“What’ve you got there?” I asked, and held out my hand.

The question seemed to delight him. Laughing, he darted forward and dropped something into my palm before vanishing into the underbrush. I looked down, just in time to see the oleander flower in my hand burst into pale flames. They burned without heat. The flower was gone in a matter of seconds, leaving an ashy smear behind.

Feeling suddenly exposed, I turned in a slow circle, rubbing my hand against my hacked-off skirt as I studied the area. Something moved behind the fountain on the far side of the parking lot. I took a cautious step forward.

Black hair flashed through blue water as Oleander turned and ran.

There wasn’t time to think, and so I didn’t; I just bolted for the fountain. Everything was suddenly clear, like I’d fallen into a dream where the course of events couldn’t be changed. She ran, and I chased. That was the only way it could go.

She was ten yards ahead of me when she came into view. My legs were longer, and I was gaining when she ducked into the botanical gardens. I didn’t remember drawing my knives, but I must have, because they were in my hands. That was fine. If I caught her, we’d be done. Killing her would violate Oberon’s law. I didn’t care, just like I hadn’t cared when I killed Blind Michael. He was a monster, and so was she.

Trees choked the path, cutting off most of the ambient light. I would have paused to get my bearings, but I didn’t need to; the bitter tang of acid hung in the air, marking her trail so clearly that I didn’t need eyes to follow her. I just ran.

The path opened into a clearing. Oleander stood at the center, silhouetted by moonlight. She looked over her shoulder as I ran into the open, and smiled. The smell of sulfuric acid and oleander flowers was suddenly overwhelming. I gathered the last scraps of my endurance and dove, intending to tackle her—only to slam headfirst into a young elm tree, the illusion shattering around me.

The pain broke through the haze that had fallen over me, leaving me suddenly aware of my own actions. What in Maeve’s name was I doing? I was chasing a known killer through a manmade forest, alone, when no one knew where I was. That wasn’t even stupid. That was suicidal.

Behind me, Oleander laughed. I turned in time to see the bottom of one bare foot vanish between two rose bushes, and the dream slammed back down, too strong to be denied. I ran after her, close enough now to hear her feet hitting the ground.

She was always just a few steps ahead and a few feet out of reach, almost in sight but never quite there. My lungs were burning. I promised myself that if I lived, I’d start working out. Better cranky and alive than cheerful and dead. That thought probably contained some vast truth, but I had better things to worry about, like what would happen if Oleander exhausted me before I caught her. I picked up the pace and was rewarded with a fresh glimpse of her hair. I was gaining. The smell of acid was so heavy it burned my throat. That didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but the chase.

I flung myself around corner after corner, running ever faster. She wouldn’t get away. The path twisted, and I swerved to follow; as long as Oleander stayed on the path, so would I. Her silhouette was framed by the dark mirror of the lake ahead of us, and the sight of water gave me the strength for one last burst of speed. Peri are desert creatures, and Oleander was part Peri; the lake would stop her. I could catch her and force her to tell me what she’d done. And once I was sure she’d told me everything . . .

I put the thought aside and concentrated on running. I killed Blind Michael in self-defense. If I ran Oleander down and killed her, it would be murder. She deserved it, but it would still be murder. Had I fallen that far? It was time to find out. I skidded around the last corner, knives raised . . . and found myself alone.

Moonlight bathed the water in white, chasing away the shadows. I came skidding to a stop, feet sinking into the mud as I frantically scanned the lakeshore. There was no one there. I looked down, and my breath caught in my throat, making my already oxygen-deprived lungs stutter. A single trail of footprints led from my feet back to the path. If you judged by the ground, I’d made the run alone.

I stayed where I was for several minutes, panting, before I heard a twig snap behind me. I stiffened. Maybe I’d come alone—somehow—but one thing was clear.

I wasn’t alone anymore.

THIRTEEN

I RAISED MY KNIVES, HOLDING THEM at waistlevel as I turned. It was a good defensive position, and it wasn’t offensive enough that the person behind me would automatically realize they were about to be attacked.

Tybalt stood on the hard-packed earth of the path, well out of reach of the mud. He raised an eyebrow as he saw my posture. It rose further as he got a good look at what I was wearing. Clearing his throat, he said, “Fascinating as I find your choices of couture and activity, what in the world is going on out here?”

“Tybalt?” I lowered my knives. He was draped in a human illusion, features blunted and smoothed into a semblance of mortality. I opened my mouth slightly, breathing in the solid Cait Sidhe of his heritage before letting my shoulders relax. It was really him. “What are you doing here?”

“Now you’re answering questions with questions. You’ve been spending too much time with the sea witch.” He walked primly forward, stopping where the mud began. “The Dryads called me. They said you were tearing through the park like a madwoman, and given the situation in the Tea Gardens, they were concerned.”

“I . . . wait, what? I was following someone.”

Tybalt’s eyebrow arched upward again. “Not according to the Dryads.”

I hesitated, covering my confusion by sheathing my knives. Had I seen Oleander, or was I chasing a lure-me spell? Both were possible. The Peri aren’t illusionists on the level of the Gwragen, but they’re close.

Tybalt was watching with concern when I looked back up, a frown creasing his unnervingly human features. I wasn’t accustomed to seeing him like that. It seemed wrong, somehow, like it was more of a deception than the illusions I wore. It didn’t help that he’d changed out of his Court clothes and into something much more reasonable: weathered denim jeans, a linen shirt, and unornamented boots. It was more appealing than the finery, even if it was less openly attractive. He looked . . . normal.

“Toby, what’s going on?”

“I don’t know.” My voice sounded small and frightened. I raked my hair away from my face and squelched my way out of the mud, trying to ignore the obscene sucking noises that followed every step. “Root and branch, I need a cup of coffee. Have you heard the news from Shadowed Hills?”