Declan tried to figure out if the feeling inside him was the usual unsettled sensation that came from every interaction with Ronan, or if it was above and beyond that. It was time to let Ronan grow up and make his own decisions, surely. Declan didn’t need to parent his relationship with Adam—and in any case, who was Declan to talk about relationships? Ronan didn’t need a father figure. He needed to keep on growing up.

He thought.

Probably.

It was harder than before to tell if this was actually right or if this was just what Declan wanted to tell himself so he could continue on this adventure to Boston.

“He sounds happy,” Matthew observed.

“Yeah,” Declan lied.

“Maybe he can make it to Mass with us next week. Are we going to church while we’re in Boston? Do I still take Communion now that I know I’m not real?”

With a sigh, Declan leaned over and buckled Matthew’s seat belt.

“I heard the thump again,” Matthew said, but without force. “From the trunk.”

“This car might have a bearing going out; these old Jags do that,” Declan said. It was an excuse he’d learned from his father, before he’d gotten old enough to learn that bearings didn’t go out as often as they did for Lynches. This wasn’t even a Jaguar; Matthew wouldn’t notice. Declan didn’t even know why he lied about it; the fib was like bubble wrap, the truth carefully kept pristine and untouched for his collection.

“Oh, sure,” Matthew said. “Bearings.”

Depending on how one thought about it, Declan’s relationship with the criminal underworld was the longest and most stable one he’d had in his life.

Declan had a very complicated relationship with his family.

Chapter 11

Everyone likes the sweetmetals,” Jo Fisher said.

“I didn’t say I liked them.”

“Everyone likes them,” Fisher told Jordan. “Everyone always likes them. Always.”

The two of them were in a wine cellar deep beneath a Chestnut Hill mansion just a few miles outside Boston. It had only taken Jordan a few sleepless hours after learning of the existence of sweetmetals to decide she had to know everything there was to know about them.

Because she had to have one.

This was the way to a real future.

Jordan hadn’t wanted to call Barbara’s goon and prove she was interested, but it was the most efficient next step. It seemed obvious Boudicca couldn’t have the only sweetmetals in the world, but she needed to know more about them before she even knew where to look for others. She wasn’t crazy about the power dynamics of the rendezvous—she was meeting them on their turf, and in an underground bunker, no less. But her attempts to negotiate to a more equitable location had been useless.

It’s not you, Boudicca had explained, it’s us. Well, it’s them.