“I’m sorry,” I said.

Another whimper, and she caught Melanie’s arm. “Toby.”

“I know.” Melanie turned to us. “Damara had a … relationship with a boy. A small-time hustler.” She made a face, clearly disapproving. “That’s why she wouldn’t come to Cainsville—she didn’t want to leave him. Anyway, the two of them used to take Pepper for hot cocoa.”

“Dami,” Pepper whispered, her gaze dropping.

Melanie squeezed her arm. “I know, ee mikri mou.”

“Did this boy know what Damara was?” I asked.

“I don’t know. It wasn’t safe either way, but Damara was a stubborn …” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Damn it.” Her voice cracked. “Stupid, stubborn—” She wiped the back of her hand across her eyes and put her arm around Pepper.

“She said goodbye to you, Pepper.”

Pepper looked over, slowly, at me, frowning because the voice obviously hadn’t sounded like mine. Then her gaze turned to Gabriel.

He cleared his throat. “Before she passed, she mentioned your name. She said goodbye.”

Pepper stared at him like a god himself had spoken. Then she launched herself across the table, dishes clattering as she threw her arms around his neck. Gabriel’s hands were already on her upper arms, ready to push her off. But he only looked at me, nostrils flaring, as if he was trapped in a headlock. I mouthed, “Three, two, one,” and then, having given Pepper her moment, carefully removed her, with Melanie helping. Around us, the elders looked pleased. Very, very pleased.

“Gabriel’s right,” I said, even if it wasn’t entirely true. “Damara said goodbye.”

We settled back in, and I told Melanie the rest. When I finished, she stared at me. “Aunika? No, that’s—that’s not possible.”

“I don’t know that she’s behind it, only that she’s the only one who fits what Damara said—that it’s a she who seemed to want to help the lamiae. And it was a she who killed Damara, but the voice wasn’t Aunika’s, which doesn’t exonerate her, because the killer seemed to be acting on instructions from someone else. Possibly the rogue Cŵn Annwn.”

“Wh-what?”

I updated her, carefully, leaving out Ciro’s death.

“I … I don’t understand,” Melanie said.

“Which is exactly what Damara said,” I murmured.

Melanie ran her hands through her hair. “It … it makes no sense. None of it.”

“Damara’s killer knew her. Knew she was a lamia, and knew some of you had retreated to Cainsville. Could the killer be another lamia?”

Melanie shook her head vehemently. “No. Never … I can’t even imagine it.”

Which might be what Damara meant when she said she couldn’t understand. Why another lamia would murder her. Later, I was lying in bed with Ricky, eating cold pizza and talking. The pizza was cold because, well, bed. Yes, it was the middle of the afternoon, but with our schedules, we took private time where we found it. He’d slept late after a Saturday night with the Saints, and I wanted to update him on the case, so I’d brought lunch to his place.

I started explaining at the beginning of yesterday evening. I didn’t get far before Ricky stopped mid-bite and said, “Gabriel got you a house?”

“No, no. He—”

“I know—you’ll buy it if that’s what you decide. But he got the place ready for you. Bought all that stuff for you.”

Ricky’s gaze was averted, ostensibly fixed on the pizza as he pulled off another slice, but he didn’t take it, just separated it.

“It was his way of saying thanks,” I said. “And maybe apologizing for … the past.”

He nodded, his gaze still on the pizza box as my gut twisted.

“I would insist on paying him back for the supplies,” I said. “But that seems ungrateful.”

“What?” He looked over, saw my expression, and pulled me to him. “Course you can’t do that. You shouldn’t. He was making amends and pushing you to take a step you weren’t going to take yourself. Which is the best kind of gift. I just … I didn’t expect that from him.” A wry smile. “He’s cutting into my gig—anticipating what you’ll want.”

Despite the smile, there was something in his gaze that made the knot in my stomach tighten.

“If it bothers you—” I began.

“If it bothered me, I’d take it up with him. It’s good to see him paying more attention. Just … It’s sooner than I …” He cleared his throat. “You should buy the house. He’s right that it’s a great investment. Live in it for a while, make sure there aren’t any serious issues with the visions. You’re not really an apartment dweller. You need roots. You need stability.”

“You make me sound like a tree.”

He chuckled. “You know flattering metaphors really aren’t my thing. I’m just saying that a house is a good move for you.”

Something wistful passed behind his eyes, and I felt a pang of alarm, but he pulled me to him, hands on my hips, mouth going to mine in a long, sweet kiss.

“That house makes you happy,” he said. “I want you to be happy. Whatever it takes, because otherwise? Otherwise, it just doesn’t work, and we’ll both pay the price.”