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I touched the stranger’s forehead and said softly, “You will answer all our questions and do so honestly. Understood?”

The latter was nothing more than a simple courtesy, because he really had no other choice. An ancient goddess had “rewarded” pixie women with the so-called six gifts of womanhood—beauty, a gentle voice, sweet words, wisdom, needlework, and chastity. Thankfully, we Aodhán women had not only missed the whole chastity thing—I mean, what in the hell was the goddess thinking giftingthat?—but all the others except for “sweet words.” It meant we could control people via voice and touch, and it worked on humans, shifters, and most of the fae except for the elves. I had no idea why they’d been exempted, but it was probably why I’d spent far too long in a relationship with a light elf who’d been cheating on me.

Of course, the serious lack of decent pixie talent in Deva also had a lot to do with it. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t known going in that light elves were rarely ever faithful, even when married.

An odd mix of consternation and annoyance swept across the stranger’s expression. “Fuck, you’re a damn pixie?”

“What is it about bad guys not giving their crews full information about the job at hand?” Lugh’s voice held an edge of incredulousness. “It definitely seems to be a reoccurring theme lately.”

“I guess it’s easier to employ idiots if they’re not given full facts.”

“Hey, I resent that comment.” Our captive sniffed. “I’m not an idiot, I just wasn’t given full details.”

Which basically confirmed the whole idiot thing. “You don’t know who hired you?”

“Gratham did. I can’t say who hired him to do the subcontracting, though, because as I’ve said, I wasn’t told.” His eyes gleamed. “Safer that way for us all, isn’t it?”

Safer for the employer, perhaps, but only up to a point. “What does Gratham look like? Is he here?”

“Gratham?” The man snorted. “He’s a desk jockey, not an action man. In this weather, he’ll be holed up at home in front of a roaring fire.”

Which probably made him the most sensible of us all. “And his description? Address?”

Our captive rambled off a pretty generic description of an elderly human male and then gave us both his home address and his office, even though I hadn’t asked for both. “What were you supposed to do?”

“Retrieve a black sword and take it back to Gratham.”

“And us?”

He shrugged. “We weren’t told to kill, if that’s what you’re worried about. We were just meant to grab the sword and get the fuck out of here. Nobody mentioned the fact you were fucking pixies, and giant ones at that. Wouldn’t have taken the job if I’d known.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

“Because you bastards are mean fighters.” He sniffed. “At the very least, I would have demanded more money.”

“Are your companions also subcontractors?”

He nodded. “I’ve worked with Benny and Jules a few times, but not the other four.”

“Which ones are Benny and Jules?”

The description he gave matched the two men lying at the other end of the rope, and left us with one unknown man if we weren’t counting the couple I’d tossed down the mountain.

“And the weather witch?”

“There’s a weather witch?” Lugh said, surprised.

I waved a hand toward the old observatory. “He was hiding over there. I knocked him out.”

Lugh immediately headed across, the sword gripped like a club in his hand. The stranger sniffed again. “He was supposed to hide our entry and exit.”

He’d certainly done the former very well, as I’d had no idea the storm had been enhanced by the witch until it was almost too late. It wasn’t until he’d directed the weather to attackmethat my knives had reacted.

“Do you know his name?”

“Johnson? Jackson. Something like that.” The man shrugged. “Don’t know, don’t care. Better not to, if you know what I mean.”

I did. And given how chatty this fellow was even without my magic’s prompting, it was likely he hadn’t been told anything for a damn good reason. “What’s your name?”