“Why?” he sneered. “There are two werewolves watching the backyard. Aren’t three enough to give alarm? Or do you acknowledge that the fae can come into your territory and take me?”

Warren and Ben weren’t being obvious—I could smell them, but I couldn’t see them. Darryl had disappeared while I wasn’t watching.

“If we keep the weakest of us—that’s me—and the one most likely to be attacked—that’s you—in the same place, we keep our defense stronger than if we scatter them between us.” And there is a fae here to see us. I realized I hadn’t told him that because he looked like he was a child. I was going to have to get over that instinct. “Whoever our visitor is, he’s fae—or Jesse would have said something more. You need to come inside.”

I glanced at Jesse.

“Uncle Mike,” she said. “I told him to wait in the living room.”

“Is he here for me?” asked Aiden.

I shook my head. “I don’t know. I suppose we’ll have to find out.”

7

I sent Aiden to wait in the kitchen, and Jesse headed upstairs to get ready for school. I didn’t think that Uncle Mike had come here to take Aiden by force but decided that keeping him discreetly in the heart of the house would be prudent.

Uncle Mike was . . . not a friend. The only fae I trusted enough to consider a friend was Zee. But Uncle Mike was someone I knew and mostly liked. He’d run an eponymous bar in Pasco where, in days before their sudden retreat, the fae had hung out with various members of the local supernatural community.

That Jesse had opened the door to him and left Uncle Mike in the living room was a testament to the neutrality that Uncle Mike had built while running his bar. Jesse trusted him more than I did. I’d have been happier if she’d left him on the front porch rather than letting him in herself, but no apparent harm had come from it.

As I crossed the foyer, I could hear the low murmur of voices coming from Adam’s office, but, with the door shut, the soundproofing was too good to hear anything specific. Uncle Mike stood, arms clasped behind his back, looking out the window. He was so intent that I looked out, too, but I could see nothing that should have inspired such interest.

After a moment, he turned, and said, “Mercy.”

Uncle Mike looked like a worn and distilled version of himself. The Jolly Innkeeper persona was almost gone, leaving in his place a broad-shouldered, broad-handed man with reddish brown hair and tired hazel eyes.

“Uncle Mike,” I greeted him. “It has been a while. I’m surprised to see you here.”