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“Fine. Whatever. He’s no use to me.” Kelley was a little surprised to hear herself saying those words. She shook her head. “I’ll find my own way back somehow. I know of at least one person who’d probably help me.”

“For a price!” Bob scoffed. “I know what you’re thinking, and it’s really not a good idea.”

“You said the only one who can help me is a Faerie Sovereign,” Kelley snapped. “And since my father is out of commission, I guess that leaves Mommy Dearest. Loathsome an idea as that may be.”

“There are four kingdoms of Faerie, you know, Princess,” Bob reminded her. “And while Sonny may have his hands full with the Hunt at the moment, I’m sure the Fennrys Wolf is marginally well enough to guide you to Spring or Summer. If that is what you want.”

Kelley glanced reluctantly over her shoulder at the cottage. She wasn’t sure she could go back in there. Not after the things she had said to Sonny. After the way he’d looked at her.
Coward
. . . No. She’d been right. She wasn’t the one who needed to apologize. Was she?

Bob regarded her sideways. “Do you want me to go and send Fennrys out?”

“Yes, please.” She nodded, grateful and just a little bit ashamed of herself all at the same time. “I should get going.”

The ancient Fae laid a hand upon her shoulder and said, “Good fortune go with you then, Princess. I hope.”

Y
ou know you’re an idiot, right?” Fennrys asked, his eyes closed and his good arm propped behind his head.

“Shut up, Fenn.”

Sonny crouched on his haunches in front of the fireplace. It was cold. Dead. All of his helpful little sparks had followed in the wake of the angry Faerie princess as she had stormed from his house.

“I need a drink,” Bob announced loudly as he came back inside after his talk with Kelley. A talk which Sonny had guiltily observed from behind the curtain in his window, knowing full well that it should be
him
out there—and yet he’d been unable to make himself go. Bob went into the tiny alcove that served as a kitchen and rifled through Sonny’s cupboards. “Aha!” he exclaimed, triumphant, producing forth a dust-coated bottle and three glasses. He set them down on a little table, pouring the contents out in equal measures. He handed a glass first to Sonny and then to Fennrys, who propped himself up against the wall, his long legs reaching almost to the end of the cot. Bob took a sip of wine and said, “I’d forgotten how much she was . . . like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like her father.”

Fennrys grunted in amusement. “I’d think twice before telling her that to her face.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Bob toasted the Wolf.

Sonny went to the window again and twitched aside the curtains just long enough to catch a glimpse of Kelley’s bright hair, lit by a twinkling constellation of fire sprites in the twilight. He shook his head. “I don’t know, Bob. I don’t see Auberon just now so much as I see Mabh. And I’m not entirely sure that doesn’t worry me.” It was true. The wildness in her eyes. The quickness to anger. The hint of cruelty when she spoke of the king. Of letting him die . . .

“That’s talk, boyo.” Bob astutely interpreted his silence. “What she said about her Old Man Winter. Just talk.”

Sonny had no reply to that. But he wondered—was it really?

“Speaking of talk,” the boucca said, gazing out the window toward where they could see Kelley sitting on the low stone wall, shoulders hunched around her ears, “isn’t that what you should be doing with her?”

“I don’t think she wants me around her just now,” Sonny muttered.

Bob and Fennrys exchanged glances. “Idiot,” they said in unison.

Fennrys finished his wine in one swallow, a satisfied sigh escaping his lips.

Sonny threw back the sparkling libation, too, only barely tasting the exquisite stuff. A large part of him was still smarting—angry from Kelley’s intimation that he’d become some kind of heartless instrument of the Unseelie king.

Bob swallowed another generous mouthful. Then he held out the glass at arm’s length and poured out the sparkling dregs onto the dirt floor of the house, leaving behind a damp little circle on the earth. “An offering to the household fae,” he said. “Maybe this will convince them to come back inside and tend your hearth. Maybe they’ll do a load of laundry for you, too.” Bob stared pointedly at Sonny’s disastrous apparel.

Sonny ignored him and went back to crouch in front of the unlit fireplace. It was getting dark in the cottage. And cold. Gloomy. He stared hard at the charred remnants of a birch log in the hearth, as if he could ignite a blaze with his eyes.

With a frustrated sigh, Fennrys dug around in the pocket of his jeans and threw a cigarette lighter at Sonny. “You can sit there and light a fire on your own, or you can go outside and get your girl—and your fire sprites—back. Whatever gets your cheery little blaze going. I’m happy with either, frankly, if it keeps me from catching a chill.”

Sonny picked up the lighter where it lay on the floor. It took a few moments to coax a flame out of the charred logs, but the minute Sonny added fresh fuel to the grate, the little fire flared into bright, brilliant life.

And there were images in the flames.

