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“Maybe it’s one of those art projects cities do?” Kit said. “Like the CowParade?” At Ty’s blank look, he explained, “It’s a sort of public art installation. They set up life-sized fiberglass cows in cities and people can paint on them and design them.”

Ty shook his head. “Mundanes are strange.”

“Well, they have to make their own fun,” Kit said, as the Asamkirche came into view. It was a striking structure, utterly at odds with its pleasant, modern surroundings. A tall, creamy-white building with ornate golden detailing: The facade was a riot of swirling curves and shimmering angels.

Set into the facade was a pair of massive wooden doors decorated with twin golden sunbursts. Kit glanced around, but nobody was looking at them with any interest; he wasn’t glamoured, but without his gear, he probably looked like any tourist. He reached out and grabbed the door handle, pushing it down—

It didn’t move. Kit frowned and jiggled it again, but it was motionless.

Ty came bounding up the few short steps to join him. “Maybe we’re meant to knock?”

He rapped on the door with his knuckles: once, twice, three times, each harder than the last. When Kit pressed his ear to the door he could hear the echo of the knocking bouncing off the walls inside.

He shook his head at Ty. “I don’t think anyone’s waiting for us in there.”

Ty reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the crumpled piece of paper Hyacinth had given them. He handed it to Kit, who scanned the address that only he could read. “The church address is thirty-two, but the note actually says thirty-two and a half,” he said.

“Maybe there’s another building in the back.”

Kit looked at the paper, then back at the church. “Or what about that door?” He pointed to a small, inconspicuous door in the side of the building, mostly hidden behind ivy and vines. It was far smaller than the grand entrance, almost too small. It looked decorative, or like a door for pets.

Ty’s eyes followed the direction of Kit’s finger. “That wasn’t there before,” he said, matter-of-factly, and Kit knew Ty was filing this away under the mental folder marked “Proof of Kit’s power.” But if this is my power, Kit thought, why isn’t it easier for me to use it? Why can’t I control it? It only seems to work when I’m either angry or not paying attention.

“Are we supposed to go through it?” Kit dropped to his knees in front of the door, which was about waist-high on Ty. “It seems—small.”

Ty grinned. “Maybe they were expecting the Heir to Faerie to be small. More faerie-sized. Like a pixie or a hobgoblin. Someone squat.”

“Sure. I’m insufficiently squat.” Kit turned the knob, but the door was locked. Just then something caught his eye. He reached for the keyhole and pulled out a scrap of rolled-up paper that was wedged there.

“It’s a note,” Kit said as he unfolded it, then read aloud: “Gone for tea, back at eight p.m.” Kit shook his head in disbelief. “We’re on an urgent rescue mission, and this bugger’s gone to some kind of all-day tea.”

“I like it when you talk British,” said Ty, then added, “It’s all right. So we’ll try again at eight.”

“Well, we can’t just stand around here,” Kit said, fighting back a yawn. “Not with the Riders on our heels.”

Ty nodded. “True. We need to find somewhere safe to rest.”

Kit pulled his phone out of his pocket and punched a few keys. He took a deep breath, glancing back at the small door and then up at the massive mahogany doors that remained sealed. “I think I found a good place. Let’s go.”

And just like that, with the cool Munich morning surrounding them, they turned away from the locked door and the mysterious message. Kit felt his heart pounding unreasonably fast. He doubted the cacophony in his chest had much to do with exercise—he was barely exerting himself, just walking. It had to do with the fact that he was going to a hotel room where he’d be alone with Ty, all day. He had no idea what would happen, but the idea scared him more than the Riders ever had.

—

“I don’t want to harp on this,” Dru said, “but you know this is all your fault.”

It was the day after her disastrous dinner with Ash, and Dru was lying sprawled on the bed in her room in her training clothes, wallowing in her frustration. Not because she thought she was going to be doing any training, but because they were comfortable and thus excellent clothes to wallow in.

She heard Nene sigh. “Probably. But it was worth the attempt.”

Dru sat up and gazed at Nene accusingly. She knew it wasn’t really Nene’s fault, though: Nene was dazzled by her love of Ash as a child, and couldn’t see that he’d grown up to be a spectacular asshole.

So Dru wasn’t angry at Nene. She was angry at herself. She felt scorched with humiliation, as if she’d swallowed a burning coal. She’d tried to seduce Ash and he’d laughed at her, mocked her a little, and refused her request easily. She wanted to smack him. She wanted him to try to kiss her so she’d have a reason for smacking him.

Nene sat gracefully in one of the room’s dining chairs, the tray in front of her laid out with Dru’s breakfast. Dru hadn’t touched it; she wasn’t hungry.

“It was simply a method,” Nene said softly, breaking the silence that had settled between them. “There are other methods to try.”

“He’s not stupid. If I start trying different experiments on him, he’ll notice.”