“His Grace had me pack before we left home.”

“Of course he did. Get in.”

One thing I had to give him; he was definitely eager to get started. He was in his seat and buckled in before I had my door closed. I gave him a sidelong look, raising a brow.

“Little anxious, aren’t you?”

Quentin squirmed. “It’s summer break. I had plans.”

“Right.” I started the engine. “And what’s her name?”

“Katie.” A slight lilt on the word betrayed the depth of his infatuation.

“Katie?” I frowned, reviewing my internal list of the fosters at Shadowed Hills. “What Court is she with?”

“She’s not. I go to high school with her.”

“So she’s . . . ?”

“Uh-huh.” He paused before adding, with a besotted grin, “And she’s beautiful.”

I didn’t bother hiding my answering smile. “Well, that’s cool. Are you being careful?” The question would have had a sexual meaning for a human teenager. For a fae kid, it meant exactly what it sounded like. We always have to be careful when we let the humans get close to us. The burning times are in the past, and mankind has almost forgotten, but we never will. Not forgetting is what’s going to keep us alive through the years ahead.

Quentin nodded, utterly self-assured. I remember being that confident—when did I stop? Oh, yeah. When I grew up. “She has no idea what I am.”

“Good. Keep it that way. I don’t want to have to rescue you from the conspiracy nuts.”

“Oh, yeah, because they really stress about the existence of elves.”

“Do the words ‘alien autopsy’ mean anything to you?”

“Ew.”

“Exactly.” I pulled out of the parking garage and onto the street, heading for the freeway. It was a beautiful day, I had an easy—if unwanted—job to do, and I had decent company to do it with. Maybe things were going to work out after all.

FOUR

“SO WHERE ARE WE GOING?” asked Quentin, for the fifth time.

We’d been driving in circles through the Fremont business district for the better part of an hour and had finally stopped in front of a park so that I could review the directions. A group of joggers made its way dutifully past on the sidewalk. I grimaced, eyeing them. I’ve always thought of joggers as being sort of like Blind Michael and his crew: deserving of respect, but slightly psychotic. Who in their right minds would want to get out of bed and run around in their underwear before noon?

“Place called ALH Computing.” Finding Fremont hadn’t been the problem. It’s hard to misplace an entire city, no matter how bad your directions are. Unfortunately, Sylvester’s directions were a lot more interested in defining fae territories than, say, providing me with street names. I knew exactly whose fiefdom we were in, when we’d entered it, and how far we could go before we left. I just didn’t know where we were.