As he spoke, Cassidy moved to Diego, who put his arms around her from behind, and Jace joined his father on the sofa. No one had changed position all that much, but just enough to show that fighting was no longer imminent.

“Oison,” Eric repeated when Graham had finished. “Know anything about him, Reid?”

“Never heard of him,” Reid said. “But Faerie’s a big place.”

“If you’ve never heard of him, how do you know I’m right about him and the sword?” Graham asked. Reid had never hurried to agree with Graham before.

“Because of Misty’s book,” Reid said. “It contains many anti-Fae spells. From what I gleaned from the notes and subtext, the Fae might once before have tried to use devices to bring the Shifters back into their power, I’d say about a hundred years ago. Except, the last time, they didn’t have the technology available to them that humans have now.”

Only Reid could use words like gleaned and subtext with a straight face. “I really want to know about this half Fae who designed the Collars for us,” Graham said. “No, what I really want to do is break his face.”

“He’s dead,” Eric said in a mild voice. “But his son is still around somewhere.”

“I say we round him up and talk to him.”

“I think we agree,” Eric said. He unclasped his hands and rested them on his abdomen. “Write it down. Doesn’t happen often.”

Diego spoke up from behind Cassidy. “Let me see if I understand this. This Fae, in your dream, had a sword that, what, connected to your Collar?”

“Yep,” Graham said. “Like a key and a lock. Only the lock hurt like hell.”

“And from this dream, you’re guessing there are more swords that will affect more Collars?” Diego went on.

“I’m saying they figured out a way to manipulate the Collars,” Graham said impatiently. “Figured it out even before the Collars went on us. Like electronic dog leashes. And they’ve been planning this for the last twenty years.”

“Kind of a long time to wait,” Diego said.

“Time moves differently for the Fae,” Graham said. “At least that’s what that ass**le told me in my dream. And he wouldn’t stay dead, which means he was there and not there at the same time, devious bastard. I bet the pain was there for him, though. Not that it makes me feel any better.”

“We need a leader meeting,” Eric said.

Graham’s temper, which he’d barely been holding on to, splintered. “Whoa, what happened to What I’m about to say doesn’t leave this room? I’m not letting other Shiftertown leaders know I’m spelled. They’ll eat me alive. You know it, so don’t give me that patient look.”

“If you’ll shut up,” Eric said. “I’ll tell you I agree with you. Again. That’s twice in one morning. Amazing.”

“If there’s a leader meeting, I’m going to it,” Graham said. “And you’re going to say exactly what I tell you to say.”

“I don’t—”

Graham cut Eric off. “I’m going. There, we disagree on that, but suck it up. Set up the meeting, tell me when and where.”

Before Eric could draw breath to speak again, Graham turned his back and walked out. His heart was thumping hard, in worry and pain.

What Oison had done scared him, not only for himself but for Shifters like Dougal, Lindsay, and others—Shifters who weren’t strong enough to fight the Fae. They’d end up Fae slaves in a second, their wills taken away, made to fight Fae wars in the realm of Faerie, and maybe here too if Oison’s cryptic statements were anything to go by.

Fae had difficulty in the human world because of all the iron and steel. But if they enslaved Shifters to fight the humans for them, the violence the humans feared from Shifters would come to pass. Shifters wouldn’t be able to do anything about it, even if they loathed what the Fae made them do. And Graham knew plenty of Shifters, unfortunately, who wouldn’t hate killing humans, even for the Fae.

Before Graham had met Misty, he might have been one of those not caring if humans suffered. But Graham had met Misty, and he’d kissed her, and he’d kill every Shifter on the planet, and every Fae in Faerie, before he’d let any of them touch her.

 • • •

Paul met Misty at her store later that morning. Her brother leaned on a push broom in the main part of the shop and looked dejectedly down at the broken glass and ruined flowers.

He dropped the broom when he saw Misty and came to her, wrapping his rawboned arms around her in a deep hug. Paul had grown up too fast after their parents’ divorce, and had tried to act tough, but underneath, he was still a frightened boy.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry, Misty.”

Misty said nothing, only held him close. After a few minutes, Paul raised his head and wiped his eyes. “I’ll make it up to you. I’ll fix it. I’ll get you money . . .”

“You don’t have to do anything at all,” Misty said quickly. “Not your fault Flores is a criminal. Don’t even clean up. The insurance adjuster has to look at the damage first.”

“Insurance guy is already here,” Paul said. “In the back.”

“Really? That was fast.” Misty had known people with property damage who’d had to wait weeks, even months, before their claims started to process.

She left Paul and went into her office to find a man in a white shirt and dark tie, holding a clipboard and making check marks on it left-handed.

“Most of the damage is in the front,” Misty said. “Not much back here.” Thank God. Her safe and most valuable vases had been in her storage room. Flores’s gang had come for Paul and revenge, not petty cash.

“I see that.” The man switched the clipboard to his left hand and stuck out his right. He did it a little awkwardly, as someone who had to practice doing anything with that hand. “I’m Kevin Foster, from your insurance company.” He released Misty, plucked a card from the top of his clipboard, and handed it to her. “They really busted up the place, didn’t they?”

“Pretty much.”

Kevin smiled. He had dark hair and blue eyes that crinkled in the corners. “It’s too bad. This is a nice little place. I hope you can get it up and running again.”