The door at my back creaked as it opened, and I whirled. Ethan screeched, which only added to the rush of adrenaline that poured into my veins, rooting my feet to where I stood. Deputy Conall stood in the doorway, and I didn’t know whether to be relieved or terrified. Either way, my reflexes were working faster than ever. I’d already called up the magical tattoo and now held a bow in one hand and an arrow in the other. I dropped my hands to my sides at the sight of Conall.

“Gwen?” He made no move to approach me, probably because of the terror already written on my features.

I struggled to find my voice—and to make it work.

“What do you want?” I asked. The spot on my thigh where I’d inked the arrows—to hide them—still tingled from how quickly I’d spelled them into solid objects.

“We received a tip that Walter Glass has been spotted in the area. We’d like you to come down to the station until he’s found.”

I studied him, debating whether or not to trust him. But despite his apparent dislike for me, I had no reason to doubt his story. Doubting his identity was another matter. I kept my gaze locked on his, searching for that flash I’d seen in Dead Walter when he’d jumped from my apartment. If this was a glamour, that flash of color behind his eyes would give it away, but so far his eyes were normal.

“And Rhys?” I asked, taking a step toward him—which only made Ethan shriek louder. “Is that what Elsmed wanted? To bring him in until this blows over?”

“Elsmed Fairchild?” Deputy Conall frowned. “Uh. I didn’t realize he was involved, so I can’t answer that.”

I halted. “I think I’ll just wait right here, if it’s all the same to you.”

Ethan still gave a warning sound, but the shrieking quieted.

Deputy Conall looked annoyed.

“Fine.” He closed the door behind him and took up a position in the corner, leaning against the wall next to a photo print of Havenwood Falls circa fifty years ago.

“You don’t have to stay,” I told him.

“Actually, I do. Sheriff Kasun’s orders.”

I huffed.

So did he.

A moment of silence ticked by slowly.

Finally, I turned to glance back outside, scanning quickly for Rhys. He hadn’t reemerged from the trees, and with every minute that he was gone, my worry grew. Something wasn’t right. Not with Elsmed’s cryptic summons and not with Deputy Douchebag hovering behind me.

I spun, ready to chew Conall out for whatever he’d just done. But he was still in his place in the corner.

Beside him stood Walter.

He glared at me, and I had to blink several times before I realized it wasn’t my eyesight that was washing him out.

Walter was a ghost.

That was a trick I hadn’t anticipated.

“Hello, Miss Facharro. It’s been a while,” Walter said.

Behind Walter, Deputy Conall went pale, and I could only assume being confronted with the backside of a dead guy was a first for him.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I demanded.

On the railing behind me, Ethan shrieked wildly.

“Shh,” I hissed at him, so that I could hear over his shrill call.

Silent now, Ethan was practically molting. Walter watched him warily.

“I’m back to see this through,” he said defiantly.

His feet never moved, but somehow he was closer now. I took a step back, wishing Rhys would hurry the hell up. Across the room, Deputy Conall toyed with the cuffs attached to his belt. His brows were wrinkled, and I knew he was contemplating how the hell to cuff a ghost. So was I.

“See what through?” I asked.

“My deal with the Unseelie mercenary, of course.” He sighed. “Trusting an Unseelie, and a Greater Fae more powerful than me, might have been my fatal mistake, but I still get my revenge . . . and I can’t complain.” He held up his hands and did a little dance in place. “I’m mobile again!”

I raised my brows at that. “Walter,” I said, speaking as if to an ignorant child. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Walter’s eyes narrowed, and his good mood vanished. “I’m talking about getting revenge on you for killing my sister.”

“I didn’t kill anyone.”

“Maybe not directly. But your tattoos have. And that means her blood is on your hands.”

My body went cold. “Your sister is . . .?”

“Sarah. My sister was Sarah,” he corrected, “until her husband used his magical tattoo to cause her heart to fail. A tattoo that you inked and then infused with a spell. Her death is on you, and I vowed that even if it killed me, I’d see you suffer for what you’d done. It took time and a lot of planning, let me tell you, but I finally found someone who wanted you dead more than I did.” He barked out a laugh. “Who knew it would be someone even more capable than me—and someone even more dangerous.”

I couldn’t answer, not when I could barely breathe. Walter’s sister had been Sarah? The fae woman whose husband had . . .

My first magical tattoo gone awry.

I felt numb underneath the crushing weight of the familiar guilt. Aelwyn’s death I could avenge. But this . . . this was justified. Whether I liked it or not, Walter was right. I deserved to suffer.

“Walter, what happened to your sister was a tragedy. I can’t tell you how sorry—”

“Save it,” Walter snapped. “The time for talking is over. You’re my only unfinished business here, and I’d really like some god damned peace and quiet now, so just hurry up and die already.”

“You’re wrong,” Deputy Conall said.

Walter rounded on him. “What the hell do you know about it?” he boomed.

