. But I needed answers about Matt, so I stepped closer to Suze, wincing as that placed me directly in the path of those very intense stares. “What does he remember?” I asked her.

Momentarily distracted from her familial gripe, Suze answered me. “We got lucky. He remembers seeing something weird about Soli, but he thinks that the head knock messed with his memory.” And the topic having been raised again, she took a small step to the left to be able to give Keiko her undivided glare. “Keiko’s doctor agreed.”

“He has a name, Suze,” Keiko said, shifting her weight as she sat in a way that reminded me uncomfortably of what Suze looked like in her fox form right before she sprang.

“I have no intention of learning it.”

Frustrated, I cut in. “Seriously, ladies? Pretend I’m company.” Now I was the focus for both of them, but their expressions were simmering with hot temper. I could deal with that better than an icy sibling battle. I asked Suze, “Where’s Lilah?”

“She called a cab once Keiko got here. Said that she wanted to see what she could dig up at work tomorrow, and needed to make sure that no one suspected she’d had a long night.” Suze turned to the fridge, pulling out a bottle of Moxie soda and pouring a glass for me without being asked. I winced a little at the sight of it, but took the glass without a fuss. Moxie was a New England concoction whose taste was like the distilled essence of old ladies, mothballs, and cats. But while I was glad that playing hostess gave Suze something to do other than bait Keiko, there was a weird undercurrent to her voice when she talked about Lilah, one I wasn’t sure I could identify.

When in doubt, ask. “What’s wrong? Did you change your mind about trusting Lilah?”

She pushed the glass into my hand and gave me a considering look. “No, she’s being honest with us about her motives,” Suze said slowly. “And if the elves are breaking Madeline’s laws, then it’s in her own best interest to help us figure out who the ringleaders are so that when the Scott retribution comes, which it certainly will, only the guilty get torn to shreds.” She shifted the subject quickly and sounded much more normal. “And speaking of bloody carnage, tell me what happened when you filled your family in.”

I nodded toward the closed door that led to Keiko’s room. “Aren’t you worried about them . . . ?”

Suze gave me a small, smug little smile, the kind she always seemed to wear when she was doing something particularly foxy. Something dangerous swam briefly through her dark eyes, reminding me again of what she was. “Keiko and I are taking care of it. Neither of them will hear anything other than what they’d expect—women’s voices, the coffee grinder, things like that. If either gets the urge to leave the room, those voices will suddenly get into a very loud fight, enough to convince any sane man to sit tight a little longer.”

Suzume had told me many times that fox magic was always as its strongest when it worked with someone’s expectations—like a magical form of jujitsu, using an opponent’s weight against them. Given the way the sisters were interacting, it was no great leap to expect a full-on screaming match to break out at any moment.

I summarized the trip for them. Hearing that Prudence was coming to the city to serve as my backup, both women paled visibly and glanced seriously at each other. When I’d finished, both were quiet for a moment, clearly weighing how the situation had just changed. Suzume spoke first. “I can call my grandmother, ask her to send over some of my cousins to help out.” There was a grim satisfaction in her voice. “Let’s see that bitch think she’s so tough when she’s facing us with a backup of four foxes.”

Keiko cut in. “Four foxes?”

“Takara and Hoshi can handle themselves, and Rei is always up for a fight. I don’t know what Mio’s schedule is, but she could probably clear some space.”

“You really think that’s a good idea?” Keiko got off the sofa and walked around the kitchen island, which up until now had apparently been serving as some kind of demilitarized zone.

“A skinwalker is in the territory, something dire enough that Fort has been given Prudence’s leash. This doesn’t sound like we should be prepared for something big?”

Keiko looked straight at me, and I realized that her attitude toward me was more than just the general dislike that I’d assumed; she didn’t trust me. “Now isn’t the time to be reminding the vampires of our numbers. You’re letting your”—and here her lip curled in disgust—“friendship blind you. Unless Madeline Scott makes a formal request to the White Fox, the kitsune have no part in this conflict.” She addressed me. “You were just in your mother’s company. Did she mention wanting our help?”

I paused, running through the conversation again in my head, then admitted, “No.”

Keiko was watching me carefully, and there was a slyness in her voice when she asked, “But someone mentioned the kitsune, and not positively, didn’t they? Who?”

I glanced at Suze, but she was focused on her sister. Looking back at Keiko, I said, reluctantly, “Prudence did. But it was just a side comment.”

“About . . . ?” Keiko forced the issue.

“She said that . . . the kitsune numbers were increasing.” Neither looked surprised, and I felt a moment of relief. “But that’s no secret.” Then I glanced again at Suze. I knew her well enough to read the look on her face, and I realized that something much more was at play. “Tell me what she meant.”

She thought about not telling me. I could see from her eyes that a few months, weeks, maybe even days ago she would’ve made a joke and changed the subject. But then she made a decision, and it was clear that Keiko didn’t like it.

“When the kitsune first came to the Scott territory,” Suze said, “it was only Atsuko. A generation ago, it was Atsuko and her four daughters. Now those four daughters have produced twenty granddaughters, all in our prime, and my cousins are at an age to start having families. There are three great-granddaughters already, bringing the total today to twenty-seven foxes, and the floodgates are just opening. We’re stronger than we were when Atsuko negotiated her treaty with Madeline. To a suspicious mind like Prudence’s, I can see how that would be threatening.” She paused, then said with emphasis, “Vampires might be the apex predator in this territory, Fort, but numbers matter as well.”

Keiko elbowed past me to get close enough to talk directly at Suzume, cutting me out of the conversation. “Which is exactly why we need to be careful, Suze. A succession is coming, and we need to stay neutral to ride it out.”

I felt a pang. This was what Madeline’s weakness had meant, as well as Prudence’s comment. The kitsune and everyone else knew that my mother was coming to the end of her life—everyone except me, that is. I wasn’t sure how I felt about it. We disagreed over so many things. She had both protected me and sanctioned the deaths of my foster parents. But she was my mother—constantly watching me, caring for me, assessing me, killing for me. It was like loving an old, old crocodile that still occasionally ate people.

Suze was ignoring my existential crisis, more focused on her sister’s comment. “I listen when Grandmother talks, Keiko. I know that,” she said, irritation clear in her voice. “How is it risky for us to make a show of force in support of the vampires?”

