“I’ve been talking it over with my dad,” he said. “It really reminded me that this is a family matter. And he wants to be involved,” he said. “He’d like a chance to talk to her before we assume the worst.” He took a drink of beer. “I’d like that, too.”

“Your sister issued a pretty clear ultimatum,” I said. “Does your dad think he can talk her out of it?”

Sinclair shrugged. “Like I said, he’d like the chance to try. It can’t hurt. No matter when she shows, he can be here in within the hour.”

I looked at Jen.

“Don’t look at me,” she said. “If I’ve learned anything this month, it’s that I know fuck-all about sisters.”

“See, here’s the thing,” I said slowly. “Your sister crossed a line when she went after me. I’m not just some girl, hell-spawn or not, you happened to be dating. I represent Hel’s authority in Pemkowet.”

Sinclair glanced at me. “You don’t think Hel would appreciate a peaceful resolution to this?”

“It’s not that.” I shook my head. “When I told Emmy to leave town, I also told her she wasn’t welcome back here. I can’t back down on that at the eleventh hour. I can’t totally abdicate my authority.”

“No one’s asking you to.” He looked away, picking absently at the label on his beer bottle. Jen murmured something about getting another beer and made a discreet exit. “I’m just asking for a little time for my father and me to negotiate with her before we send in the cavalry. Is that so unreasonable?”

I sighed. “I guess not. But I do think I should at least be there as an official presence. And I want the, um, cavalry in shouting distance.”

“Deal!” Sinclair said promptly.

“Why the change of heart?” I asked him. “Was it just talking to your dad?”

“Mostly.” He took another pull on his beer. “With him on board, I really do think it might be our best chance of talking Emmy out of doing something foolish. But do you remember me saying that magic was more powerful here in Pemkowet?” I nodded. There was a rustling in the overgrown patch of wildflowers along the fence at the back of the yard. A chicory fairy’s head poked over the top, her blue hair—if you could call it that—looking like a chicory-flower-shaped cap. “Hey!” Sinclair smiled. “Quit spying, you.” Reaching down, he picked up an acorn that had fallen onto the deck from the big oak in his neighbor’s yard and shied it at the fairy. She dodged it with a high-pitched trilling giggle, translucent wings blurring like a hummingbird’s, then blew him a kiss and vanished in a puff of glittery dust.

I’m telling you, those fucking fairies really love Sinclair.