Every call goes straight to voicemail. Either he’s gone back to the way he was before, with no phone at all, or he’s turned it off, and I don’t know which is worse.
I don’t know where to find the rest of the Hunt, either. Spectra might know, but although she was forthcoming with information when Maurice was with me, I don’t know that she’ll tell me how to find the Hunt and I’m sure she’s closer with them than she claims. What if she tells the Huntsman I’ve been investigating? I don’t want to risk Maurice’s position.
But Reijo… He has been helpful in the past, clearly, but has some distance from the Hunt. Still, he should know how to find them—Vlad told Maurice how to findhim.
I’m just looking for the Hunt, I tell myself as I shut down my laptop and send a quick message to Afsaneh, letting her know I’ll be out of the clan house for the rest of the evening. I’m just going to find them and tell them what is going on so that they’re aware and can do their jobs.
If I tell myself that enough, I’ll probably believe it.
The Goodfellow is just as I remember it, though it appears more crowded than it did the night we met Reijo.
I don’t see him, either, though plenty of heads turn in my direction as I walk in the door. I don’t think there’s another vampire around.
No, I don’t think there’s anything but fae in here.
Keeping my expression even, I walk over to the bar and order a drink. The back of my neck prickles—I’m being weighed up by somebody, by multiple people, even. That’s fine. Maybe there’s another fae here who can help me find the Hunt.
Maybe there’s a fae here who knows something about the high fae.
I can’t draw the bartender into conversation—she glares when I try—so I pay for my drink and turn my back to the bar, eyeing the rest of the room as I sip my whiskey. There really is no sign of Reijo at all, and something dark gathers in the pit of my stomach.
Did he stop coming here because it’s where we found him, or did he really frequent this place much at all?
I scowl at the thought and throw back the rest of my drink before I flag down the bartender again. She’s the same fae who was working the last time we were here.
“Another?” she asks, and I shake my head.
“Where can I find Reijo?”
Her scowl only deepens. “No.”
“What? No, I need his help.”
She doesn’t believe that, clearly, even though it’s true.
“Try over there,” she says with a jerk of her chin.
I glance in that direction and spot a group of three fae sitting in the corner. All three have fur coats—they’re either wearing them or have slung them over the backs of their chairs.
Selkies.
“Thanks,” I say. Her eyes go wide.
When I go to move, she grabs my sleeve. “Donotpick up their coats,” she says, voice deadly serious.
“I wouldn’t.”
She lets go and I wind my way over to the group of selkies. One, a woman, looks up when I approach. She’s wearing her coat, a sleek, dark brown with a white streak through it—it matches a streak in her hair. The sight stirs a memory in me, but one that is unclear, and I do not have the time to chase.
“We’ve got a visitor,” she says to the other two, both of whom turn to look up at me, too.
I can’t tell the gender of either of them, pretty and lithe as they are, but I’m beginning to think that doesn’t matter when it comes to the fae. Their eyes are like hers and Reijo’s—big and dark and easy to get lost in.
“Hi,” I say, “I was just looking for a friend and I wondered if you might know where to find him?”
“Oh?” The woman pats a chair next to her. “Sit.”
I do, but I’m tense, and she can see it. Her smile widens.