Keiko poked her finger into my chest, hard. “Everyone knows that Prudence and Fort are the most likely to clash. If they disagree about who to kill or how to punish someone”—and then she pointed to her closed bedroom door—“or if that human pokes his nose in the wrong place and has to be silenced, who would you support, Suze? Would you be smart and stay out of a sibling disagreement, or would you back Fort?”

Suze bristled with temper, but was silent.

Keiko nodded, her point made. “The cousins would follow you, and five foxes would be enough for a declaration of allegiance.” She turned to me at last, her contempt clear. “And whatever your own ties to the kitsune are, vampire, we can’t ally ourselves with weakness.”

Keiko walked toward the phone mounted on the wall but was blocked when Suzume stepped in front of her. “What are you planning, Keiko?”

“I’m protecting all of us.” Keiko shoved a shoulder against Suze, pushing her to one side, and grabbed the phone out of its cradle. “I’m going to call Grandmother and have her order you to stay out of this.”

Too fast for me to follow, Suze whipped a hand out and pulled the phone away from her sister.

“Don’t be childish,” Keiko said witheringly.

Suzume was very serious. “Stay out of this, Keiko.”

“How can I? You’re confusing your loyalties.”

Suze’s voice dropped, becoming low and dangerous. “I’m confusing nothing, sister. I won’t bring in our cousins. If I have to choose a side, it won’t be for the entire kitsune, and Grandmother can just say that I’m a lone rogue. But you breathe one word of this, and I’ll make a call of my own.”

Keiko froze, then real rage spread across her face. “You’d betray me over him?”

“I never said that.” There was nothing defensive in Suze’s voice, just that rigid control that I remembered hearing from her only once before, when she’d abandoned me on a near-suicide mission. “But I’m keeping a lot of your secrets right now. You should be more careful to keep me happy.”

The threat was clear, and as angry as Keiko was, she also apparently knew when her sister meant business. Her movements stiff and jerky from temper, she stepped away, leaving Suze holding the phone. “I won’t be a part of this. I’m leaving.”

“Until the situation is resolved, perhaps that’s best. I suggest that you collect your human and go. I know you don’t need to pack a bag. Most of your stuff is at his apartment anyway.”

The sisters locked gazes in another of those subzero glares.

It was awkward, but at this point in a very long night I didn’t think I could stand one more of those heavily weighted conversations where I had no idea what people were talking about. I said loudly to Keiko, “Thanks for bringing someone to check out Matt.”

Both women turned those glares on me.

“What, we can’t take a five-second break from the tension for basic manners?” I demanded. Suze managed a small grumble, and Keiko gave a very superior little sniff. That was enough to break me, and my temper flared. “Screw this subtext,” I snapped at them, and walked over to the door to Keiko’s bedroom and yanked it open.

Matt was lying on Keiko’s hotel-perfect bedspread, looking much worse for wear, an ice pack balanced somewhat jauntily on his head. Keiko’s boyfriend was sitting next to the bed, wearing blue medical scrub pants and a sweatshirt. He was a dead ringer for Rudolph Valentino in The Sheik, and the moment the thought crossed my mind, I congratulated myself on a worthwhile application of my film degree. I walked over to him and extended my hand, which he automatically shook. “Hi, I’m Fort. Thank you for looking after Matt.”

“It wasn’t a problem,” he said, revealing a heavy South Boston accent that was a jarring contrast with his Prince of Arabia looks. “Keiko was just picking me up after my shift when her sister called us.” He gave a small, happy wave, and I looked over my shoulder to see that Keiko was now standing in the doorway and was clearly far from happy about this introduction. But underneath the seething irritation that I’d come to accept as normal from her there was an interesting touch of anxiety.

I’d been punched a lot tonight, and I didn’t have much sympathy to extend to her. Just to piss her off a little more, I gave her boyfriend my biggest smile and said, “I’m sorry. Everything has been such a rush and I didn’t catch your name.”

“Farid. Farid Amini.” He smiled widely, and I noticed that Suzume had joined Keiko in the doorway, and their combined mood was dropping the temperature in the room to testicle-freezing levels. My new buddy Farid was picking up on the tension, but he was holding on to his bright smile with enough determination to turn his face slightly manic. “It was really great to meet you, Suzume. It’s crazy that we’ve kept missing each other this long.”

“Yeah. Crazy.” Suzume was exuding all the invitation and charm of an enraged cobra.

Clearly seeing me as the one bright spot in the room, Farid redirected his desperate first-impression brightness my way again. “We should all go out some time. You know, double-date.” There was the sound from the doorway of some partially suppressed noise, and it wasn’t a reassuring sound, but Farid pushed forward. “My parents are just nuts about Keiko,” he assured me.

I’d always thought of myself as fairly moral, the kind of person who wouldn’t torment someone else, even if provoked. Therefore, I should’ve been much more disappointed in myself when I gave Farid a jocular smack on the shoulder and said heartily, “We should do that. Dinner, some bowling.” I looked over my shoulder at Keiko and gave her just the kind of look I felt she’d earned after all the icy eye daggers she’d sent my way. “Just lots of time to get to know each other.”

Keiko made a small, choked sound. Suzume had a face like a stone wall.

Farid nodded like a bobble head. “The girls will set something up.” I ignored the muffled growl from behind us, but it was apparently finally enough to convince Farid that maybe he’d made enough of an effort to connect for this trip. “It’s really late, and we should be going. But we’ll definitely see each other soon.” With that final burst of blind optimism, he turned to Matt and pulled together what was clearly his best doctor voice. “Now, Mr. McMahon, remember what I said. Lots of rest; change the bandage every evening. If you see signs of infection or if you’re feeling dizzy, you have my card, and remember that the clinic is free.”

Matt had been watching all of the interplay attentively, and now he nodded, careful not to dislodge his ice pack. “I really appreciate the house call.”

Farid laughed. “No, you actually did me a favor. I’d actually never gotten a chance to see where Keiko lived.” He looked at her, and my heart sank a little in my chest. The poor guy was absolutely in love with her. I’d gone vegetarian for a woman—I knew that look well. “I was starting to think you were married or something,” he teased her.

Keiko stepped toward him, smiling through gritted teeth. “You’re so silly, honey. See? No secrets at all.” There was an almost collective wince from everyone else in the room at the size of that whopper.

“Not one bit,” Suze said heavily. She looked over at me and Matt and said, “Let’s give you guys some space.”

