The hound sighed. Deeply. Undoubtedly thinking that, while her life was dedicated to avenging crimes against fae, perhaps such crimes were sometimes understandable.

The girl slid off her horse. “It is a mystery, isn’t it? Something exciting? A terrible death? Several terrible deaths?”

“I don’t think deaths are supposed to be exciting,” the boy said.

“But they are. Right or wrong, one cannot argue with the excitement value of a good murder, because it leads to a good mystery. Is that it, then? You’re solving a mystery? Someone has died here?”

“Yes, but it was about twenty-five years ago,” Olivia said. “I don’t suppose you were around then.”

“Of course. We’ve been around for a very long time.”

“But not here,” the boy said.

“No, not here. Not for that long. We can help, though.”

“Uh, no,” Olivia said. “Why not?”

“Well, let’s see. What experiences have we had with helpful fae? First there was Tristan, who left a young woman’s head in my bed and then tried to convince me he wanted peace for the Tylwyth Teg and Cŵn Annwn, while attempting to sow strife by killing my ex-fiancé and blaming Gabriel.”

“He was a spriggan,” the girl said. “They’re nasty. Not like us.”

“Not at all.”

“We’re…” The girl pursed her lips. “What’s the word you used?”

“Capricious,” the boy said.

The girl swung onto another horse and leaned backward over it. “Yes, that’s us. Capricious.”

“It isn’t a compliment,” Olivia said.

“But it sounds like one. It’s a lovely word. Innocent and fun. Like dryads. We never intend to hurt anyone.”

“The operative word being ‘intend,’ ” Olivia murmured. “And then, after Tristan, there was Melanie, a lamia who tricked us into investigating deaths of other lamiae…whom she’d had killed herself, hoping the danger would get her into Cainsville.”

“Cainsville?” The girl scrunched her nose. “Who’d want to live there? It hardly has any trees at all. I don’t understand lamiae. Never have, even when we lived together back in the old country.”

“Tricksy,” the boy said, climbing onto the horse behind the girl.

“Yes, that’s the word for them. Tricksy. Not nearly as nice as capricious.”

“A much different word. As we are much different fae.”

“But we’d say that anyway, wouldn’t we?”

“True.” The boy stood on the horse’s saddle. “I wouldn’t believe us, either, if I were you. However, being me, and knowing me, I believe us.”

“That doesn’t help,” the girl said.

“I suppose not.” He jumped from the carousel horse, landing hard enough to make Olivia wince. “So we’ll prove ourselves. We’ll solve your crime and prove dryads are not tricksy like lamiae.”

“Unless we only do it to ingratiate ourselves with them and then be tricksy, like lamiae.”