He frowned at the pages, brow furrowing for a moment before it smoothed out as his expression became one of pure surprise. “Was she experimenting with herself?”

“She was,” I confirmed. Bridget looked utterly bewildered. Taking pity, I explained, “Etienne said that you knew he was Tuatha de Dannan. What you may not know is that they’re teleporters, and so is Chelsea. Based on what’s written here she’s been opening small portals for the last year or so. She’s been testing what she can do.”

“That’s not possible. I would have known.”

“Have you ever encouraged her to use her magic? Or have you told her to hide it, no matter what?” Bridget’s silence was answer enough. I continued: “She wanted to know what she could do. And I think she managed to catch someone’s attention.”

What I didn’t say was that if the locations in Chelsea’s book were accurate—and I had no reason to suspect they weren’t—she was opening portals that stretched a lot farther than she should have been able to manage. Etienne could go from Pleasant Hill to San Francisco, if he stretched. His little girl had recorded trips from Albany to Vancouver. And that wasn’t good. There are always stories about changelings with too much power. None of them end well.

“Where is she?” whispered Bridget.

“I don’t know. But we’re going to find out.” I held up the book. “Can I take this?”

Clearly reluctant, Bridget nodded.

“Okay. We have to go now. We have to go and find your daughter.” Assuming she was still alive. And that, unfortunately, was looking like an increasingly big assumption.

SEVEN

WE REWOVE OUR HUMAN DISGUISES before we left. Bridget didn’t argue about our leaving—I think she was too stunned to try to make us stay. She let me keep Chelsea’s notebook and even gave us a recent picture from the living room wall. I gave her my cell number, asking her to call if she thought of anything that might help us find Chelsea. She wouldn’t call. I could see it in her face. But maybe having something as concrete as a phone number would give her a little bit of comfort in the days ahead. I’m a big believer in giving comfort whenever possible. Maeve knows, it can be a hard thing to hold onto.

Besides, there was no way she could use the phone number to track me. April O’Leary set up my account, and I wasn’t sure it strictly existed from the mortal perspective. If Bridget decided not to trust me, all she’d get from tracing my number was a headache.

Speaking of headaches…I waited until Quentin and I were safely in the car, away from human ears, before I asked, “You realize what our next step is, right?”

Quentin frowned. “Is this one of those questions where I’m supposed to work out the answer for myself, as a training thing, or is it one of the questions where you give me the answer, so I shouldn’t even bother trying?”

“The latter,” I said. “We need to talk to the Luidaeg.”

Quentin’s frown vanished, replaced by a wide grin. “I was hoping you’d say that. Do we need to go see Walther first, while we’re already in Berkeley?”

“I’ll call him and let him know the situation, but we don’t need to go by. I still want to drive past Chelsea’s school and see whether we can find the spot she disappeared from—the human authorities may have missed something—but we can head for the Luidaeg’s after that. Maybe we can even get there before dawn.”

“Can we stop for donuts?”

The question wasn’t as crazy as it sounded. Yes, we were in the beginning stages of a kidnapping investigation, and yes, time was not on our side…but if we were going to the Luidaeg, a little bribery wouldn’t hurt.

The Luidaeg is the daughter of Oberon and Maeve, which technically makes her my aunt. Maybe that’s why she hasn’t killed me yet, although it’s just as likely to be the fact that I amuse her. May says we’re reenacting The Princess Bride, one “I’ll most likely kill you in the morning” at a time. Whatever her motives, the Luidaeg is one of my strongest, and strangest, allies. If anyone would know how to handle the issue of a changeling with more power than she was supposed to have, it was the Luidaeg.

She was also the single person most likely to let me explain things without freaking out. The Luidaeg is older than any of the laws of Faerie, and remembers a time when humans and the fae consorted openly, with no lies or illusions between us. She might not approve of Chelsea, but she wouldn’t be horrified by her the way some others would be.

And the Luidaeg likes donuts. “Sure, we can stop,” I said. “What time is it?”

“Almost four-thirty.”

“Let’s get back to the right side of the Bay, park long enough for dawn to pass, and then swing by Dynamo for the early morning batch. The Luidaeg likes their salted caramel.” Quentin wrinkled his nose. I sighed. “I wouldn’t take us onto the bridge if I thought there was any chance we’d be caught out by the dawn. We have nearly an hour until sunrise. Trust me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

“Don’t call me ma’am,” I said, and started the car.

Quentin smirked.

His concern wasn’t unfounded. Dawn is anathema to faerie enchantments. Something about the way the sun hits the land during the first moments of the day tears down small spells and weakens great ones, smashing the magic out of the world. It never lasts more than ten minutes, but that was more than long enough to have a fatal car accident if I was behind the wheel when it hit. Dawn isn’t as painful for me as it was before Amandine shifted the balance of my blood, but it’s still impossible to breathe in those few minutes when the air pushes down like a blanket made of lead and everything tastes of death and ashes.

We drove down Colusa with the windows open. Patches of the smoke-and-lily scent that meant “Chelsea” appeared along the length of the street, some fresh, some faded. None of them stood out as the place she’d disappeared from, and Quentin didn’t seem to notice them at all. I stopped the car next to one of the stronger patches, frowning at him.

“Do you smell anything?”

“Not really,” he admitted. “Her room smelled like old magic, a little. Out here, there’s nothing.”

“Great. One more attraction for the freak show that is my life—apparently, Dóchas Sidhe are magic detectors, not just blood detectors. Chelsea was here. She was here a lot. I think she opened some of her doors from this spot.”