From the cab of the truck, Rhys frowned as we both studied the empty spaces where tattoos had once covered my side and hip. The hellhound had left a large blank spot on the right, and then the chastity belt had disappeared on the left. Then there was the missing heart from where it had lived for a short time on my chest. It was strange seeing so much smooth, unmarked skin when the rest of me was practically covered in ink. Guilt pricked at me for the hound. And even more so for the heart. Not so much for the belt. Rhys had definitely deserved that one.

“So they can only be used once, right?” Rhys asked, even though I’d already explained it all. Twice.

“Right,” I said, exhausted.

The light ahead turned green, and Rhys hit the gas. He hadn’t told me yet where we were going, and he’d already turned away from the Court’s headquarters in town. But he was also keeping me talking, which made it hard to wonder too much about it.

“So the hellhound,” Rhys said as he made a right turn. “What would have happened to it if we hadn’t killed it?”

“I’m not exactly sure. I mean, when the spell had run its course, it would have vanished. Its only power lies in executing its order. But . . .”

“It had already killed Fred and Betsy, and it was still coming after you,” he finished for me.

“I’ve never seen that before,” I admitted. “Unless the spell was more complicated than we thought.”

“What do you mean?” Rhys pulled to a stop at a four-way intersection. When it was clear, he went straight through. This part of town was mostly industrial. I wasn’t sure where we could possibly be meeting a Court member in this area, but he pulled into a half-empty warehouse lot, wound around behind a row of buildings, and cut the engine.

“Well, the words used to activate it are simple. It’s all about the intention of the person wearing it. If his intention was to have it kill Fred and Betsy, it should have blinked out. But . . .” I trailed off, unwilling to say the words out loud.

“But if it’s intention was to, say, pin a murder-suicide on you, it would still be kicking when we arrived,” Rhys said grimly.

“Yeah.” My voice was hoarse.

For a moment, we were both quiet as we digested this new theory.

“Gwen, we have to report this to the Court.”

My head snapped up, my gaze whipping to his. “What? How can you ask that of me? I’ll be arrested or banished.”

Rhys shook his head. “I can speak for you. I—”

“What the hell good would that do? The facts are all there. My tattoos have helped kill four people so far. There’s nothing you could say.”

He growled. “If you’d just told me about the magic, that it wasn’t over with that one tattoo, I could have helped you.”

Touchy. We were both touchy as we forced ourselves to dance around the issues between us. My issue was that we had a killer to find, and all I wanted to do was make out with him on the couch like a high schooler. I sort of hoped that was his issue, too.

I huffed. “And whose fault is it that we weren’t on speaking terms all this time?” He opened his mouth. Closed it again. “And don’t act like you didn’t know. You were watching me, remember? You know more than I probably want you to know right now.”

“It was my job, Gwen.”

He was right. And his job had kept me and Aelwyn alive and safe until now. I couldn’t bring myself to keep arguing.

I sighed. “To answer your question, yes. The magical tattoos I give can only be used once. As soon as the magic has run its course, my copy merges with theirs, and they both disappear forever,” I explained.

“But Ethan is different,” he said.

“Yes.” I hesitated. I’d never actually told anyone any of this. Except for Aelwyn. And she was gone. “Ethan is . . . I realized a couple of years ago, that if I want to, I can create something more permanent.”

“But you’ve never done that with the spelled tattoos,” he said.

I shook my head. “It only works on myself anyway.”

He grunted. “Thank the gods you didn’t decide to do it with that damned chastity belt.”

I smirked.

“Does anyone else know about Ethan? About the permanent aspect?”

“Just Aelwyn,” I said quietly.

Rhys didn’t answer, but his expression was thoughtful and dark.

“What?” I prompted.

“I think it’s obvious our guy is using your tattoos to get to you. He won’t come directly at you, though. And I think we need to try to figure out why. It could be that he knows about your true ability. That he feels you’re enough of a threat to play it careful.”

I nodded. “But what is his end game? What does he really want from me?”

“I don’t know yet.” Rhys yanked the key out of the ignition and reached for his door handle. “Come on. Let’s go inside and see if we can find some answers.”

He got out of the truck, and I followed, looking around at the nondescript building. No signage or markers were displayed. The handful of buildings in this area served as mostly storage facilities for local business and delivery companies. I couldn’t understand who or what could possibly help us here.

“What are we doing here?” I asked.

“Meeting a friend,” he said. I gave him a pointed look at his vague answer, and he sighed. “A friend who works for the Court.”

I scowled up at the two-story building where it rose in front of us, blocking the sunlight. “If that’s true, I don’t have any friends in there.”

Rhys ignored that, trudging on ahead toward the door.

