“Will you please tell me who you’re talking about?” I asked, plaintively. “We’re here on official business from the Duke of Shadowed Hills, and I’d really like to know what’s going on.”

Alex cocked his head to the side. “Sylvester sent you?”

“He’s worried about January, so he asked me to check in.”

“Please don’t get pissed at me for asking this, but . . . do you have any proof?”

“What?” I blinked at him.

Looking sheepish, Alex shrugged. “Proof. Do you have anything to prove that Sylvester sent you?”

“Just this.” I offered him the folder I was still carrying. “Really crappy directions to Fremont, our hotel reservations, and some stuff telling me whose fences I shouldn’t climb over.”

Alex flipped it open, scanning the contents before offering a quick nod. “Okay, good enough for me; if you’re dumb enough to be faking all this, I figure that’s your lookout, and the real Toby Daye’ll show up soon to beat your face in. Come on, I’ll take you to January.”

“Let me tell Quentin.” I reclaimed my folder and turned, moving to stick my head back into the cafeteria. Quentin was at the table we’d been sharing, shredding a napkin into long, narrow strips. “Hey.”

“What?” he said, not looking up.

“I’m going to go meet Sylvester’s niece. You want to come?”

“Is he going?”

“You mean Alex?” He nodded, continuing to shred his napkin. “Yes.”

“Then I’m staying here.”

I paused. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Quentin raised his head, meeting my eyes for a moment before looking down again. “I just don’t like him, that’s all.”

“Already?”

A shrug.

“You sure you want to stay here all by yourself?”

“I’m a big boy,” he said. “I think I’ll be okay in the big, well-lit cafeteria.”

“Suit yourself,” I said, stepping back and letting the door swing shut. If he wanted to be that way, I wasn’t going to stop him.

Alex was waiting where I’d left him. “Well?”

“He’s not coming.”

“His loss. Come on.” Flicking his hair out of his eyes, Alex turned to head down the hall. His legs were long enough to cover ground at a dismaying rate, and I hurried to catch up. At least we seemed to be staying in the same building.

“People come and go so quickly here,” I muttered. I’m not used to walking with people who treat it as some sort of unspoken race.

“We drew straws to see who’d get to deal with you,” he said, as he walked. “Gordan lost, but I owed her a favor, so she swapped with me. Something about wanting to actually get some work done today. Sucker. I would’ve paid her to let me check on you, instead of the other way around.”

“Is that so?” I glanced at his ears as I caught up to him, trying to be casual. You can usually get a hint about fae heritage from the shape of their ears, and I like to know what I’m dealing with. Maybe if my mother weren’t Daoine Sidhe—the blood-workers of a blood-obsessed culture—I wouldn’t be as entranced by bloodlines. But she is, and in a lot of ways, I am my mother’s daughter.

He was half-blooded, I could tell that much; the human in him was too strong to miss, and most fae don’t freckle. Still, the curve of his ears was unfamiliar. They were too sharp for Daoine Sidhe, too delicate for Tylwyth Teg, and not long enough for Tuatha de Dannan. I let my lips part, “tasting” the air. Sometimes I can catch the balance of someone’s blood on my tongue and sound out their heritage that way. It’s not a common gift, even among the Daoine Sidhe, and a lot of folks don’t recognize it at all.

That’s why I was surprised when Alex turned, shaking his finger. “Uh-uh. If you figure it out on your own, fine, but no tricks.”

I shut my mouth, blinking. It’s not considered rude to taste the balance of the blood, but that’s because so few of us can do it that it’s never had the chance to become socially unacceptable. “You could always just tell me, you know.”

“Now where would be the fun in that?” Alex stopped walking. His hair had fallen back over one eye, making him look slightly off-balance. “I bet we could find more entertaining ways for you to try working it out.”

“Could we, now? Got any suggestions?”

He smirked. “How do you feel about breakfast?” “Most men start with dinner.”

“I can dare to be different.”

“So far, I’m not seeing much difference.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“Maybe.”

Still smirking, Alex leaned down and kissed me.

His lips tasted like coffee and clover. I blinked, startled, before leaning in and kissing him back. He put a hand on my shoulder, pulling me into a slightly better angle, and deepened the kiss, drawing it out until my head started to spin. Then he let me go, stepping backward, and asked, “Different?”

“Different,” I agreed. I could feel a blush running all the way to the tips of my ears.

“See you at breakfast.” He winked, turning to open the door behind him. “Ladies first.”

Laughing as I tried to sort through the spin of my emotions, I brushed past him into the most architecturally impossible hallway I’d ever seen. Real angles don’t bend that way. I looked back to Alex, who was barely managing to contain his look of anticipatory amusement.

So we were going to play it that way, were we? Putting on my best innocent expression, I asked, “So when were you going to tell us that we were inside the knowe?”

Alex’s amusement faded into surprise. “You knew?”

“Newsflash: you don’t usually find lace-o’-dreams flowers growing on mortal lawns. Plus? The sky was the wrong kind of blue.” I shrugged. “I’m guessing we crossed worlds when we came through the front door.”

He stopped, folding his arms. “Okay, how did you figure that out?”

“Air-conditioning’s turned too high. The first thing you notice is the cold, and that keeps you from noticing the shift. Estate?”

“Shallowing.”

“Thought so. I’m assuming the mortal buildings overlay the knowe?”