“Now remember,” Joe tells us when we’re left alone with our teas, centering his attention mostly on Jack. “We’re not here to play cowboy. We just want to get some help, so we’re going to be reasonable and polite.”

I nod my head in agreement. Jack does, too, but he also gives Joe a grin.

“I’m serious,” Joe tells him.

“I know you are,” Jack says. “You’ve got my word—I’m here to follow your lead.”

“Then why are you grinning like that?”

“I’m just thinking of when the fairies turn us down and who’s going to be the cowboy.”

Joe shakes his head. “Never going to happen.”

“Maybe, maybe not. I just know that I’ve dealt with fairies a lot more than you have, and they can be seriously irritating. Now, normally you’re a patient man, but someone takes a run at one of your family . . .”

“What are you saying?”

“Nothing. I’m just here to back you up. But don’t tell me I can’t enjoy the show, too.”

“There’s not going to be a show.”

“Whatever you say, Joe.”

We’ve been cooling our heels for the better part of an hour before there’s finally some motion at the door. We look up, expecting Tatiana to finally show up, or at least someone who’ll take us to her, but it’s only some more fairies. A tall woman and a couple of those treekin. One of them’s standard fare, all roots and leaves and vines, but the other one looks like it broke into a junkyard and built itself out of salvaged parts. It’s the woman who holds my attention.

I’ve had her pointed out to me before, and she’s a perfect example of everything I dislike about fairies. A thousand years old, probably, but she dresses like some punky skateboarder, playing at being with it and now, but then she goes by a speaking name of Mother Crone. Her “court” is a damn shopping mall.

She and her little friends aren’t directly affiliated with Tatiana’s court, but they still have to answer to her, just like all the smaller courts in Newford.

I play it cool, not letting my dislike show, but they’re probably picking up on it all the same. Jack just leans back in his chair, smiling at Mother Crone like she’s going to come sit on his lap or something. Joe’s the one who makes nice, asks her how she’s doing, fills the silence with small talk.

Turns out she’s having bogan trouble. She doesn’t get into any details, but Jack sits up and there’s a considering look in his eyes now.

“What kind of trouble?” he asks before I can, his voice more casual than mine would be.