“Of what indeed? Tell me, boy, what is Matilda’s role?”

He hated giving the answer, feeling like a twelve-year-old being asked the sum of one plus one. When he didn’t respond, Patrick moved past him.

“Matilda prolongs and improves the life of the local Tylwyth Teg or Cŵn Annwn,” Patrick said. “She chooses between the two branches of fae.”

“Does she?”

Patrick’s voice sharpened. “If you want me to explain exactly how her presence cleanses the elements for her chosen side, I fear that answer is above my pay grade. Elemental forces of nature, blah, blah, blah.”

“No, my dear bòcan. I want a correct answer, which I would have hoped I’d get from such an illustrious scholar. You said she chooses between the two branches of fae.”

“Fine. You’re arguing that the Huntsmen aren’t fae. They are, but if you insist on mincing words—”

“No, I insist on not mincing words. The Cŵn Annwn are fae. But you say two branches. Is there not a third?”

“You mean the sluagh? That one is definitely debatable. The Cŵn Annwn and the Tylwyth Teg share a common ancestry. They were, at one point, the same species, and the Hunt was only a vocation within it. Then the Cŵn Annwn broke away, and like any group that severs ties, they eventually became a separate race, with characteristics—”

“I did not ask you for a history lesson, bòcan.”

The snap in her voice made Gabriel flinch, but Patrick only said, “Mmm, anthropology really, with some biology. The point is that there’s no evidence of a common ancestry with the sluagh. They are actually more human than Gabriel here, the majority of their ranks being comprised of human souls—”

“Do not lecture me.” Her voice whipped around them, setting every hair on Gabriel’s body rising. “I am as fae as you. I am the sluagh. The darkness. You call us the unforgiven. That is incorrect. Our melltithiwyd are the unforgiven. They are human souls that serve us. We are the sluagh, and we are fae, and we are tired of being forgotten. We want our share.”

“Of Matilda,” Patrick said.

“Yes.”

“Fine. There’s not a hope in the Otherworld she’d choose to keep you lot alive. But sure, why not. Join the fun. Sit at the table. Make your case. Just tell me where to send the invitation.”

The room rocked, as if with sonic boom, setting the concrete under Gabriel’s feet quivering.

“Do you think you are clever, bòcan? You are a fool. You have played your role, as has your epil. He plays it even now, graciously summoning Matilda for us.”

Gabriel shook his head. “Whatever threat you plan to employ, you may save your breath. I won’t summon her.”

“But you already have.” The voice slipped around him again. “Check your phone, Gabriel.”