“No, because the ability can be stopped with modern drugs. When Auntie Nim told me that the master vampire of Ireland was a type of night hag, I went back through the files of other cases. In most of them, the people exhibiting the behavior say they aren’t doing it on purpose. It’s like they sleepwalk, except that they’re sleepwalking through other people’s dreams.”

   “Are you saying, that if modern antipsychotics or antidepressants can stop a person’s abilities, then it gets classified as psychic, but if drugs don’t work, then it’s classified as magic here in Ireland?” I asked.

   Flannery said, “That’s one of the ways we differentiate between the two, yes. You don’t do it that way in America?”

   “No, we don’t give meds like that to people unless they’re really depressed or psychotic.”

   “How do you stop people who are using their abilities for evil purposes?”

   “If we can prove someone has deliberately harmed another person via magic, it’s an automatic prison term or death sentence.”

   The look on Flannery’s face showed clearly what he thought of our idea of justice. “That’s barbaric,” he said.

   “Can your night hags drain a person to death?”

   “Yes, but we spot them before it gets that far.”

   “If they’ve already drained someone to death, what do you do with them? How do you keep the rest of your law-abiding citizens safe?”

   “Appropriate drugs and treatment until they’re no longer a danger to others.”

   “How many drugs do you have to give them to make them safe?” Nathaniel asked.

   Flannery looked down and then back up, but he had trouble meeting Nathaniel’s eyes. Maybe it was the weight of my gaze right next to his, or maybe it was just the weight of innocence in his. I’d found that Nathaniel had that almost childlike belief in what the right thing should be; it didn’t mean he believed people would always do the right thing, but he had a way of making you want to live up to his better ideals.

   “Go on, nephew, answer him.”

   Flannery looked at her, but not like he was happy with her either. “The dosage is appropriate to render them harmless to others.”

   “That’s a way of not answering the question,” I said.

   “Do you honestly think that killing them is better?”

   “Than drugging them into a coma, or frying a brain that works just fine until it stops working? Yeah, I think death might be preferable to that.”

   “Once we were not afraid to kill when it was needed,” Nim said.

   Flannery frowned at his aunt. “There has been too much bloodshed over the years here. We don’t need more of it.”

   “If you gave the night hags the choice between your drugs and a clean death, many of them would choose the latter. You know that, Flannery?” I said.

   “I do not know that, and neither do you.”

   “You know it in your bones, nephew, or you would not be angry with us now,” Auntie Nim said.

   “If you knew she was a night hag, why didn’t you treat her with the force of the laws you already have?” I asked.

   “To our knowledge she’s never killed anyone, so she doesn’t come under our laws.”

   “Did you even know she existed?” I asked.

   “Are you asking if I knew there were vampires here and didn’t tell anyone?”

   “I asked what I wanted to know.”

   “I didn’t know she existed. I didn’t know there were vampires here until you told the other officers. They told me, and I asked Auntie Nim. She told me the truth then.”

   “I didn’t withhold anything from you, nephew,” Auntie Nim said. “You had never asked me if there were vampires in Ireland.”

   “You listened to me talk for weeks about the vampires and how there are none here, but you said nothing.”

   “With that level of condemnation, you are lucky that you truly are my nephew, for if you were not, such criticism of our ways might leave you defenseless when you need your magic most.”

   “Is that a threat, Auntie Nim?”

   “It is the truth, nephew.”

   “Does Nolan know that you’re actually part Fey?” I asked.

   “He does,” Flannery said.

   “But the rest of the team doesn’t, do they?”

   “Do the other marshals you work with know all your secrets, Blake?”

   Flannery and I looked at each other for a long moment and then I shook my head.

   “I would ask that you keep mine,” Flannery said.

   “I’m honored that you trusted us with it.”

   “Auntie said that you needed to know. She’s like most of the Fey. They’ll keep a secret until they want to share it, but if she says that something needs doing, then it’s usually important.”

   “I needed to see you, Anita, you and all your . . . men,” Auntie Nim said.

   I wasn’t sure I liked that she’d hesitated before the last word, but I let it go. I wasn’t going to push, because I wasn’t sure what word she’d almost said, and I still had some secrets from Flannery and all the police that I worked with, except maybe Edward. I wasn’t sure I had any secrets left from him, or anything important.

   “Why was it important to see us?” I asked.

   “You felt the anger when you entered our pub.”

   “Yeah.”

   “Look around you now and feel.”

   I thought it was an odd set of directions, but I looked around the pub and tried to sense the hostility, but it wasn’t there. The people at the tables were more relaxed; a couple of them even smiled at me. I nodded and smiled back, because we were here to get information. People were more likely to do that if they liked you, or at least if they didn’t dislike you. A smile could go a long way toward that.

   Auntie Nim called out to one of the smiling men. He came over to our table with his hat in his hands, literally. He had dark, almost black hair, brown eyes, and skin that would tan if it was given a chance. He looked a lot like Flannery and Mort, though his hair was shoulder length, much longer than either of their hair.

   “This is Slane. He may come to you with messages, or aid from me.”

   The man smiled again and gave a little bob of his head. His hair swung forward with it and I glimpsed something underneath all that hair. I blinked and didn’t say anything, because one, I wasn’t sure, and two, it wasn’t any of my business to remark on someone’s ears. We all had our physical imperfections. Besides, my father didn’t raise me to point and say, You have ears like a hound’s.