Vance won Kappa over by offering him some live bait as food. That felt like cheating to me, but since I was the official Distributor of Tuna, it wasn’t like I could object. Kappa gobbled it up with every sign of delight while I kept my eyes averted. It would’ve been gross to watch during the best of times, and I didn’t know if being on a boat would make me queasy.

My roving eyes happened to meet Vance’s. In order to break the awkward silence, I babbled out the first thing that came to mind.

“He seems to like it.”

Vance stood up and went toward the back of the boat. “It’s a favorite with them.”

I heard his mellow, thoughtful voice in my head: “I don’t think I’ve met you.”

“You work with them,” I said.

I probably should have phrased it as a question, but it seemed obvious to me.

“We trade,” Vance said.

I grinned. “What do they give you? Fish?”

The grave man, true to his nature, didn’t notice I was teasing him. He answered with perfect seriousness. “The young ones try it, but most of them have learned by now—it’s no good. They bring me other things. Information. Knives they’ve made. Water samples—”

I held up my hand to stop him. My head was reeling from the unexpected outpouring of information. “One second. Water samples?”

“I trained them how to gather them for me.” Vance shifted some of the load to make the boat as balanced as possible. We were sitting awfully low in the water.

“Why do you need water samples?” I asked.

“Part of my job. I have to make sure the water stays healthy. If anyone upstream is doing illegal dumping, it’ll show up here. The government gets really serious when there’s something wrong with the water.” He untied us from the dock.

The government…or the Torr.

I said, “I didn’t know that bog-monsters could make tools.”

“Sure.” Vance picked up the pole and pushed us out into the swamp. “They’re not much. Stuff you’d bash out of rocks, but it’s hard work, so I trade a lot for it. It’s mostly to stay on good terms with them. Not like any of them could replace my steel knife.” He added in a mutter, “Still not sure where they’re getting the rocks from.”

“What about the information?”

“That’s the reason I want to stay on good terms with them. They know this swamp better than anyone.”

He put the pole back in the boat and went over to the motor.

“But how do they communicate with you?” I asked. “I thought most of them couldn’t talk.”

Vance paused with his hand on the motor and turned to me. His gaze felt heavy. “None of them can talk.”

Kappa tilted his head when he heard that, but he didn’t say anything. I felt uneasy, but the idea of trying to correct Daniel Vance made me feel more uneasy, so I kept my mouth shut.

Vance turned back to the motor. “We taught each other some sign language.”

“You taught…each other?” I said. “It wasn’t you teaching them?”

“They taught me most of it. I only created new signs when I needed them. Lurkers are smart creatures. They’ve been out here longer than I have.”

“How long have you been out here?”

“Forty-eight years.”

He turned the key to start the motor. It sputtered, then roared to life.

We cruised through the swamp, scattering the reflection in the water behind us. The light of the sunset was fading, and it felt as if each ripple in the water was another veil of reality parting around the blunt bow of our boat, allowing us to travel deeper into some murky fey realm. The trees changed from green and brown three-dimensional forms to flat black shapes. The ropey moss became lines of shadows, shivering in the breeze, and when I inhaled, the cool air carried the strange, dusky smell into me. Ahead of us, between the black trees, I glimpsed an ominous red light.

Three or four months ago, when Olivia had told me there was no such thing as fairies, it’d been easy to believe her. Now I was finding it more difficult.

I was still trying to figure out what kind of evil fairy would be that particular shade of red when we cruised past the line of trees and Vance cut the motor. We drifted toward a shallow bank that retreated from the swamp by two yards before rising into a steep, imposing hill. At the top of the hill, a hulking black shape loomed over us. Hovering above it was a red neon sign, outlining, in all-capital block letters, the word MOTEL. That was my evil fairy.

It was still ominous.

Vance stood and picked up the pole. As he pushed us toward the jutting dock, the mass of the hill hid some of the motel’s silhouette. I tore my eyes away from the shadow and watched as Vance tied us up to a post.

“Thank you for the ride,” I said.

The grave man grunted.

I hunted around for something else to say. When nothing presented itself, I decided to go with the obvious and stupid question.

“Is this where we’re staying?”