I watched as everyone filed out, and wondered whether Farid was as oblivious as he seemed to be to the Shakespearian levels of star-crossed vibes that he and Keiko emitted. Or maybe Farid was picking up on their doomed aura, but he was one of those optimists who felt that good intentions and positivity could overcome all obstacles. Like people who sat up on their sofa one day and decided that they would climb Everest, even though they became winded walking up the stairs.

Or maybe it would all work out. After all, I clearly knew crap about relationships.

I looked down at Matt, who was pushing himself up into a sitting position. I leaned forward to help him, wincing at his level of wet-kitten helplessness. “Slow down, Matt.”

Matt batted my hands away and steadied himself, letting the ice pack drop onto the bed. “It’s fine, just a cut and a rattle to my brain box. No concussion; nothing wrong.” He glanced at the door. “Some pretty impressive family tension there with that girl you’re so sure isn’t your girlfriend and her sister. That was a hell of a fight they were having.”

From that I knew that at some point Matt had tried to leave the room and the kitsune illusion had stopped him. “They have fiery temperaments,” I said blandly.

Small talk apparently over, Matt looked me straight in the eyes and said levelly, “So.”

I’d known this was coming. I’d tried dealing with Matt by sidestepping his suspicions and hoping they would eventually recede, but it wasn’t working. The events of this evening would have only solidified his concerns. So I switched tactics, drawing for inspiration on the lessons in New England winter driving that Matt himself had taught me; I steered into the skid. “Listen, Matt, let’s go full cards on the table here. I was following up leads that I wasn’t telling you about, and you were tailing me because you didn’t trust me.”

Matt was surprised, clearly having expected me to go denial again. He tilted his head, looking curious. “That’s about the size of it,” he said. Then he laid down his challenge: “So, why don’t you tell me what I don’t know?”

So I did. Not the truth, of course. But the lie I’d spent the entire drive back from Newport coming up with, one that was salted with just enough truth to be accepted. Drawing inspiration from Lilah’s childhood story of her teachers, I told Matt that Suzume and I had bribed Jacoby to confess that Gage and the other men had been killed by a secretive cult, one that had deep ties to power brokers like my mother, and enough money that they could bribe confessions and cover their tracks. We were working with a fringe member of the cult who had been born into it and who didn’t approve of their actions—Lilah—and we’d all broken into the tattoo parlor to try to find hard evidence that couldn’t be dismissed. It was a story that offered an explanation for what was happening and also had the beauty of being verifiable—if Matt started looking into the ownership of Dreamcatching, he’d quickly find the links that many people had seen before of a secretive, wealthy, and very weird group that displayed very cultlike behavior. I watched as he absorbed what I was saying, and braced myself for the question that I knew was coming.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Fort?” For the first time Matt pulled back the suspicion, and I could hear the hurt that it had been masking. After all, hadn’t he known me since I was still hitting Wiffle balls? Hadn’t he been the only one who’d never given up on finding Brian and Jill’s killer? The suspicion had hidden the hurt, the betrayal. Now he was showing it, this vulnerability.

And to keep Matt alive, I had to be the bastard who would take advantage of it.

I looked at him carefully, hoping that I was judging him right, that I really knew him and his values as well as I thought I did. I was the closest thing Matt had to family, and I was about to gamble that Matt really loved me more than everything his old badge had stood for.

I took the chance. “Suzume and I were the ones who saved Amy Grann,” I said, watching as shock and I knew it warred on Matt’s face. “The guy who had grabbed her was in the house, we had a fight, and I shot him. A bottle of alcohol got smashed in the fight, and a candle was knocked over, so the fire was going, and we just ran. And we decided to keep it a secret.” Close enough to the truth that I could commit to it and not radiate bad poker face. Close enough that I hoped he would believe me. Far enough from the truth that it could keep him ignorant—and alive.

There was a long pause as he looked at me, taking it all in. My gut clenched, but I forced myself to look right back at him. When he spoke, Matt’s voice was unusually tentative. “So the files going missing? The evidence destroyed?”

I nodded. “I told my brother, and he made a call.” I took a deep breath and added the last brushstroke to what I was hoping would be a masterpiece of bullshit. “That little girl is alive because of what we did, but I didn’t want you to have to keep the secret. You were a cop, and what we did wasn’t exactly legal.”

Matt gave a loud snort and dropped his face into his hands, the snort turning into a semihysterical puff of sound that on any other man I would’ve called a titter. “Wasn’t exactly smart either, Fort,” he said. He rubbed his hands hard against his cheeks, then looked back up at me very seriously, and with a lot of fear in his usually unshakable brown eyes. “Fort, there’s a reason why we have police instead of vigilantes. Vigilantes tend to get shot.” He sighed heavily. “And now you’re doing the same damn thing, with your not-girlfriend cheering you on. Playing goddamn Batman.”

Funny, that was where I’d gotten the idea for the lie. After all, people kept Batman’s secret.

There was probably a vampire-bat joke in there somewhere, but I refused to look for it.

I was committed to these lies now, so I pushed forward. “Gage’s killers are in that cult. You saw one of them tonight.”

Matt traced the edge of the bandage with a careful finger. “Yeah, that chick works out.” I kept my mouth shut as Matt thought about it. “I saw your girl’s knife, Fort, and I know that you have Brian’s old gun, but what you’re involved with is really dangerous. These people are killing guys in a very nasty way.” He paused again, considered, and I saw him struggle with it. Really struggle. Then he decided. Reaching out, he grabbed my hands hard, squeezing with enough strength to impact the blood flow, and stared at me intensely. “You have to promise me, Fort,” he said. “No more dumb shit like last night. We’re looking for information, for evidence. Then we hand it to the police. There will be no dumb-ass heroics on this. Do you hear me?”

I looked at him, deeply humbled to think that he not only had believed what I’d said, but that he was offering this acceptance, this tacit blessing even, to my supposed career of vigilantism. I wished, suddenly and desperately, that I’d been able to tell him the truth about what I actually was and receive this open acceptance. It hurt that here was what I longed for most, and it was being offered for a lie.

I forced myself to nod, to look relieved and grateful. “Okay,” I said.

Matt dropped one of my hands and reached up to squeeze my shoulder manfully. But apparently that was insufficient for what he was feeling, because with a sudden movement he pulled me in for a tight hug. “You little shit,” he muttered, his voice tight with emotion. “You should’ve trusted me. I would never have turned you in.” And, however falsely, I knew that I had my Matt back.

I choked, but hugged him back desperately. “I’m sorry,” I said, and I was. So very, very sorry, for so many things.

