“If it’s about him, then it is my concern. Isn’t that what you once told me?”

“Please lock the door on your way out. It’s late, and I’m going back to bed.”

He started to leave. I grabbed his arm.

The room went dark. Then flashes. Images. Still pictures coming so fast it took me a moment to realize they were memories of Gwynn and Matilda.

Images flipped past, mostly of that fateful night when Matilda died. A few others I didn’t recognize. Then the one I’d seen in Gabriel’s memories—a Gwynn standing dumbfounded over the body of an Arawn, bloodied sword in hand.

“You love games.” A woman’s voice pierced the darkness. “Just not when they’re foisted on you. We could have avoided that if you’d spoken to me sooner. I presume you got my message.”

“Matilda is returning,” Patrick’s voice answered. “Here. To this region.”

The woman again. “Yes.”

“Has she been born?”

“Not yet.”

“When?”

“Eventually. That is all I know, bòcan, so do not press me for more.”

“But you know more about Gwynn, don’t you? That’s who I saw. What’s my connection to him?”

“I’m sure you’ve figured it out.”

“I have no idea.”

“You lie so well, bòcan. All right. Let me spell it out for you. Gwynn is returning, and you will be his sire.”

The voiced faded. Then I saw light. I blinked hard and opened my eyes to find myself staring at an open window, sunlight streaming through.

I always close the curtains. Basic security. Particularly when borrowing a house not your own.

I lifted my head and—

“Cach!” Pain stabbed through my skull.

I’m hungover.

How was that possible? The last time I’d been hungover was nearly a century ago, after drinking four bottles of fae wine. Last night I’d only had half a glass.

No, wait. Seanna had brought more.

“Only for you,” she’d said. “I know I’ve had enough.”

Seanna had dosed the damned wine. And then what…?

I looked down to see I was fully dressed, and exhaled in relief. Then I glanced at the nightstand, where I’d left my wallet and watch. Watch gone. Wallet…I checked. Empty.

I shook my head. That was a fine thanks for rescuing her from a beating and giving her a place to spend the night, but I’d known what Seanna was, and theft, sadly, was exactly what I should have expected.

The scene faded. When it surged again, I was home in Cainsville. Veronica had summoned me, urgently, and I knew that meant trouble, but as I entered the hall, I slowed and pushed back my worry and then swung through into the living room, casually saying, “All right, where’s the fire?”

Veronica pointed to the couch. There was Seanna Walsh.