“With that in mind,” she said, flicking poppy seeds off her pastry one by one, “I’m going to offer you some free advice.”

Free advice had a way of costing all the same. “Okay.”

“This thing you’re hunting?” She cleaned a black dot from under her nail. “It might be Faerie stock. As in the blacklisted, do not pass go and enter the mortal realm variety.”

The kind so predatory as to not discriminate between fae and mortals, the kind who would make the rivers on Earth run crimson with innocent blood.

My mouth went dry. “That’s not possible.”

Fae who petitioned for residency in the mortal realm required conclave approval. That didn’t mean good fae didn’t go bad or that bad fae didn’t grease enough palms to slip through the cracks, but there was a subsect of Faerie-born who were never allowed to enter this realm. Most fae called them ancients. Humans would title their arrival apocalypse.

“Nothing is impossible,” she contradicted. “Some things are just less plausible than others.”

“Magistrate Vause—” I began.

She cut me off by waggling her index finger. “That’s all you get for free.”

Thinking back to the confrontation in the hall, to her defense of Harlow, I accepted she knew more than I had been told. The only question remaining was could I afford to acquire what she knew? “What will the rest of the information cost?”

“You asked for my blood yesterday.” She produced a slender dagger and a charm resembling a charred bird’s nest from her satchel. “I’m asking for yours today.” The cashier blinked at the blade then went back to picking hairs off his shirt and dropping them on the floor behind the counter. “I’ll have to bind you so that the secrets I confide won’t be repeated.” She poked the ratty twist of straw. “This particular charm is outfitted with a loophole you’re probably familiar with since you work high-profile cases. It allows for collaboration between people bound by the same enchantment.”

Relief at the familiar gusted through me. She was right. It came standard issue in the arsenal of law enforcement officers and was implemented in cases involving sensitive material. I had subjected myself to such bindings on multiple occasions. Once more wouldn’t hurt. Not when she had already whetted my appetite. “I’ll do it.”

Thierry placed the charm on the tabletop between us then pricked her thumb with the dagger. One drop of blood welled before the cut knit closed, and she smeared it over the charm. “Your turn.” She passed me the blade hilt first, and I replicated the gesture. Only my blood continued beading after the requisite drop fell. The wound throbbed as the crimson mixed, and magic slithered a winding path up my arm and throat until it prickled in my lips, binding us to shared secrets.