It took another week before Smith found him. Evershaw worked in the garden, Deirdre in a chair nearby, though he gave the poisonous section a wide berth until he figured out what the fuck actually grew in there. 

The ErlKing picked his way through a brambly path that Evershaw hadn’t cleared yet, looking ridiculous in his formal suit, and avoided a few piles of herbs that the cat managed to convince Evershaw to save for drying. Evershaw wiped sweat from his brow and paused to stretch his back, pulling off the gloves to give his hands a break as well. “Any news?” 

The old man hesitated, then looked around the garden and up toward the house. “Have you noticed any change in her?” 

“None,” Evershaw said. “Every time I think maybe she’s started paying attention or looked somewhere or done something, it’s nothing more than wishful thinking. She’s the same. No better, no worse.” 

“I had hoped that perhaps a familiar environment...” Smith shook his head, then glanced over his shoulder. “There is one thing to try, though I hesitate to recommend it.” 

“We’ll do it, whatever it is.” Evershaw tossed the gloves aside. “What is it and when?” 

“Young man, I realize you’re blinded by love and willing to do anything necessary to save Deirdre, but take heed of this warning—never, and I mean never, agree to something one of my kind suggests without hearing it out first.” 

Evershaw’s heart echoed in his ears as a strong wind rushed up, tangling around them, and once more he was reminded by the immense power that the innocuous old man held at his fingertips. Which made it all the more surprising that the bastard couldn’t just fix Deirdre. He folded his arms over his chest. “Fine. Start talking.” 

Smith’s gray eyes glinted a little silver and his teeth grew pointy as he looked around at the garden. “Witches cannot undo what was done, and neither can I. There is no way to resurrect the bond between you, though I have reason to believe that if the mate bond still existed, you could bring her back. Reestablishing that bond could save her.” 

“Then reestablish it.” 

“If it were that simple, Evershaw, I would have done it already.” The old man’s temper frayed and his shadow shifted a bit, and Evershaw caught the hint of rotting vegetation and old forest in the breeze. Cricket, lazily hunting mice and insects among the shrubs, scampered off after something when the old man’s magic stirred. 

He was suddenly curious whether Cricket could talk to Smith as well, or if it was just a cat-to-shifter thing. Maybe it was just a cat-to-Evershaw thing. Who the fuck knew. And like every cat ever in existence, Cricket wasn’t big on explaining his thought process or reasoning with anyone else. He just did whatever the fuck he wanted to do and expected everyone to kowtow to his wishes. 

Which Mercy certainly did, and Deirdre clearly had. And when no one was looking Henry did. And maybe Evershaw did a little, too, if only because he couldn’t spoil Deirdre the way he wanted. Stuffing the fat old cat full of tuna and salmon and chicken and other little treats assuaged some of his guilt at having failed to protect Deirdre. 

Smith was talking; Evershaw dragged his attention back, frowning, and tried to pick up in the middle of the conversation. Something about a big favor. “Sorry, run that by me again.” 

“The djinn, Iskander.” Smith grew blurry around the edges as he stood there and a strong breeze picked up over the poisoner’s garden, bringing heavy dangerous scents along with it. “I found him. It took quite a bit of looking, as he did not want to be found, but he is aware of the great debt he owes to Deirdre. He may be able to resurrect the bond or bring her back. It is difficult to say until he is able to look at the magic as well.” 

Another stranger coming around to stare at Deirdre. Evershaw frowned as he studied Smith, then glanced at where Deirdre sat in the sun and the breeze ruffled her dark hair. He sighed and put his gloves back on. “Set it up. We’ll try almost anything.” 

“Very well,” Smith said. He hesitated, surveying the piles of herbs and weeds and other things that Evershaw had spent a fucking week pulling out and trimming back and planting again. “There has been no improvement at all?” 

“Nope,” Evershaw said. He went back to work, not looking up again as Smith trudged back across the lawn and out to the street and his car. Evershaw didn’t need it shoved in his face that he’d failed. He knew he’d failed. Saw it every fucking day.