Sparrow had fallen in love back and he’d swept her off to a life in the sky, to travel always cuddled to his chest as he soared above the world. It was a bold, wild life for a faerie—most never even left their forests—but she was a bold, wild lass, and so were her daughter and granddaughter after her, and their place in the world was everywhere and nowhere, like gypsies on wing. No home had they but their caravans and campfires, and no family but the one they’d cobbled together of crows, creatures, and kindred souls they’d met on their endless journey round and round the world.

“Ach, Grandpa, it’s what you thought,” Magpie said, plopping down next to him and resting her glossy head on his shoulder.

“Jacksmoke!” the old fellow cursed, cradling her to his side and absently smoothing down the foxlick that stood up like a tuft from the top of her wind-whipped head. “Another loose devil? Skiving plague of meddlesome mannies, can’t leave a bottle well enough alone!”

“Aye, that’s six in as many months. They keep on like this, the world’ll be crawling with snags like it was before the devil wars! I can’t keep up, all on my own.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t try, love. Leave ’em free! There are too many mannies anyway, neh?”

“Ach, and what of everyone else? It wasn’t mannies that scarab devil killed but faeries!”

“And what of this one? Got away?”

“Aye.” She scowled. “And Grandpa, there’s something mad strange about this one. . . . Its bottle, it was sealed by the Magruwen.”

“Eh? Impossible!” he declared. “That old scorch never dirtied his hands on devils.”

“You never heard of anything, then, during the wars? Some lost story?”

“Neh, and sure I’d remember, no matter it was twenty-five thousand years ago. I remember Bellatrix clear as yesterday. What a sight she was in battle! ’Twas she and the other champions who caught all the snags.”

“Aye, I always thought so, but what of this seal?”

He took it and examined it, frowning. “Jacksmoke. It’s his, all right. Ancient and true.” He handed it back. “No idea what was in the bottle?”

“Neh, none. There’s no smell, no drool, no blood. Nothing at all.”

“And what of the fishermen?”

“Ate them, I reckon.”

“Ate them? I thought you said there was no blood.”

“Nary a drop,” Magpie admitted.

“Ach, there would be! You ever know a devil to chew with its mouth closed?”

“Neh . . . ,” she said. But she could still feel that hunger tugging at her through the manny’s left-behind memory. “If it didn’t eat them, what did it do to them?”

He shrugged. “Could be they launched a skiff and got away.”

“Maybe,” Magpie murmured skeptically, thinking of the shoes left so suddenly behind, “but I don’t think so.”

“We’ll put the word out,” the West Wind said. “Split up and ask around in the ports. You’ll find its trail soon enough. You always do, love.”