The hug went on for a long time, then we both let go slowly. Matt coughed and rubbed a hand across his eyes. “Okay, enough of that,” he said gruffly. “Let’s see what that not-girlfriend of yours is up to.”

Suzume was sitting at her table, flipping her way through a file that I recognized as Matt’s. Matching folders were stacked around her. Apparently she’d taken the opportunity to look through Matt’s car. She looked up with studied casualness when we approached, but flicked one careful look my way. I nodded slightly, and she relaxed.

“So, we’re all on the same side?” she asked.

“Yes,” Matt said, and emphasized, “the side that investigates but doesn’t do dumb shit.”

“Fine with me.” Suze lifted one of the files. “So, when you weren’t stalking us, you found some new information.”

Matt ignored the jab and looked over at me. “Not too much. I got a hold of your friend’s autopsy report, did some background on the new name you got from the tattoo artist.”

I thought about it, weighing what we knew. “All of the guys were sent an ad for a reduced-price tattoo. They were killed after they got the same tat, but the ads were addressed to them specifically. So however the cult”—I sent a quick look to Suze, making sure that she understood that this was our cover story—“is picking their victims, it’s happening before they get the tattoos.” I pulled out one of the chairs and sat down, asking Matt, “What do these guys have in common?”

“Young, healthy guys. Three were from Rhode Island; one was from Massachusetts. Oldest was twenty-six; youngest was eighteen.”

Suze flipped a page and said, “From your notes, there’s an education link. Two were undergrads, Gage was a graduate student, one was entering a PhD program.”

Matt shook his head. “Different colleges, and the age range and economic background could explain that.”

“All Providence colleges?” I asked curiously.

“One was Boston,” Suze said.

I considered, thinking back and trying to remember when I had come in contact with non-Brown students. “Maybe a club or a sports team?”

Matt still looked cautious but a little interested. “I wouldn’t have expected to see mixing between so many colleges and different education levels.”

Suze made a little tsking sound. “Maybe not with bigger, established clubs, but some of the little fringe ones have a lot more contact. Swing dancing, bocce.” She shrugged. “LARPing.”

“Really, Suze?” I asked, smiling. “You?”

She batted her lashed coquettishly at me. “I’m a woman of mystery, Fort. Don’t think you know all of my layers.” But when Matt pulled over the file to pore over and consider his notes again, she dropped the facade for a quick second, enough that I understood that she’d found something else, a real link, and that this direction was just to give Matt something to hunt to keep him out of our way.

Matt looked up from the file, and I recognized the look on his face. He was focused, considering, ready to chase down this possible lead, wherever it led him. “I’ll make some calls tomorrow, maybe go to some of the campuses and ask around, see if there’s anything.” He eyed me, then Suze, then me again. “And you two will be . . . ?”

“Avoiding stupid actions,” I assured him. “Lilah is going to poke around for us, see if she can learn anything. We’ll keep you updated.”

Matt nodded, then collected his folders, piling them up haphazardly. Suze reached into her pocket and withdrew his car keys, pushing them across the table.

“Are you good to drive?” I asked him, nervous.

“Doctor cleared me,” he said, then dropped one hand to give my shoulder a light, reassuring squeeze. “I’ll run home and get in a few hours of sleep. You should probably do the same.” He eyed Suze wryly, and she gave him her very best lasciviously self-satisfied grin and rubbed her foot deliberately up my leg to make me jump. Matt shook his head and left, muttering under his breath about so-called non-girlfriends.

When the door shut behind him I did my best to grab Suze’s foot, intending a tickling in retribution, but she jerked it out of my reach. “Having fun?” I asked her sarcastically.

“Loads,” she said smugly.

“Funny.” I dropped the game and asked her point-blank, “So, what’s your problem with your sister’s boyfriend?”

“I’m incredibly racist, Fort,” she deadpanned.

I was irritated and didn’t try to hide it. “Just say you don’t want to tell me.”

She lifted an eyebrow at my tone. “I’ll talk about my sister if you want to have a chat with me about Matt.” I looked away sharply and she nodded. “Whatever this cult story was that you told him, you know that all you did was stall him.”

“No, this one could really work. He believes me,” I insisted.

“And when that changes?”

“I’ll keep him safe,” I said, glaring at her, my voice a warning to drop the subject. She opened her mouth to respond, then reconsidered. Snapping her lips closed, she toyed with the edge of her placemat. When she didn’t say anything, I relaxed a little, then asked, “So, what did you really find in Matt’s files?”

She was still miffed and didn’t bother to hide it, but she let me change the subject. “For one, he did get the autopsy.” She pulled open a small notebook where she’d apparently been copying things from Matt’s files and referred to a page. “Turns out that Gage’s wrists, tongue, and genitals were all removed while he was still alive. Coroner was able to tell that the killer used a kind of surgical tool that cauterizes as it cuts, which is how Gage lived through it. What killed him was the cut on his throat. It wasn’t a big cut, though; it probably took him at least twenty minutes to die. They also found ligature marks on Gage’s ankles, and they think that Gage was tied upside down when he bled out.”

I closed my eyes and shuddered. I’d known that Gage’s death hadn’t been easy, but I was cowardly enough that I hadn’t wanted to know the details. “Christ.”

“I also found a name.” Suze flipped a page, then pushed the notebook in front of me. I looked down and recognized the list of the four victims that I’d bought from Jacoby.

“I got that this morning.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t look at it before you turned it over. Your buddy was a busy boy when he wasn’t following us today. Franklin Litchfield died in a car wreck in June. It was a bad wreck, and there was a fire as well. Between the crash and the fire, no one really thought much of a few missing parts when they pulled out the corpse.”

“So that’s how they disposed of the body. But what about the name?”

Suze lifted up her placemat, which had been concealing a Hello Kitty file folder. “The kitsune keep an eye on our neighbors, probably a closer eye than the Scotts do right now.” She opened the file, pulled out a stapled article, and handed it to me.

I skimmed the first paragraph, stopping when I recognized the name Dr. Lavinia Leamaro. Better known as Lulu, she’d been the first half-elf I’d ever met, introduced to me by Suzume when I’d gotten beaten up in a fight and needed to be patched up. “A Neighbor who is very familiar with medical instruments,” I said slowly, remembering the autopsy findings. “That fits.”

Suze’s eyes glittered. “Keep reading.”

