I don’t know how to explain it. It was like a glamour falling or a scrim descending on a stage. Looking through it, I could see that I was perched precariously on a slanted log, an expanse of scummy pond water beneath me, dauda-dagr in my hand, and Meg Mucklebones turning back toward me.

But looking at it, I saw myself treading a narrow bridge over a lake of fire, a fiery whip trailing from my hand, black, bat-veined wings extended for balance.

In the one vision, I looked more than a little ridiculous and painfully vulnerable.

In the second, I looked powerful. Dangerous. Deadly, even.

My right palm felt either blazing hot or icy cold. To be honest, I couldn’t tell which it was. I flexed my fingers impotently, trying to determine whether I held the hilt of Hel’s dagger or the butt of hellfire’s whip. From somewhere or nowhere, laughter arose: not the marsh hag’s, but a slow, rolling bell toll of dark mirth that resonated deep in my chest.

An image of my father’s face flashed behind my eyes. Belphegor, lesser demon and occasional incubus.

I had an unhealthy suspicion that I shouldn’t have unleashed my temper to quite this extent.

Belphegor wasn’t here, not really. Not in physical form, anyway. But my rage had weakened the Inviolate Wall and called out to my father across the ether, and it felt like it was real. Black eyes, as black as the pits of hell, bored into mine.

Daughter.

“I’m busy!”

His head dipped forward, inclining the curved, pointed horns that sprang from his temples in my direction. Although I’d never admit it aloud, they were actually sort of cute in a totally demonic way.

All that you behold, you could become. You have but to ask.

My shoulder blades twitched involuntarily, mourning their lack of wings. Yeah, wings would be nice. Even bat wings. So would a fiery whip.

I sighed.

With a truly prodigious effort, I wrestled my temper under control. I did the visualization thing, wrapping my anger into a tight package of butcher’s paper, tying it with twine, and throwing it into the algae-covered pond, where it bubbled and sank beneath the depths.

Belphegor’s presence faded, and the real world came crashing back to the sound of a gunshot.

On the shore, barefoot in jeans and a T-shirt, Cody took careful aim at Meg Mucklebones and fired again, sending a second bullet through her chest. It sent her staggering and opened a hole in her torso like a knot in a moss-covered tree trunk.

“Stupid wolf!” the marsh hag screeched at him. Dripping slime sealed the wound closed with a distinctly unpleasant sucking sound. “You should know better! You cannot kill me that way!”

He fired again. “Oh, yeah? I can try.”

She reeled under the impact, flailing and sending up gouts of foul-smelling stagnant pond water.

“Brandon!” I called, taking advantage of the distraction. “Come down!”

He pried his eyes open. “I can’t.”

I held my left hand out to him. “Yeah, you can.”

After a long, agonizing moment of hesitation, he climbed down and took my hand, his fingers folding into mine, his brown eyes wide and terrified. “I’m scared.”

“Yeah,” I said softly. “I know. But it’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

I wished it were true. I wished there weren’t things in Brandon’s life so scary that he fled to a marsh hag’s lair for sanctuary.

As we began inching down the trunk, Meg Mucklebones made one last desperate lunge, reaching for us with her huge, dripping hands. And I didn’t hesitate. Shielding Brandon with my body, I did what Cody had taught me and struck without thinking. Wielding dauda-dagr in a sweeping blow, I slashed it across her slimy green fingers and watched Meg shrink back to cradle her seeping hand against her chest, wisps of frosty mist rising from the wounds. Unlike bullets, apparently dauda-dagr was capable of inflicting actual damage.

“You hurt me.” Her voice was small with disbelief. “You hurt me!”

“Sorry,” I said in an unapologetic tone. “Here’s the deal, Meg, or Jenny, or whatever your name is. I don’t care what the rules were back in the olden days on the old sod.” I pointed dauda-dagr at her. “This is Hel’s domain. And there will be no drowning and eating of children. Ever. Understand?”

The marsh hag sank low into the pond until only her head protruded, weedy hair floating atop the bright green algae. Her sunken eyes glowed a reptilian yellow in their woody sockets, and she licked her lips with her withered tongue. “Can I still frighten them?”

“Yeah,” I said. “You can still frighten them. So do we have a deal? Do I have your word?”

Meg Mucklebones sank even lower into the murky water, submerging the bottom half of her face. “Yes.” The word rose in a dank, sullen bubble, bursting on the surface with a whiff of vegetal putrescence—another vocabulary word Mr. Leary would be proud of me for remembering. A series of equally smelly, equally sullen bubbles followed. Her eyes held a resentful glow. “You have my word.”

I smiled. “Excellent.”

