“What do they think I don’t know?” I demanded. Was there some threat I was unaware of? A new, even worse enemy out there, gunning for me?

“If I tell you anything else, they’ll get mad at me, and half the abbey’s usually mad at me. I’m not pissing off the other half. They said they’d meet on neutral ground, and that you could choose where. Will you do it?”

I made a show of considering it but my mind was already made up. I wanted to know what they knew, and desperately wanted access to their archives. Rowena had given me a glimpse into one of their many books about the Fae the day Dani had taken me to meet her at PHI. She’d shown me the first few sentences of an entry about V’lane, and I’d been itching to get my hands on it ever since, and finish the rest of it. If information about the Sinsar Dubh existed, it was a good bet the sidhe-seers had it, somewhere. Not to mention my hope that somewhere in the abbey were answers to my questions about my mother, and heritage. “Yes. But I’ll need a show of faith.”

“What do you want?”

“Rowena has a book in her desk—”

Dani stiffened instantly. “No fecking way! She’d know! I’m not taking it!”

“Not asking you to. You have a digital camera?”

“Nope. Sorry. Can’t do.” She folded her arms.

“I’ll loan you mine. Photograph the pages about V’lane and bring them to me.” My plan would serve the dual purposes of getting me more information, and proving that she was willing to defy Rowena for me. It would also make her read about the object of her misguided fantasies, and hopefully cure her of them.

She stared at me. “If she catches me, I’m dead.”

“Don’t let her catch you, then,” I said. Then I softened, “Do you think you can do it, Dani? If it’s really too dangerous . . .” She was only thirteen, and I was pitting her against a woman with years of wisdom and experience, ruthless intentions, and a spine of steel.

Her lambent eyes gleamed. “I’m superfast, remember? You want it, I’ll get it.” She glanced around the bookstore. “But if things get really bad, I’m coming to live with you.”

“Oh no, you’re not.” I said, trying not to smile. She was such a teenager.

“Why not? It looks cool to me. No rules, either.”

“I’d drown you in rules. All kinds of rules. No TV, no loud music, no boys, no magazines, no snacks or soda, no sugar, no—”

“I get it, I get it,” she said sourly. Then she brightened. “So, I can tell ’em you’ll meet?”

I nodded.

Dani watched the counter for me, while I ran upstairs and got my Kodak. I changed the settings so it would take the highest resolution photos possible, and told her to make sure she got the entire pages, so I could download them onto my computer, zoom in on the images, and read. I told her to call me as soon as she had them; we’d set a place and time to meet.

“Be safe, Dani,” I said, as she wheeled her bike out the door. There was a storm brewing in the streets of Dublin, and I didn’t mean those dense black clouds currently crawling across the rooftops. I could feel it. Like a bad moon really was rising, and even worse trouble was on the way. Ever since I’d danced to that song the other night, I hadn’t been able to shake it from my head. It was such boppy, happy-sounding music to be accompanied by such grim predictions.

She glanced back over her shoulder at me. “We’re kinda like sisters, aren’t we, Mac?”

A knife twisted in my gut. There was such a hopeful look on her face. “Yeah, I guess we are.” I didn’t want another sister. Ever. I didn’t want to worry about anyone but me.

Still, I did the closest thing to praying I knew how to do, and whispered a silent invocation to the universe to watch over her, as I closed the door.

The dark clouds creeping over the city exploded, thunderheads crashing, raindrops biting with October’s chill teeth, flash-flooding the pavement, gushing down the gutters, overflowing the grates, and sweeping all my customers away.

I cataloged books until my vision blurred. I made myself a cup of tea, turned on the gas logs, cozied up to the fire, and paged through a book on Irish fairy tales, hunting for truth in the myth, while picking at a lunch that was the UK equivalent of Ramen noodles. I haven’t had much of an appetite since I ate Unseelie. Not for food, anyway.

Last night Barrons and I hadn’t said a word to each other all the way back to the bookstore. He’d dropped me at the front and watched me walk in. Then, he’d given me a smile that was all teeth and nastiness, and driven straight into the Dark Zone, managing to say “Fuck you, Ms. Lane,” without even bothering to open his mouth. He knows how much his refusal to tell me why the Shades don’t eat him irks me.