I knew fairies weren’t limited to the night, as the vamps were. I knew they were very strong, as strong as vampires. I knew the fae who were actual fairies (as opposed to the fae who were brownies or goblins or elves) were beautiful and ruthless; that even vampires respected the ferocity of the fairies. The oldest fairies didn’t always live in this world, as Claudine and Claude did; there was somewhere else they could go, a shrinking and secret world they found vastly preferable to this one: a world without iron. If they could limit their exposure to iron, fairies lived so long that they couldn’t keep track of the years. Niall, for example, tossed around hundreds of years in his conversational chronology in a very inconsistent way. He might describe some event as being five hundred years ago, when another event that predated it was earmarked two hundred years ago. He simply couldn’t keep track of the passage of time, maybe partly because he didn’t spend most of that time in our world.

I wracked my brain for any other information. I did know one other thing, and I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten it even momentarily. If iron is bad for fairies, lemon juice is even worse. Claude and Claudine’s sister had been murdered with lemon juice.

Now that I thought of them, I thought it might be helpful for me to talk to Claude and Claudine. Not only were they my cousins, but Claudine was my fairy godmother, and she was supposed to help me. She’d be at work at the department store where she handled complaints and wrapped packages and took layaway payments. Claude would be at the male strip club he now owned and managed. He’d be easier to reach. I went inside to look up the number. Claude actually answered the phone himself.

“Yes,” he said, managing to convey indifference, contempt, and boredom in the one word.

“Hi, sweetie!” I said brightly. “I need to talk to you face-to-face. Can I run over there, or are you busy?”

“No, don’t come here!” Claude sounded almost alarmed at the idea. “I’ll meet you at the mall.”

The twins lived in Monroe, which boasted a nice mall.

“Okay,” I said. “Where and when?”

There was a moment of silence. “Claudine can get off late for lunch. We’ll meet you in an hour and a half in the food court, around Chick-fil-A.”

“See you there,” I said, and Claude hung up. Mr. Charm. I hustled into my favorite jeans and a green and white T-shirt. I brushed my hair vigorously. It had gotten so long I found it a lot of trouble to deal with, but I couldn’t bring myself to cut it.