Henry hesitated. He considered repeating the story he’d told the receptionist about wanting to make a deal, but a single wrong word now could lead to dire consequences. He didn’t know why, but he felt that any lies would be the wrong words, so he chose his next ones carefully: “I told your receptionists that I’m here for information, and while that’s true, it’s not the entire truth. I’m a private detective. I’m here on a case.”

“I see,” Lord Anghau said, expression unreadable. “We do occasionally deal in information, but we can only share information we already have, not find answers for you. Though if you’ve done your due diligence, Mr. Bell, you must already know that.”

Henry nodded. “I understand. Two days ago, a man named Arthur Hathaway was killed. I just want to know if he ever did business with your House.”

The sídhe tapped a finger to his lips, thoughtful. “Arthur Hathaway…the name sounds familiar. Was he someone important?”

“An accomplished mathematician, but not someone I expect you would’ve heard of otherwise.”

“Does this involve the cú sídhe?”

“Possibly. Hathaway was killed by some sort of canine — one that stands at least three feet tall and has the hunting habits of a large predator. I suspect it has sídhe origins.”

“Well, that’s certainly more detailed than the usual accusations we get.”

“Accusations?” Henry asked.

“There’s a reason we don’t like people knowing we control the cú sídhe,” he explained. “Back when it was common knowledge, people pinned any dog-related misfortune they could on the Uí Anghau. A man gets attacked by his neighbor’s terrier and suddenly, it was the cú sídhe. A stray mauls a passerby, and surely, it must have been sent by the Uí Anghau.” Lord Anghau waved a hand, dismissive. “I suppose it’s possible we killed Arthur Hathaway, but I doubt it.”

For a moment, Henry thought he’d misheard. “I’m sorry? Did you say it’s possible?”

“I did. It’s his own fault, if he made a deal with us. Did his mourning family hire you to find the killer? I’m afraid there’s nothing they can do about it, even if we did kill him.”

“That wasn’t it,” Henry said, bemused. “I was hired by Saoirse Evans, the woman wrongly arrested for the murder. If I don’t find the real killer, she’ll hang.”

Lord Anghau’s smile fell. “I see. Well, that changes things. We don’t like innocents getting caught up in our business here, so I’m happy to assist where I can,” he said. “I have nothing to hide, so how does this sound: I’ll make a deal with you, after all. I’ll answer any question you have about my business if you give me something in return.”

Seeing Henry’s eyes widen, Lord Anghau laughed and shook his head. “I know what you’re thinking: you expect me to ask for your soul, right? But we rarely do those sorts of deals anymore, Mr. Bell. I don’t want your death; I want a piece of your life.”

“What does that mean, exactly? What do you deal in, if not death?”

Lord Anghau hopped up to sit on his desk. “My house is the wealthiest in Tamarley — on either side of Tamarley. We have everything we need and can buy most of the things we want, but some things can’t be purchased.” Lord Anghau met Henry’s gaze and smiled, soft and predatory. “Everyone has something we might covet, even you. It might be a piece of knowledge, a first kiss, the fading memory of a childhood friend…”

Henry shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Are those all things you want from me?”

The sídhe’s smile widened, revealing the tips of sharp canines. “I want everything, Mr. Bell.” He tipped his head to one side, considering. “What are you willing to give me?”

“Um,” Henry said, buying himself time to think. “I have knowledge I could share, but I doubt any of it would be of interest to someone like you unless you’re curious about soil or the effects of common poisons.”

Lord Anghau laughed. “Soil?”

Henry scratched his nose, embarrassed. “I’ve done some studies on the soil quality across the two sides of Tamarley. It’s useful for me in my profession, but for you…”

“I’m interested in whatever you’re interested in, Henry. With no limitations,” Lord Anghau said. He leaned in closer, eyes glittering. “And while that does sound fascinating, I was hoping for something more personal. Tell me a secret, something you’ve never told anyone else. Something you miss, or long for, or fear.”

The eye contact making him uneasy, Henry watched Etta sleep, instead. He didn’t know what secret he could offer that would satisfy this person who’s heard it all, seen it all. There was nothing he missed, nothing he truly longed for. He had fears, but even those were boring, expected. When he looked up again, he found Lord Anghau still watching. For a moment, they both simply stared, then jumped together when a knock came at the door.

