“Thank you for this,” I said.

She flicked her eyebrow dismissively. “By the time anyone notices the gap in the watch schedule, I’ll be in Tara claiming hormone surges must have affected my organizational skills.”

“They’re going to bury it, aren’t they?” I asked.

She nodded. “It’s already happening. Cashel and the commissioner went rogue. That’s the official story.”

“Did macGoren know? Did you?”

She pursed her lips. “I won’t speak for Ryan, but, no, I didn’t know.”

I could have said something sarcastic about her sleeping with macGoren. It would have been justified, but inappropriate. I didn’t always understand Keeva’s motivations, but right then, she was doing me a big favor. I let it pass.

I glanced down and smiled at her swollen abdomen. “I never said congratulations.”

“No, you didn’t. In fact, I believe you said I had a parasite. But, thank you,” she said.

“How come you didn’t want anyone to know?”

She didn’t answer immediately, looking at me for a long moment as if deciding what to share. “Dananns don’t have children often. It was bad enough Ryan had me on desk duty because he was worried about my health. I didn’t want him trying to keep me from working altogether.”

“You two have a strange relationship, you know that?” I asked.

She rolled her eyes. “I think that’s an insult coming from you.”

I laughed, and she shared a grudging smile. “Are you—both of you—going to be all right?” I asked.

She nodded. “The energies at Tara will restore me. Gillen says the baby is undisturbed, but I need rest to make it through the birth.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know what I was doing.”

She shook her head. “You never do. Get going before the next shift arrives.”

I saluted her as I hurried down the stairs, my footsteps ringing hollowly as I descended. At the bottom of the stairwell, I peered out the exit door to the garage. Nothing out of the ordinary except Murdock’s car parked near the door. I slipped into the passenger seat, and he pulled away as the late shift of Danann agents flew past.

“No change,” I said.

“A lot’s changed,” he said.

We spiraled up the garage ramp and into the night. The callies had kept their storm going for a week, a blizzard the likes of which Boston had never seen. The city plowed the streets enough to maintain basic services, but almost everything had shut down to wait out the storm. It was Eorla’s gift to the mayor, a way to confine everyone inside and calm the situation without guns or essence-fire.

From where I sat, I couldn’t see the heavy abrasions on Murdock’s left cheek and forehead. He looked like the man I always knew. He looked like Murdock, not the crazed guy who had beaten a Dead guy to death. The berserker was in a holding cell at the Consortium consulate. Eorla had turned his body over to Bastian before it regenerated. They were no longer strict allies, but that didn’t mean they didn’t have mutual enemies.

“I should have killed him,” I said.

“It wouldn’t have mattered,” he said.

The car fishtailed down the off-ramp of the elevated highway. Momentum built as the grade steepened. We swung side to side in a growing arc, inching closer and closer to the guardrails on either side. I grabbed the dashboard as Murdock worked the steering wheel like a carnival ride. The view out the windshield became a blur of gray and white as the understructure of the highway whipped past. At the bottom of the ramp, the car shuddered and spun wildly, bouncing on the surface road. Murdock hit the brake. The wheels locked and we did a long, frenetic slide into an intersection. The car stopped beneath a flashing red traffic light. We stared at empty streets, mounds of snow surrounding us.

“Wouldn’t be funny if we died in a car accident?” Murdock said. I stared at him slack-jawed as he laughed. When he saw the look on my face, he laughed harder. I laughed, too. We weren’t wrapped around a pole, and he was right. It was damned funny.

He eased his foot onto the accelerator and turned down Old Northern. Just short of the bridge, the Boston police and Guild and Consortium security manned a checkpoint. We passed them without incident. Murdock stopped at the bridge.

I didn’t move. “Do you blame me for what happened, Leo?”

For a long moment, he watched the snow coating the twisted beams of the bridge. “I don’t know how to answer that. If it wasn’t for you, it wouldn’t have happened, but that’s like saying it’s your fault. I don’t think I can go that far.”

I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. “I don’t know how you don’t hate me.”

He sighed heavily and ran his fingers lightly over the steering wheel. “You know what’s the hardest part of being a Catholic, Connor? Forgiveness. If I can’t forgive other people, I can never forgive myself. That’s something the fey don’t get.”

Everything about the fey was about winning and revenge and our own brand of justice. Nothing was ever forgotten. Nothing was ever let go. How did you know the point beyond which justice became revenge? How did you forgive the intentional infliction of pain or the needless loss of life? How did you forgive the unforgivable, especially when the failings were your own? The fey had all these rules for getting along, but they always ended up being the cause for resentment and injury instead of the cure. And yet, despite a history of wasted lives and failed happiness, we still strove to make the world a better place. But in the end, we’re flawed—all of us, even the humans. We were all unperfect souls doomed to error. Maybe that was the point. Maybe it was that flaw that made us want more for ourselves, to want to change ourselves into something better. Murdock was right. The fey didn’t know how to forgive, and the humans weren’t much better at it. And, maybe, we needed to learn before we could build something better.

“So,” I said. “Who are you sleeping with?”

He laughed, a natural laugh, the laugh of the Leonard Murdock I knew. “Get out of the car, Connor.”

I grinned and gave him a light punch on the shoulder. He’d tell me eventually.

“Thanks, Leo,” I said. He didn’t respond as I got out of the car. He never says good-bye.

I walked across the bridge. Vitniri clung to the intersecting beams above, watching and howling as I passed. Other fey watched, too, hidden and alert, waiting for the Guild or the Consortium or the humans to make a move.

Uno materialized at my side and accompanied me down Sleeper Street, his dark bulk pressing against my leg. I let my hand trail through his thick fur. Next to the door to my apartment building, the Hound leaned against the wall, his cloak wrapped tightly around him and his hood pulled down to hide his face.

With a languid movement, he tossed something at me. I reached out and snatched it from the air. A shoe. Murdock’s shoe, in fact. “Tell Murdock I couldn’t find it sooner,” he said.

He crouched and whistled. Uno bounded toward him like a puppy. The Hound scratched him roughly under the neck. “He was supposed to protect Shay, but I guess he had his own ideas,” he said.

As I approached, his essence resolved more clearly in my sensing ability, confirming what I had sensed the night of the riots. “He did protect him. Just like you did, Robyn. I’m sorry I didn’t do the same for you,” I said.

Robyn stood and waved his hand at the dog. Uno danced backwards from him, then sat next to me. Robyn shifted his hood back, revealing his face. He looked the same, but the angry punk who protected his boyfriend from the dangers of the Weird had been replaced by a confident young man. Shay would be proud. “My death wasn’t your fault, Grey,” he said. “I was stupid. In the end, it was the best thing to happen to me. I’m not on drugs anymore, and I’m better than I ever was.”

“I don’t understand how you ended up in TirNaNog,” I said.