Twenty-eight

Within seconds, I had Brandon down from the trunk, both of us standing on what passed for solid ground in the wetlands.

Jen gave her brother a fierce hug, alternating between exclaiming over him in relief and scolding him. He endured both with an eleven-year-old’s guilty embarrassment, squirming in her embrace.

Cody and I exchanged a glance.

“Nice work,” he said to me.

“Thanks.” I was filthy, spattered with muck and slime from head to toe, but I actually felt pretty good. Nothing like a surge of pure adrenaline to chase away a hangover, I guess. “You, too.”

He holstered his gun and pulled a clean bandanna from his back pocket. “Might want to clean off your magic dagger, Pixy Stix.”

I wiped dauda-dagr’s gleaming blade clean of sticky green ichor before sheathing it. “Thanks. Love the belt, by the way.”

Cody’s mouth twitched. “It suits you.”

I peered down at it. “Really?”

“Uh-huh.” Shoving his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, he rocked back on his bare heels. “Is it just me, or did something weird happen out there? Weirder than usual, I mean?”

I winced. “You saw it?”

“I saw something.”

“Yeah, I know what he means. I didn’t exactly see it, but I heard it. Halfway up the tree trunk, you yelled, ‘I’m busy,’” Jen supplied helpfully. “What was that all about?”

I sighed. “Dad.”

Both of them stared at me, with Brandon dividing his attention between the three of us, his gaze darting back and forth. In the pond, Meg Mucklebones continued to lurk, mostly submerged, her eyes glowing across the scummy water.

“Temptation scenario?” Jen asked in a low voice.

See, there are reasons to stay good friends with the people who know you best in the world.

“Yep.”

Her luminous brown gaze was steady. “But you passed?”

I nodded. “I passed.”

Jen gave me an approving punch in the arm. “Good job, Daisy-cakes. Hey, Brandon!” She nudged her brother. “This is Officer Fairfax. He helped us find you even though he’s off duty, so say thank you to him, okay?”

“Thank you,” Brandon said in a contrite tone. “I’m sorry.”

There was no indication that he’d noticed anything unusual about the particulars of Cody’s involvement in his rescue. We were lucky he’d had his eyes closed through most of the altercation. I hadn’t thought that part through either.

Cody gave him a brusque nod. “Just don’t do it again, okay?”

“I won’t.”

Together, we trooped, sloshed, and slogged our way back across the marsh and through the damp woods to the Cassopolis household. My sandals were a total loss, having vanished into the mire. Cody was able to retrieve his neatly arranged Timberlands and socks, tugging them onto his muddy feet.

“You want to tell me about this temptation scenario?” he asked me.

I shook my head. “Maybe later.”

Mr. and Mrs. Cassopolis were grateful and relieved to have their son restored to them, although I could see the threat of paternal anger looming.

Cody could, too. He fixed Mr. Cassopolis with a steely stare. “I hope you’re not thinking of punishing the boy.” He laid a protective hand on Brandon’s thin shoulder. “He’s had a pretty bad scare.”

“Of course.” Mr. Cassopolis reined in his temper, affecting a smooth charm. He was good-looking for an older guy, with the shiny black hair and rich olive-hued skin tone Jen and her older sister, Bethany the blood-slut, had both inherited. “I’m just sorry he caused such trouble.”

“It’s no trouble,” Cody said briefly. “It’s my job.” He handed one of his departmental business cards to Mrs. Cassopolis. “If you ever need anything, call me,” he said to her. “Day or night.”

With a furtive glance at her husband, she tucked it into her apron pocket.

“Just to be on the safe side, you might want to tack some cold iron over your doors,” I added. “An old horseshoe or whatever you have handy. I don’t think Meg’s going to be a problem anymore, but . . .” I shrugged. “You piss off one fairy, others might take issue. They can be pesty.”

Jen followed Cody and me into the driveway. “Thank you,” she said to him. “Thank you so much. I know—”

“Thank Daisy.” His voice was still curt.

“Oh, yeah, of course!” She sounded surprised. “It’s just—”

Cody glanced at his watch, then at me. “Look, I’ve got to go. Daisy, anything to report?”

“Actually, I do. You?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Go home; wash up. I’ll do the same and meet you at the station in half an hour.”

“Okay.”

“Hey!” Jen’s voice rose as Cody turned to go. “I don’t know how you were raised, but when someone thanks you, you say, ‘You’re welcome,’ Officer Fairfax. And, um . . .” Now her voice dropped until it was barely audible. “I’m not going to say anything, okay? Daisy’s not stupid; she knows she can trust me.” An unexpected flush touched her cheekbones. “And just so you know, you make a beautiful wolf.”