“You mean, use live bait. Lovely, and who are we going to get for that? And where do we find them? Do you know where they are?” Camille looked slightly squeamish. Live bait meant the chance of losing someone.

Ivana tapped her staff on the ground three times. She closed her eyes. As we watched, a clew of earthworms came out of the ground, and Ivana leaned down to the writhing mass and whispered something to them that we couldn’t catch. A few moments later, they burrowed back into the soil.

“We will wait now.” She held up her hand for silence. “Can you feel the beat of the soil? The message is being passed along.”

I wanted to ask her how the hell a bunch of worms was going to come up with an answer for us but decided to forego irritating her. Magic is as magic does, and the Elder Fae worked with the forces of the world in a way even we couldn’t pretend to understand. But my thoughts must have shown in my expression, because Ivana pushed herself to her feet and before I knew what was happening, she was standing in front of me.

“You do not worry yourself, Puss. But since your curiosity has your cat, I will tell you. The worms . . . think of them like telephone lines and wires. They are the medium, not the messenger. The messenger is my voice, gone searching, seeking. It hunts for our quarry.” She leaned down and tapped me on the nose with one of her talon-like nails. “Do you fear me, Kitty? Do you turn into a fraidy-cat when you face a fear?”

I was starting to feel uncomfortable. I had grown out of a lot of my timidity, and shifting into Tabby? Didn’t happen so much anymore. But that she could see into me spooked the hell out of me. Then again, she was Elder Fae, and when she shed her disguise, she was freaking scarier than the Fae Queens, and that was going some.

Ivana let out what sounded like a purr, then laughed and turned back to Camille. “I frighten your sister, but she knows . . . she knows.” She paused, staring at the ground. “I hear the pulse of the world. My message is answered.” Leaning down she whispered something and the wrigglers burst out of the ground. Ivana tilted her head to one side, listened, and the worms vanished again, back into the soil, burrowing deep.

“Your dreglin children are hiding in the forest, two miles east from where you encountered them. There you will find their lair, and there are five of them. Be cautious, my girls, they are deadly and clever, if not overly intelligent. You will need to walk softly. They sleep during the day, so you may have better luck finding them during the sun’s waking hours.”

I sucked in a deep breath. “Daylight? Then we can’t take Menolly with us. And the guys are off in Otherworld . . . well, we have Shade, Morio, and Vanzir. But if they go with us, we won’t have anybody to watch the house.”

Camille smiled. “About that, I made a phone call. Aeval promised to send me guards, just as soon as she can make a decision on who would be safest.”

“Well then, that works. But first . . .” I turned to Ivana. “Where do you want to meet us so we can fulfill our bargain?” One thing I knew, it never paid to welsh on debts to the Elder Fae.

Ivana pursed her lips, grinning. “Oh, my Puss. You learn quickly. I will ramble out to your house. Call me when you have the treatsies and I will come. If you are not home, just leave it on the porch and I will leave a note that I found it. And Witch Girl, you drive a hard bargain. I hope the information is worth it. The fighting will be difficult, but that is not my affair. Now, for bright meat, I would happily join you. You have seen my true form, you know what I can do.”

For a moment—just a moment—the glamour lifted and she rose so tall she seemed to blot out the sky. Brilliant and beautiful against the gloom, her long silver hair flowing around her, and her eyes glowing like a warm merlot. She was pale as a moonbeam, and I dropped to my knees, gasping. The only other time we had seen her true form was in her hideous garden of ghosts.

As quickly as the mask had vanished, it returned, and she was Ivana the bag lady again. Without a word, she touched her nose, turned, and wandered off through the park.

I looked over at Camille, who was watching her leave, the same look of awe on her face that I had felt in my heart.

“I wish . . . I wish we could be friends. I wish I could hear her stories.” Camille’s hushed voice echoed in the stillness of the afternoon.

“Are you so certain you want to hear what she has to say? Be careful what you ask for. You may just get it.” I shook my head to clear my thoughts. “Come. We still have to stop at Carter’s before we go home.”

