She didn’t notice. “They thought being pureblooded meant they knew better than I did,” she said bitterly. “No matter what we do, no matter how much we improve Faerie, it’s never going to make them accept us. You should know that. It’s not my fault Daddy left. It’s not my fault I was born the way I am. So why do they blame me?”

The gun was dangling forgotten in her hands. I wasn’t going to get a better chance. If I moved now, I might be able to shove her over the edge before she could hurt Quentin, even if she shot me in the process. It was my fault that he was in this mess in the first place. I had to do whatever it took to get him out of it alive. Lunging forward, I grabbed the gun out of her hand, spinning both of us around in the process. Now she was the one with her back toward the wall, and one little push would be enough to send me to down to Elliot.

Gordan screamed, landing an openhanded slap across my cheek. “Bitch! Don’t you see? They’re doing it to you, too!” Her fury was almost visible, and the air was swimming with the burning oil signature of her magic. No wonder I hadn’t been able to trace the spell that blew up my car. The smell blended into the flames. “They’ll never let you be anything but a pet! You’re their dog, their stupid changeling dog!”

“I don’t care,” I said. “I like being what I am.” I was baiting her to keep her distracted, and it looked like it was working. She wasn’t looking at Quentin at all.

She lunged. I scrambled backward. My left shoulder slammed against the railing, and a bolt of pain shot through my arm. I cried out. “They’ll kill you when they’re done with you, just like they kill everything else!” I wasn’t prepared to dodge this time, and her lunge ended with her hands closed around my throat. She squeezed, shouting, “They kill everything they touch! Everything!”

I beat my fists against her, suddenly aware of how useless the gun in my hand really was. I had no way to aim or brace myself, and I didn’t know whether the chamber was blocked; if I tried to shoot her, I might blow my own head off. I couldn’t even get the aim needed to hit her in the back of the head with her own weapon, satisfying though the idea was. I brought up one knee instead, planting it in her stomach. Unfortunately, it didn’t have the desired effect: her grip on my throat tightened.