"Oh, so now you want to talk to them?" Inara scowled at me. "Your tune changes as soon as you need something."
My lips thinned as I caught hold of the temper that wanted to spill out. Inara wasn't wrong. I'd resisted all attempts at communication from my downstairs neighbors since I'd learned Cadell was the one who had placed the Wild Hunt's mark on me, designating me as its prey.
I probably should have let them explain, but I'd needed distance between me and the memory of fleeing for my life and the terror that every step would be my last.
"Speaking with either of them right now will be difficult," Lowen inserted, ever the peacemaker.
I shot him a questioning look.
"They’re busy helping the new lord put the barrow into order," he added.
My shoulders sagged. Fudge. I'd really hoped they could shed some light on this before things escalated.
"I guess I have no choice but to consult the book," I said with a grimace.
I really didn't want to. It wasn't that the book wouldn't have answers. It would, but they would come in vague and unhelpful riddles that I likely wouldn't figure out until it was too late.
That was if it deigned to help me at all.
It knew pretty much everything on every supernatural creature but that didn't mean it would share that information with me.
Magic, know-it-all books weren't all they were cracked up to be.
"Book? What book is this?" Connor asked with interest.
None of us answered, the pixies even less enthusiastic about the book's involvement than me.
Not surprisingly, I spotted the leather-bound book on my coffee table, as if it had anticipated my needs and moved to address them.
This time it had the title "All the FAErietales You Need" embossed on its cover and written in gold on the spine.
Connor leaned forward, his forehead wrinkled in concentration. One hand hovered over the book as if he was feeling its magic.
"This is a Fae artifact—a powerful one."
I nodded. Yup, so I had been told.
His eyes met mine. "How did it come to be in your possession?"
"I wish I knew." And that I could give it back.
The book had attached itself to me despite my best efforts during a visit to the Book Haven, a local independent bookstore that had a much older and supernatural side. The custodian of that place had said the book was mine whether I wanted it or not. Every effort to leave it there—and I'd tried many times—had ended with it sitting on the coffee table in much the same way as it was now.
"It has a will," Connor said with some surprise.
"And a personality."
I reached for it, grimacing at the way it warmed under my fingers in silent welcome.
I flipped the book open, choosing a page at random. It didn't really matter where I started, the book would show me what it wanted.
"The Woeful Tale of the Scattered," I read aloud.
The words were written in an archaic font, much like you'd find in a book like theGrimm Brother's Complete Fairytales.
Inara's wings flared with alarm. "The Scattered?"
I looked up from the book. "You know them."
