Now I was the one giving him a look. “It is, but he just rode twenty miles to get it for me, and you want me to say I’m too busy to eat it? Or that I’m busy talking to you about things that I can’t tell him . . . when he thinks I’ve told him everything? Unless you want me to tell him everything.”

“Fine. But I expect to speak to you tonight about this.”

I nodded and headed out the gate. We’d just reached the walkway beside my building when I heard Ricky’s voice along with another I recognized.

“Patrick,” Gabriel murmured.

Patrick was, technically I guess, one of the Cainsville elders, though the form he took didn’t look much older than me. That was even more disconcerting, given that he was Gabriel’s father. Not that Gabriel knew that. Rose did, and we’d agreed that was one secret we were keeping for now.

Patrick was a bòcan. A hobgoblin, which didn’t mean some kind of troll-like creature. The best-known example of a hobgoblin is Puck from A Midsummer Night’s Dream, which about sums up Patrick.

I hurried down the lane. Ricky kept glancing over Patrick’s shoulder, clearly eager to be gone but not wanting to be rude.

When he caught sight of me, he grinned, pleasure mixed with relief.

“Hello, Liv. Gabriel,” Patrick said. “We were discussing motorcycles. I might buy one. They look like fun.”

“Isn’t there some kind of rule against that?” I said. “Crossing into enemy territory?”

There was, for one split second, the most wonderful look of surprise on Patrick’s face before he covered it with a breezy grin.

I turned to Ricky. “Gabriel’s joining us for pizza.”

“Actually,” Gabriel began, “Olivia and I need—”

“Can you take it over to Rose’s?” I asked Ricky. “I’ll meet you both there. I’d like to speak to Patrick.”

I waited until they were gone, and then I said to Patrick, “Leave him alone.”

“Which him? You have so many.”

“One fewer now.”

His lips pursed. “I wasn’t going to say that. It seemed rude.”

“I’m making a point. James’s death had something to do with this Mallt-y-Nos nonsense.”

“Nonsense?”

“Oh, I know, it’s life or death to you. But to me? It’s a whole other kind of life or death. The kind that is getting people I care about killed. And other people I care about charged with murder.”

“That is unfortunate.”

“Unfortunate?” I choked with sudden rage. “He’s your son. I know that doesn’t mean fuck-all to you, but could you at least have the decency to acknowledge he’s in trouble?”