“One of the patrol boats fished me out,” Darryl was saying, answering my earlier question. “I got to shore and ran into Tad, Zee, and that one.” He nodded toward the boy, who smiled, a wide, sweet smile that sent the warning hairs on the back of my neck straight up.

“The troll,” said Zee’s voice heavily, “was sent after us, but someone forgot about trolls and bridges and the effect of running water on some forms of magic. Old Jarnvid might not have won in the lottery when they were passing brains out to trolls, but running water was his element, and trolls are difficult to control when they are in the same room with you.”

I stayed where I was, one foot touching Adam, but turned to see my old friend. It was unlike him to have sent Tad into battle while he waited on the sidelines.

Zee wasn’t looking at me but at the ashes of the troll, which were blowing away in the river’s breeze, as he continued talking. “Or maybe they thought they were safe because trolls can’t connect to most bridges now. Too many of the bridges today use too much steel. Maybe they—whoever they are—mistakenly assumed the troll would remain under their influence despite the distance and the running water. Or maybe they intended to ‘accidentally’ lose control and let loose one of the more violent trolls in history on the human population.”

Beyond him, I saw a handful of pack members running up the arc of the bridge toward where we were standing. Down by the police barricade, Warren was talking to the police officers. I knew from his body language, and because I knew Warren, that he was keeping them back until we had our vulnerable protected and our dangerous people contained.

“Hey, Ben?”

Our English wolf looked at me, his clear blue eyes missing their usual ironic cast, and sprinted the rest of the way to us.

“Could you go check on Zack? I think the troll threw a car on him just over the crest of the bridge.” He wasn’t dead. I’d know if he were dead, but I was betting Zack was a long way from healthy.

“Car?” Ben said, and glanced around. “Fucking troll throwing fucking cars. What’s the world coming to?” He pointed a finger at Scott and Sherwood, who’d followed his sprint. “You and you, come with me. We’re to rescue our Zackie boy, who might have gotten smashed by a fucking car.”

Ben’s swearing was usually a bit more creative. I had the feeling that he was a little overwhelmed. It didn’t stop him from herding his chosen minions over the bridge. Ben had been climbing the pack hierarchy—not by battling his way up but by not backing down. It was a subtler way to do it, more difficult in its way. But it was better for the pack, and for Ben.

Satisfied that Zack would be attended to, I turned my attention back to Zee. “You escaped from the reservation, and they sent a troll after you?”

Zee was wearing his usual appearance, a wiry old man with a small potbelly and a balding spot in the thin white hair on his head. Unlike Tad, he didn’t look thinner or grimmer or anything. But Zee wasn’t half-human, and his glamour could look any way he chose. He held himself stiffly, as if he hurt—which explained why it had been Tad transforming pipe for javelins and not Zee. But the look in Zee’s eyes told me not to mention it.

“Tad told me you destroyed my shop,” he said sourly.

I shrugged. “Wasn’t me. It was pretty tough to keep up with things with just Tad and me anyway.”

He frowned at me suspiciously. “You still owe me the money on it even if it doesn’t exist anymore.” The fae are very particular about their bargains.

“Insurance and Adam are rebuilding it,” I told him. “And I’ve been making payments into your account the tenth of every month, which you would know if you only looked. I’ve never been more than a week late since I bought it from you.”

“See that you aren’t,” he grunted. “I love you” can be said in odd ways when you deal with very old fae. I was satisfied, and I think he was, too, because he quit paying attention to me. He frowned at Tad. It was the same expression he had on his face when someone brought a car into the shop before we figured out just what was wrong with it. He was, I thought, checking for damage.

Finished, the old fae glanced at Adam, who was still lying, apparently unconscious, next to me.

“Old man,” said the boy Tad had called Aiden. He’d been waiting with apparent patience while Zee and I talked, without moving away from Joel. It wasn’t quite a threat, but there was something deliberate about it. If it doesn’t walk or talk like a ten-year-old, despite appearances, I wasn’t going to treat him like a ten-year-old if I could help it. He was dangerous.

No one had gone to Joel’s aid, and I realized they were waiting for me to signal them. Was this boy—and I wasn’t the only one who knew he wasn’t wholly human—an enemy? Joel breathed easily, but his body was lax.

“Old man,” said the boy, “I’ll have you do as you promised.”

“This is Aiden the Fire Touched, Mercy,” Zee said neutrally. “I told him that your pack could likely make the Gray Lords back down for a day or two if you chose to.”

“You should live up to your word,” said the boy, his voice low and threatening.

Zee’s eyelids lowered. “You don’t know as much as you think you do,” he said. “Boy.”

Nope, I thought. If this boy was as young as he looked, I’d eat my hat—but he didn’t smell like fae. I was close enough, and the wind was right; if he were fae, I should be able to scent it.