Before he can answer, a metallic noise slides through the air, and I realize with a sinking feeling where exactly we are. Golden eyes watch us from the willow tree, glowing unnaturally, and the air grows heavy with a coppery scent.

I move closer to Colin. “Let’s get out of here. This bridge belongs to a redcap.”

“A what?”

“Irish creature. Kills things, soaks its cap in the blood of its victims. Not real friendly.”

Colin’s face pales, and I tow him quickly across the bridge. “Let’s go talk to Gran. Maybe she can tell us something about what Kaden was doing here.”

I lead the way through the park and back to the sidewalk of Willow Street. The Faerie Garden is one of my favorite places to come and draw—the bridge aside, of course—and I know its paths inside and out. I never come by without stopping in the Merrow a few houses down, and Gran always knows when I’m nearby.

As we walk, I glance sidelong at Colin, who seems withdrawn. Wraiths are scary, and it was really brave of him to try and take Kaden on, even if he turned out to be too much. I want to tell him that, but then I worry he’ll think I’m consoling him for losing. Why is this talking thing so hard?

The Merrow Café is in an old Victorian home painted scarlet and nestled in a group of cherry trees. The small pink and white flowers litter the thick lawn, gathering in puddles of rainwater. On the café porch, a humongous dog with a midnight-green coat so dark it looks black lies with its head propped on its paws. Max hisses at it as we near, and it lifts its boxy head.

“Sorry, Mr. Connolly,” I say. “He’s in a bad mood.”

The dog’s eyes flash red, and Colin sucks in a breath. I drag him past the cù-sìth and into the café, where the delicious smell of Gran’s fresh baked brown bread greets us.

The Merrow is empty, tending to draw most of its crowd from the Faerie Garden visitors who are absent with the falling rain. An L-shaped counter takes up most of the front room, laden with trays of strawberry and oatmeal cream scones, baskets of peanut butter chocolate chip cookies, and hundreds of tiny glass jars of different types of tea.

Gran’s tea is known all over Wick for the way it makes people feel. Honey lavender tea relaxes the drinker’s worries, and caramel rooibos renews old memories. My favorite is the Earl Grey vanilla, which gives pleasant dreams drawn from the drinker’s wishes.

Gran emerges behind the counter from the kitchen. “Anna-love!” She always attaches love at the end of my name like it’s a part of it.