“Penelope’s?” Gretchen whispered. Her lip quivered and more tears rose to her eyes. “You are sure?”

“It was not your fault,” Sasha said quietly. “But we’ll help you. I promise.”

Gretchen hugged herself, her tiny shoulders shaking as she finally gave way to a good hard cry. “Thank you,” she finally murmured, not bothering to wipe her face.

“If you need me,” Sasha said, writing her number in the dust on the floor, “here’s my cell number… or you can send me a Fae missive.”

Gretchen simply closed her eyes and nodded.

“I think it’s time to have a conversation with Sir Rodney,” Hunter muttered as he slammed the jeep door and pulled away from the curb.

“Ya think?” Sasha said, completely irate.

Before long they were back at Dugan’s Bed & Breakfast. She waited for Hunter to find a parking spot in the back lot, fuming. Critical information had been left out of the equation. Ethan might have even been aware of some of it-and that damned Fae code of secrecy had her and Hunter out all night and at dawn on a wild goose chase! There was no discussion necessary as she and Hunter jumped out of the jeep and headed for the closest shadow.

CHAPTER 4

They came out in the middle of the bayou and the first thing Sasha did was begin yelling Sir Rodney’s name. Within seconds, Fae archers appeared in the trees calling out their customary greeting.

“Friend or foe?”

“Very pissed-off friend at the moment,” Sasha said. “But harmless to your king.”

“And you?” another archer shouted down at Hunter.

“I’m unarmed and just along for the ride.”

The archers looked at one another, and then their captain called down again. “We’ll have to get you clearance, wolves.”

“You do that,” Sasha said. “Tell Sir Rodney I bring him some news that just can’t wait.”

It didn’t take long for the relay to occur, and soon they were marching toward the hidden castle with a retinue of palace guards. Annoyed didn’t begin to describe how she felt. Sasha bit her lip to keep from shouting obscenities as they trudged forward. Her team and Doc were due in this afternoon, all hell was breaking loose-hell that had nothing to do with them-and her nerves were shot.

The moment the gates appeared from behind the Fae glamour, it was all she could do to go through the pomp and circumstance of gaining proper palace entry. Hunter looked like he was ready to spit nails. She could definitely understand it. How were they supposed to investigate and help if they didn’t have all the facts?

Sir Rodney’s personal valet greeted them at the drawbridge. “I’ll take it from here,” he said in a calm tone. “Milady, milord,” he added, ushering them forward with a genteel sweep of his hand.

Neither Sasha nor Hunter responded verbally. Instead, they just kept walking in the direction they were being led, through the unusually quiet streets of the small town beyond the gates, and through the main square to the palace.

Stoic palace guards never blinked as they passed, climbed the immense stone steps, and went through the huge barricade of doors. But the longer she walked, the longer she followed the security escort, the angrier she became. This was all such bullshit.

At a large double door, the valet stopped and gave a nod to Sir Rodney’s personal bodyguard, who then ushered them in to see the king.

“Your guests, milord,” the bodyguard said as he opened the door to what looked like a war room. He shut it gently and stood just inside the room, armed, with his back against the door.

“Yes, do come in,” Sir Rodney said, seeming distracted and agitated.

Sasha’s gaze quickly assessed her surroundings within the large stone room capped by a high, vaulted ceiling. Sir Rodney paced before a massive, round table that had high-back, hand-carved chairs. He kept his palms clasped behind him, occasionally raking his disheveled hair. It looked like he also hadn’t slept last night, which was the only small consolation that Sasha would secretly allow herself at the moment.

Five dour-looking Gnomes in monk’s habits, their age evident in their deeply lined faces and the frail wisps of white hair that pocked their bald scalps, looked on, seeming dispassionate. But their eyes held smoldering rage, just like their ancient hands and wands could conjure extreme magick when called upon.

“You didn’t tell us the whole story!” Sasha blurted out, unable to deal with the tension of protocol.

“It was complicated,” Sir Rodney said, his gaze now locked with hers and Hunter’s.

“It always is, but we’re either in it with you as full partners that you trust, or not,” Sasha said, so angry that she was now talking with her hands.

“Trust,” Hunter said evenly, “is the way of the wolf when we bond… Without it, friendship is in jeopardy.”

“If we tripped over a critical fact, unwittingly, we could have gotten killed.” Sasha got up in Sir Rodney’s face. “From now on, either you tell us what’s happening or we’re out. If you need us, we’re with you, but only as though we’re pack. Real family, all right?”

Sir Rodney watched his lead advisor slowly reach inside his robe sleeve to begin fingering his wand. But the monarch held up his hand as his personal guard tensed, ready to draw arms in case one of the wolves decided to lunge.

“You’re right,” Sir Rodney finally said, releasing a hard exhalation. “But it is not the way of the Fae to disclose sensitive information outside of our community.”

“When did you realize your magick was fading?” Sasha asked more calmly. “Or better yet, why did I have to finally go to starving Pixies to find out just how bad it had gotten?”

“That is a security breach, if it were to be common knowledge.” Sir Rodney said, lifting his chin.

Sasha looked at the five o’clock shadow that covered the Fae monarch’s normally clean-shaven jaw. “Although you were calm enough when I showed it to you, that sigil we found truly freaked out Ethan and nearly sent a Pixie into apoplexy,” she said carefully. “So you want to start at the beginning so we can investigate this thoroughly on your behalf?”

Sir Rodney let out a long, weary sigh. “A few months ago, the Will-o’-Wisps and the Pixies of the Small Court began to see their magick wane. Their glamour was sporadic, causing them to have to take extra measures to hide themselves from humankind, lest they be discovered. The Faeries in the teahouse gardens were also affected. Now a small section of the outer garrison wall can be seen by the naked human eye, if we don’t redouble our efforts daily to cover it-which is no trivial feat. It has been like a creeping death.”

“Sorcery, Vampires, the sigil is black magick, right?” Sasha looked around the room. “There’s an iron fence around the teahouse, so someone sending in bad vibes should have literally been stopped at the gate, right?”

No one answered and quiet strangled the room.

“Ethan’s wife Margaret didn’t come with him to check on a possible plague; she came as a medical and spell professional… to examine Penelope’s body for the same sigil that had been on Desidera’s-tell me I am wrong,” Hunter said, folding his arms over his chest.

“Yes. And I want to know who is responsible for this dark malfeasance!” Sir Rodney spun on his advisors, his gaze hot with unspent fury as he waited for answers. “The mark was on both girls, and still we have no answers? Desidera tells me that she is hiding something in the cellar, and then that is where we find her dead?”

“That information would have been helpful to know while we were down there,” Sasha said as calmly as possible.

“It might have saved us twenty-four hours of blind searching,” Hunter said through his teeth.

Sir Rodney looked away. “It was a Fae matter.”