His eyes narrowed to slits. “What the fuck are Animaniacs?”

I scowled. “I knew you did that to me. You used to do it all the time, poke around in my head for stuff I didn’t feel like telling you. You said you wouldn’t do it anymore.”

“I said, precisely, that I wouldn’t do it much. Who has a bad heart?”

I dropped back down into the chair and stared up at him. “Dancer,” I said flatly.

He exploded, “What?” and just stared at me for, like, a whole minute. Finally he said, “Are you bloody kidding me? How bad is it? Is it something he could die from? Soon?”

I propped my elbow on my knee, made a fist, propped my chin on top of that and glared at him. “You mean, like, before he solves the problem you need him to solve? That’s all you’re worried about. Yes. He could. He has hypertrophic cardiomyopathy. The heart condition that drops athletes like a stone on the basketball court.”

He stared at me, expressionless, for a long moment then said, “But he looks so healthy.”

“So do all those athletes that die on the playing field,” I replied coolly. “So? Can you?”

He turned back to the wall and stared out through the glass again. I waited in silence. No point in trying to rush Ryodan. He was a megaton warship that set sail when it was good and ready.

When he finally turned back around, my heart sank like a stone. His silver eyes were cold, remote.

“Can’t. Or. Won’t?” I snarled.

“Ah, Jada. Can’t.”

“Bullshit! How did you save Dageus?” I demanded.

He returned to his chair, sat down, steepled his fingers, and studied them. “I can’t tell you that,” he said to his hands. Then he glanced at me and said softly, “If there was a way I could help him, I would. And not because I need his help. Because you care about him.”

“Don’t be nice to me,” I snapped.

His nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed. “Christ, aren’t we past this? Did I only imagine that you and I reached a new phase in—”

“What? Our relationship? Dude, people like you don’t have relationships. They have…they have…cartels and monopolies and kingdoms and, and…” I couldn’t think of another word. Actually, the problem was I couldn’t think. Not with my usual cool aplomb. “…slaves,” I hissed.

He gave me an exasperated look. “Dani, you know better than that.”

“Mac gets to call me Dani. You don’t. And no, I don’t. You’re always manipulating and pushing people around and trying to control them and—Hey! Get off me. What are you doing?” He was around the damn desk and had his hands on my shoulders again. “Why are you looking at me like that?” I snarled.

He shook me, not hard, more a shake of impatience and frustration and a kind of Get a grip, Mega.

“Let it go, Jada. Just let it go,” he said roughly.

“That Dancer could die?” I yelled. “You want me to just let that go? Oh, I get it. You think I should just take him out with last night’s trash because he’s going to die and it’s smarter to stop caring about him right now so it doesn’t hurt as much when he does!”

“That’s not what I said. It sounds, however, like something you’re trying to sell yourself on,” he clipped.

“Then just what the hell do you want me to let go?” I snarled savagely. “Fucking elucidate!”

“I want you to let the goddamn pain out,” he said sharply. “Rage. Cry. Hit me. Throw things. I don’t give a damn. Do whatever you have to do. But let the pain out.”

I started to shiver, and had no clue why. I’d eaten on the way over. I wasn’t cold. I felt like my skin was too tight for my body and my chest too small for my heart.

I inhaled, slow and deep. Exhaled slower and even. Repeated it.

“Don’t!” he thundered, shaking me again. “Don’t you fucking do that. Don’t you go turning it off again.”

I said coolly, “Don’t judge me. You have no right. You haven’t walked in my shoes.”

“I’m not judging you. I’m trying to help you see there’s another way.”

“I don’t need another way.” I knocked his hands off my shoulders. “I’m fine. I’m always fine. I always will be.”

“Goddamn it, Dani, what do I have to do—”

I kicked up into the slipstream and blasted out the door.

When it was nearly closed, I heard the thud of a fist hitting the wall, glass breaking, and a violent, “Fuck! Goddamn! Piss! Fuck!”

“Dani out,” I whispered tonelessly, and vanished.

MAC

At five o’clock that night the crew—those of us who were going to save our world—began trickling into Barrons Books & Baubles. I’d pushed the king Chesterfields into two sides of a square in front of the fireplace and filled the other two sides in with chairs. There was fresh coffee and an assortment of day-old doughnuts on a nearby console that opened on hinged leaves for just such a purpose.

It was time to get to work. I’d unearthed the music box from beneath the floorboard in my upstairs bedroom, grabbed the bracelet and binoculars—the three items I’d pocketed for unknown reasons during my dreamy stay in the White Mansion—and brought them downstairs, tucked away in my backpack.

I had no idea if all three objects were useful, or even if any of them were. But I couldn’t shake the gut feeling that the music box was significant in some way important to our goals. We need a song, it played a song, it had been in the White Mansion. There was something to it, I was certain.

There were eight Fae Hallows, items of extreme importance to the ancient race, the biggest and baddest OOPs of all the OOPs.

The four Seelie Hallows were items that had already been in existence, according to legend, and were gifted to or acquired by the Light Court. There was the Spear of Destiny, the Sword of Light, the Cauldron of Forgetting, and the enigmatic Stone—whatever that was—not to be confused with the four stones made by the Unseelie King that contained the Sinsar Dubh.

The four Unseelie Hallows were: the Amulet—the true one that Barrons had tucked away somewhere, not the three amulets I’d been wearing around my neck earlier that he’d added to his stash for safekeeping; the Silvers; the Sinsar Dubh; and the mysterious Box.