“Scary, isn’t it?” she said in her soft voice. “Your poor auntie. She’s had a hard life, Pamela, but it will be over soon. She’ll be at peace, and, I hope, happy.”

“Liar.” Pamela spat the word, small body quaking with rage.

The woman backed up. “What—?”

“I know what you are. I see it. Behind your face. The glow.”

A pause, and the nurse gave a slow, sad smile. “Ah. So you see me, do you?”

Pamela nodded, and in a blink the nurse disappeared. In her place was something my brain couldn’t quite latch on to, the form ethereal, more glow than substance. I could make out a face, beautiful with sharp features and golden hair.

“Is that better, then?” the fae nurse said. “No disguises?”

She smiled, but the rage still whipped through Pamela.

“It’s your fault,” Pamela whispered. “What happened to her. She was tainted.”

“Tainted?” The nurse tilted her head. “That’s a big word for a little girl. Who told you that?”

“No one. I know. I just know.”

“I see.” The nurse crouched lower. “Then I won’t deny it, bychan. The fault was ours. In her blood. I wouldn’t call it a taint, but sometimes, when you’re different, your mind can’t quite manage it. Have you ever tried to hold a raw egg?”

Pamela squeezed herself tight, as if trying to block the words.

“It’s like that,” the nurse continued. “You can see us. You have memories. You know things you shouldn’t. And as little as you are, your mind is strong. It can hold those ideas tight, like a hard-boiled egg. But for some, like your poor auntie, it’s like trying to hold a raw egg. It slips and slides and oozes, and they try harder and harder to hold on, until they just can’t. Do you understand, bychan?”

“I understand that it’s your fault.”

The nurse sighed. “It was not me, specifically, and we did try to help—”

“Liar!”

Pamela flew at the nurse. She hit her and I kept going, tumbling out, falling into darkness again, and then . . .

I bolted upright, the vision gone.

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

As I struggled to my feet, I felt a familiar weight in my pocket. I reached in and touched my gun and switchblade. I patted my other pockets. Cell phone and tusk, right where I’d left them.

“Liv!” It was Ricky, shouting, his voice distant. “Olivia!”

At first, I thought I was in the grave, that I really had fallen in. But when I reached out, I touched only air. I pulled out my switchblade and flicked on the light.

I was inside the hospital. In a room I didn’t recognize, one without windows.

“Liv!”

“I’m here!” I shouted. “In here!”