“I have a deal for the Huntsmen,” the man said.

The oldest of the three lifted cool green eyes to the man. “And you think this is the way to bring it to us?”

“I thought it better than accosting you in an alley.”

“We would prefer not to be accosted at all. Particularly when we are enjoying our ale. And hunting.”

The man cast a careful glance around the bar.

“Ah, yes,” the Huntsman murmured. “Perhaps that would explain why you found us here. Did you think we would frequent such an establishment by choice?”

“I do not question the ways of the fair folk.”

The Huntsman’s lip curled. “We are not fair folk. Now, before you insult us further, may I suggest you wait outside until we are done our ale and our other business, and then we may speak to you.”

The man pulled out the fourth chair and sat. “No need. I’ll be quick about it. My family used to be mhacasamhail. We no longer follow the ways. Too little profit in it.”

“The vocation of the mhacasamhail is not about profit, no more than that of the Cŵn Annwn. It is mutual service and—”

“I think there’s a better alliance to be made. With you and your lot. I have heard that you will offer deals. We hunt the men that you cannot, send their blighted souls to purgatory, and you pay well for the deed.”

“Pay?”

“Usually in favors, but I don’t want favors. Twenty guineas a head. You provide the names; I’ll do the rest. No need to tell me what they done to deserve it.” He winked. “I trust you.”

“Twenty guineas a head.” The Huntsman looked at his brethren. “Is that the value of a human life these days?”

“It’s negotiable,” the man said.

The Huntsman turned on him, slowly. “No, John Miller, it is not negotiable. Human life cannot be weighed in pence and shillings, and any man who thinks it can has obviously done such work before.”

“N-no, course not. I’m just offering—”

“I see blood on your hands, John Miller. On your hands and in your eyes. An employer who dared complain when you stole from him. A prostitute who dared expect the money you promised her. And …” He leaned over, peering into the man’s eyes. “Your brother? No, tell me that’s not true. You murdered your brother over an inheritance barely larger than the price you just quoted for the life of a stranger?”

The man pushed back from the table. “No. I-I’ve never killed anyone.”

“Oh, but you have.” The Huntsman rose to his feet, the other two rising with him. “I think you’d best leave now, John Miller. I think you’d best run fast and run far, and stay out of the woods at night, and remember that if the moon has fallen and you hear the baying of hounds …” He leaned over, hands planted on the table. “They may be coming for you.”

Again, the scene shorted out, and I was back in that crib, trying to get out of it. I’d crawled into a corner and was pushing up as best I could. My legs didn’t work, but they never had, so I didn’t miss the use of them. I’d devised a way to escape the crib, getting into exactly the right position on my folded legs and then using my arms to heave myself up. It took effort, but I was determined. I could hear Mommy in the front room talking to a man, and I was deeply vexed at the thought that we had visitors and I wasn’t there to be coddled and cooed over.

I managed to get over the railing. Then came the tough part—the tumble to the floor. From experience, I knew there were two ways to do it. If I wanted Daddy to come running, I’d fall onto the carpet with a thump. If I wanted a silent escape, I’d fall onto the pile of stuffed toys. That’s what I did now, squeezing my eyes shut and bracing for the blow. It hurt. I didn’t care. Such was the price of freedom.

I tugged myself from the pile of toys. My arms were strong enough that I could drag my body with ease. My bedroom door wasn’t shut. It was never shut, not completely. I pulled it open and then wriggle-crawled through.

The voices in the next room came clearer now.

“Four people,” Mommy was saying.

“Yes.” The man’s voice was calm, soothing. “That is the amount of sacrifice required to invoke the cure you’re looking for. The Tysons murdered that young couple, which means in killing them, as a couple, it will appear a continuation of the pattern. You’ll then need to follow their pattern, including the marks and the mutilations. Can your husband manage that?”

“It won’t be a problem.”

“Nor will it be easy.”

“I’m not looking for easy. I’m looking for a cure. You want four killers dead, and I don’t have a problem doing that.”

A pause, and I continued dragging myself, hearing their voices but not processing what they were saying. Grown-up talk. Unless it was about me, it wasn’t important.

“You do understand the implications,” the man said. “If you are caught—”

“We won’t be.”

“But if you are, we cannot set you free. We can make your life in prison simpler. We can ensure you have money for appeals. Nothing more.”

“Understood.”

Another pause, and I managed to get myself almost to the living room before the man said, “I really would like to speak to your husband.”

“I’m handling this.”

“He’s committed to the course, though?”