Well, if Uncle Mike wanted me to investigate, maybe he'd answer some questions.

"O'Donnell was taking things from the people he killed, wasn't he?" I asked. "The walking stick—which is in my Rabbit, parked off Finley Road over by Two Rivers, Uncle Mike—was one of those. But there were others, weren't there? The first fae killed, Connora, she was a librarian—she'd have had some of the artifacts, wouldn't she? Small things because she was not powerful enough to keep anything anyone else wanted. The walking stick came from the house of the fae with a forest for a backyard. I could smell him on it. What else was stolen?"

I'd been reading Tad's friend's book. There were a lot of things that I wouldn't want in just anyone's hands. There were some things I wouldn't want in anyone's hands.

There was a long pause, then Uncle Mike said, "I'll be over in a few minutes. Stay there."

I tossed Samuel the phone and he hung it up. Then I got to my feet, and retrieved the book I'd borrowed out of the gun safe in my room.

There were actually several walking sticks—one that would lead you home no matter where you roamed, one that allowed you to see people for what they were, and the third, the one that had been following me, was the stick that multiplied the farmer's sheep. None of them sounded bad until you read the stories. No matter how good they seemed, fae artifacts had a way of making their human owners miserable.

I'd found Zee's knife, too. The book called it a sword, but the hand-drawn illustration certainly depicted the weapon I'd twice borrowed from Zee.

Samuel, who'd left the couch to kneel beside my chair as I paged through the section I'd read, hissed between his teeth and touched the illustration: He'd seen Zee's knife, too.

Uncle Mike came in without knocking on the door.

I knew it was him by the deliberate sound of his footsteps and by his scent—spice and old beer—but I didn't look up from the book when I asked, "Was there something that allows the murderer to hide from magic? Is that why you had to call me in to identify the murderer?"

There were a couple of things in the book that would protect someone from the fae's anger or make them invisible.

Uncle Mike shut the door, but stayed just in front of it. "We retrieved seven artifacts from O'Donnell's house. That's why Zee didn't have time to hide from the police—and why I left him to take the blame alone. The things we found were items of small power, nothing important except that they existed—and fae power in human hands is not usually a good thing."

"You missed the walking stick," I said, looking up. Uncle Mike looked more wrinkled and tired than his T-shirt and jeans.

He nodded. "And there was nothing we found that could have prevented us from finding O'Donnell—so we have to believe that the murderer left with at least one more item."

Samuel, like me, had refrained from looking at Uncle Mike when he'd entered—a small power play that subtly put us in charge. That Samuel had done it told me that he, too, didn't entirely believe Uncle Mike was on our side. Samuel came to his feet before he turned his attention from the book to the fae. He used his extra inches of height to stare down at Uncle Mike.

"You don't know what O'Donnell took?" he asked.

"Our librarian was trying to compile a list of everything our people had. Since she was the first one to die…" He shrugged. "He stole the list and there are no copies that I know of. Maybe Connora gave one to the Gray Lords."

"Was O'Donnell looking for the artifacts when he started to date her?" I asked.

He frowned at me. "How did you know they were dating?" He shook his head. "No. Don't tell me. It's best I don't know if you've fae who are talking to you."

He was trying to keep Tad out of it, I thought.

Uncle Mike flopped on the couch, closing his eyes, giving in to the exhaustion that he was obviously feeling—and giving Samuel the upper hand without a fight.

"I don't think he planned the thefts to start with. We've talked to her friends. Connora chose him. He thought he was doing her a favor—she thought he deserved what she planned to do with him." He looked at me. "Our Connora could be kind, but she despised humans, especially anyone connected to the BFA. She played with him awhile before tiring of her game. The day before she died, she told one of her friends she was dropping him."

"So why did you need Mercy?" Samuel asked. "He was the obvious suspect."

Uncle Mike sighed. "We had just set our sights on him when the second victim turned up dead. It took a while before anyone would talk to us about her affair. For a fae to take up with a human is encouraged. Half-breeds are better than no children at all. But O'Donnell—all the guards really are the enemy. And a fae doesn't consort with the enemy…especially when they are someone like O'Donnell."

"She was slumming," I said.

He considered it. "If one of your friends was consorting with a dog, would it be considered slumming?"

"So he thinks he's doing her a favor and she tells him what she really thinks of him—and he kills her."

"That's what we think. When the second victim was found—we thought it was unlikely that a human could have killed her so we didn't look at O'Donnell again. It wasn't until the third murder that we realized that the motive was theft. Connora had a few items, but no one thought to check if any were missing. She also must have had something else, something that allowed him to hide from our magic. Something much more powerful than anything someone like her should have had."

He looked at me and gave me a tired smile. "We are a secretive people, and even the risk of disobeying the Gray Lords' orders is not worth giving up all of our secrets. If something you possess is too powerful, They will confiscate it. If They had known that she had something of power, she'd have been forced to give it to someone who could take care of it."

"So O'Donnell gets it instead." I closed the book and set it beside me.

"And the list she had compiled for the Gray Lords, of the items they wanted recorded." He spread his hands. "We aren't sure that she had a copy in her house. One of her friends saw it, but Connora might have turned it over to the Gray Lords without keeping a copy."

That didn't sound like the woman whose house I'd searched. A woman like that would have kept a copy of everything. She loved the storage of knowledge.

"So O'Donnell takes that list," I said. "After playing with whatever toys he stole from Connora, he decided he wanted more. He looks at the list and goes after the things he wants." My sample size was limited, but—"It seemed to me that he was killing the least powerful, Connora, to the most, the forest fae who was last killed. Is that right?"

"Yes. She might have told him or maybe she had the list organized that way. He didn't get it quite right, by the way, but close enough. I suppose whatever items he stole allowed him to kill people he would otherwise never have been able to touch."

"Do you have any idea at all what things O'Donnell's killer might have?" Samuel growled.

Uncle Mike sighed. "No. But he doesn't either. The list said things like 'one walking stick' or 'a silver bracelet, but it didn't explain what they were. Mercy, the walking stick wasn't in your car. The Fideal says that he didn't touch it. I suspect it will show up again—it has been persistent in following you."

"It is the walking stick that would make all my ewes have twins, isn't it?" I asked, though I was almost certain. The stories about the others had worried me enough to be grateful the stick was useless to me.

He laughed. It started from his belly and worked its way to his eyes, until they twinkled merrily. "You have some ewes you plan on breeding?"

"No, but I'd like to be able to travel more than five miles from home without finding myself on my own doorstep—or worse, be able to see all the faults in the people around me without any of the goodness." Not that any of that had been happening, but for all I knew, the stick had to be activated somehow in order to work.