“So I killed it,” Ricky said. “Killed him. I shouldn’t call him an it. Makes it sound better, less culpability, but yeah, it was still a guy, of some sort.”

“Who tried to murder us,” I said.

“True. Then the Cwn Annwn showed up,” Ricky said. “They’ve looked after the evidence. The remains, the knife. I’ll get Liv a new one as soon as possible.”

“You said this dökkálfar was passing as human? Is that a concern?”

“I doubt it,” Ricky said. “There was an incident at the clubhouse earlier. No one will expect him back. The Huntsman said he’d take care of the rest.”

“We should be fine,” I said. “I don’t think Illinois law covers elf-icide.”

Ricky found a smile for me. I knew it bothered him more than he let on. I’d pointed out earlier that I’d been the one who put the knife in Beau, but we both know that wasn’t what killed him.

“So why exactly did this dökkálfar attack you?” Gabriel asked.

“Taking out Liv’s bodyguard.” Ricky lied as smoothly as Gabriel, then redirected the flow. “I found out about myself, too. My heritage. I’m up to speed on all counts.”

Gabriel glanced at me.

“I told him the Matilda connection, too,” I said. “He needed to know why they all want me. Which leads back to the original purpose for this meeting. I know who offered my parents the deal, but that doesn’t tie things up as neatly as we might have hoped.”

—

As we talked, I e-mailed Detective Pemberton to see if he’d give me the name of Marty’s girlfriend. I gave him a story adjacent to the truth—that we had a good lead on someone who said she’d been involved.

Even without the name, Gabriel wanted to start digging, and I was fine with that. There’s no way I could have slept. Ricky had a presentation in the morning, so he took off.

Gabriel drove and we were halfway across the city before he said, “About what the Huntsman said . . . Your parents . . .”

“Hmm?” I said.

He fell silent, shaking his head.

I looked over. “I know you said it doesn’t matter if they’re guilty or innocent, you’ll still defend Pamela. This doesn’t change anything, then? Knowing she’s guilty?”

He drove another block, streetlights flickering through the car. “Under the circumstances, you might prefer I dropped the case. I would consider it if you did. But . . .” He rubbed his thumb on the steering wheel. “I don’t know what my decision would be.”

“Okay,” I said. “Thanks for saying you’d consider it. And thanks for being honest.”

—