The article was about Dr. Lulu’s incredible success rate at treating infertility. Most women who walked into her office were pregnant within a year. That part was actually a hedge for the article to avoid humans looking closer. The truth was that, thanks to a witch on her staff, every woman was pregnant inside a year. She had established her practice as soon as she had finished her residency, and had almost thirty years of experience helping the unwillingly childless women of Rhode Island, and those who drove in from the neighboring states of Massachusetts and Connecticut. There were some snippets of interviews with various happy parents talking about the children they’d conceived against all odds, from parents of a newborn to one mother whose son, conceived through Dr. Lulu’s intervention, had just been accepted into Harvard. A son named—

“Franklin Litchfield,” I said, stunned.

Suzume nodded. “The ultimate success story. Miracle baby grows up, gets into Ivy League”—she tapped one finger on the list of victims—“dies seven months after that article is published.”

I leaned back in my chair, trying to wrap my mind around the implications. “The guys are changelings? But Gage—”

“No, I would’ve smelled it. He was human.” Suzume was certain.

I shook my own head, pulling myself back from my first response. “And the changelings are taken from their families around puberty. All these guys were with their families.” I pushed my hands through my hair, trying to will my brain into making sense of this. “Were all of them from Lulu’s practice?”

“I don’t know, but I do know a certain doctor we should have a chat with.”

I nodded grimly. “And I know a certain someone who will definitely know how to encourage Lulu to answer some questions.” I held up my cell phone, and Suzume nodded in agreement.

Prudence answered her phone on the second ring. “Ah, baby brother,” she said, sounding warmly pleased. “What is on your mind?”

“Suzume and I have a lead. Do you know Dr. Lavinia Leamaro?”

“Yes, she’s a half-blood. Runs a very lucrative medical establishment.” Trust my sister to remember people based on how much money we extorted out of them in the name of tithes.

“We’re going to question her tomorrow. Can you meet us at her clinic?”

“Of course. Shall we say eight in the morning? I’ve always found it useful to pay calls before the start of business hours. And that’s a comfortable time for me.”

“That sounds fine,” I agreed. After all, she knew more about unfriendly investigation than I did, and she was old enough to avoid any exposure to the sun during its strongest hours. “See you tomorrow.”

Before I could hang up, she cut in smoothly. “Good work, little brother. I’m very much looking forward to seeing what you do with this lead.” Her statement was a conversational iceberg—superficially supportive, but with a lot going on under the surface. And with that, she hung up.

“Her being nice is creeping me the hell out,” I said to Suze as I tucked my phone back into my pocket.

Suze gave me a warning look. “Just keep on her good side.” I nodded.

There was a brief pause.

“So, a homicidal skinwalker knows my address,” I said. “Mind if I crash here?”

Suze snorted. “At this rate I’m going to have to buy you a toothbrush.”

•   •   •

Dr. Lulu’s office of insta-preggo was in one of those medical plazas where an architect built one long gray rectangle and broke it up into a dozen different offices, distinguishable only by the different names written on the glass doors. Prudence was waiting for us when we arrived, and I saw her visibly wince as I pulled the Fiesta into the parking space beside her Lexus, like an automotive version of Lady and the Tramp.

“Your sister doesn’t seem happy to see us,” Suzume noted quietly.

“About sixty percent of that expression is for my car,” I told her. At some point in my drive back from Newport the previous night, the already-present hole in the Fiesta’s muffler had increased in size.

“So only forty is for you? That’s so much better.” We were getting out of the car, and I had a solid respect for my sister’s sharp hearing, so I just glared at Suzume.

Prudence was dressed in her best Audrey Hepburn–avoiding-the-paparazzi imitation, with a large fawn-colored wool coat partially buttoned over a black Chanel dress. Oversized sun glasses and a wide-brimmed hat blocked out the morning sun, even though it was slightly overcast. Had it been a sunny morning, I knew that she probably would’ve broken out her trusty parasol.

She gave me a noticeable once-over, but for once managed to restrain any comments about my jeans and flannel button-up.

“Perhaps you should wait a moment while I gain entry,” she said with a primness that indicated that my fashion choices for the day might be forgiven but would never be forgotten.

“You probably look a little closer to their usual clientele,” I agreed, and watched as Prudence tip-tapped her four-inch Louboutin heels up to the door of Dr. Lulu’s reproductive endocrinology practice, which, given that they didn’t open for another half hour, was probably still locked.

While my sister knocked imperiously on the glass, I looked over at Suze.

“You’re being quiet,” I noted. I’d been amazed when Suzume had let that “usual clientele” comment pass without some kind of joke about Prudence’s inclusion in the over-forty club that made the most use of fertility services.

“I’m being smart,” she replied seriously. I looked down, surprised, and noticed just how carefully Suze was holding herself and the way that she was eyeing my sister, as if Prudence was an angry rattlesnake. “You should be doing the same.”

Before I could respond, the little scheduling nurse I remembered from last time, a slightly anemic-looking blond woman in her thirties, had cracked open the door to talk with my sister, apparently lulled by her combination of femaleness and overt affluence. Even as she started explaining that the office wasn’t open yet, Prudence was already pushing her way into the door. I scrambled quickly to catch up with her and slide in inside her wake before the startled nurse could close it, and Suze slithered in behind me.

“I have some very serious business to discuss with Dr. Leamaro,” Prudence said in a tone of voice that promised dire retribution for anyone who crossed her.

“As I was trying to explain to you, there was an emergency, and she will not be in today,” the nurse said. She probably wasn’t even aware of how she was backing away from my sister like a nervous white rabbit, but some part of her had clearly recognized that she was facing a predator and latent survival instincts were clanging in her head. “I can reschedule your appointment, and you are welcome to leave a note for her, but I’m going to have to insist—”

“Insist?” Prudence asked, with enough The Devil Wears Prada malevolence that the nurse made a little frightened noise and stopped talking. My sister smiled slowly. “That’s much better,” she said. “Now be a love and call the doctor. Find out where she is. I know she left you a number.”

“But—”

“We’re old friends,” Prudence said, dropping back into that voice that made the poor woman quake in her sensibly ergonomic footwear. “She won’t mind.”

“I’m sure you are her friend,” the nurse said, her voice shaking. “But she said that her phone would be off all day. Everything will just be going to voicemail. Even if any of the women are going into labor, I’m supposed to refer them to one of the residents in the hospital. She’s never done this before.”

