“He is. We both are. Now the rituals … the real ones.”

“Yes, simple acts you must conduct before the deaths to ensure the sacrifices are recognized. You can purchase the ingredients in any New Age shop. You’ll want to keep those hidden, though.”

“Why? If they can be bought legally, presumably for Wiccans or whatever …”

“Keep them hidden, Pamela. Preferably outside the house.”

“Yes, yes. Now back to—”

I’d pulled myself into the living room. Now I saw Mommy on the sofa and let out a squeal. She stopped mid-sentence and turned, her eyes widening.

“Eden!”

She flew from the sofa and snatched me up.

The man chuckled. “She’s quite the little explorer, isn’t she?” He reached to rub my back, and I closed my eyes, enjoying the attention, but Mommy pulled me away, stepping back and saying, “This is why I didn’t want to meet here.”

“How old is she now? Eighteen months?”

“I don’t care. She shouldn’t hear—”

“She’s too young to understand, Pamela.”

“I don’t care.” Mommy hugged me tight, and I could feel her trembling. “We meet away from the house. Away from her. Is that understood?”

“As you like.” The man reached and rubbed the back of my head. “You had to see what was going on, didn’t you, Eden? Curious, resourceful, and determined. It will serve you well, child.”

“I’d like you to leave.”

“I’m no threat to your daughter, Pamela. The opposite, I should say, as I think you well know.”

“We’ll see when this is done. For now—”

“I’m going.” One last stroke on the back of my head. “Be well, little Eden.”

I snapped back into the present, hard enough that I must have toppled, because Gabriel grabbed me and before I was fully back, I was stretched out on the sofa.

Gabriel’s hand went to my forehead with his typical bedside manner, which meant more of a smack than a gentle fever check. His fingers were cool against my skin and stayed there at least twenty seconds.

“I’m fine,” I said. “Not that you asked.”

“Because you’d tell me that with a fever of a hundred and five.”

I shifted into a sitting position. “Am I feverish?”

“Your temperature is elevated.”

“But not by much. Meaning I really am fine.” I started to get to my feet, but a wave of light-headedness pushed me back down.

“Would you like to rediagnose?” Gabriel said.

“Just give me a minute.”

I rubbed my temples and then told them about the two cases I’d witnessed, which was guaranteed to distract Gabriel from his hovering.

“In other words,” I said, “no really new information, but it confirms what we’ve been told. Deals can be offered, for more than curing illness, it seems. But there are strict limitations. The Cŵn Annwn aren’t in the market for hired killers. They have their own code of ethics, and they must abide by it. They try to do the right thing.”

Patrick rolled his eyes but said nothing.

“Is that all?” Gabriel asked, as if knowing the answer already.

“No, another vision kept intruding. Except this one didn’t come from the book.” I told them what else I’d seen.

“A scene that you witnessed,” Patrick said. “But didn’t understand at the time.”

“Apparently. It does confirm, though, that Pamela did it and the Cŵn Annwn honestly believed my father participated. It also explained the witchcraft supplies. The Huntsman warned her not to keep them around. She thought he was being silly. Which he was not, in light of what happened.”

“And …” Gabriel said after a moment.

“There’s no and. That’s all I saw.” Which was true, but there was more to it. I kept thinking about Pamela, how she’d acted, what she’d said. I wanted so much for her to be a monster. To believe she was a sociopath hiding behind the mask of a fiercely devoted wife and mother. That made it easy to reject her completely and utterly, which is what I needed, because I couldn’t reconcile it otherwise. She’d arranged the murder of James. She’d tried to frame Gabriel. That was all that should matter.

I felt Patrick’s assessing gaze on me, handed him back the book, and said, “Thank you.”

“Does it help you solve your little mystery?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I said, a more honest answer than I’d usually give, my brain still muddled from the visions.

I got up, Gabriel rising with me.

“I’ll take one of your books,” I said.

When his brows lifted, I said, “Not these,” with a wave at the library. “One of the ones you wrote.”

“And you might even read it?”

“Don’t push your luck.”

“Oh, you’ll try it out of curiosity, even if you’re only taking the book to make me feel better. That’s an odd way of going about it, don’t you think? A book from the author ought to be the gift, not the act of accepting it. However, the fact that you’re actually asking is a step in the right direction, telling me I’m inching toward the realm of valuable ally.”

“Is there a book coming at the end of this speech?”

He led me into another room, a storage area with shelves of his own work. He took one off the shelf.