In the end, I followed. Maybe I didn’t have any friends on the Court, but if Rhys did, it couldn’t hurt to try to get them on my side. Especially when Ada came sniffing around again for another piece of ink and found me all closed up.

Inside, I stayed close as we wound our way through the halls. No one else was around, though I could hear machinery running somewhere deeper in the building. Rhys seemed to know where he was headed, and I wasn’t about to tell him differently, so I let him lead. Ten minutes later, we’d found a receptionist of sorts. A tall, broad-shouldered man with white hair and black, leather gloves greeted us with a simple nod before herding us into a small conference room with a scarred table and four wooden chairs. No windows. No other equipment.

Rhys immediately sat, stretching his legs out and slinging his arm over the adjacent chair. Relaxed. I might have paced if there had been room. “Relax, Gwen. No one is going to mess with you.”

I spun, irritated that he’d read me so easily. “Easy for you to say,” I muttered. “That guy looked more like a hit man than a secretary.”

Rhys smiled in amusement. “He’s neither. Calm down. He’s just a driver.”

“A driver for whom?”

Before Rhys could answer, the door opened, and an old man with silver hair strode in. My muscles tensed as recognition dawned. I’d seen him before, always at a distance. Aelwyn hadn’t been close with him, though she’d visited with him from time to time over the years, and she’d always described him as stern, so I’d steered clear. But this close, I could feel the aura around him that spoke of his age. Elsmed Fairchild was a member of the Court. He was also the oldest living fae I’d ever met. And between my own blurred line with the law and those piercing blue eyes he now fixed on me, he was intimidating as hell.

“Miss Facharro,” he said in a clipped and vaguely polite tone. He gestured to a chair. “Please. Sit. Rhys, good to see you, son.”

I lifted a brow at Rhys and sat.

“Good to see you too, sir,” Rhys said, leaning forward and folding his hands together on the scuffed tabletop.

Elsmed sat too, somehow folding his long body into the small chair. I wondered at the way he let more of his true height show. Way too tall to pass for human. Did he add glamour only when he was out in public? Or was he only letting it all show now to scare me on purpose?

If so, it was working.

If Rhys had asked me the member of the Court I least wanted to be put in a room with, it would have been Elsmed. The man was rumored to have a gift for mind reading. And that was the last thing I needed now. My eyes narrowed as I recalled Rhys imploring me to be honest today. Was this why? Because he knew I’d have no choice but to admit what I’d done.

My mouth went dry.

“Your messages said you had new information about Aelwyn’s case,” Elsmed said.

Rhys nodded.

“Tell me what you know,” Elsmed said.

I shot Rhys a look, absolutely not okay with sharing everything with a man that, for all I knew, was the fae behind the attacks. But Rhys ignored me, clearly more trusting of this guy, and began laying it all out. “We know Aelwyn was killed by a fae. So were Fred and Betsy.”

“Do you have proof of this? What do the police say?” Elsmed asked.

“No physical proof,” Rhys admitted. “But the energy signature was the same at both houses, and today, I saw a dead Havenwood Falls resident leaping from Gwen’s apartment window. He was glamoured and underneath I saw the markings of an Unseelie soldier.”

“You saw him?” Elsmed said, much more interested now.

“Yes. He escaped as Gwen and I entered, but I saw through his glamour, and he is definitely Unseelie fae.”

“Hmm. And this dead resident,” Elsmed said, glancing at me. “You knew him?”

“I tattooed him a while back,” I said, nodding.

“So Gwen is at the center of this after all,” Elsmed said to Rhys.

Rhys nodded with a grimace. The truth wasn’t exactly good news. “Aelwyn was killed moments before Gwen arrived. I don’t think that was a coincidence.”

“You think they wanted to torture her? Make sure she found Aelwyn as it happened?” Elsmed asked.

Rhys nodded. “And maybe pin it on her. That much was clear at Fred and Betsy’s.”

Elsmed frowned. “I wasn’t aware Gwen was present at the second scene. The police report didn’t mention her.”

Rhys shot me a glance, but pretended not to notice the death stare I was giving him as he continued. “She left before the police showed up. I . . . thought it best until we can gather a list of viable suspects.”

To my surprise, Elsmed nodded, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “I can’t disagree. The sheriff seems to have tunnel vision here.”

“He has his head up his ass,” I muttered.

Elsmed’s gaze swung my way, and I wished I hadn’t let that slip. “What do you think this person wants from you, Gwen?”

That silenced me. I debated my answer—partly out of genuine speculation. And partly out of self-preservation.

When I didn’t answer, Elsmed nodded knowingly. “I realize you have no reason to trust me,” he said. “For what it’s worth, Aelwyn was a dear friend to me, though in recent years we kept our distance for . . . various reasons.” Something about the way he said that caught my attention. “Rhys has kept in close touch, letting me know how your family is doing and whether you need anything that I can provide. I want to help you, whether you can believe that or not, but in order to do that, you will have to be honest with me.”