Prudence frowned and clicked her tongue. “I’m very disappointed in you. It’s never good for someone to disappoint me.”

I didn’t like the expression forming on Prudence’s face, and the nurse looked about ready to wet herself, so I broke in. “So Dr. Lu— Leamaro won’t be in today. Is her assistant in?” Even if Dr. Lulu hadn’t been a half-blood, elf magic didn’t have any effect on fertility. When Suzume had investigated the practice’s unnatural success rate earlier, she’d learned that the elves had hired a witch to ensure that every woman conceived. Of course, it was Lulu and her practice of semen switching that resulted in the women walking out of the office doors with the child of an Ad-hene inside them—and a whopping seven percent of those were born changelings.

The nurse looked intensely relieved to be able to answer something in the affirmative. “Oh yes, of course. Ambrose is in the back room, mixing prescriptions.”

My brain stumbled a little. We’d never been formally introduced the last time we’d encountered each other, but my memory of Lulu’s witch was of a man built along the same lines as a badger, but with a beer gut and a heavily salted vocabulary. Ambrose was not exactly a name that fit him, though it did suggest highly optimistic parents. I recovered myself and nodded. “Ambrose can answer our questions today. Thank you.” I gave a small nod to Suzume. “Though my associate, Ms. Hollis, might have a few others that maybe you can help her with.”

The nurse nodded enthusiastically, relieved that I would be taking my sister anywhere other than here, to talk with anyone other than her. Compared to Prudence, who was exuding homicidal intent like pheromones, Suze seemed downright cuddly.

Suze took the woman, who looked as emotionally battered as a sparrow that had just been chased with a leaf-blower, by the arm and led her back to her desk, chattering innocuous questions that the nurse answered by rote. Something in the gleam of her dark eyes made me wonder if Suzume was using a little fox magic on the woman, but I knew that I could trust her not to hurt the nurse, which was more than I could say for my sister, who was best avoided by the easily broken when her tantrums were thwarted.

Prudence and I headed silently down the peach-colored hallway decorated with framed photos of mothers and infants to the last door, the only one that was closed. There was a hand-written sign taped to it that read Stay the fuck out. Remembering who we were looking for, that seemed promising, and with a small nod to Prudence, I pulled open the door and we both walked in.

His back to the door, Ambrose stood at a long counter covered with various beakers filled with substances that reminded me strongly of the jar of rubber cement from my middle-school art classes, both in consistency and color.

At the sound of our footsteps, he spun around, yelling loudly, “May Vishnu ram each of his four damn hands up your ass, Maureen. When I said don’t disturb me, I—” As soon as he caught sight of us, his voice ended on a gravelly choke, and the beaker he was mixing dropped from his suddenly slack hands. It crashed on the floor, and a soft pink haze rose from the puddle and hung in the air for a brief moment before disappearing. All color leached from his face as he just stared at my sister.

“Very good, witch. You know who I am,” Prudence purred as she walked farther into the room, removing her hat and setting it down daintily on the counter.

Ambrose recovered enough to bob his head frantically and say, in a shaking voice, “Of course, Miss Scott, of course. I’d met your younger brother, but”—defying his barrel-like shape, his voice pitched almost into a squeak as my sister began tugging off her black silk gloves, one finger at a time—“of course we all know what you look like.”

“I am pleased to hear that.” Prudence dropped her gloves onto her hat and walked closer to the terrified witch. She ran one finger along the countertop as she went, looking over the assortment of tiny, stoppered earthenware bottles and one closed box that lined the area behind the beakers. “My brother has questions for you.” She stood close to the witch, invading his personal space by a lot, and ran that one finger deliberately across Ambrose’s stout stomach in a very clear threat. “I suggest that you answer them.”

“Certainly, certainly.” Sweat was dripping down his face. “Anything I know.”

Prudence looked over at me, indicating that the floor was now mine. I cleared my throat and was surprised at how heartless my own voice sounded when I said, “Tell me why the elves are tattooing and killing young men.”

“Uh . . .” The panic cleared from Ambrose’s face, driven away by an expression of pure surprise. Whatever he’d been expecting or dreading me to ask, this hadn’t even been on his radar, and for the moment he was caught too off guard to even remember to be scared. “Doing what, now?” he asked.

Prudence clearly didn’t approve of the loss of the terror she’d worked very hard to establish, and she leaned well into his personal space. “My brother was quite clear.” Her finger stopped stroking his belly and suddenly dug in slightly, and his breath caught in a sharp gasp as she dragged it across, leaving a small line of blood. “I suggest you consider which is more valuable to you—the loyalty you have to your employer or your attachment to your intestines.”

Ambrose shook his head desperately, and words tumbled out of his mouth. “Tattooing, killing—listen, with no disrespect, I’m a dime-store potion witch. I’ve spent the last three decades mixing fertility potion after fertility potion for the elves because the money is good enough to put my kids through college and pay my mortgage. This isn’t any of the great magic or anything that would require a death sacrifice.”

“Death sacrifice?” I asked, picking up on the last term.

Ambrose nodded, looking relieved that there was something he could fill me in on. “Yeah, that’s what you tattoo something for. You know, you’re doing something that breaks a few of the big laws of nature, you need a little help to grease the wheels, you put a sacrifice tattoo on a chicken, kill it, and you have the whammy you need, plus dinner.” He gave a weak smile, one that faltered and slipped away when his gaze darted over to Prudence’s completely unimpressed expression.

This sounded useful, and I felt a tug of excitement, wondering if this was an actual lead at last. “And on a human? Like this?” There were a few pads of paper on the counter, and I pulled one toward me, along with a pencil, and sketched out a quick outline of a human form, then drew in my best effort at the tattoo bands, admittedly somewhat crudely. I pushed the sketch close enough for Ambrose to look at.

He gave it a long, considering examination, then looked up at me and said, in a carefully bland voice, “Not really an artist, are you?” He looked down again at my sketch, his large beetle brows pulling together in thought. He leaned forward cautiously, reaching for the pencil, watching Prudence out of the corner of his eye. After a moment she removed her finger from his stomach and shifted just a breath farther away from him, but it was enough to indicate permission, and he quickly ripped off my piece of paper and on a fresh sheet sketched out a series of designs, then pushed the pad back to me. “Did it look like any of those?”

I checked. They were all a series of interconnected knots, but as I scanned through them, the last one jumped out at me. I’d seen it too many times over the past several days to mistake it, and I tapped it hard.