“I know that, according to the coroner’s report, iron poisoning was listed as her cause of death.” Deputy Conall’s voice was clear, his words certain.

I blinked.

Walter went silent.

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“Positive. I never forget a case file I sign off on.”

He held my gaze, unflinching, and for the first time, his was free from annoyance.

If what he was saying was true . . .

“No, I don’t believe it. Doctored the evidence. I saw the heart tattoo missing from my brother-in-law’s body, and I know—”

“According to the note Lyle left, he activated that heart spell to try to save her when he’d realized what happened,” Deputy Conall said.

Walter’s lip curled. “Lies.” He whipped around to me. “All lies to try to stop this. But it’s not going to work. I will avenge Sarah.”

He roared, and although I wasn’t sure what he could do to me as a ghost, I backed up as he came. In a swift move, I notched the arrow in my hand and pulled it taut. When Walter still came, I let it fly.

It passed straight through Walter’s ghostly form and narrowly missed Deputy Conall’s shoulder as it buried itself in the wall. “Shit!” He glared at me. “Watch it.”

“Sorry,” I managed, but Walter was still coming.

I lowered the bow, and it clattered from my hand, useless. Damn.

Walter reached for me, and I jerked backward faster than I’d meant to when I realized his fingers had actually caught hold of my dress. They wrapped firmly around the strap and pulled. I yanked against his grip, startled. How could he touch me if I couldn’t kill him? Most ghosts couldn’t summon the energy necessary to manipulate the physical world, but then most ghosts weren’t carrying a grudge like Walter’s.

The fabric ripped away, freeing me, and I went stumbling backward onto the balcony. My heel caught on my dress, but the momentum was too strong to stop.

A sharp pain lit up my back and hips as I hit the railing. Ethan flapped his wings, desperate to move out of the way as my arms flailed. Walter still came, his ghostly eyes crazed. I felt my body give over the railing and knew I wasn’t going to be able to stop myself.

I was going over.

The last thing I saw before I tumbled was another figure—ghostly and old and just as crazed as Walter, as she raced for him with her arms outstretched.

Then I fell.

I grunted, the wind whooshing out of me as two arms caught me roughly. The impact delayed the scream building in my throat, but when I opened my eyes and saw Rhys hovering over me, my relief outweighed the pain, and I sighed.

“Impeccable timing,” I managed to say.

Rhys was not amused. “Are you hurt?”

I shook my head, glancing up toward the balcony. Sounds came from there—something shattering and then a moan—but I couldn’t see anything. Ethan had left his perch and was circling, relieved that I was all right.

“I can walk,” I said.

Rhys set me upright and held me steady until he was sure I wouldn’t fall. “What happened?”

“Walter happened.”

Rhys started to move, but I stopped him. “Not Walter the dark fae. Walter the ghost.”

“What?”

I sighed. “It’s a long story but, believe it or not, I think Madame Luiza has him under control.”

Madame Luiza, Michaela’s aunt who’d managed the inn for a brief time, had passed away last year. Aelwyn had spoken of rumors that she’d returned as a ghost and now spent her time watching over her family. I believed the rumors after what I’d just seen. She was not a bad security system, really.

“Luiza Petran?” Rhys asked. “Isn’t she dead?”

I shrugged. “So is Walter. Sounds like a good match to me. What happened in the woods?”

He hesitated. “It was a trap.”

“Where’s Elsmed?”

“No idea.”

“Where’s your tattoo?” I asked, suddenly struck by the fact that his shirt had been peeled back to reveal smooth skin where I’d inked him last night.

“I had to use it.”

“Was there something in the woods? Did you see him?”

He shook his head. “Not him. Another hellhound.”

“Where would he get another hellhound?” I asked.

“No idea. I think this asshole anticipated how we would have armed ourselves and found a way to conjure his own monster to try to use up our weapons.”

“But you didn’t see him?” I asked, suddenly aware of how exposed we were out here.

“No. Did you?”

“I think . . . I might have.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know for sure but . . . follow me.”

We didn’t make it more than three steps before a figure appeared. Rhys and I stopped. Ethan screeched, but the figure ignored it, all his attention focused on us.

“I know who you are,” I said in a voice that I hoped sounded more confident than I felt. When I’d warned Rhys earlier that the dark fae could be disguised as anyone, I hadn’t realized just how true that would prove to be.

Between us and him, the darkness seemed to grow its own shadows.

The figure took a step toward us, his broad shoulders and muscled arms so familiar to me. Even the swoop of the hair over his forehead—it really had grown long—was like a comfortable blanket or the scent of herbs in the foyer at home. Something I’d know anywhere.

“Rhys,” I said quietly.

Both figures answered. “Yes?”

I didn’t wait for the imposter next to me to notice he’d just been outed. Instead, I rammed my elbow into his ribs and sprinted for the figure up ahead.

The real Rhys Graywalk.