“I . . . What reasons?” I demanded.

Elsmed blinked.

“Trust goes both ways.” I lifted my chin. “What were the reasons that kept you from Aelwyn?”

“Gwen,” Rhys warned.

Elsmed lifted a hand and waved him off. “Valid question and fair point.” He looked at me, studying. “You were the reason, Gwen. We wanted no contact or interference with fae for your own safety. So I kept my distance. We didn’t want someone using me to get to you. I’m too high profile in this town to ignore that possibility. And as I said before, I do want to help you.”

I chewed my lip, debating. Finally, I blew out a breath. “They want my magic.”

Elsmed gave no visible reaction to that, which only made my anxiety worse. “Your fae magic?” he asked.

I nodded, swallowed hard, and then answered. “My tattoos,” I said, gesturing to the ink peeking out from the collar of my shirt. “They . . . I can make them come to life. Some people have used them for violence, so I don’t offer the service up anymore, but . . .”

“Someone has discovered your talent anyway,” he finished. I nodded. “And they are using it against you with these murders?”

Rhys shook his head. “Aelwyn’s death wasn’t magical—”

“Except that they knew about the mistletoe and the cedar wood wards,” I pointed out.

“And Fred and Betsy?” Elsmed asked.

“A hellhound,” I said quietly. “I inked it a couple of years back.”

“And do you remember the person who purchased that tattoo from you?” Elsmed asked.

Purchased. He made it sound like nothing more than buying a sweater. I snorted.

Rhys was the one who answered. When he did, his voice was grim. “It was Walter Glass. The deceased Seelie fae I mentioned earlier.”

“He’s the one who ran from Gwen’s apartment,” Elsmed said. “The glamoured Unseelie soldier?”

“Yes,” Rhys said.

The room fell silent.

“I see,” Elsmed said finally. He looked at Rhys. “So we know that a dark fae is here to exploit Gwen’s gifts.”

“How do you know he’s dark?” I asked sharply.

“Because the signature on the portal shows an unauthorized fae entry,” Rhys explained. “And no Seelie fae would glamour themselves to look like a dead guy in order to go unnoticed.”

I scowled, but said nothing. I knew the whole light and dark argument when it came to fae. I also knew most of them lived up to their reputations, thanks to the Unseelie apprentice I’d taken on last year. But I wasn’t a fan of prejudgment based on one’s genes. Then again, the guy that had killed Aelwyn, and maybe even Walter, was Unseelie, so maybe it was that simple after all.

“Hmm. But we also know he doesn’t want to kill her. At least not yet,” Elsmed said.

I shuddered at the casual tone he used to talk about someone trying to murder me.

“And we know this dark fae can glamour himself to look like anyone he chooses,” Rhys added.

“Yes, but so far, he’s only appeared as the dead,” I said. Both men looked at me, and I went on. “So far, he’s appeared as Walter—who was already dead at the time—and I think . . .” My forehead crinkled as I thought back. “The day after Aelwyn was— I was there going through her things, and I saw something out the window. It was only a split second, but it looked so much like her. It was enough to startle me, and by the time I got outside, they were gone.”

Rhys just stared at me.

“What?” I demanded irritably. “You’re not the only one withholding information.”

Elsmed’s lips twitched. “Interesting. Well, that does present a problem, either way.”

“It’s going to make him damn near impossible to catch,” Rhys agreed. “If Gwen won’t hand over her gift—”

“He’ll just take it,” I finished for him, my voice hushed with horror.

Elsmed nodded somberly. “My guess is he needs you alive in order to soak up what you have to offer. That’s why he continues to lure you out. He needs to get you alone long enough to steal your magic. He can’t kill you until that’s done.”

Rhys huffed. “The question is, what can we do to identify him? I can sense his energy signature, but I can’t penetrate his glamour enough to recognize his face.”

Elsmed rubbed his jaw. “The Court is working with the police already on the portal breach. What you’ve learned about his ability to disguise himself will be valuable toward that. I can put the word out—”

“We can’t go through the Court,” I cut in.

“Do you have something against justice?” Elsmed asked, one brow rising in challenge.

I could feel Rhys’s eyes on me, probably a glare that was meant to shut me up, but I purposely ignored him. “Considering I’m the prime suspect in my own mother’s murder, I don’t see how justice has much to do with it.”

Elsmed considered me for a moment and then threw a glance at Rhys. “She makes a fair point.” Before I could say anything else, he added, “But since revealing this new information would remove you from the suspect list, I’m assuming you’re mostly just worried about Ada’s preoccupation with your ability.”