Sonny leaned forward—watching the scenes that shifted and danced in the hearth as though projected there. One of the first things he’d done upon taking up residence in the little cottage was to cast a warding enchantment all around a perimeter distant enough to his house to give him ample warning if anything unfriendly approached. And it
would
have given ample warning, too—if only Sonny’s fire had been going sooner.

“Seven hells,” he muttered through clenched teeth.

Fennrys limped over to the hearth to see what had caught Sonny’s undivided attention. “At
least
seven,” he agreed.

They could see several flashes of crimson, moving through the undergrowth beneath a stand of maples that Sonny recognized as being not far off.

Bob came and peered over Sonny’s shoulder, stiffening in alarm at what he saw. “Now that is bad news on legs.”

“Redcaps,” Sonny said grimly.

“Friends of yours?” Fennrys asked.

“Not mine. Hardly anyone knows I’m here. And this place is too strongly veiled.” Sonny stared hard at the fire. The squat, troll-like creatures were easily identifiable by their blood-dyed caps and hideous features. Standing only a few feet high, with thick, stumpy limbs, they moved with a surprising amount of speed and stealth. They looked as though they were stalking something. The redcaps had stopped, pausing at a fork where the path split. Sonny watched as the redcap in the lead went down on one knee and minutely examined the ground. He pawed at the earth with one gnarled finger, tasting the dirt and spitting it out. Then he turned and exchanged words with someone hidden in the shadows beneath the trees. Nodding to his fellows, he led them silently up the overgrown arm of the path.

“Shit,” Sonny swore softly.

“What?”

“They’re definitely tracking something. And they’re tracking it straight here.”

“How far away are they?” Fennrys asked.

Sonny didn’t take his eyes off the flames as he said, “Not far enough.”

“Lads,” Bob said, backing away from the hearth, “I must be on my way. I’d say it’s been fun, but you both know that Faerie aren’t capable of lying.”

“You’re leaving?” Sonny asked.

“Oh yes.” The boucca nodded at the ward fire. “I’ll not wait around for
that
company to come calling.”

“Aw, come on!” Fennrys protested at the dire look on Bob’s face. “Between the three of us, surely we can handle a couple of redcaps.”

“I’m sure between the
two
of you, you can at that.” Bob patted Fennrys on his uninjured shoulder. “Good luck, now.”

“Bob—”

The ancient Fae held up a hand, interrupting Sonny. “Oh no. I’ll not be sticking around to help you on this one. Sorry.”

“But Bob—”

“I am
sorry,
lads. Truly. But this is where my sense of self-preservation grabs me by the scruff and sends me packing.” He pointed at the wavering picture in the flames. “See that shadow yonder up the path? Behind your little troll buddies?
That
’ll be the captain of this little excursion. The mind behind their muscle, if you will, and I am well and truly in
his
bad books. I’ll not be crossing paths with that one again. Not if I can help it.”

“Oh, crap,” Fennrys groaned, looking closer. “Not that sodding leprechaun again.”

“No.” Bob said. “It’s worse. It’s his brother.”

The Wolf straightened up and looked down at Bob. “I fought the one. How could the other possibly be worse?”

“Oh, he’s meaner, drunker, more homicidal. Or, in my case, probably faeriecidal.” In his agitation, the boucca’s size and shape were shifting more than usual. It made him look almost as though he were bobbing up and down. “Imagine your leprechaun playfellow on a serious whiskey bender and there you have his brother. As a matter of fact, drink is his
only
weakness—he’s a slave to it,” Bob continued with nervous haste. “On the upside, it caused the Old Man to lay a curse on him and his brothers—I’ll tell you about it someday, amusing story—but on the downside, it tends to render him wildly off-kilter and mentally swinging in the wind.”

“Bob—wait!” Sonny’s voice stopped the boucca in his tracks. Bob stood there, fidgeting and skittish.

“Can he be killed?” Sonny asked.

“No!” Bob’s eyes went wide with alarm. “I mean—perhaps if you were to get extremely lucky—but you don’t
want
that kind of luck!”

Fennrys and Sonny exchanged confused glances. “Why not?” Fennrys asked.

“Green magick is some of the most powerful magick there is. It doesn’t just go
poof
when a leprechaun dies. It destroys everything in its path until it finds a new home. In fact, if you even see one of them on the verge of expiring, I’d suggest running as far and as fast as you can!” Bob’s gaze shifted toward the images in the hearth and he gave a little yelp of fear. “Speaking of which—I’d really rather not be here when that rotten sod comes knocking.”

“What about their sisters—the Green Maidens? They sound like fun. Can we kill those?” Fennrys asked, ever the pragmatist.

