Henry froze on the threshold to Lord Anghau’s office, staring at the massive hound that waited for him inside. As soon as he realized what he was doing, he tried backing quickly out but only succeeded in colliding with Lord Anghau’s chest instead. He dug his heels in when the looming sídhe began shepherding him back inside, but it was too late. Lord Anghau shut them both in with the beast, the door locking behind them with an ominous click. And just like that, Henry found himself trapped between the most powerful sídhe in Tamarley and a beast nearly as large as himself.

His only solace was that the beast slept, nestled at the hearth of a smoldering fireplace, but even that was taken away when Lord Anghau whistled. The creature woke, lifted its great, shaggy head to look at them, and a shudder passed through Henry. He didn’t like the way it stared: too intelligent, too knowing. It was a long-limbed, shaggy thing, its fur the same silvery-white as its master’s hair and its eyes — partially hidden behind tufts of fur — the same shade of red.

Lord Anghau must have felt Henry shudder, because he laughed. “Oh, that’s just Etta. She’d never hurt you, Mr. Bell,” he said, smooth and low and directly into Henry’s ear.

This time, Henry knew he didn’t imagine the emphasis placed on you. Lord Anghau said it, unmistakably, like it was an honor bestowed on Henry and Henry alone. Before Henry could question this, Lord Anghau whistled again and the dog — Etta — jumped to her feet. She was even larger than she’d seemed laying down, her head level with Henry’s chest, and fear gripped Henry all over again.

He tried yanking his hand away when Etta moved to sniff it, but Lord Anghau caught it in his own and held it out to Etta in offering, palm up. Henry tensed, Lord Anghau’s heat at his back a constant reminder of his precarious position. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Etta’s sharp canines, but Etta surprised him, licking his hand with a very long, very wet tongue. Henry wrinkled his nose but allowed himself to relax, even going so far as to tentatively scratch Etta’s head when Lord Anghau finally dropped his hand.

Her tail wagged with the force of a bludgeon, her whole body wriggling with excitement. Without quite meaning to, Henry asked, “Is this really one of the cú sídhe?”

“Why, Mr. Bell, it seems you know more about us than you let on. Few in this world know of the cú sídhe’s existence beyond common folklore, let alone that they work with the Uí Anghau. You must have dug very deep for that information.”

Henry flushed. Fortunately, Lord Anghau didn’t sound upset, merely amused. “I read it somewhere,” Henry said, evasively. “I’m just surprised. I didn’t expect them to be so…”

“Friendly?” Lord Anghau asked. He stepped around Henry and patted Etta, who, by now, was throwing her entire body into her tail wagging. His voice sweetening as he cupped her large head in his hands, Lord Anghau said, “Etta here is the most spoiled dog in all of Tamarley.”

Etta whuffed in response. While the sídhe set his clipboard down on the desk, Henry took a moment to look around, reasonably certain now that he wouldn’t be eaten the moment he let his guard down. They were in a lavish office, more ostentatious and more cluttered than everything Henry had seen so far. Wide windows made up the far wall and overlooked the streets of a city that, though strikingly similar to the Tamarley Henry knew, differed in all the ways that mattered.

When he turned toward Lord Anghau, he found the sídhe watching him, expression thoughtful. Lord Anghau gestured at the seat facing his desk, and Henry sat. He expected Lord Anghau to go around the desk and sit opposite him, but instead, the man crossed in front of Henry and simply leaned back against the desk, the edge of his boot resting against Henry’s. He studied Henry closely, staring until Henry shifted in his seat, uncomfortable. Finally, he asked, “Are you really here to make a deal, Mr. Bell? You don’t have the usual look.”

“What look is that?” Henry asked.

“Despair.”

Despite the chill that passed through him at that, Henry managed a polite smile. “Perhaps I hide it well.”

Lord Anghau tipped his head to one side, studying Henry, and Henry studied him back. He couldn’t help but wonder how old Lord Anghau was. He looked to be about Henry’s age, perhaps a few years younger. Certainly too young to be the Lord of the House Anghau. Of course, looks were always deceiving with the sídhe.

