Ioan opened his mouth and then wisely shut it. We walked outside…to see Patrick crossing the parking lot toward us.

“Pamela’s had her quota of visitors for the day,” I said. “Come back tomorrow.”

“It’s not Pamela I’m here to see.”

“Jailbird romance?”

His voice cooled, not unlike his son’s, as he said, “Given how we parted last night, Olivia, I think a little less sarcasm might be in order. I came here to help you. While I know better than to expect gratitude, you can at least do me the courtesy of being polite.”

I snorted.

Patrick looked at Ioan. “I need to speak to them. Go curry your horse.”

“Speaking of polite…” I turned to Ioan. “Yep, Patrick’s pissy. Not a side of him you’ve probably seen, but you may like it better than the snide comments and subtle mockery. I know I do.”

“I do not mock you, Olivia,” Patrick said. “Nor do I make snide comments. Please take a moment, unleash your worst, and get it over with. We have important matters to discuss.”

“See? No snide comments at all. Whatever you have to discuss with us, Patrick, it can wait. We need to speak to Ioan about something.”

“The folklore issue you took to Rose this morning? In trying to find you, I spoke to Rose. She asked me…” He glanced at Ioan.

“Ioan knows about sluagh,” I said.

Patrick’s lips tightened. “A waste of time. The Cŵn Annwn don’t have my resources. Moreover, you can’t trust him.”

Ioan’s brows rose. “And they can trust you, bòcan?”

“No, they can trust my books.”

“And since I cannot enter Cainsville, sadly, you must take Liv back with you, while I go ‘curry my horse.’ I actually have a business to run, Patrick. Unlike the Tylwyth Teg, we work for a living. And not by jotting down fanciful tales and calling it gainful employment.”

Patrick looked at me. “And you accuse me of snide comments?” He turned to Ioan. “If my job is so easy, I’d suggest you give it a shot. I bet it pays at least as well as yours. And it’s fun. Which is more than I can say for any ‘gainful’—and tedious—job you do, chained to your desk like a common office grunt.”

“Did I mention I run—?”

“Enough,” I said. “Let’s all find someplace to discuss this.”

—

“You said you had a vision, Liv.” Ioan sat with his coffee and pastry. “Where exactly did you have it?”

“Unimportant,” Patrick said.

Ioan bristled. “I understand that you delight in being contrary, bòcan. Even for a fae, you’re difficult, argumentative, and whimsical.”

“Whimsical? You take that back.”

“You are prone to following your whims, wherever they may lead. That is the definition of whimsical. Also the definition of a bòcan.”