“What’s your kill count now, Dani?” Last time we talked, she’d had forty-seven Unseelie kills to her credit. With her sidhe-gift of heightened speed, armed with the Seelie Hallow, the Sword of Light, she had to be a formidable fighter. I’d like the chance to find out one day, to battle at her side. The two of us could seriously watch each other’s backs.

“Ninety-two,” she said proudly. “And I just got this big, nasty fecker with dozens of mouths and a huge, disgusting dick—”

“All right, Dani, that’s it,” her roommate said sharply, forcibly turning her from the door. “Back to bed,”

“You got the Many-Mouthed Thing?” I exclaimed. “Way to go, Dani!”

“Thanks,” she said proudly. “He was tough to kill. You wouldn’t believe—”

“Bed. Now.” Her roommate shoved Dani into the room and pulled the door shut behind her, remaining in the hall.

“You know she’s just standing on the other side of the door, listening,” I said. “What’s the point?”

“Stay out of our business, and get that thing out of here.”

“Well said,” came the voice of steel I’d been waiting for.

Sidhe-seers fell back, allowing a silver-haired woman through. I’d wondered how long it would take her to get here. I’d wagered two or three minutes. It had taken her five. I’d wanted a few minutes alone with the sidhe-seers, unimpeded by Rowena, to clear my name. I’d said what I had to say to her followers. Now I had a few things to say to their leader.

I glanced up at V’lane. He returned the look, face impassive, but his eyes were blades, hundreds of sharp shiny edges that could spill blood in the blink of a lethal eye.

With a rustle of her long white robes, the old woman stopped in front of me. Her age was impossible to pinpoint; she might be sixty, she might be eighty. Her long silvery hair was intricately plaited in a crown above a finely wrinkled face. Glasses rested on a small pointed nose, magnifying the fierce intensity and intelligence in her piercing blue eyes.

“Rowena,” I said. She was wearing what I guessed must be Grand Mistress garb: a white hooded robe, with emerald trim, and a misshapen shamrock—the symbol of our Order’s pledge to See, Serve, and Protect—emblazoned on the breast.

“How dare you?” Her voice was low, controlled, and furious.

“Oh, you should talk,” I said, in the same tight voice.

“I invited you to assume your place among us and waited for you to accept my offer. You didn’t. I could only conclude you had turned your back on us.”

“I told you I would come and I was planning to, but a few things came up.” Things like being hunted down, abducted, locked up, and tortured to death. “It was only a few days.”