Yesterday, there was one inside Sorcha’s boot. Clare saw it happen. Said Sorcha just kind of vanished down into her shoe, clothes collapsed around it. When we dumped the boot upside down on the front steps in the sunshine, a papery husk, jewelry, and two fillings spilled out, followed by a Shade that shattered into a zillion pieces. None of us is putting on our shoes now without shaking the crap out of ‘em and shining flashlights deep. I been wearing sandals a lot, even though it’s cold. What a way to go: death-by-shoe-Shade. I grin. I have a black sense of humor. You try living my life, see what color yours turns.

I stare at my sword. My fingers curl on emptiness. It kills me to be parted from it.

In a whirl of white robes, Rowena spins and skewers me with a look sharp as an ice pick. I shift uncomfortably. I might make fun of Rowena, call her “Ro,” and blather about how cool I am, but—make no mistake—this old woman is someone you wanna tread carefully around.

“You were within killing distance of the Lord Master and three Unseelie Princes and you did not even draw your sword?”

“I couldn’t,” I say defensively. “I had to get Mac. Couldn’t risk that she might be killed in the fight.”

“Which part of dead or alive did I fail to impress upon you?”

Well, obviously the “dead” part, but I don’t say that. “She can track the Book. Why’s everybody keep forgetting that?”

“No longer! You knew that the moment you laid eyes on her. Traitor, and now Pri-ya, she is of no use to us. Incapable of thought or speech, she can’t even feed herself! She’ll be dead in days, if she lasts that long. Och, and there you went, discarding the only chance we’ve ever had at slaying our enemy plus three Unseelie Princes, all for saving the life of a single worthless girl! Who do you think you are to be making such decisions for the lot of us?”

Mac might be Pri-ya, but she’s not a traitor. I won’t believe that. I say nothing.