And so, we returned to our cars. As we drove the short distance to Carter’s, all I could think about was how so much of life was hidden under an illusion. We all wore our masks, and when we took them off, was it to reveal yet another mask, or was it perhaps the truth of our heart? How did we know if the person we were looking at in the mirror was really us—or just another façade?

• • •

Carter was waiting for us. As usual, he had a tray of steaming tea and cakes ready. I’d long finished my second cinnamon roll so I was very hungry, and Camille seemed just as famished. We ate while he was in the back, tooling around with something, and by the time he came out again, our evidence in hand, my stomach had stopped rumbling. I was mildly embarrassed because I’d eaten five of the little cakes and three tea sandwiches, but Camille had done just about the same amount of damage to the tea tray and she seemed perfectly nonplussed.

Carter put down the casts and smiled at the sight of the empty plates. “Good, I’m glad you liked the tea cakes. I was hoping you would. I tried a new recipe and wanted to see what you thought.”

The idea that the be-horned half demon, half Titan had been baking made me let loose a peal of giggles. Camille followed suit. At his befuddled look we tried to explain but the tension we’d been under picked that time to break and we were off and howling. A few moments later, we managed to get hold of ourselves, but he just grinned and waved our explanations away.

“It’s quite all right, girls. I get the gist. And no, I do not wear an apron, and yes, I love to cook. Someday I shall invite you over for dinner and make you my specialty—beef bourguignon. And then there will be no twittering.” He arched his eyebrows and we burst into giggles again, but this time he joined us.

After a few moments, he leaned back and crossed his good leg over the one with the brace. “I have some answers for you about your casts and the cigarette, but they also netted more questions.”

Once again, I pulled out my notebook but he shook his head. “I’ve printed out the information for you. Here’s the thing—the cigarette? Whoever smoked it is purely human. No Supe blood whatsoever. Hard to tell with the casts but the energy coming off them? Human. However, there is something attached to this person. Some energetic binding . . . much like you had with Vanzir for a while. This human is bound to a daemon. Not a demon—but a daemon. But who and why, I cannot tell you.”

Camille frowned. “Possession? Could it be someone who is possessed?”

Carter shook his head. “No, it isn’t that. The human is capable of making his own decisions. And it is a man. Now, the fact that you were asking about daemonic activity in the Farantino Building seemed like too much of a coincidence, so I did a bit more sleuthing. And I came up with several pieces of information.”

We both leaned forward. One of Carter’s cats leaped onto my lap and I absently stroked her, but then she jumped down and went to Camille, who scooped her up, rubbing her face in her fur.

“You mentioned that Grandmother Coyote told you that Michael Farantino had connections with demons and the like. So I did more research into his background. It seems his grandfather was a member of a cult in the old world—Italy. They weren’t Strega—the Italian witches—but some FBH tradition that had passed down through the years. I discovered that the Farantino family was heavily involved in a magical war with another prominent clan in their village, which was started over a territorial dispute.”

“That sounds all too familiar.” I shook my head. “Clan fighting, family turf wars, they’re common as rabbits in Otherworld. We saw them a lot between members of the nobility, though quite often the attacks were subtle.”

Carter nodded. “Yes, and they aren’t much better here. As a result of this particular feud, one of the Farantino women was cursed. In retaliation, the patriarch of the family made a deal with a daemon, bargaining his family’s freedom in exchange for help and a grab for glory. And so, as the Farantinos rose to power, the other family faded their curse vanished, broken under the weight of their downfall. Eventually, the Farantino family was deeply involved in daemonic activity and the tradition was passed down. The children were bound to the daemon at birth, and they grew up in his service. Everything they did was affected by this daemonic activity, and if they didn’t pay proper tribute, they were ground to dust by poverty and ill health.”

Camille frowned. “So Michael Farantino was a part of this family and he grew up steeped in daemonism. It would make sense for his building to be infused with this energy then.”

“That means Gerald Hanson was immersed in the tradition, too.” It made sense—his soul and memories had been too cold, too calculating.

