“They’re Strategia who take jobs for hire, who work with multiple Families instead of just one. My Family hires unallied Strategia for missions occasionally. But approaching them is…complex,” Ash says.

“Complex how?” I ask.

“Because I don’t know how to get in touch with them other than to go to their pub…which is exactly the type of place someone like the Ferryman might be,” he says. “And if not him, then others who may be hunting your father.”

I exhale. “When you said these unallied Strategia take jobs for hire, what exactly did you mean?” I ask.

“Let’s call them extra hands for special circumstances,” he says. “Smugglers. Thieves. But most of them are mercenaries and bounty hunters.” By the look on Ash’s face, I can tell that even though he doesn’t think going to their pub is safe, it’s also the only way.

Chapter Fourteen

ASH PARKS THE car in an underground car park and we take the stairs up to the street, where Gothic-spired church steeples rise into the sky and stunning medieval buildings house everyday cafés and boutiques. In the setting sun, the city has a moody, ominous vibe that makes me look cautiously at the pedestrians, my awe of its architecture fighting with my fear of encountering other Strategia.

“Welcome to Edinburgh,” Ash says. “Just making a quick stop before we head on to London.” He told me the same thing a half hour ago, and when I asked what it was, he said in a typical Ash way, “You’ll see.”

I never really cared much about traveling when I was living in Pembrook, figuring it was something I would get to eventually. But two minutes on a Highland road or two seconds in Edinburgh and it’s clear that I was deeply wrong. Why have I been going to soccer camps all these years instead of saving up my money to go to Europe? Not that Dad would have let me go, considering what I now know about our family, but still.

“So that’s really how you pronounce it, huh, with a brah at the end, Edin-brah?” I ask.

“Yes, like the article of clothing,” Ash says, smiling at my reaction.

“I meant like the dude brah, but same same,” I reply.

Ash lifts an eyebrow. “Pardon?”

“You’ve never heard of a brah? Like a bro, but a brah?” I say, even though I’m positive his proper education never included surfer terms.

“Why do I feel like I’m going to regret having this conversation with you?” he asks.

“Hey, Ash,” I say in a dramatized surfer voice, “where ya headin’, brah?” And when he doesn’t answer, I say, “Edin-brah.”