Dicey plan.

Humming beneath my breath, I finish polishing my bar. It’s eleven in the morning and I’ve just opened my subclub for business. The glasses sparkle, so clean they squeak. Ice is stocked, glasses frosted, condiments fresh, liquor replenished.

I’m bent over, reaching in the fridge to pull out lemons and start making my twists, when I hear a deep baritone say, “Laprhoaig. No ice.”

The accent is Scottish, the voice one I’ve heard before. I glance up into eyes strikingly similar to Christian’s, before he began turning Unseelie. They bore into mine, cheetah-gold, assessing. Same five o’clock shadow, chiseled features, and beautiful dark skin. Serious power rolls off the man.

It’s Christian’s uncle, the Keltar they call “the Inhabited.” He once opened himself up to thirteen ancient, dark druids and has never been able to exorcise them.

I can sympathize with that problem.

The last time I saw him was the night we interred the Sinsar Dubh beneath the abbey. He was with his twin brother, Drustan, a druid who died in a fire but somehow came back to life and allegedly possesses an incorruptible heart; another of Christian’s uncles, Cian, who spent a thousand years trapped in a Silver; and Christian’s father, who was also druid to the Seelie. Talk about your messed-up family.

“Dageus, right?”

“Aye.” He palms the glass I slide him and takes a sip. “What’s with all the Unseelie behind the bar with you, lass?”

Another question I’m sick of. I get it a hundred times a day, at least once from every person that takes a stool and orders a drink, and as the day goes on, half a dozen times from the really drunk ones. I’ve heard every variation on every joke they could possibly slap lamely together in their inebriated, sex-obsessed minds.

“Ghosts,” I say, “of all the Unseelie I killed. They haunt me.” I’ve found it usually shuts people up. He doesn’t look at all surprised, but then why would he? His ghosts haunt him from the inside.

“Where’s the bastard that runs this club?”

“Around somewhere. Are you here because you’ve located Christian?” I ask hopefully.

“Nay. We’ve tried summoning the queen repeatedly to request her aid, but she’s no’ responding to any of our rituals.”

I wonder if buried in their countless records and annals they have a summoning spell for the king. Although I don’t appear to currently need it, I file the thought away for future reference, aware that asking such a question might only open a new can of worms, and turn more pairs of intensely penetrating Keltar eyes my way than I’d like.

“Now that the Compact is broken, we’ve no influence over the Fae world. Christian’s gone, without trace. The only thing of which we’re certain is he’s no’ in Ireland anymore. We’ve fair torn the country apart searching.”

“Can’t you try tracking the Crimson Hag instead?”

“We’ve naught of her to use in such a spell. We’d need flesh, bone, a gut from her gown might serve.”

“No recent sightings?”

“The Unseelie Princes claim she tried to capture them shortly after she took Christian, but they’ve since joined forces, and she’s no’ been seen again.” He rubs a stubble-shadowed jaw. “It happened differently than I foresaw,” he says heavily. “I was watching for the wrong signs.”

I’m about to ask what he’s talking about when Ryodan takes a stool beside him. “Keltar. Hear you’re looking for me.”

Translation: he was sitting upstairs in his office, watching his endless cameras, eavesdropping. I’m surprised he came down. Appears he has enough respect for the Highlander to do more than he does for most: acknowledge his presence and appear as requested. Interesting.

Dageus says just as coolly, “Hear you met with a Seelie Prince, had negotiations. You will be summoning him for us now.”

Ryodan cuts him an amused look. “Will I.”

“Aye.”

“Think again.”

“What do you want with R’jan?” I ask Dageus.

“He’s a sifter and is currently in control of all Seelie. I want him to dispatch other sifters to hunt the Hag for us.”

“Couldn’t you send some of your men as well?” I say to Ryodan quickly. “If Christian hadn’t distracted the Hag and she’d kept killing that night, who knows what might have happened. We owe him, Ryodan. All of us. We can’t just leave him out there, being killed over and over again.”