“One gold coin. Which in past times meant you could feed a family of twelve for a year. These days? What’s an ounce of gold? A few hundred dollars?”

“Sixteen hundred,” Gabriel said. “It’s doubled in the past four years and quadrupled in the last twenty.” When I looked his way, he shrugged and said, “I have investments.”

“Well, consider me behind the times, then,” Patrick said. “Perhaps I should go round up a few leprechauns myself.”

“Your point,” I said, “is that the value of a single gold coin has dropped drastically over time. Which is an example of how the value of the fae and samhail relationship has fallen. Those who remain in it do so out of obligation and charity.”

Patrick made a face. “Unfortunately, yes. Which is a hard blow for fae, and the reason most no longer avail themselves of samhail services.”

“Those who do still accept the help are like the lamiae. Where need outweighs pride. Similar to those in the human world who accept charity. And maybe also those who consider it their due.”

“Correct. Rumor has it that a few fae subtypes have virtually enslaved samhail families, insisting that they continue aiding them or they will reap punishment instead of benefits. An interesting side note, but unconnected to the current case.”

“Unconnected to lamiae, you mean,” I said.

“Yes. Their only negative power is the draining of energy during intercourse. Which most men would not find such a terrible fate, but given that the lamiae require variety—to avoid draining a particular victim—sexual slavery would be rather counterproductive.” He paused. “Though it might make an interesting story. Not quite my usual fare, but there is a market for—”

“And we’ll stop there,” I said. “Moving on to deals with Cŵn Annwn. Ciro apparently had one. That was his motivation for killing lamiae.”

Patrick went still. When he spoke, it was with care. “I am not fond of the Cŵn Annwn, Liv, but as someone who considers himself well versed in both lore and fact, there is nothing in my understanding of the Hunt to suggest …” He trailed off, and I could see him struggling, the troublemaking bòcan and the scholar.

“It wasn’t actually the Cŵn Annwn,” I said. “Not officially, at least.”

He nodded in obvious relief at not having to defend the other team. Then he said, “Officially?”

“It’s a rogue Cŵn Annwn. We’re still trying to get his story. Apparently, he told Ciro that the lamiae murdered his wife, but if he killed four of them, he could bring her back. He invoked my parents’ case, saying I’d died of my illness and the Cŵn Annwn brought me back.”

“The Cŵn Annwn personally had nothing to do with—”

“Yes, I know. They invoked some higher power, which is neither god nor demon, and let’s not even go there again, because my head is still spinning from the last conversation.”

“Because there’s too much mortal blood in you. It constricts your imagination.”

“Or, possibly, you just aren’t very good at explaining things.”

“I can’t explain what your mind cannot—”

Gabriel cleared his throat.

“Back on subject,” I said. “This rogue Huntsman twisted my parents’ case, and lied about the lamiae killing Lucy—Ciro’s wife. He convinced Ciro to murder lamiae in a ritualistic way, presumably because my mother also used a ritual, though we now know she was only copying the first deaths. Also, Ciro had no clue who Ricky was, which proves that part was a setup. This rogue made it look as if Ricky was involved in Lucy’s death, but it wasn’t exactly a bang-up framing job.”

“Just enough to get Ricky involved,” Patrick mused. “To get your attention. All of you.”

“Maybe? The point is that we have all these connections, but they aren’t fitting together. Cŵn Annwn, my parents, rituals, Ricky, deals … They all link to one or another, but there’s no through line. Feel free to tell me it’s a failure of my puny human imagination and you have the solution.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Thank you. In the meantime, I know enough about the samhail for now, so instead I want to cash in my research chit and look up Cŵn Annwn bargains.”

“You have a chit?”

“You said I was free to use your books to research samhail. Instead, I want to know more about Cŵn Annwn deals. How do people get them? What kind do they offer? Why do they offer them?”

“Bargains with Cŵn Annwn are rare, but not unheard of. When you came to me about your parents’ deal, I did some preliminary research, which you didn’t end up needing. It does make for entertaining reading, though.”

“Not if you’re the subject of one of those deals.”

“Which you can’t really regret, under the circumstances.”

“Um, mother turned murderer? Father in jail twenty years for crimes he didn’t commit? Yeah, I can regret it.”

“Despite the fact your adopted family gave you every advantage? Love plus money? It doesn’t get better than that.”

“My birth parents might disagree. And if they hadn’t done the deal? I wouldn’t be Matilda, which would have saved me a whole lotta grief.”

“Grief, perhaps. Excitement, definitely. Your life, Liv, will be nothing if not interesting. To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all. Also, there is no guarantee that a disability would have lessened the interest in you as Matilda.” He turned to Gabriel. “You recognize the sacrifice her parents made to provide her with the life she has. Imperfect but wondrous.”