Who had my sister killed the night she’d written this entry? A monster? Or had the Lord Master brainwashed her into killing one of the good guys for him? Who had she been going to see the next day? Had she been planning to kill her, too? Were they humans she’d been killing, or Fae? If they were Fae, how had she been killing them? I had the spear. Dani, a courier for Post Haste, Inc., the false front for the organization of sidhe-seers run by the Grand Mistress, Rowena, had the sword. Those were the only two weapons I knew of that could kill a Fae. Had Alina discovered some other weapon I didn’t know about? Of all the pages in her journal, why had someone sent me this page?

Most important and troubling of all: Who had sent it to me? Who had my sister’s journal? V’lane, Barrons, and Rowena all denied ever having met her. Might the Lord Master himself have sent it, thinking perhaps, in his twisted arrogance, that it would make me find him as attractive as my sister had? As usual, I was adrift in a sea of questions and if answers were lifeboats, I was in imminent danger of drowning.

I picked up the envelope and studied it. Plain, off-white vellum, thick and tasteful enough to have been custom-ordered; still, it told me nothing.

The address, neatly typed in generic font, could have come from any inkjet or laser printer, anywhere in the world.

MacKayla Lane c/o Barrons Books and Baubles, it said.

There was no return address. The only clue it offered was a Dublin postmark, dated yesterday, and that was no clue at all.

I sipped my coffee, thinking. I’d gotten up early this morning, dressed, and hurried down from my bedroom on the top floor of the shop so I could stock the new dailies and monthlies, but I’d gotten distracted by the stack of mail piled on the counter. Three bills into it, I’d found the envelope containing the page from Alina’s journal. The pile of mail teetered; the monthlies were still boxed.

I closed my eyes and rubbed them. I’d been hunting for my sister’s journal, desperate to find it before someone else did, but it was too late. Someone else had gotten to it before me. Someone else was privy to her innermost thoughts, and had at their disposal all the knowledge she’d gained since she’d arrived on Ireland’s Fae-infested shores.

What other secrets did her diary contain, besides unflattering personal insight into me? Had she written about the location of any of the Hallows or relics we needed? Did someone else know about the Sinsar Dubh, and how it was moving around? Were I and my anonymous foe both hoping to track it the same way?

The phone began to ring, a local number. I ignored it. Everyone that mattered to me had my cell phone number. Seeing Alina’s handwriting, hearing her words spoken aloud in my mind, as I’d read them, had left me feeling raw. I was in no mood to talk books to a customer.

The phone finally stopped ringing, but after a three-second pause, began again.

The third time it started ringing, I picked it up, just to shut it up.

It was Christian MacKeltar, wondering what had happened to me the other night, and why I hadn’t returned any of his calls. I could hardly tell him it was because I’d been a little busy being driven to my knees by a sentient Book; watching my murderous employer tote a dead body around; serving addictive, cannibalistic tea to a homicide detective in order to turn him into my informant, then steering him around the city, forcing him to see monsters; and just now, reading up on how my sister had loved having sex with the very monster responsible for bringing the rest of the monsters through to our world.

No, I was quite certain all of that would only alienate a man I was hoping might prove a valuable source of information.

So I offered him a colorful bouquet of lies, and made a new date with him for tonight.

By the time I left to go see Christian, Barrons still hadn’t put in an appearance, and I was glad. I wasn’t ready to face him yet.

As I locked up the bookstore, I scanned the Dark Zone. Three Shades toed the edge of the light. The rest slithered and slid in the shadows. Nothing had changed. Their prison of darkness still held.

I turned briskly to my left and headed for Trinity College, where Christian worked in the Ancient Languages Department. I’d met him several weeks ago, when Barrons had sent me to pick up an envelope from the woman who ran the department. She hadn’t been there, but Christian had.

Then we’d run into each other a second time, a week ago, in a pub, where he’d stunned me by telling me he’d known my sister, and even knew what she and I were. Our conversation had been rudely interrupted by Barrons, who’d called to warn me Hunters were in the city, and told me to return to the bookstore. I’d been planning to call Christian the next day and find out what else he knew, but on my way home, I’d been cornered by Hunters and abducted by Mallucé and, needless to say, I’d had my hands a little full battling for my life. Then, the other night, the debilitating appearance of the Sinsar Dubh had prevented us from meeting again. I was anxious to find out what he knew.