“The blood remembers, and the memory is what keeps us alive—not just the flesh, but the life that wore it. We drink the memories and they give us shape, for a time. There are always more dead waiting when the memories fade.”

The Ross-haunt nodded, snapping his wings open. They made a sound like ripping silk. “We drink their lives and live their hours, and we remember them. It’s a small thing, and it ends, but we remember.”

“We always remember,” said the one with Dare’s face.

Understanding hit. That was why their leader wore Dare’s face, and why I recognized other members of their flock; they pretended to be the dead because they had no choice. No; that wasn’t right. They were the dead. “You don’t have shapes of your own.”

“That’s right. And something’s beaten us to the bodies of this place. There’s nothing here that can sustain us.” She shrugged. “We don’t work for free.”

“Do you know what drained the . . . the memory of the blood?”

“No. This has never happened before.” For a moment, she looked almost gentle. “If we knew why, we’d stop it ourselves. There aren’t so many deaths in Faerie that we can afford to see them wasted.”

“I understand,” I said, trying to justify this with what I already knew. The blood was dead; this confirmed that it wasn’t supposed to be. The night-haunts are a natural part of the faerie life cycle. If this had happened before, they’d have known.

“Do you understand why no one must know the why and how of what we are?” She looked at me sharply, waiting.

I nodded. “If all of Faerie knew, some people would burn the bodies to keep you from taking them.”

“That is so. We would fade to nothing but the sound of leaves on the wind.” She fanned her wings, closing them with a click. “Will you keep your silence, daughter of Amandine?”

“I will,” I said. I meant it. Faerie has reasons to be the way it is, even if I don’t always understand them. The night-haunts have as much right to be what Faerie made them as the rest of us do; if ignorance preserved them, I’d keep their secrets.

“You’re wiser than most who deal with us. Is there anything else you would know?”

“No. That’s everything I needed. We can end this now.”

The night-haunt with Devin’s face smiled. “What makes you think we’re done?”

I went cold. “What more is there to do?”

“The matter of payment remains.” He kept smiling, and I realized he didn’t really care whether they took the mandrake or me. He wanted blood—any blood. The night-haunts hadn’t survived by being picky.