“That one? Bit old school, I guess,” Ambrose said. Then, sounding almost reluctantly impressed, he continued, “The elves are pulling that shit? Well, I can tell you that no witch in the country did that for them.”

“How do you know?”

Sounding more relaxed, Ambrose explained, “Firstly, death sacrifices are a work-around. You don’t need to be a witch to make one work. Making the ink, sure, that’s a witch, but you could buy that. Must be half a dozen witches in the Scott territory alone who would sell it to someone. But to actually off a human with it, karmically that is not”—he gave a sudden glance to Prudence and then rephrased whatever he’d been about to say, finishing lamely—“a good idea. No sane witch would do that for someone else. You do that if your town gets firebombed by Nazis, not because some dick elf hired you for it.” I grimaced at what I was hearing. I’d been hoping that accidentally smashing the bottle of ink during the fight with Soli would’ve been more of a setback to their operation.

“Did your employer ever ask you to do that?” Prudence asked, and he flinched at the sound of her voice.

“Never,” he said, sounding subdued and frightened again. “Ma’am, this is what I do all day.” He gestured at the beakers on the table. “Fertility potions and more fertility potions.” He paused, then looked uncomfortable, his tongue darting out to run nervously over his upper lip. “Though lately she has asked me to cook the occasional roofie.”

That completely distracted me. “Um, roofies?” Worried, I asked, “What is Lulu doing to her patients?”

Ambrose frowned at me, looking annoyed rather than terrified. “Not her patients, dumbsh—” A subtle movement from Prudence reminded him of her presence, and he caught the word at the last minute, rephrasing it as, “Young man. No, those bakeless-oven gals are nice and desperate. They’ll do anything already. Boss said it was Neighbor business. Anyway, my potion wouldn’t hurt someone; just fogs the memory, makes the drinker nice and suggestible, gets them to do all sorts of things they would refuse to do under normal circumstances.”

That sounded plenty hurtful to me. “You made that for her? That’s horrible!”

Ambrose looked surprised, and shrugged. “Leamaro asked for it; I made it. What she does with it is her damn business.”

“That is completely unethical,” I said.

“Sir, do I look like I’m a pharmacist? Because I am not. I just cooked what she asked for.”

“And didn’t ask any questions.” Disgust filled me and I didn’t bother to hide it.

“Not my job to notice things,” Ambrose said mutinously. Prudence made another small move, and he jumped a little, rushing to say, “But I may have noticed a few mornings in the past few months that the incinerator was used overnight. On something bigger than just some files.” Prudence just stared at him, and he hedged. “Might’ve had some bones shards left, like a pig or something.” She didn’t blink, and he muttered, “Probably bigger than a pig.” One last glare, and he admitted, “Could’ve been a person.”

“Why would someone cut off a death sacrifice’s hands? And the tongue? And genitals?” I asked.

Ambrose looked impressed at the list. “Every spell has more components and steps. The bigger the oomph, the farther you’re trying to get from the natural workings, the more steps involved. But a death spell plus parts cut off? That’s some serious shit.”

Prudence leaned in and said, very quietly in his ear, “Tell me what the elves want, Ambrose.”

“What they’ve always wanted, lady,” Ambrose said respectfully. “More elves.” He pointed again at the row of potions lining his table. “A human-elf cross occurs naturally. The potions just help it happen more frequently. The elves wanted more than just a half-blood, something that wouldn’t happen normally, and my magic and potions were able to bend the rules a little to get them that—a cross between a half-blood and a full, with some extra help, gets you a three-quarter. But that’s as far as it goes.” He shook his head. “The true elves are going the way of the Neanderthal. Some genes left in a hybrid, and maybe the hybrids will eventually stabilize a full population, but the real elves will be long gone. And no great loss, if you ask me.”

“And yet you serve,” Prudence said.

“Ma’am, it’s a living.”

“Fortitude?” Prudence turned to look at me. “Mother placed this investigation in your hands, so I ask you, little brother.” One fast move, and her hand was in what was left of Ambrose’s hair, pulling his head far back, enough that he was yanked hard backward over her waiting leg, forcing his back into a steep arch. His whole body hovered off-balance, his feet pushed almost onto his toes. His shirt slid back, revealing a very pale stomach lightly dusted with wiry black hair, looking horribly exposed and vulnerable. The cut my sister had left before was a long, raw mark, and she reached past it and, very slowly and deliberately, raked all four fingers across his belly, leaving a trail of shallow cuts that sullenly oozed blood. She never looked away from me as she did it, and asked, in a perfectly polite and conversational voice, “Does he live? Or does he die?”

Ambrose made a high, helpless sound, too terrified to stay silent, but also too afraid to try to escape my sister’s hold. I swallowed hard; the suddenness and the very controlled nature of my sister’s violence had thrown me badly, but I fought to stay calm. I reminded myself of what Suze had said: I had to be smart about this, to act in a way that kept Prudence under control but also justified my actions to her in a way that she would respect and abide. I struggled to keep my face blank as I looked down at the frightened witch. I didn’t like him. I didn’t like how willing he was to cook something like a roofie potion with no concerns at all about how it was going to be used and on who, but I also wasn’t sure that criminal indifference was enough to kill someone over—at least until I found out exactly how that potion had been administered.

Admittedly, I wasn’t feeling too sorry about the man’s bleeding stomach or the small, spreading stain in the crotch of his pants.

While I was figuring out what to say, my sister was looking substantially less polite. Her pupils were bleeding out, covering the blue of her eyes. Her fingers dug into his cuts, deepening them, and Ambrose cried out again.

“Sniveling rat,” my sister muttered, her lip curling. “All you witches—scampering and gnawing at the edges. Would the other rats care if a cat ate one of you?” She dropped her tone almost to a whisper and spoke into his ear. “Of course not. More cheese for them.”

Her fingers were flexing ominously, and I knew it was definitely time to derail this—if I could.

I made my voice as neutral as possible and said, “Witches are bought, Prudence. We should’ve been more aware of what Lulu was doing.” I looked directly into my sister’s sociopathic eyes and gave her a reason she would agree with. “And a witch can be a useful thing to have, especially one who knows who is in charge.”

She paused, then nodded slowly, her pupils receding enough to show just a hint of blue. She let go of Ambrose, allowing him to fall into a boneless lump on the floor, staring up at us with the blink-free terror of a bunny facing predators. “True enough, brother,” she said mildly. Looking down at the witch at her feet, she sneered. “Tell me where the half-elf is today.”

