“The Watchman?” I stammered.

Mab’s head moved slightly with the words, but it was Grimalkin’s mewling voice that actually spoke. “The Prince of the Host is all pomp and ceremony, and when he moves it is with the thunder of the wings of an army of seraphim, the crash of drums, and the clamor of horns. The Trumpeter never walks quietly when he can appear in a chorus of light. The Demon Binder takes tasks upon his own shoulders and solves his problems with his own hands. But the Watchman…” Mab smiled. “Of the archangels, I like him the most. He is the quiet one. The subtle one. The one least known. And by far the most dangerous.”

I sorted through what knowledge I had of the archangels. It was meager enough, but I knew that much, at least. “Uriel,” I said quietly.

Mab lifted a finger and continued speaking through the malk. “Caution is called for, Emissary mine. Were I in your position, I would speak his name sparingly, if ever.”

“What has he done to me?” I asked her.

Mab stared at me with iridescent eyes. “That is a question only you can answer. But I can say this much: He has given you the potential to be more of what you are.”

“Huh?”

She smiled, reached to the bench on the other side of her body, and produced my blasting rod. “The return of your property,” the malk said. “The need to keep it from you has passed.”

“Then I was right,” I said, accepting it. “You took it. And you took the memory of it happening.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I deemed it proper,” she replied, as if speaking to a rather slow-witted child. “You would have risked your own life—and my purpose—to protect your precious mortals had I not taken your fire from you. Summer would have tracked and killed you two days ago.”

“Not having it could have gotten me killed, too,” I said. “And then you’d have wasted all that time you’ve put in trying to recruit me to be the next Winter Knight.”

“Nonsense,” Mab said. “If you died, I would simply recruit your brother. He would be well motivated to seek revenge upon your killers.”

A little cold feeling shot through me. I hadn’t realized that Mab knew who he was. But I guess it made sense. My godmother, the Leanansidhe, had been tight with my mother, one way or another. If Lea had known, then it might make sense that Mab did, too. “He isn’t a mortal,” I said quietly. “I thought the Knights had to be mortals.”

“He is in love,” Grimalkin growled for Mab. “That is more than mortal enough for me.” She tilted her head. “Though I suppose I might make him an offer, while you yet live. He would give much to hold his love again, would he not?”

I fixed her with a hard gaze and said, “You will stay away from him.”

“I will do as I please,” she said. “With him—and with you.”