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Kierse didn’t know how it had gone so wrong. One moment they were laughing and hugging and the next ripped apart by a distance she couldn’t even explain. Maybe it was a mistake coming here without Gen. She had always been the peacemaker, the healer. Kierse couldn’t see a way to bridge the divide.

So she watched him walk back to the very people who had poisoned him against her.

As Ethan rejoined the group, Lorcan returned to her side. “I’m guessing that didn’t go as planned.”

“You guessed right.”

She would have to deal with it later. She couldn’t look at it too closely right now or she would get angry. Or worse, upset.

“Whatever he said, he didn’t mean it.”

“Did you hear what he said?”

Lorcan gestured for her to walk ahead of him, away from the acolytes. “Look, I don’t have to hear what he had to say. I’ve seen hundreds of acolytes come through these halls. I’ve been him. I know what it looks like.”

She clenched her jaw. “I don’t find that comforting.”

He stopped before an exit out to the street. “It’s boot camp. There’s a reason we don’t let anyone in or out.”

“Because you’re indoctrinating them.”

“It’s boot camp,” he repeated. “They eat, shit, and breathe this place. That’s how it has been done for thousands of years.

They’re young and impressionable. They haven’t found out who they are yet.

They all find their way eventually. Just give him some space.

” He put a hand on her shoulder. “You haven’t lost your friend. ”

She wanted to tell him not to touch her or try to comfort her, but somehow his words were comforting—the touch especially so. Like drinking cool water on a summer’s day. She heard Colette’s insidious words about using this to her advantage, but she didn’t want that.

She shrugged his hand off. “You can justify anything, can’t you?”

“We have that in common.” He pushed the door open to another bright, unseasonably hot spring morning.

Brooklyn had come alive in the time she’d been cloistered in with his little army.

People and monsters wandered the streets, a little market on the corner full of fruits and vegetables had thrown its doors wide, a fire hydrant had been opened, and kids ran through it like a sprinkler.

It was peaceful. A world she might have had with her parents.

“Did you know my parents?” she asked softly.

He tilted his head. “I might have. What were their names?”

“Shannon and Adair.”

“Ah,” he said softly. “Shannon Cairan.”

Kierse stilled. She hadn’t known her mother’s surname.

“I knew of Shannon, though I never met her or her husband, I’m afraid.”

“Because they didn’t trust you. Because he was human,” she accused. “Twenty years ago, they were here in the city trying to hide me. They wouldn’t go to you for help.”

Lorcan winced. “Walk with me.” She followed him out onto the Brooklyn streets. “Shannon was young. Only about fifty when she was killed. Very young for your kind. Wisps can live to be thousands of years old if they hold onto their mind and their magic. Also very young to have a child.”

She held her breath as he spoke about wisps in a way that Kierse had never gotten from all of her books and research. Even from Oisín, who discussed them more like faerie tales than reality.

“She was young enough that I didn’t know her personally.” He swallowed. “My wife was a wisp.”

Lorcan took two more steps before stopping and turning back to see she hadn’t moved. There was grief in the lines of his face. Something that he managed to hide so well. Because if all the wisps were gone, then so too was his wife. How had he accepted that death and continued on as he was?

“I’m sorry,” Kierse found herself saying. She started walking again. “When did it happen?”

“About a century ago,” he said, continuing forward. “Her name was Saoirse. We met when we were young and were married shortly after. We had two sons as well—Torin and Gannon. Wisps, the both of them.”

“Oh,” she said softly.

“So, you see, I am invested in the return of the wisps. But I do not know why your mother feared me. I would have helped her if I could. I would have saved all the wisps if I was able.”

She’d thought that she’d seen worship in his eyes when he’d discovered she was a wisp. In reality, he was seeing all that he’d lost in her face. The wife and two sons who had died so long ago.

“I think the wisps didn’t like that my dad was a human. They were worried you would judge them for it or refuse to help them.”

Lorcan considered. His eyes swept over her. “You believe that you are only half wisp?”

“Yes? Once the spell broke, I got a memory that confirmed he was my father.”

“Hmm. You don’t have magic that acts like any half wisp I’ve ever seen.”

“But I don’t have all the wisps’ powers, either,” she said.

“Not all wisps had the same powers. Some had more or less than others.”

“Really?” she asked in surprise. She hadn’t known that.

“And your signature…” He cast a hand forward, a soft glow of magic suffusing his palm. He trailed off, shaking his head. His eyes were distant when he said, “I don’t know how you could be half and part of a triskel.”

“I don’t know, either. Until recently, I thought I was fully human. So it doesn’t matter to me. But I do want to find the man who put the spell on me.”

“Do you know who that was?”

She watched for his reaction as she said, “Cillian Ryan.”

“That motherfucker,” he growled.

Kierse smirked. So what Graves had said seemed to be true. She didn’t know why she kept doubting him. Everything he’d told her so far appeared to be corroborated. “You know him.”

Lorcan’s hands curled into fists and then relaxed. “ Knew him. He was a Druid.”

“That much I knew. A rogue Druid that you tried to kill.”

“That’s the least of it,” he grumbled. “He destroyed Sansara.”

Kierse blinked in confusion. “Who is Sansara?”

“Not who. What. Sansara was a sacred tree. It had roots nearly as old as time.” Lorcan looked absolutely stricken. “I don’t know how much you know about Druid magic. We have our own secrecy, of course.”

“I’ve done my research. Sacrifice, nature, spells,” she said, waving a hand. “A combination of the lot gives you powers.”

