The style was designer contemporary, with no attempt to preserve the look or feel of the house’s original era. I caught a glimpse of a kitchen with granite counters, gleaming copper pots, and stainless steel appliances. Patrick took us into the living room, where he’d obviously had a wall removed to make one big high-tech bachelor pad plus library. He took us to the library side. The couch was white leather with dark wood trim. I resisted the urge to brush off my rear before I sat.

When Patrick offered tea or coffee, Gabriel’s refusal came without hesitation. When Patrick asked me, Gabriel said no again, so fast and so sharp that Patrick chuckled.

“No food and no drink,” I said. “I don’t know if the old stories are true, but we aren’t taking that chance.”

Patrick settled in at the other end of the sofa. “As with everything else, what humans believe is adjacent to the truth. What’s the lore? Accept food or drink, and you’ll be trapped in a fairy party forever?” He leaned forward, voice lowering conspiratorially. “There’s no party. Or, if there is, I’ve never been invited. Instead, it allows me to trigger a mental state of hallucinations. Permanent hallucinations, if I wish. In short, it drives humans mad. But neither of you is human, so it wouldn’t work.”

“Like the charms and compulsions don’t work on us?” I said, giving him a withering look.

“They do, but only to a degree. Otherwise, you’d never have asked questions, would you? Once you understood what was happening, your fae blood overruled the compulsions, to the deep and abiding regret of the elders right now. But other fae powers will work not at all. Like the trigger of the food and drink. So if you’d like a coffee or an iced tea . . . ?”

“Shockingly, I’m not going to take your word for it.”

He only smiled and settled in. “You’re right to be cautious. Now, what secret business brings you here?”

“Spina bifida.”

As soon as I saw the look on his face, I knew I’d come to the wrong place. He stared at me, as if replaying my words, wondering what else I might have said instead, because those ones made no sense in any context he knew.

Gabriel prodded with, “What do you know about spina bifida?”

Patrick tried to hide his confusion. “It’s a medical condition, affecting the spine, I believe, and—”

“Thank you for your time,” I said, getting to my feet.

Gabriel rose. When Patrick did, too, Gabriel sidestepped closer to me, his hand going to my back. As I headed to the door, Patrick intercepted me. Gabriel tensed, his fingers wrapping around my upper arm.

“I’m no threat to her, Gabriel. None of us are.” Patrick’s voice was low, odd, and unfamiliar without that jaunty, devil-may-care note.