Vance lifted Kappa’s backpack and Conrad’s duffel and put them on the dock. “This was where I was told to take you, and it’s the only place outsiders have to stay unless they know someone in town.”

My eyes were drawn back up the slope. “The only place, huh? It must do pretty good business without any competition.”

Vance didn’t even grunt this time.

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I picked up my own bag and slung it over my shoulder. Kappa and Conrad jumped onto the dock without any trouble. Vance offered me a hand as I made my wobbly way toward my friends. Once I was on the dock, I let go of Vance and did a quick check to make sure I had everything and everyone I was supposed to. Vance untied his boat and cast off.

“Good luck,” he said.

Before I could ask him what he meant by that, he pushed away from the dock and turned to the motor. I watched him until he disappeared into the swamp.

“Good luck,” I repeated.

Even though I’d spoken under my breath, Conrad heard me. He tilted his head to peer up at me.

“That’s not sinister at all.” I looked down at him. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve never felt so welcome.”

A chuff of air escaped Conrad’s nose. I smiled when I heard it. There wasn’t much difference between his laugh when he was a wolfman and when he was a wolf.

I put my bag on like a backpack, put my arms through the straps of Kappa’s backpack so it’d rest against my chest, and threw Conrad’s duffel over my shoulder. “All right, boys. Let’s go see an evil fairy about a room for the night.”

Kappa jumped on Conrad’s shoulders and grabbed onto his fur. “Huh?”

Conrad padded along beside me as I walked toward the hill.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “I’m sure they’re friendly people.” My eyes wandered up the steep slope. The neon sign was skewed by the distance and my low perspective. “But if they invite you to dance, go ahead and take a pass.”

After I struggled my way to the top of the hill, I put down the luggage and left Conrad to watch Kappa while I went over to what I was pretty sure was the office. The dirt road that ran across the face of the motel ended at a thirteen-foot driveway covered by a flimsy aluminum carport that was attached to the end of the building. A single bare bulb in the center of the carport shone down on the cracked asphalt, the weedy patches of landscaping, and a glass door with a push-bar handle. I couldn’t see any light coming from the glass door, but I decided to try it anyway.

It wasn’t like there was anywhere else we could go.

As I got closer, I noticed colored light spilling out onto the one cement step that made up the entirety of the stoop. It was coming from a lamp on the counter across from the entrance. The lampshade was made of a heavy-looking stained-glass. The colors were rich and elegant, but it also cut most of the light down to nothing. Behind it, I thought I saw a human figure.

The fact I couldn’t be sure was…unnerving. I could see the figure’s profile, and it had a human-shaped face, but in the dim light, the shape was all I could make out. It was so thin and motionless, I wondered if it might be a mannequin.

As I pushed on the door to go inside, the figure turned to look at me.

I swallowed, plastered a smile on my face, and forced myself to walk over to the counter.

“Good evening!” I chirped, feeling proud of how little my voice shook.

The figure stood up and stepped closer to the lamp, and a much smaller, much fluffier figure jumped onto the counter and into the light.

The mannequin-slash-evil fairy turned out to be an older woman. She was probably in her fifties, bony and pale, with a long face, a slightly hooked nose, and wide dark eyebrows that arched over her small dark eyes. Her pale lips almost blended into the skin around her thin mouth. Her dark hair was pulled back into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. She wore a dark shapeless cardigan over a brown collared shirt, and when she spoke, her voice was quiet, monotone, and heavy with the local accent.

“You Emerra Cole?”

I should have felt relieved that she was expecting me. Funny enough, I did not. What I felt was an urge to go get my wolf.

“I am.” I closed up the distance, folded my hands together, and let them rest on top of the counter beside the lamp and the thing I was almost certain was a cat.

My guess was based on how fluidly it had moved from behind the counter to the top of it. If I went by nothing but looks, I would’ve concluded that it was a malignant ball of brown and orange fur with a cartoonishly undersized face that someone had attached with a glue gun. The thing was so fluffy, I couldn’t make out its ears or legs. Usually anything that fluffy would’ve won my devotion in an instant, but it was also glaring at me with narrowed eyes. Whatever it was, it hated me on sight.

But I knew what pet owners were like.

“You have a lovely cat,” I said.

The woman’s eyes darted over to the fur-gremlin beside her.