“That’s a very…simplified version.” Lorcan sighed like he was suffering. “We say it’s the three S: Self, Spirit, and Sacrifice. The self is our inherent magic. The spirit is time, place, celestial involvement. And the sacrifice is what we give to help power the spell.”

“Okay,” Kierse said. “And what he did went against that?”

“Suffice it to say that drawing on Sansara is generally forbidden except in large ritualistic spells on holy days. And Cillian Ryan drained the tree dry, leaving it crumpled to ash.”

“Fuck,” Kierse whispered.

Ethan had always had a deep devotion for plants. He’d once been devastated when a single leaf had fallen off of a potted plant he was nurturing. She couldn’t imagine the devastation of losing a tree of that magnitude.

“As you can imagine, we moved against him swiftly.”

“But he had the tree magic.”

Lorcan nodded. “He used it to cloak himself and disappear into Manhattan. No tracking spells worked on him. He was just gone . Which probably explains why the force of the spell on you was so powerful.”

“Do you think he’s still in Manhattan?”

“I heard that someone killed him during the war. I don’t know if the magic wore thin or he trusted the wrong person, but good riddance.”

Kierse sagged at that knowledge. Another dead end. She’d been hoping that if she met Cillian, he might be able to fill in the blanks—not just how and why he’d put the spell on her, but what happened to her parents after. What their plan had been. How the Fae Killer had caught up to them.

A double strikeout.

“I wish that I had more information for you,” he said as they reached the entrance to his headquarters.

He pulled the door open and allowed her to enter before him.

“I’m sure that you’re anxious to know more about your heritage.

I may know more about wisps than anyone still alive, and I would share that knowledge with you. ”

It was tempting. Oh so tempting.

“And what’s in it for you?”

His smile widened. “Would you believe me if I said the pleasure of your company?”

“I rarely believe anything you say.”

“Fine. Don’t believe me, but I speak the truth. Wisps and Druids have been connected since the beginning. I would like us to continue to be.” He held out his hand. “Let me show you something.”

And despite herself, she put her hand in his and let him guide her.

They walked down a long hallway until it opened to a magnificent set of double doors, threaded through with a Druid signature—acorns and oak leaves—and a brass handle.

She could feel the faint buzz of magic and see the soft golden light that suffused it if she squinted just right.

The smell of summer and sunshine radiated from the door as if she had left Brooklyn behind and stumbled into the summer god’s glen of old. This was a sacred place.

Her breath caught, and Lorcan smiled that bright, brilliant smile as he pushed the door open to reveal a glen, bursting with life.

Grass and moss covered the ground. Oak trees sprouted at intervals, their branches reaching toward the glass ceiling.

Spring flowers were in bloom in a radiant display of violet, indigo, and marigold.

At the far end of the room sat a throne.

It was twice the size of a normal human—made for gods, not mere mortals.

Carved into being by some long-dead master woodworker, it was constructed out of an ancient oak tree, filigreed with intricate Celtic knots and symbols that wound up from the roots to reach for the sky.

It should have felt cold and dead, but it was still alive.

Otherworldly magic radiated from it, as it were the source of all power on this earth.

“The Oak Throne,” Lorcan told her reverently.

“Oh,” she whispered, overcome with emotion at the sight. She wiped her eyes, unsure why it moved her to tears.

“It was made for the ruler of the Druids since before the doors were closed.”

“It’s beautiful.”

He studied her, those azure eyes earnest. “It could be yours.”

She jerked back to reality. “Mine?”

“You could live here,” Lorcan said simply. “With me.”

“In Brooklyn,” she said slowly.

“Yes,” he said on a laugh. “Here. You, Gen, and Ethan together again. Your little family. I have plenty of space. Ethan is already learning to be a Druid. Gen could work with Niamh as a High Priestess. You are the last of your kind, and I would give you the information you require about the wisps. You could have access to my library. Access to me.”

She hesitated before asking, “Access to you?”

“Me, my throne, my world,” he said, his eyes drifting across his kingdom and back to her face. “I’d like to have you here, little songbird.”

She flushed under his scrutiny, hating that it wasn’t faked.

That it wasn’t part of some mysterious plot she was weaving against him.

In this faerie glen before an ancient throne, it felt like a real offer.

What would her life have been like had her mother taken her to Lorcan straight away instead of dealing with Graves and Cillian?

Would she have grown up here? Would she have seen his smiles as kind and not duplicitous?

Would she have wanted what he was offering?

She mourned the little girl who would have wanted that life.

Who could see herself safe in a place like this, instead of the abandoned girl she was, who could think of nothing if it wasn’t transactional.

As fun as it was to imagine her life here in Brooklyn living with the Druids, it felt more like a faerie tale than most of the ones she had read in the last couple months.

Happy endings like that didn’t happen for people like Kierse. She was more likely to be the girl in the tale of the will-o’-the-wisp who was devoured by a bear while straying from her course than the wisp leading people astray.

“And if I say no?” she asked, finally.

“Think on it,” he said, pulling her from the room. “Either way, you are welcome on Druid grounds even if you live…elsewhere. I’ll still train you. I’ll still fight for a triskel.”

“Okay,” she said uncertainly.

She wanted that information. She wanted to train with her friends. She wanted Ethan even just an inch further from this place. But she didn’t know how that would begin to work.

When they reached the lobby, he once again opened the door for her. She stepped outside, her mind reeling from the conversation.

His eyes were full of mischief as he said, “I was part of the last triskel, after all.”

“What?” she snapped.

He reached forward, taking her hand in his and placing a soft kiss on the back. “I’ll tell you all about it when you come back to me.”

Then he let the door slip closed.

“Bastard.”