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“Constable Cade.”
Derrick rolled his eyes and led me to the empty chair. Whatever I had expected of Fairy, it was not the simple, windowless room we were crowded into. There was only enough space for one table, two chairs, and what looked like a cot in the far corner. The table was a square affair, barely large enough to hold settings for one person, and scattered across its surface were several pages written in neat script. As I took the nearest seat, I spotted a familiar rune scribbled in the margins of a page, and a diagram that looked suspiciously like the instructions for a large, multi-person spell. Before I could ask about them, Constable Cade scooped the papers into a single pile and, scowling, shoved them all into a worn leather folder.
“You’d best start explaining,” Cade said with a glare Derrick’s direction. “Start with whatever just happened in the Middling.”
I furrowed my brow. “The Middling?”
Cade’s glare grew harder, and he gave a soft snort of disgust in my direction before Derrick muttered a warning; “Be nice. She’s had a rough day.”
“A rough couple of days, if we’re keeping a tally,” I said, and folded my arms.
Cade at least was proving to be the sort of Constable that Uncle Martin always complained about: cruel, unwavering, despising all others as lesser beings. I’d become so used to Derrick’s kindness that I nearly forgot all the warnings the old man had given over the years.
Derrick chose to answer me first. “It is easiest if you think of the Middling as a road. It’s what we all must travel to get between Fairy and Earth. It’s the journey toward something, a place that isn’t quite a place. You’re supposed to move through it, not stand still.”
Cade watched me from across the room, his eyes narrowed, and I chose to ignore him and concentrate on Derrick instead.
Hugging myself tighter, I glared at Derrick. “You could have explained how it worked before I stepped in.”
At this, Derrick rubbed the back of his neck and looked away. “To be honest, I thought you were lying about never having been.”
“Why would I lie about a thing like that?”
“So that we would let our guard down,” Cade said. “Bring you in as a victim where you can spy and report back to whoever you work for.”
I stared at him for a blinking second, more offended than I could ever remember being. “I can see where the CEB gets its reputation.”
Cade looked away, his expression loosening into something more akin to shame than distrust. I went on, heedless of any social violations I might be making.
“I was happy and safe back at home, Constable. I didn’t ask to be here, and I certainly don’t work for anyone.”
“Be that as it may, most warlocks have been to Fairy,” Derrick said. “It’s part of our culture. There is no legal reason for you to have been raised so isolated from your own people.”
Crossing my arms, I scowled at him. “Most is not all. And as for legalities, I’ll remind you that I am not the one currently holding a woman hostage.”
“Technically Mark and Henry took you hostage,” Derrick said.
“Is that what happened?” Cade asked. He leaned against the table. “I wondered what changed. Plan worked a little too well, did it?”
An unpleasant prickle started at the nape of my neck, and I hugged myself a little tighter. “Plan? What plan?”
Derrick held his hands out, placating. “It wasn’t my choice.”
“Well, it sort of was,” Cade said. He was more relaxed now, his voice held none of the suspicion from before and he turned to explain. “Derrick was supposed to keep his cousins occupied long enough for me to set up a fake identity and pose as a warlock counselor. He would then hire me, putting us both inside the manor for the duration of our investigation.”
“Unfortunately, Mark proved too impatient for that,” Derrick said.
I stared at them for several seconds, connecting dots that made my stomach clench with anxiety. “You’re investigating the Leslie family?”
I’d honestly thought this couldn’t get any worse. Derrick gave a slight nod and Cade’s expression went stony.
“What for?” I asked, dreading the answer but needing it all the same.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Derrick asked, his voice gentle.
Rubbing the cursed runestone under my skin, I fought to breathe. Warlock trafficking, it had to be. Feeling the hard little knot of stone, my stomach lurched, remembering that first second when I realized I’d been cursed. The sizzle of magic against my skin, the heart-stopping recognition that I could no longer see the aether. Hadn’t I thought then that I was being taken to some underground den to be cut apart and sold piece by piece?
Warlock trafficking was the only conclusion that made any sense.
