“Do you honestly think that killing them is better?”

“Than drugging them into a coma, or frying a brain that works just fine until it stops working? Yeah, I think death might be preferable to that.”

“Once we were not afraid to kill when it was needed,” Nim said.

Flannery frowned at his aunt. “There has been too much bloodshed over the years here. We don’t need more of it.”

“If you gave the night hags the choice between your drugs and a clean death, many of them would choose the latter. You know that, Flannery?” I said.

“I do not know that, and neither do you.”

“You know it in your bones, nephew, or you would not be angry with us now,” Auntie Nim said.

“If you knew she was a night hag, why didn’t you treat her with the force of the laws you already have?” I asked.

“To our knowledge she’s never killed anyone, so she doesn’t come under our laws.”

“Did you even know she existed?” I asked.

“Are you asking if I knew there were vampires here and didn’t tell anyone?”

“I asked what I wanted to know.”

“I didn’t know she existed. I didn’t know there were vampires here until you told the other officers. They told me, and I asked Auntie Nim. She told me the truth then.”

“I didn’t withhold anything from you, nephew,” Auntie Nim said. “You had never asked me if there were vampires in Ireland.”

“You listened to me talk for weeks about the vampires and how there are none here, but you said nothing.”

“With that level of condemnation, you are lucky that you truly are my nephew, for if you were not, such criticism of our ways might leave you defenseless when you need your magic most.”

“Is that a threat, Auntie Nim?”

“It is the truth, nephew.”

“Does Nolan know that you’re actually part Fey?” I asked.

“He does,” Flannery said.

“But the rest of the team doesn’t, do they?”

“Do the other marshals you work with know all your secrets, Blake?”

Flannery and I looked at each other for a long moment and then I shook my head.

“I would ask that you keep mine,” Flannery said.

“I’m honored that you trusted us with it.”

“Auntie said that you needed to know. She’s like most of the Fey. They’ll keep a secret until they want to share it, but if she says that something needs doing, then it’s usually important.”

“I needed to see you, Anita, you and all your . . . men,” Auntie Nim said.

I wasn’t sure I liked that she’d hesitated before the last word, but I let it go. I wasn’t going to push, because I wasn’t sure what word she’d almost said, and I still had some secrets from Flannery and all the police that I worked with, except maybe Edward. I wasn’t sure I had any secrets left from him, or anything important.

“Why was it important to see us?” I asked.

“You felt the anger when you entered our pub.”

“Yeah.”

“Look around you now and feel.”

I thought it was an odd set of directions, but I looked around the pub and tried to sense the hostility, but it wasn’t there. The people at the tables were more relaxed; a couple of them even smiled at me. I nodded and smiled back, because we were here to get information. People were more likely to do that if they liked you, or at least if they didn’t dislike you. A smile could go a long way toward that.

Auntie Nim called out to one of the smiling men. He came over to our table with his hat in his hands, literally. He had dark, almost black hair, brown eyes, and skin that would tan if it was given a chance. He looked a lot like Flannery and Mort, though his hair was shoulder length, much longer than either of their hair.

“This is Slane. He may come to you with messages, or aid from me.”

The man smiled again and gave a little bob of his head. His hair swung forward with it and I glimpsed something underneath all that hair. I blinked and didn’t say anything, because one, I wasn’t sure, and two, it wasn’t any of my business to remark on someone’s ears. We all had our physical imperfections. Besides, my father didn’t raise me to point and say, You have ears like a hound’s.

“It’s all right,” he said in a voice that was the thickest accent we’d heard yet. “Auntie Nim says trusting you we are.” Or I was pretty certain that was what he said. I’d double-check with Flannery later.

Slane swept back his hair on one side and showed that his ears really were like long, silky dog ears. They were colored like a beagle’s ears, brown and white, but they were longer and looked more like a coonhound’s, or a shorter-eared basset hound’s maybe.

“Nifty,” I said.

“I don’t know that word,” he said.

“Cool, or nice, or interesting. They look silky,” I said finally, because I was suddenly having a socially awkward moment. Slang travels badly from one country or language to another. I’d have to remember that nifty wasn’t that common here; hell, it wasn’t that common back home.

He smiled wider, pleased at the compliment. “They’re why I wear my hat inside most times. Helps keep my hair down over them, because most women don’t think they’re . . . nifty.”

“Their loss,” I said, and seeing the puzzlement on his face, I added, “If they can’t see that different is interesting and not bad, then it’s their loss for letting differences keep them from getting to know you.” Again I got that I was verbally digging out of the hole I’d just dug my way into with my feelings, but at least I was digging out and not in deeper.