“How about giving her the wine?” Ricky asked. “Isn’t that how you used to handle Muggles who stumbled into the fae world?”

“Muggles?” Grace said.

“It’s from Harry Potter,” I said. “It means—”

“I’ve read Harry Potter, thank you very much. I just don’t think a biker should use the terminology. People might think he’s semiliterate.”

“I’m very literate,” Ricky said. “I have a huge collection of comic books. I even know what most of the words mean.”

“Name your favorite DC superhero.”

“I’m really more of a Marvel guy.”

“No, you’re really full of shit. I’d be better off asking your favorite Faulkner character.”

“Faulkner’s not much for character. He’s more style-driven. I identified better with the characters in Harry Potter. As for Marvel, I’d say Kitty Pryde, but if you ask me officially, I have to say Ghost Rider, because it’s, you know”—he motioned at his Saints jacket—“obligatory.”

Grace sighed. “You are a lousy biker.”

“The worst. But I’m right about the wine, aren’t I? That’s the lore. You give fae wine to humans to send them into an endless fae party.”

“Patrick says there’s no party,” I said. “Or they just don’t invite him.”

“That’s possible,” Grace murmured. “As for wine, we have several varieties. The correct one will induce a state of semipermanent pleasant hallucinations. Hence the fae-party lore. And, yes, that’s what I’ve suggested for Seanna. Ida is resisting.”

“Because it would send her to la-la land for good?” I said. “Yeah, I can see where that might be an issue.”

“Only because it’s better than she deserves.”

“We’ll figure out something. I’ll make sure her stay here is as short as possible.”

We headed out, and I told Ricky what the sluagh had said. What they’d done. I didn’t want that last part to bother me. I know people live with spina bifida, so how dare I freak out as if it’s the worst fate possible?

I can’t fool Ricky, though. He stopped me mid-story, led me behind a row of hedges, and made me admit how completely freaked out I was.

“That won’t happen,” he said when I’d pulled myself together and we’d resumed walking. “They owe you. The fae and the Hunt. They owe it to you to make sure this never happens.”

Ten minutes later, that was exactly what Gabriel was saying, as we sat in my parlor with Ioan and Ida. When I asked about Walter, Ida only made a dismissive gesture. Off running an errand for her, I presumed, relegated to the sidelines when things got serious.

Ioan told Ida what the sluagh had said and what I’d deduced about the ritual my mother had used.