Lord Anghau turned to glare at it, gripping the edge of his desk until Henry heard the wood creak. Over by the fire, Etta picked her head up, interested.

“Come in,” Lord Anghau called. He sounded, suddenly, like a different person, his voice hard and void of the playfulness and ease Henry had come to associate with him. He snapped his fingers and the door unlocked with a click.

When the door opened, an older sídhe woman peered around it. She had the same delicate features as the long line of portraits Henry had seen downstairs, the same smattering of freckles as Lord Anghau. Her eyes widened when she saw Henry. “I’m so sorry, my Lord! I didn’t realize you had any appointments today.”

Still with that cold, distasteful affect, Lord Anghau asked, “What is it, Brona?”

“I’m here to take Henrietta on her morning walk.”

Lord Anghau stilled, his gaze flitting briefly to Henry, then waved the woman in impatiently. “Fine. Take her, but make it quick.”

Apparently, the dog understood them to some extent. Even without Lord Anghau addressing her directly, she rose and trotted over to Brona, pausing to give Henry’s hand a goodbye lick on her way. The woman and dog eyed each other with distaste, Etta’s tail, which had wagged so violently before, now still. Even so, Etta left with her easily enough when the woman held open the door and said, “Come along, now.”

“Wait,” Lord Anghau called. He grabbed a stack of papers off his desk and held it out to Brona. “Rejected intake forms for the front desk. Take these down with you, will you?”

Brona took the papers, shooting Henry a curious glance as she did. When the door finally shut again, Henry realized that he and Lord Anghau were now completely alone — not that the presence of the cú sídhe had been a great comfort, before.

“Is Brona one of the negotiators?” Henry asked.

“My assistant. I can’t say she’s a great one, but she’s been around since my father’s time, and she takes care of Etta when I can’t,” Lord Anghau said. “I apologize for the interruption. Brona usually knows better than to intrude.”

Henry wanted to ask more about the word can’t, sensing more weight behind the word than there seemed to be on the surface, but he didn’t want to put Lord Anghau off with invasive questions, not when the sídhe was still so tense. So instead, he asked, “Henrietta?”

Lord Anghau twitched. He nodded, warily.

“It’s cute,” Henry said, remembering only after saying so that he was talking to the most powerful sídhe in the city. “Um…did you name her?”

“Yes. I did.”

Henry wasn’t sure what he’d said wrong, or what had changed since Brona knocked on the door, but he tried another question: “What circumstances lead to an intake form being rejected?”

At that, Lord Anghau finally relaxed again, sitting back on his hands. “Under normal circumstances, vague requests,” he said, giving Henry a pointed look as if to say Henry’s evasiveness on the intake form had not escaped him. “If a client has made a deal with us within the last six months. Illegal requests, obviously. Sometimes, I’ll reject a form simply because I’m in a bad mood. But I do believe you were about to tell me one of your secrets, Mr. Bell. I hope you’re not trying to get answers before you’ve fulfilled your end of the bargain; once we sídhe have been promised something, we don’t let go of it easily.”

Henry sighed. He had, actually, hoped Lord Anghau had forgotten. “A secret, then,” he agreed, still not sure what to say. He could share something he’d learned during a previous case, but most of those weren’t his secrets to give. He could tell Lord Anghau how desperately afraid he was that someday soon, someone would need him and he’d fail, but that was too personal, too close, and Henry didn’t think he could speak it out loud.

He looked around the room for ideas. Once again, his gaze landed on the ashtray. “I…don’t actually smoke. I’ve tried, but I hate the taste.”

Lord Anghau blinked. Then, catching Henry off guard, he threw his head back and laughed.

Henry fidgeted, nervous. “I’m sorry, was that…Was that good enough?”

“If you don’t smoke, then why…No, don’t tell me. I only asked for a secret, not the explanation behind it. I do think that’s a little unfair, though, given that that wouldn’t be a secret if you hadn’t lied in the first place. If you’d like to make it up to me, tell me this, instead: you say you hate the taste of cigarettes. What’s something that you do like?”

“Oh,” Henry said. “Anything?”

“Anything.”

This time, Henry didn’t have to think as long. “Sabhaircín.”

Lord Anghau smiled, nodded, and clapped his hands together, “Very good, Mr. Bell. Now, in exchange, I’ll tell you whatever you need to know to help your Ms. Evans.”