I gaped at him and then tried to cover it with forced innocence. “I don’t know what you’re—”

“Gwen, your secret is safe here, in this room.” He cocked his head. “And just to reassure you, I have no intention of using your gifts for my own gain.”

I just stared at him, at a loss. Apparently, the rumors about Elsmed being some sort of mind reader were true. Judging from the surprised look Rhys wore, he hadn’t betrayed me. Elsmed had to have picked all that out of my mind—I’d been thinking about it hard enough since we’d arrived.

“It’s not an exact science, you know,” he said—again, reading my thoughts. “But you do make it easy.”

“I . . .” I had no idea what to say to any of that, but I forced my back straighter, heart pounding.

“Your gift is incredible,” he added.

No intonation. No clue if that was a good thing or a death sentence.

“It’s dangerous,” I corrected. “And not something I want becoming public knowledge.”

“I’ve kept your secret for twenty-two years already. I have no intention of revealing it now.”

Really?

“Sir, I’d like permission to put Gwen into protective custody,” Rhys said, and my head snapped up.

“Wait. What?” I demanded.

“I can’t say I disagree,” Elsmed said slowly.

Rhys looked relieved.

“Now just hold on, damn it.” My temper flared. “I’m right here. You don’t have to talk about me like I’m not in the room. Or like I don’t get a vote.”

“Unfortunately,” Elsmed went on like I hadn’t spoken, “the police are diverting all of their resources to their ongoing investigations.”

“Diverted where?” Rhys asked.

“The Bennett case, for one. Not to mention the ongoing investigation into Aelwyn’s death and the unauthorized portal use we’re still looking into.”

“I think it’s pretty clear all these things are connected,” Rhys said.

“While that is probably true, between these and a few internal matters, we simply don’t have the manpower to assign an official protective detail at this time.”

“I have a friend I can call,” Rhys said.

Elsmed tilted his head as if listening into the silence, then his eyes lit. “Gargoyles?” he asked, and Rhys nodded.

“I’ll call Everett before we leave,” Rhys said. “He can have two of them here in a couple of hours or less.”

I was a little surprised at how easily Elsmed accepted that Rhys was taking matters into his own hands. Clearly, this wasn’t the first time he and Rhys had worked together. I considered arguing about the protective detail, but knowing there were others watching out for me did make me feel better right now.

Elsmed turned to me. “I do recommend you resume your herbal supplements.”

“My . . .” The mistletoe and the cedar wood. “You knew about that?”

“I was the one who suggested it,” he said.

“But my mother gave those instructions before she sent me here from Faerie.”

“Exactly.”

My jaw opened. “You were there? When I was sent here?”

“I’ve had an eye on you for a long time, Gwen. You are very special and important to your people.”

My people. He spoke as if they belonged to me. Or I to them. Like I should have felt a connection somehow. But how could I connect with a people I’d never even met?

“Funny. I don’t feel very special. Or important.”

“That’s because Havenwood Falls is about equality. Blending in. Many of our citizens come here to get off the radar. The ones who are on it don’t particularly like the sort of attention that comes with it.”

“When this is all over, I’d very much like to visit Faerie,” I said. The words were out before I’d thought much about them. But as they settled in the space between us, I knew I’d meant them. Without Aelwyn, I had nothing tying me here. There was Rhys, but . . . I didn’t want to think about how complicated that felt just now. Or how uncertain.

Elsmed nodded. “Take a few days. Lay low. Stay with Rhys. We’re doing all we can to look into the portal and the deaths. The wards in this town won’t allow an intruder to go undetected for long, glamoured or not. Once this is resolved, we’ll discuss your trip.”

He rose, and Rhys did the same. Finally, I did too, thoughts racing at the idea that I might get to see where I came from. More importantly, I would get to meet my mother.

Elsmed opened the door and stood just outside in the hall. A clear signal this meeting was over.

Rhys nodded at the elder as he passed through, heading back the way we’d come with heavy steps. I moved to do the same, but Elsmed stopped me, bending close.

“The hellhound was quite the creation, you know.”

I went still. Again, trying to decipher his true meaning. “I . . . It’s awful the way it was used,” I said.

“True. Still . . . very creative. And impressive.”

“Thank you?” I couldn’t help that it came out like a question. No one had ever complimented me like this before. Like it was a gift rather than a curse. Like I should be proud.

“Don’t worry. She won’t bother you much longer,” he added, and I blinked, hope blossoming immediately.

“How do you know?” I asked, too desperate for answers to care too much about implicating myself any further.

He patted my arm before dipping his head and striding off, his steps completely silent against the stained hardwood. His driver-slash-secretary fell into line behind him. I stared after them, hoping like hell he was right.