Carter nodded. “Yes, and Michael passed the building on. Eventually, his great-grandson, Gerald Hanson came to own it, and I believe he was intent on carrying on his great-grandfather’s work. Grandmother Coyote is correct, a dark force is connected to that building and I’m not sure what it is, but it’s ancient and powerful, and linked to the daemonic realms. Whatever is behind it still sleeps, but that doesn’t mean it will continue to do so. Meanwhile, there are lesser, though still vile, energies connected to the building. And I’m sure that Gerald managed to open several gateways before you sucked his soul into the abyss. Especially since he’s got a fraction of Were in him.”

Camille and I looked at each other. So we had a long-running fam-trad focused on daemonic worship. Fam-trads—family traditions—both in Otherworld and Earthside, could be highly dangerous. They tended to be insular, and they tended to be volatile.

“What could they be waking up? And if the Farantino family no longer owns the building, why are the energies still continuing?” It didn’t make sense to me. Since the building had been sold, the daemonic hold should be lightening up.

“There’s the rub. I did a facial features match on the picture you snapped of the man in the coffee shop.” Carter’s expression faded from inquisitive to concerned. “Damned if it’s not Lowestar Radcliffe—the current owner of the building. So I dug into his background a little further.”

“What did you find?” I was almost afraid to hear. It seemed like all the news was bad lately.

“Radcliffe shows up in a number of financial journals. Very successful man. But . . . and here’s the rub . . . he seems to have just arrived one day, bought the building, and moved into Seattle. He supposedly has a history with Yale—a degree in business management—but damned if I can locate the files. He was supposed to have been born in India, but again, no birth certificate. Lowestar Radcliffe might as well have just appeared out of nowhere.”

Camille frowned. “That doesn’t bode well. Either he went to great lengths to cover up his tracks, or . . . or I don’t know what. You can’t become that successful without leaving a trail. Do you know why he bought the building?”

Carter shook his head. “No. Just that the deed suddenly transferred hands. Gerald Hanson was the owner and he stayed on. I looked into his financials, and there was no indication he was in trouble on that level, so there had to be some reason that he gave control of his great-grandfather’s prize possession to someone outside the family. Find out why, and you may find out what’s going on.”

“Here’s another question to answer: why would Gerald stay on if he sold the building? But wait, did he actually sell the building? Or did he just deed it to Lowestar?” Camille asked.

Carter tilted his head. “That’s a good question. I didn’t actually look at the deed. Let me see what I can find. Give me till tomorrow, if you would. I’m expecting company for dinner tonight.” By the way he said it, it was obvious that he was talking about a date. Which sounded ridiculous, when you considered that he was essentially a demigod.

Braver than I, Camille snickered. “Who’s the lucky lady? Or man?”

Carter gave her a sly smile. “No one you know. But if things work out, you may get to meet her in the future. Your scaly-winged husband may know her—her name is Shimmer and she’s from the Dragon Reaches. And that is all you need to know for now.”

“You’re dating a dragon? Since when?” Camille was teasing, but Carter’s expression smoldered.

“Oh girl, don’t press your luck. Or I might just . . .” He paused, and the look passed. “You will know if and when I decide you need to know. Now run along, and take the information that I gave you. Oh, and have you contacted your cousins yet?”

I shook my head, deciding to take the focus off Camille. She needed to learn how to be more diplomatic. Although I certainly couldn’t provide much of an example.

“No, we haven’t even told Menolly yet. We will tonight, though. With the Wayfarer burning down, and with the destruction in Otherworld, we’ve had too much on our plates. Our father is still missing, too.” The last, I hadn’t intended on letting slip out, but slip out the words did.

Any snark or danger on Carter’s face vanished. His shoulders slumped and he leaned back in his chair. “I’m sorry, truly. I hope you can find him, safe and in health. As to the Wayfarer, I will ask around. Perhaps someone has heard something. And Otherworld? There are no words for this matter. Not now, not with what’s going on.” And with that, he stood to show us out.