Isaac still hurt all over, and the hum of magic made his head throb. The fae was trying very hard to cast some kind of spell over Isaac, and he gathered as much of his newfound abilities as he could to ward off the spell. He steadied himself against the doorframe. “Is she dead?”

“Dead? Her? No. Not yet, anyway.”

Relief flooded him, and he asked, “Why? Why all this? Who are you? What do you want?”

The fae answered with a short laugh. “Ah, my young friend. Isaac Wolf.” He began to move toward Isaac. “My name is Moloch. Moloch of the fae.” He tapped his head. “I now have Colin’s memories. But his body was too . . . confining.”

Isaac squared his shoulders. He put all the energy he could muster into resisting this fae, who was probing, pushing.

“I’ve been looking for you and the others before you, Isaac, for a long, long time.” Moloch’s words barely disguised a rich pleasure. The dire wolf uttered a rumbling growl.

Isaac couldn’t tell whether he was unbalanced because of the wight’s transport, or because he was worried about Amelie, or because he was fighting the dark magic emanating from Moloch.

“You want to know my story. How touching. Fine, then. Once upon a time, I was a respected member of the Seelie fae. Then humans decided to steal magical artifacts and lock them away in that infernal Vault, and I, well, I helped.” Moloch shrugged. “It seemed like fun at the time.” Moloch’s one eye glowed bright as he paused and lowered his voice. “I was rewarded by being thrown out by my brethren.”

“You betrayed your own kind just for fun,” Isaac said, “and you have a problem with your punishment?”

Moloch’s eye glowed hot, but his lip lifted in a slight, but distorted smile. “The Seelie fae only want to have a good time with their parties and music and dance and tricks and glamour. They are silly, the Seelie. For my, ahem, poor judgment, they banished me to live with the Unseelie host.”

The sluagh, Isaac thought, not wanting to say it out loud.

“Yes, I know,” Moloch said, reading Isaac’s mind. “But I’ve come to respect them, the sluagh.” Moloch’s voice dropped an octave with that word and Isaac shuddered. “They are much more focused than the Seelie. Not very bright, but focused. They have one desire. It’s grim, but it’s simple. And after all, light needs the darkness.”

“What did you do to Colin?” Isaac asked.

“Nothing serious.” Moloch waved his hand. “All fae can make a shapeshift. I borrowed him.”

I can make a shapeshift. His mother could make a shapeshift. Did that mean that Isaac’s mother was . . . a fae?

“Part fae, from a distant past relation,” Moloch said, reading Isaac’s thoughts again.

Isaac clenched his fists. If his mother was part fae, why, then, there was only one logical conclusion.