Klea looked up at David, her expression unreadable behind those stupid mirrored glasses. “I suppose that will do.”

“But…” Laurel began.

“Come on,” David said, his voice soft and gentle. “It’s almost midnight; your parents will be worried.” He put an arm around Laurel and started to lead her toward the car. “Oh,” he said, stopping and turning back to Klea, “and thanks. Thanks for everything.”

“Yeah,” Laurel mumbled without turning back. “Thank you.” She hurried to the car and slipped in before David could open her door. Her back was aching now and all she wanted was to get away from Klea and her camp and get home. She started the car before David even had a chance to get in and the moment his seat belt clicked, she shifted into reverse and turned the car around. She drove back down the makeshift road as quickly as she dared, and watched Klea in her rearview mirror until the road curved and she blinked out of sight.

“Wow,” David said as they pulled back onto the highway.

“I know,” Laurel agreed.

“Wasn’t she awesome?”

“What?” That was not what Laurel had in mind.

But David was already distracted. He took out the gun Klea had given him and unsnapped the holster.

“David! Don’t take that out,” Laurel said, trying to look at David and the gun and the road all at once.

“Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.” He took the gun out and turned it around in his hands. “Sig Sauer,” he said.

“Sig what?”

“Sauer. It’s the brand name. It’s a really good gun. Expensive,” he added. “Although not nearly as cool as Klea’s gun. Did you see that thing? An automatic. I bet it was the Glock eighteen.”

“Hello! NRA David,” Laurel said peevishly. “Where did you come from? I didn’t know you were so into guns.”

“My dad’s got a bunch,” he said distractedly, still petting the firearm in his hand. “We used to go hunting a little, when I was younger, before they split. He still takes me shooting at the range, sometimes, when I’m visiting. I’m a pretty good shot, actually. Mom’s not a fan; she prefers the microscope. Just one more reason they weren’t meant to be together, I guess.” He pulled on the barrel and Laurel heard a click.

“Be careful!” she yelled.

“The safety’s on—no worries.” He clicked something else and the magazine came sliding out. “Extra-long magazine,” he said, rattling off facts in the same tone of voice her dad might use to check off inventory. “Ten shots instead of eight.” He ejected one bullet and held it up to the window. “Forty-five caliber.” He whistled softly. “These bullets could do some serious damage.”

The phrases ran through Laurel’s head like a grotesque broken record. Forty-five caliber, extra-long magazine, ten shots, serious damage. Forty-five caliber, extra-long magazine, ten shots, serious damage.

“That’s it,” Laurel said through gritted teeth. Her foot slammed onto the brake, and she lurched to a stop on the side of the road.

David looked up at her with a combination of confusion and what almost looked like fear. “What?”

“What do you mean, what?”

“What’s wrong?” His innocent, genuine tone told her he really had no idea why she was upset.

Laurel folded her arms over the steering wheel and laid her forehead against them. She took several deep breaths and forced herself to be calm. David said nothing, just waited as she took hold of her temper and gathered her thoughts.

Finally she broke the silence. “I don’t think you understand what all of this means for me.” When David didn’t respond, she continued. “They’re watching us now. Maybe they’ve always been watching us, I don’t know. And truth be told, I really think you are going to be safer. But how do we know she’s not hunting faeries as well?”

David snorted in disbelief. “Oh, come on, she wouldn’t do that.”

“Wouldn’t she?” she asked, turning to face David, her tone deadly serious.

“Of course not.” But his voice had lost a little of its confidence.

“Did she ever say why she wanted to catch the trolls? Or kill them, I think we can safely assume?”

“Because they’re trying to kill us.”

“She never said that. She only said it was because they are trolls.”

“Isn’t that enough of a reason?”

“No. You can’t hunt things just because of what they are, or what others like them have done to you. I can’t assume there are no good trolls out there any more than I can assume there are no bad faeries. The fact that she’s hunting the right thing doesn’t mean it’s for the right reason.”

“Laurel,” David said calmly, one hand on her shoulder, “you’re arguing semantics here. I really think you’re blowing this all out of proportion.”

“That’s because you’re human. That gun you’re so impressed by? I can’t be as impressed because I’m afraid it will be pointing at me someday if she finds out what I am.”

David stopped, shock written across his face. “I wouldn’t let it happen.”

Laurel laughed sharply. “As much as I appreciate the sentiment, do you really think you could stop her? Her and all those—I don’t know—ninjas she’s got working for her?” Laurel twined her fingers through David’s. “I have great faith in you, David, but I doubt you’re very good at stopping bullets.”