Ivy said nothing, pulling the citronella candle closer to read the return address. “As soon as Trent stops sending you mail,” she said softly.

“Trent!” I exclaimed. Worried, I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, thinking about the folder I’d given Edden two days ago. Nick turned from the steaks, his long face showing concern. “What does he want?” I muttered, hoping they couldn’t tell how agitated I was.

Ivy glanced up at Jenks, and the pixy shrugged. “It’s clean,” he said. “Open it up.”

“Of course it’s clean,” Keasley grumbled. “You think I’d give her a spelled letter?”

The envelope felt light in my grip as I took it from Ivy. Nervous, I slid a freshly painted nail under the flap, tearing it. There was a bump inside, and I shook the envelope over my hand.

My pinky ring slid out and fell into my grip. My face went slack in shock. “It’s my ring!” I said. Heart pounding, I looked at my other hand, frightened to not see it there. Eyes rising, I took in Nick’s surprise and Ivy’s worry. “How …” I stammered, not remembering even having missed it. “When did he—Jenks, I didn’t lose it in his office, did I?”

My voice was high, and my stomach tightened when he shook his head, his wings going dark. “You didn’t have any jewelry that night,” he said. “He must have taken it afterwards.”

“Is there anything else?” Ivy asked, her tone carefully neutral.

“Yeah.” I swallowed, and slipped my ring on. It felt odd for a moment, then comfortable. Fingers cold, I pulled out the thick slip of linen paper smelling of pine and apples.

“‘Ms. Morgan,’” I read softly in unease. “‘Congratulations on your newfound independence. When you see it for the illusion it is, I’ll show you true freedom.’”

I let the paper fall to the table. My thick feeling of disquiet that he had seen me sleeping broke apart in the knowledge that that was all he did. My blackmail was tight. It had worked.

Slumping, I put my elbows on the table and dropped my forehead into my hands in relief. Trent had taken the ring from my sleeping finger for one reason only. To prove he could. I had infiltrated into his “house” three times, each one more intimate and unguarded than the last. That I could do it again whenever I wanted was probably intolerable to Trent. He had felt the need to retaliate, to show that he could do the same. I had gotten to him, and that went a long way toward ridding myself of my angry, vulnerable feeling.

Jenks darted down to hover over the note. “The sack of slug salt,” he said, and angry pixy dust sifted from him. “He got past me. He got past me! How the hell did he do that?”

Steeling my face, I picked up the envelope, noticing the postmark was the day after I had escaped him and his dogs. The man worked fast. I’d give him that. I wondered if it had been him or Quen who did the actual pilfering. I was betting it was Trent.