After she left, I contemplated the fireplace morosely. The house we were squatting in, like the rest of Dublin—except for Chester’s, which I assumed was powered by an entire room of underground generators—had no electricity or gas. Not only was it dark, it was freezing. And—of course—it was raining outside. I tugged the comforter that I’d pilfered from the bedroom more snugly around my shoulders and sat, teeth chattering. I’d have given my eyeteeth for a cup of coffee. Where was V’lane when I needed him? I considered the pile of logs and tried to decide where the prior owner might have stashed matches.

I heard the kitchen door open. “What did you forget, Dani?” I called.

A silhouette stepped into the doorway between the kitchen and living room. “I had begun to think the child would never leave,” said a deep, musical voice.

I don’t have Dani’s hyperspeed—but I achieved something close to it. One moment I was sitting on the couch feeling sorry for myself, the next I was plastered back against the far wall, spear drawn.

In that moment, I faced a harsh truth: I might have a serious hate on, I might even be stronger than I’d ever been before, but I still wasn’t strong enough.

I still needed allies.

I still needed Barrons’ tattoo, and I still needed V’lane’s name on my tongue, even though neither could be completely relied upon. I needed Jayne and his men, and I needed the sidhe-seers. And I hated needing anyone.

“Brought you coffee, MacKayla,” said the Lord Master, stepping into the room. “I hear you like it strong and sweet, with a lot of cream.”

“Where’d you hear that?” I was shaking. I bit my tongue hard enough to draw blood, focused on the pain, and stopped shaking.

“Alina. She talked about you a great deal. But she pretended you were her friend, not her sister. She hid you from me. Think about that when you remember her. Why did she conceal your existence unless she sensed, from the very beginning, something about me was not to be trusted? But she chose me anyway. Loved me anyway.”

“She didn’t love you. And you’re lying. You must have found her journal and read it.”

“And she wrote in her journal how you took your coffee? Pitiful rationale, MacKayla.”

“You took a lucky guess. Get out of my house.” I eyed my gun, which was lying on the floor next to the couch. I should have grabbed it, too, but his voice had sent me flying off the sofa, all instinct and no intellect. The only reason I had the spear was because it had been on my lap when he walked in. Although the Lord Master had once been Fae, the Seelie Queen had punished him by turning him mortal. He was now merely human, pumped up on Unseelie. Could I kill him with a gun? I was more than willing to try. I doubted he’d let me get close enough with the spear. I was surprised he’d come this close without a sifting Fae standing next to him.

“Sit down and drink your coffee. And put that spear away.” He glanced at the fireplace, murmured a few words, and flames leapt from the cold logs.

“How did you do that? You’re not Fae.”

“Fae isn’t the only game in town. Your illustrious benefactor taught me well.”

“V’lane?” I said.

“No.”

Something inside me went very still. “Barrons?”

“He taught me many things. Including Voice. Kneel.”

“Kiss my ass.”

“I said kneel before me now.”

I sucked in a sharp breath. Layered voices resonated around the room, pushing at me, trying to invade my mind, make his will mine. It was Voice as strong as Barrons had once used on me.

I smiled. It was an annoyance, nothing more. It looked like I’d found that place inside me that Barrons had sent me hunting for, where I had the strength to resist Voice. Too bad I still didn’t understand what it was. I had no idea how to use Voice, but it no longer worked on me. I was free. It was another of the things that had changed in me. One more power. “No,” I said. I took a step toward the couch and my gun.

“Look out the window.” It was a warning. “Touch that gun, they sift.”

I looked, and jerked. “Dani.”

“She’s almost as impressive as you. If she could sense the Book, I wouldn’t need you. But she can’t and I do, so you and I are going to come to terms, one way or another. Sit, sheathe the spear, forget anything so stupid as shooting me, and listen.”

* * *

I would never have obeyed, but beyond the window, out in that cold, rainy day, two Unseelie Princes were holding Dani between them.

Her cheeks were running with blood, and she was shivering violently. She wasn’t cold. She wasn’t even getting rained on. I guessed the UPs didn’t like being wet. She was shivering with heat. Lust. The destroying kind.

Her sword gleamed alabaster, forgotten in a muddy puddle on the dirt lawn. I knew they couldn’t possibly have touched it. Somehow they’d made her throw it away, same as the LM had done to me.

I was seriously beginning to think I’d gotten the short end of the stick. That all sidhe-seers had. What good were we, with all our limitations? We just kept getting shoved around.

I pushed a chair in front of the window so I could keep a constant eye on her. I had no idea what I’d do if the princes did anything other than restrain her as they were now, but I’d do something. They were in static form, clothed. They’d better stay that way. I was looking at two of the princes who’d turned me inside out. Who’d very nearly taken my soul from me. One day I would kill them, if it was the last thing I did. I was wise enough to know today was not that day. “Talk,” I said tightly.

He did. I sipped my coffee—irritatingly, it was good—while the Lord Master told me a story about being thrown out of Faery for defying the queen, for attempting to return their race to the Old Ways when the Fae had been worshipped as the gods they were, instead of living like sheep alongside puny mortals.

He told me how she’d stripped him of his Fae essence and turned him mortal, about finding himself alone in our world, human and fragile. He’d been cast naked, unarmed, and without human currency into the middle of Manhattan, in a subway station. He’d barely survived those first few minutes, had been attacked by a group of mocking, cruel humans wearing leather and chains, sporting shaved heads and hammering fists.

He told me how for a time he’d been out of his mind, horrified by a body that felt pain, that needed to eat, drink, and make waste, how he’d discovered germs and been terrified of death after so many hundreds of thousands of years of not even being able to comprehend it. He’d wandered with no place to rest, no money or understanding of how to care for his finite, weak shape that required so many things and caused so much misery. He—a god—was reduced to scavenging through human trash for sustenance to keep his body alive. He’d had to kill to seize clothing, had to scrounge like an animal. He’d studied his new environment, determined to find a better way to survive so he could then do better than merely survive.