This time, I raised the hands of all my fiery creations. The beating in my head got stronger. I gripped the table to keep upright and said, my voice harsh, “I’m afraid I don’t. You’re Rinaldo’s thrall, and he’s trusted you for generations to hide his presence and keep his schemes running undetected beneath a veil of magic. You cannot do either without knowing location details.”

I pressed the raised hands down. As his entire body began to smolder, he screamed, “All right, all right, just stop it—stop them.”

I drew the fire back into my body, but it didn’t ease the ache in my head. Only food, green tea, and fire could do that now, and not necessarily in that order.

“Tell me where the scientists are,” I said yet again.

“I don’t fucking know. We never have.” He shook his head, as if trying to clear it. “That’s part of the damn reason we sent you and the fae into Brooklyn.”

“You think they’re still there?” I asked, surprised.

“Yes. They have to be—there’s no other place in Melbourne they could be.”

“We didn’t find them there.”

“You found a damn air lock—one that’s more than likely protecting the labs. Where else could they be?”

Where else indeed? And if that was the case, what was the connection to the vinegar formula written in dust?

Or was it, I thought, my heart racing a little bit faster, not a clue but rather a code?

The code to the air lock’s scanner, perhaps?

Had we had the answer all along and just been overthinking it?

“Luke kept cloaks in other locations,” I said. “So why do you expect me to believe he wouldn’t keep the scientists off-site, in an ultrasafe location?”

“Because there was no place safer than Brooklyn. It was his castle and the home of most of his troops.”

“So where will we find Rinaldo’s castle?”

The sudden switch had him blinking; then he swore at me and fought against his restraints again. The scent of blood began to taint the air, and though I doubted the aroma would tempt Adam, part of me couldn’t help but hope for a sudden loss of control.

“Even if I tell you, it won’t do you any good,” Frederick said. His pupils were becoming more dilated, his words more slurred. The hallucinogen had taken a firm hold of him now, but he obviously needed just a little more pushing—and maybe not the pain-filled kind.

“Tell me,” I said, even as I became flame and shaped my fire into a vague resemblance of Rinaldo. As Frederick’s gaze widened, I shifted back, added, “Tell them,” in a deeper tone, then took on Rinaldo’s fiery figure again.

Frederick’s harsh rasping filled the air. For an instant, I didn’t think he was going to fall for the ploy, but then he said, “Risley Street, Richmond. He has a warehouse there.”

I doused my flames again and said, “What number?”

“Fourteen. Please, stop them.”