Jen tilted her head and smiled. “Well look at you, Cailleach McFay, proposing a little friendly exchange of information, are we? Fair enough. What do you want to know?”

“Two things. One, why does the Grove want to close the door?”

“That’s easy. They’ve hated the fey since the witch hunts of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. They believe that it was the association with the fey that got witches persecuted and that they are evil and destructive. To give them credit, they’re right about a lot of them. That creepy bird creature that attacked you and Phoenix last fall …”

“How did you know about the liderc?”

Jen rolled her eyes. “I have my sources, love, and they’ve informed me about a whole lot of dangerous creatures roaming at large in Fairwick. That incubus that preyed on you, for instance …”

“Let’s leave Liam out of this,” I snapped. I saw Jen’s eyes narrow with interest at my outburst and her fingers drum on her iPhone as if she’d like to make a note on it. “I get that the Grove hates the fey, but I don’t understand what they hope to accomplish by closing the door. A lot of the fey who are already here will stay …”

Jen shook her head. “Most won’t. When they know the door is closing, they’ll go back to Faerie. They have to. If they don’t return once in a while they fade. The Grove has been spreading rumors for weeks in the fey community that the last door is closing for good. Fairies and demons have been flocking here to be ready to leave.”

“Flocking? I don’t think so. I think I would have noticed a sudden influx …” Halfway through my objection a Winnebago rumbled past the diner, its silver surface winking in the sun. “The fishermen?” I whispered.

Jen nodded. “What better camouflage than a pair of giant waders and a booney hat?”

I looked around the diner at the innocuous looking clientele. Amidst a number of locals I recognized – one of Dory’s cousins having breakfast with a young couple who looked like city people house hunting in the country, Tara Cohen-Miller cutting the crusts off a grilled cheese sandwich for her little boy, Abby Goodnough picking up a to-go order – were a dozen or so strangers outfitted in fishing garb: t-shirts emblazoned with leaping trout, khaki shorts with multiple pockets, and wide-brimmed hats (the booney hats Jen had referred to) decorated with colorful fishing flies. Were they really fairies and demons in disguise?

“Okay,” I said, “but tell me this. Don’t the witches of the Grove need Aelvesgold for their magic and to stay young? Isn’t it …” I recalled Duncan’s phrase, “… the basis of all magic?”

“You are learning,” Jen said approvingly.