“No,” Lord Anghau said, finally. “I don’t think so.”

Henry blinked, unsure what to say to that. At the same time, tired of being ignored, Etta wandered back over to the fireplace. She gave the smoldering ashes a long, hard look, and Henry watched the fire roar back to life, blazing as if it had never gone out. With a satisfied huff, Etta settled back on her rug, curling up near the warmth, oblivious to Henry’s shocked stare. “I’m sorry, did she just…?”

Lord Anghau looked from Henry to the fireplace, then smirked. “Have you never seen a dog use magic before?”

Forgetting the danger he was in, forgetting all of Lord Anghau’s thinly veiled threats, Henry sat forward, excited. “So the cú sídhe really do have magic? How does it work? I read that the hounds’ magic is bound to that of their masters. Does she have her own, or does she only draw on yours? Do you have to be near her? Can she do whatever she wants with it?”

Lord Anghau stared at him, red eyes wide, then surprised Henry by laughing. “You ask a great many questions, Mr. Bell.”

“Ah, my apologies,” Henry said, forcing himself back into his seat again. “Sometimes, when I get excited, I don’t realize how I…”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Lord Anghau said. His smile was different, this time, less sly, almost soft. “I must say, though, I’m hurt that you seem more interested in Etta than you are in my services.”

Henry blushed. “That’s not—”

“To answer your questions,” the sídhe continued, “Yes, Etta and I have a bond that allows her to draw on my magic. She can do it whenever, wherever, and however she needs to, whether it’s to follow an order or light a fire so that she may sleep more comfortably.”

“Thank you,” Henry said, “For answering.”

Lord Anghau clicked his tongue. “You’re very welcome, Mr. Bell, but you should be more careful thanking the aes sídhe. In this case, it was information freely given, an act of goodwill, and that’s not something that requires thanks. Lesser sídhe might be offended.”

Henry nodded. “Tha— I see. I’ll do my best to remember that.”

Lord Anghau grinned, the slip not escaping his notice.

If Lord Anghau kept running Henry around in such circles, Henry thought he might get dizzy. On the surface, the sídhe was calm and polite, even generous, but Henry sensed an undercurrent of…something in every word Lord Anghau spoke to him. Something taut, something eager, something hungry. Like a dog with a treat balanced on its nose, Lord Anghau simply waited for the right word to snap. Despite that, and despite the strange things Lord Anghau said, Henry felt unexpectedly comfortable around him. Without even realizing it, he’d let his guard down.

So when he noticed something on Lord Anghau’s messy desk, an ashtray with a single, unmistakably familiar cigarette bud sitting inside of it, his heart sank. He recognized the custom brand, the looping silver logo on the side. He’d have to examine it closer, but it seemed to match the one he’d found outside Camberley Hall.

“Do you smoke, Lord Anghau?” Henry asked without thinking.

Clearly surprised at the question, Lord Anghau followed Henry’s gaze to the ashtray. “Would it bother you if I did?” he asked.

“No! No,” Henry said, too quickly. He scrambled to think of an explanation for the strange question. “I was just wondering if you had a spare cigarette.”

Lord Anghau grimaced. “I don’t smoke, myself. This is just for clients and coworkers — I can see if one of them has a cigarette for you?”

Henry briefly imagined making the Lord of the House Anghau go from subordinate to subordinate looking for spare cigarettes. He quickly shook his head, horrified. “No, no, that’s not necessary, I assure you.”

No lingering smell of tobacco hung in the office or clung to the man himself, and Henry had stood close enough in the elevator that he would have noticed. Whether Lord Anghau was telling the truth or not, though, the presence of that cigarette bud was too perfect to be coincidence. Maybe Lord Anghau wasn’t at Camberley Hall the night of Hathaway’s murder, but it seemed likely he knew who was. The question now was whether he’d had any involvement.

“Then I suppose we’re back to my first question: what can the Uí Anghau do for you, Mr. Bell?” Lord Anghau asked.