Ambrose pressed his eyes closed and whispered, “I don’t know—I swear by blood and bone that I don’t know.”

Prudence leaned down, examining him like a bug that she was still contemplating crushing. I cut in, reminding her, “If she didn’t involve him in the planning, she wouldn’t have told him where she was. After last night, they have to know that we’re looking where they don’t want us to.”

Prudence clicked her tongue. “True enough,” she acknowledged, and nudged Ambrose with the tip of her high heel. “Find new employment, witch. And if you learn something new about Leamaro, something that might be of interest to me, you’ll contact us, won’t you?”

“Of course,” he slathered desperately.

“As it should be,” Prudence said, satisfied.

I still didn’t like the look in her eyes, and I said, “If there’s nothing else, Prudence, we should probably go.” I picked up her hat and gloves and held them out to her. After one last, almost longing look at the huddled wreck at her feet, she nodded slowly, but with an expression that was almost pouting.

We left the room. My heart was thumping wildly in my chest, but I was relieved that I’d managed to avert the maiming (if not outright murder) that I knew that Prudence would’ve preferred meting out in the interests of making an example of the costs of landing on her radar. Suzume was waiting for us in the hallway, her face very carefully arranged into an expression of emotionless obedience that was probably the best mask I’d ever seen her present. There was a set of folders tucked under her arm.

“Did you find something?” I asked her as she fell neatly into step beside me. Prudence’s heels tip-tapped behind us, an uncomfortable reminder of the very real danger she presented at my undefended back. We headed out the door, past the nurse who gave us a nervous look but added a professional smile as we went. Suzume had clearly taken the opportunity to work a little fox magic and smooth out our departure.

Suze tapped the folders. “I convinced my new buddy to check Lulu’s records. All the victims were conceived here. Got the files, so we can look through to see what made them special.”

Outside, the cloud cover had burned off, revealing a perfect blue-sky autumn day and a bright sun. Closing the office door behind her, Prudence winced and quickly replaced her hat and adjusted her sunglasses.

Noticing her discomfort, I started to ask, “Prudence, do you need to—”

She nodded, cutting me off. “Yes, it is time I returned to my hotel.”

Relief filled me, but my mind was also working, trying to determine how best to utilize my sister’s undeniable talent at eliciting honest answers from shady individuals. “Okay. We’ll look into the files. If it’s sunny all day, when will you be comfortable coming outside again?”

“Four, perhaps four thirty.” She tilted her head forward, considering me briefly over the top of her sunglasses. “What would you like me to do, brother?”

“I want you to find Lulu. Soli knew who I was, so if Lulu’s hiding, she’s hiding from us. Can you find her?”

She gave me a small smile. “It will be a pleasure.” She tugged her black silk gloves over her hands, protecting the exposed skin from the sun, and made another minute adjustment to her hat. “I will make inquiries while I rest in my room, and this evening I will start my pursuit.”

The expression on her face made me deeply grateful that at this point the odds that Lulu was not neck-deep in this situation were minuscule. “Thank you,” I said politely.

Prudence paused, then said, “That was good work back there, Fortitude.” Then, with that staggeringly unusual statement still rattling in my head as I struggled to deal with the shock of being given yet another compliment from her in less than twenty-four hours, she turned quickly and was in her car and pulling out without waiting for a reply.

As we both watched Prudence’s Lexus make a turn out of the complex and disappear into traffic, I said to Suze, “I assume you heard everything that happened in the back room.”

She shrugged. “Might have.”

“What do you—” the Tetris theme song erupted from my pants pocket, cutting off my question, and I reached down and pulled out my phone. I checked the screen, saw Lilah’s name, and immediately flipped it open, raising my eyebrows at Suze. “Hello?”

Lilah was speaking quickly and excitedly. “Hey, Fort. I’m at Dreamcatching now. It’s just me here, and I was looking around and I think I found something. Can you come over now?”

I glanced at the files under Suze’s arm. “Yeah, Suze and I will be right over. We just found something too, and we can swap notes.”

After an exchange of good-byes, we both hung up.

While we headed over to Dreamcatching, Suze paged through the files, reading with an intensity that would’ve left me with a distinct case of car sickness. As I stopped at a red light, I flipped my phone out and dialed Matt, checking in to see what he was doing. The call was a quick one—Matt was at the first college on his list, trying to run down any clubs and activities that could’ve brought the victims into contact with one another. I felt relief knowing that he was running down a fake lead that would keep him well out of danger for the day, and when he asked what I was up to, I assured him that Suze and I were just waiting to see if he could turn anything up, as both of us had to work that day and couldn’t go anywhere ourselves.

I actually did have to go to work that afternoon, and I hoped that no one would notice that I had not had either the time or the inclination to wash my uniform in almost a week.

I said good-bye to Matt, and hung up.

Without looking up from the file in front of her, Suze began, “I—”

“If it’s about Matt, don’t say it,” I said, cutting her off.

There was a long pause and then she glanced up at me, looking at me steadily. “If you want to keep that man alive, you need to separate from him. Soon.”

My temper sparked and caught like dry grass in the summer. “You think I haven’t considered that? You think I like having him in danger?”

Suze stared at me, her dark eyes narrowing. “I think that you and my sister have a lot in common.”

The memory of Keiko watching her human boyfriend, and the almost visible subtext of their impending tragedy, filled my mind, and my anger guttered and died. Was my own attachment to Matt like that? But whenever I thought of giving him up, of dodging his calls or picking a fight and pretending that I didn’t want to see him, or, worst of all, convincing him that the bond between us didn’t matter and that I didn’t care about him anymore, I just couldn’t think about it. Matt was the last link back to my foster parents—he could tell me about anecdotes of Brian on the job, or reminisce about how he and Jill would argue politics over the table on the many nights he’d eaten dinner with us. I wasn’t ready to lose that.

“Not now, Suze. Please not now.” She started to say something, and I shook my head. “Let’s just focus on the elves.” I nodded at the file. “Anything useful?”

She didn’t like it; it was clear, but she allowed me to change the subject. That didn’t mean she had to be happy about it, and her tone was lethal. “It’s a medical file, and I am not a doctor. Right now I’ve got fuck-all except a detailed description of some woman’s vagina.”

“That’s great. Keep on that,” I said, and returned my attention to driving, grateful for the reprieve, while she muttered darkly under her breath.