The chief glanced at me with his sleepy-lidded Robert Mitchum eyes. “Go ahead, Daisy.”

“I’m sorry,” I said to the parents. “But none of this would have happened if your sons hadn’t thought it was a great joke to spend their time browsing Schtupernatural-dot-com, if they hadn’t decided that sexually abusing an eldritch being—a sentient, feeling being held captive against her will—would make them Masters of the Universe. The ghouls preyed on the rusalka’s emotions, yes. But they relied on ordinary human men like your sons to make her suffer.”

There was another silence.

It was Kyle Middleton who broke it, emerging from his catatonic state. “We didn’t know,” he whispered. “We didn’t know what we were getting into. The ad didn’t say anything about her being held captive. And Matt, Matt Mollenkamp . . . Matt and Ron said . . . Matt and Ron, they said . . .” His voice cracked. “We didn’t know!”

“I believe you,” I said. “But you went through with it anyway when you found out, didn’t you?”

“We tried to, yeah.” His haunted gaze met mine. “Or at least, we would have. Thad went first.”

I couldn’t help it; I felt sorry for him. Sue Vanderhei might be high-strung and intolerant, but she was right about one thing.

It was a lot to live with for the rest of their lives.

Chapter Forty-two

Forty-two

Bit by bit, things returned to normal in Pemkowet.

I went back to being a part-time file clerk at the police department, albeit one with a magic dagger on her hip and the Oak King’s token strung on a chain of dwarf-mined silver around her neck. Cody went back to working patrol on the night shift, and we saw less of each other. I found myself missing him: the real Cody, the Cody I’d come to know, not just the object of my long-standing crush. Even if I’d wanted more, I’d liked having a partner.

I continued to avoid Stefan.

Stefan continued to be patient. I had a feeling his patience could wear down mountains. Whether or not it could wear down me, we’d have to wait and see. It was going to take me a while to forget the sight of him impaling himself on his own sword, and I still wasn’t thrilled about the fact that he was attuned to my emotions.

Lurine returned from Seattle with a satisfyingly stirring tale of seeing the rusalka turned loose in Puget Sound, returning to the wild, and heading unerringly toward her home somewhere in the Bering Sea, free and unfettered.

I wished I could have been there to see it.