“That’s Jasper,” she said. “You’ll see him around. He thinks he owns the place.” She pulled out some papers and a set of keys with a cheap plastic tag. The tag was blank. “Mrs. Carver’s reserved the best suite for you.”

The unfamiliar name caught my attention, but before I could say anything, the woman went on.

“She said you’d be here a week. Maybe longer. Let me know when you know. I do all the cleaning around here, so if you need anything, you can call the front desk. There’s complimentary hot drinks in the room, but we don’t got no breakfast or anything.”

I tried to ignore my growling stomach. Those airplane snacks seemed a lifetime ago. “Excuse me, is there a mini-fridge in the suite?”

The woman stared at me. Once again, she was so motionless that I got the impression that she couldn’t be human. If she wasn’t a mannequin, maybe she was a puppet, and Jasper really was the one in charge.

I glanced at the cat. He smirked.

I looked back at the woman when she said, “Are you thinking of bringing food in?”

“Yes?” I said.

She had just told me that there was no breakfast. Did she expect her guests to go without?

Eventually, she nodded. Once. By lowering and raising her chin. The whole time, her eyes never left me. “There’s a fridge. It’ll need to be plugged in.”

“How far is it to town?”

“You got a car?”

“No.”

“About an hour walk. If you’ll sign some liability papers, I can let you borrow the four-wheeler.”

“Does your grocery store have delivery?”

She stared at me again.

I shifted my weight from foot-to-foot. I had the gift of understanding; even if I had somehow, bizarrely, slipped into a foreign language, she should’ve been able to understand me. And yet, she stared.

A million years later, she responded: “I doubt it.”

“Right,” I muttered.

She passed me a pen, and I signed wherever she pointed. She tore off the yellow copy, passed it to me, then picked up the rest of the paperwork and straightened it by tapping the edges on the counter with a loud click.

“My name is Olene Durand. Your suite is three doors that way.” She nodded down the length of the building. “Access is from the outside.”

I picked up the keys. “Thank you.”

I walked toward the door, but stopped when I heard her say, “I heard you had interesting people with you.”

I turned around. Her eyes were fixed on me again. So were Jasper’s.

“Two of them,” she added.

I didn’t know what she expected me to say, but she seemed to be waiting for something.

“They’re outside,” I said, “watching our luggage.”

“I heard one of them is a lost child.”

“A…lost child?”

“A lurker.”

A cool sense of surprise slipped down my spine—but that was stupid. I knew our host had to be an initiate. “You know about them?”

She offered me another one-motion nod, then said, “I’ve lived here all my life, Miss Cole. You see them around.”

“Why did you call him a lost child?”

She looked away. The shift felt as sudden as breaking free from a crust of ice. How long had she been watching me? Had I been hypnotized?

“Just a nickname,” she muttered. “It’s not important.”

“Uh-huh,” I said slowly.

“You might want to warn him about Jasper. He can be a cuss. He’d fight a boar if it wandered too close.”

“Thank you. I will.”

When my back was to her, and I knew she wouldn’t see it, I made a face to relieve all my unexpressed bewilderment. I pulled open the door and hopped out into the driveway.

“Kappa! Conrad!”

I didn’t care that my voice was loud in the relative silence. It was a relief to hear something that sounded normal. Even the swamp paused to listen to my cheerful cry.

Conrad looked over his furry shoulder. Kappa clamored to the top of our luggage, lost his footing, and tumbled toward me. I laughed and scooped him up.

“I’m supposed to warn you about the cat,” I said as I held Kappa up so we were nose-to-nose.

He tilted his head. “What’s a cat?”

“Well, it’s fluffy and has claws—”

“Wolfman!”

“No, Conrad is not a cat. Look, if it’s super fluffy and not Conrad, it’s best to avoid it.” I lowered Kappa to my hip and reached out to ruffle the fur between Conrad’s ears. He allowed it without comment. It’s possible he knew I was looking for reassurance that friendly and fluffy went together sometimes.

“I have our keys,” I said. “Let’s go see what our room looks like, then we can worry about dinner. Even if the grocery store has never heard of delivery, I’ll bet the pizza joint will know what it is.” I let my eyes pan over the dark scene filled with incomprehensible shadows and even more incomprehensible noises. “God bless America.”