from her dragon. She’d prayed this day would never come. She’d begged the Gods and Goddesses to give him any gift but this one. Still, she’d known deep in her heart there was no escaping it. And there was no denying it now. Her son. Her beautiful, carefree boy had inherited faery sight from his father. And she wasn’t the only one who knew. Devlin and Gar had witnessed it as well.
Devlin cleared his throat. “We should get out of here.”
He motioned for everyone to follow, then he hurried deeper into the alley. As they started through a narrow passage between two buildings, Chandler hung back. She wasn’t worried that Peregrine would run off again. But there was a strong possibility that the city police might come running up behind them. After all, they had caused quite a disturbance at the bistro. If they needed to talk their way out of this one, she wanted it to be her.
Gar slowed his pace, falling in step with her. He caught hold of her shoulder, slowing her further until they were out of everyone else’s earshot.
“Is this the first time Peregrine’s seen through glamour?” he asked.
“I’m not sure. Yesterday he mentioned something. But I didn’t think it was real.”
“You’re not gifted with faery sight, are you.”
It was a statement, not a question. Still, she shook her head in denial while scenes from that Beltane night flashed in her mind: The moonlight gleaming on the May King’s face. His scar glistening against his beautiful tan skin, a mark left from when the fae had attacked him because he could see through their glamour. The same ability that had led to his grandfather’s torture and death at the hands of the fae.
She looked at Gar. He pressed his lips together, sealing his thoughts away. But the firm set of his jaw told her that he’d guessed the name of Peregrine’s father. That didn’t shock her. Gar had researched every Northern Circle member before he’d come to the complex to interrogate them in his capacity as Council investigator. He knew about her birth parents and the single woman who had adopted her after their deaths. He also undoubtedly knew she’d attended prep school at Greylock Academy during the same time span as one of the few witches known to have faery sight, a guy that Athena and her friends had hung out with. Gar could make only an educated guess who she’d had sex with and when. But faery sight was a rare, practically unique gift.
“Well,” Gar finally said, “this is an interesting complication.”
She nodded. “And terrifying.”
“I assume Peregrine’s father doesn’t know?”
She nodded again. “I tried to tell him.”
“You know I’ll respect your right to privacy,” Gar said. “But I’d want to be told.”
They fell silent as they came out the other end of the passageway and onto a side street.
Devlin motioned them into a huddle. “It would be smart to get off the streets for at least a few minutes, avoid any chance of running into the police.” He slanted a look at a nearby Tibetan restaurant. “Anyone want lunch?”
“Good idea,” Lionel said.
Chandler noticed Devlin and Gar glance sharply at Lionel, as if to question when he’d become a voting member of the group. But if either of them had objected, she would have demanded he be included. Like it or not, they’d passed the point where hiding everything from Lionel made sense. He’d seen the same creature they had and seen it before them. Besides, he’d risked his life to protect her and Peregrine from the dog.
As they settled in around a table at the back of the room, Peregrine poked her in the arm.
“Now do you believe me about the redcap?” he said.
Devlin’s gaze winged to her. “What?”
Chandler frowned at Peregrine. It would have been nice if he could have kept that to himself until the two of them were alone. “Didn’t we already decide that was Henry dragging around one of Brooklyn’s scarecrows?”
“I told you that wasn’t what I saw,” Peregrine insisted.
“You also said it was as big as a rhinoceros.”
He folded his arms across his chest, slumped in his chair, and kicked his sneakered feet against its legs.
As a waiter sauntered up to the table to take their orders, Chandler pointed at something on the menu. She really didn’t care what she ate. Mostly she wanted a cold drink. Iced tea. Lemonade. A tall glass of something cool, at home in her living room, alone with Peregrine where she could give him a good talking-to in private.
Once the waiter left, Devlin fixed his gaze on Lionel. “Are we right in assuming you’ve never had any supernatural experiences besides seeing this dog?”
“Never. And I—I’ve only seen the dog twice. This time and when I mistakenly thought I saw The Thinker shift into a loup-garou.” He scrubbed a hand over his uneven hair. “I told you the truth yesterday. All my life, I believed magic was real. That’s why I borrowed the invitation to the coven’s party. My goal wasn’t to hurt anyone.”
“But if you’d found proof you would have exposed the Circle to the world by writing an article?” Gar asked.
“Um—I don’t know. I might not have.” A pained expression furrowed Lionel’s forehead. He closed his eyes. “You don’t know what it’s like to never have people believe you. You don’t know how good it felt when I met the goth and he told me about the Circle. Suddenly, someone believed me. I wasn’t alone. It was the same today when Peregrine and the rest of you saw the dog.”
Devlin leaned back in his chair. He rested his hands on the tabletop. “So, you never saw any weird or unexplainable creatures until very recently?”
Lionel closed his eyes, carefully summoning the right words. “I suppose I did see things, when I was half asleep. Out of the corner of my eye. But, no, not fully formed creatures in broad daylight.”
Chandler’s thoughts went back to when she’d shook Lionel’s hand. She’d sensed a creative fire in him, like that of an artist. It wasn’t unusual for highly creative people to construct ghosts out of moonlight or imagine faery faces in the wrinkled bark of trees. He was right, too: creative imagination was not the same as seeing through glamour.
Lionel nudged his glasses up higher on his nose and stared steadily over the lenses at Devlin. “Where are you going with this?”
“It doesn’t make any sense for an adult person who lacks any supernatural ability to suddenly develop one.” Devlin didn’t say it aloud, but Chandler knew by “adult person” he was referring to non-witches.
Lionel leaned forward. “What if a spell messed with someone’s brain? Could that give them the sight? Um—like the spell your high priestess”—he corrected himself—“like Rhianna performed on me when she was impersonating your sister.” He turned to Chandler and smiled warmly. “Yesterday, I believed you when you told me the truth and then claimed it was a lie to demonstrate my naivete. At least, I believed you for a few minutes. I—I don’t blame you for trying to protect the coven.”
She let herself look deeper into his eyes and saw nothing but kindness and honesty. There had to be a way to at least begin