“Oh. Yes, of course. They are far more numerous than their brothers and share their power among them, so it is much weaker. Still—I’d avoid them altogether. They’re liable to kill you first. Now look. As I’m pretty sure the entire Wee Green Clan still holds a grudge against me, I’d like to take this opportunity to bid you adieu.” Bob spread wide his arms, and the tips of his fingers started to glow with a pulsing, verdant light. “Oh! I almost forgot”—he nodded at Fennrys—“the princess asks that you guide her to the Court of Spring or Summer so she can go home. I suggest you leave with all due haste. Tell her ‘happy trails’ for me. Can I go now
please
?” he begged Sonny.

“Yes, yes,” Sonny said. “Go on.”

Without waiting for further encouragement, the boucca slapped his hands together. There was a burst of brightness, and Bob faded rapidly from view until only a handful of green dust motes were left hanging in the air. Then they, too, swirled dizzyingly and funneled up Sonny’s chimney, out of sight.

“Gimme a pair of boots,” Fennrys said.

“What?” Sonny glanced down at the Wolf’s feet, still bare under his muddy pants. “Oh, right.”

“And a weapon of some sort might come in handy.”

Sonny took a sword in a plain leather scabbard down from a rack on the wall and handed it over. Then he quickly fished an old pair of lace-up boots out of a trunk at the foot of his bed and tossed them to Fenn, who awkwardly put them on, one-handed, stuffing the laces down the fronts.

“Dainty little girly-feet you got there, Irish,” he said, grimacing, as he jammed his left foot into the too-snug boot.

“You’re just jealous because
my
feet don’t look like I stole them off a dead ogre,” Sonny muttered, his attention on the ward fire.

Fennrys drew the sword from its sheath and tested the heft of the blade with his good arm. “How many redcaps do you want? I call dibs on beating the leprechaun at least to within an inch of his life.”

“No way,” Sonny protested.

“All right, don’t pout. You can have the Wee Green Man, then, and I’ll take the trolls. But if that’s the case, then I get all of ’em!” The Janus grinned fiercely. “Last time I ripped apart a redcap, I remember it made a satisfyingly crunchy sound. So let’s go.”

Sonny put a hand on Fennrys’s chest—or, rather, on the sling that wrapped across his chest—with actual regret. “No, Fenn,” he said. “I’ll handle this alone. Even though I’d love to have you stick with me, just so you could do something stupid and reckless and wind up dead because of it.” Sonny flashed a smile at the thought.

“You’re all heart, Irish.”

Sonny stared at him. Fennrys stared back, seeming to sense what Sonny was going to say next: “Besides . . . if things go south, I want you to be there for Kelley.”

“Right.” Fennrys paused. Then he held out his good hand and they clasped each other’s forearms.

“Now, go. They’ll be here any second.”

Fennrys hesitated at the door. “Aren’t you even going to say good-bye to her?”

“I . . . no.” Sonny frowned, thinking back to all the times he’d tried to protect Kelley—mostly in spite of herself. “I know her. If she thinks I’m trying to get her out of here—if she senses there’s trouble on the way—it won’t matter how mad she is at me. She’s going to want to stay and fight.”

“Is that such a bad thing? I’ve seen her in a scrap. Girl’s got guts and I—”

“No!” Sonny snapped. The thought of Kelley in danger made him almost panicky—like he couldn’t breathe or see properly. “Just . . . just get her out of here. Get her home. Please.”

“Your call.” Fennrys shrugged lopsidedly.

Sonny nodded his thanks and went for his satchel. He drew forth the bundle of branches, spoke the whispered word that transformed them into the shining silver sword, and turned back to Fennrys.

“Take care of her, Fenn,” he said.

The Wolf didn’t stop as he crossed the threshold. “What d’you think I’ve been doing the whole time you’ve been gone?”

Tall and lanky, the leprechaun stepped into the darkened cottage with the exaggerated, childish care of a career drunkard. He wove unsteadily on his feet, and his bleary, feral stare drifted over to where Sonny stood invisible. The Janus felt that glance with a shock that was like a blade in his chest, and he gasped soundlessly—he’d veiled himself as strongly as he could.

Damn
.

The lurching Fae slurred an order over his shoulder and then stepped all the way over the threshold. Sonny had hoped that he might be able to lure the leprechaun’s entire mob into the cottage, where he could keep them occupied for at least enough time for Fenn and Kelley to get a decent head start. Well, that wasn’t going to happen now.

Without even needing to tear through Sonny’s veil, the leprechaun launched himself into the air in a sideways barrel roll and caught the Janus two blows on the side of the head with both feet—one right after the other in lightning succession. Sonny’s sword dropped from his hand and skittered across the floor. The Faerie picked it up, giggled, and threw it out the window.

Then he went after Sonny again.

The way the leprechaun careened around the room made it impossible to predict where the next flailing, windmill attack would come from. In short order, Sonny’s head felt as though it were coming loose from its moorings as the blows landed with uncanny accuracy. Both his arms ached from blocking kicks and punches, and some of the ribs on the left side of Sonny’s torso were either cracked or bruised enough to feel that way.