“No, I’m not,” said May. I turned to see her leaning against the hallway wall, holding her robe closed with one hand. “Hey, boss. Hey, Manny.”

“Filth,” Manuel spat. “You’re so in love with death you even let it live with you. You’re disgusting.”

“I think it’s time for you to leave,” I said, quietly. “I’m not going to let you talk about her that way.”

He thrust his open hand toward me. “Give me my sister’s knife, and I’ll go.”

“What?” I stared at him. This conversation was a bit too full of bombshells for my tastes. “You’re kidding.”

“It was hers. I want it back.” He glared, still holding out his hand. “It was a loan. As her brother, I’m telling you the loan is over. Give it back.”

“It was a gift,” said May. The conviction in her voice was enough to make us both turn. She shrugged, looking Manuel in the eyes as she said, “Ask the night-haunts if you disagree. Toby can call them for you.”

His eyes widened, and he looked briefly lost. Then he shifted his attention away from May, focusing on me. I stifled a sigh, seeing where this was about to go. Manuel was on the streets for years before he went to Shadowed Hills, and all Devin’s kids learned how to fight.

Trouble is, most of them only learned to fight well enough to make it from one day to the next. I was Devin’s favorite for a long time, and I got better lessons than most. I braced myself when I saw Manuel tense, letting the objects I’d been holding fall as he started to charge. He wasn’t expecting my hands to be free; his approach left him no defense against a grapple. I caught his arm, using his own momentum to spin him around and pin him against the wall.

It was over in seconds. Planting my knee against his back, I said, “I don’t have time to fight you. Do you get that? I refuse to do this when people are dying.”

He made a thin choking noise. For a moment, I was afraid I was even more out-of-practice than I thought, and that I’d hit him hard enough to hurt him. It was somehow even worse when I realized he was crying.

I dropped my foot to the floor and let go of his elbow, stepping back. He stumbled away from me, fumbling for the doorknob.

“You’ll be sorry you ever touched me,” he said.

“Go back to Shadowed Hills, Manuel. It’s over.”

“It’s not over!” He wrenched the door open. “It’s not. You’ll pay.”

“Whatever.” I closed the door behind him and started retrieving my things. The thermos had rolled halfway under the couch. Thank Maeve for locking lids; if I’d been forced to leave the house without coffee, someone would have died. “May? You okay?”

“Yeah.” She tossed something at me. I caught it automatically with my free hand, and almost laughed when I saw what I was holding.

A bottle of Tylenol.

May smiled when I looked up. “I’m getting your headaches now, too. Try keeping it to a dull roar until you dodge certain death, okay?”

“Okay,” I said, solemnly. “May—”

“I know.” Manuel danced with Raysel at the Ball; if she really wanted me blamed for the attack on her mother, having my knife to plant in a convenient place wouldn’t be the worst approach. “Just get moving.”

“All right,” I said, opened the door, and left.

My headache was bad enough to make spinning an illusion a bad idea. I scurried to the car with my hair pulled over my ears, wishing like hell that I didn’t feel like there was something shameful in being myself. I’ve spent my whole life being ashamed of what I am. There’s no place in the human world for fae, and no place in the fae world for humans. I just wish they’d stop trying to meet in the middle. It’s too hard on the kids.

I opened the Pop-Tarts after tucking the baseball bat and duffel bag behind the seat. The smell of powdery sugar and fake fruit filled the car. I took a massive bite from the first pseudo-pastry, stuck the key into the ignition, and drove.

Distance was making it easier to think about what was going on. Lily was an untitled landholder; her death was tragic, but it wouldn’t inspire the nobility to lead a manhunt. Luna was a Duchess. If she died, the game would change completely. Poison doesn’t break Oberon’s law unless somebody dies. There are circles where putting your enemies to sleep for a thousand years is perfectly normal.

“What the hell kind of game is Oleander trying to play?” I muttered, washing down my Pop-Tart with a swig of coffee. Did she just want to hurt me, or did she have a bigger plan? It couldn’t be coincidence that both people who’d been attacked were ones I loved but could easily have hated. If you didn’t know me, you’d almost expect me to hate them. If Oleander was targeting me, she was doing it the right way. She was keeping me off-balance and had a good shot at getting me executed. Bully for her.

If anyone would know how to poison an Undine, it was Oleander. Poisons have always been her trademark. The question was really “what did she expect to gain?” The entire Torquill family had good reason to hate her. She stole Raysel’s childhood, and stole her sanity in the process. There was no way—

My hands tightened on the steering wheel as a chilling thought struck me. Raysel was insane, and she wasn’t surprised to hear that her mother was sick. Was she that crazy? Or was she the one who let Oleander into the knowe? It was a horrible idea, but I couldn’t afford to dismiss it out of hand. Raysel wanted the Duchy; this might be the fastest way to get it, if she was crazy enough to work with Oleander. If.

Was I paranoid enough to imagine a conspiracy between my liege-lord’s daughter and the woman who tried to kill me sixteen years ago? More importantly, could I afford not to be that paranoid?

Some idiot in an SUV pulled out in front of me. I swerved, swearing, and managed to dump the rest of my coffee on the seat, where it immediately soaked into the upholstery. “This day had better not get any worse,” I snarled, resolving to swing through the first drivethrough I passed and buy an entire gallon of coffee. Without it, I doubted I’d survive to see the sun go down.

Still swearing, surrounded by the taunting smell of the spilled coffee, I drove on.

SIXTEEN

IT TOOK LONGER TO REACH GOLDEN GATE park than it should have, largely because the tourists were out in force. I wasn’t sure whether they were more annoying in their cars, where they missed lights and tried to drive the wrong way down one-way streets, or out of their cars, where they jaywalked with suicidal abandon. I settled for “yes.” More and more, I’ve come to appreciate the fact that the fae are naturally nocturnal. It lets me live in San Francisco and still avoid all the damn tourists. Most of the time.