He smiled with warmth. “You were always better than me at asking a question you already knew the answer to.”

I made myself more comfortable as Loddie pulled onto Old Northern Avenue. “So what do you want to know? He’s a good guy, a good cop. He cares about what he does and doesn’t like bullshit. He started asking me to take on consulting jobs when we met at the gym. That’s about it.”

“The gym? So you’re friends as well?”

That was what he really had wanted to ask the first time. “Yeah, I’d say we’re friends. We work out together and occasionally have dinner. We don’t really socialize beyond that.”

Dylan nodded. “And this Belgor. Do you work out with him, too?”

Dylan goes for a clueless dry humor that always made me chuckle. Especially because with him, more often than not, Dylan’s faux cluelessness is not so far from the real thing. “The only reason Belgor would be in a gym is if someone wanted to try lifting him. He’s an institution in the Weird. He could find out what you had for breakfast, and you’d never figure out how. Murdock hates him because he usually covers his tracks too well to get arrested. I tolerate him mostly. One of these days he’ll go too far, and he’ll end up spending time behind bars.”

Dylan pursed his lips. “Fencing stolen antiquities might be too far.”

I looked out the window. “Yeah, well, you’ll have to catch him doing something like that. You never know, though, he might surprise you and help your investigation.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dylan glance at me. “I don’t think I’d be surprised at all.” His tone was amused and matter-of-fact and confirmed he knew damn well something was up at the shop. I would have been disappointed if he didn’t.

I didn’t respond. The city glittered by, deep red and amber streaks of light on the other side of the glass. The soundproofing of the car kept noise from intruding. The seat-the luscious leather seat-gave comfortably beneath me. It smelled new. Every Guild car I’d ever been in smelled like new leather, always. I could smell the faint cologne Dylan wore-he still liked sandalwood apparently-and the almost dusty scent of the brownie in the front seat. I closed my eyes for a moment, and, for that moment, I felt like it was ten years ago, cruising around New York with my best bud, in the soothing comfort of a chauffeured car on the way to a party.

“We’re here,” Dylan said.

No. 9 Park is housed in an old townhouse on Beacon Hill. Its high-end design makes what would be cramped under normal circumstances feel cozy. The black-clad staff moves with polished smoothness, trained to glide in and out of service without startling the diners. Crisp white tablecloths glow against the muted taupe walls, soft candlelight warming the blemishes away from patrons’ faces. Even though Dylan had been in town only a couple of weeks, it didn’t surprise me in the least that the host knew him. When she offered to take my jacket-which in a place like that is more a subtle directive than a suggestion-I was relieved Dylan had his back to me so he couldn’t see my face. He’d be suspicious if I insisted on keeping my battered leather with me. Left with no opportunity to slip it out unseen, I let the torc go with it. I doubted coat-check theft was a problem at such a place, but such things do cross your mind when you’re smuggling stolen goods.

Dylan ordered wine and leaned back against the banquette. “I love this place. It reminds me of the city.”

I chuckled. “Check the stats, Dyl. Boston is a city.”

He twisted his lips in an exaggerated smile. “You know what I mean. New York misses you, you know.”

I rolled my eyes. “New York misses nothing, and, before you ask, no, I don’t miss it. You’re doing well by it, though.”

A waiter appeared with the wine. “It’s been good,” Dylan said. “The Guildhouse is a challenge, but I’ve managed to make my way.”

I sipped the wine. There was a time when I would never consider how much something that good cost. “Something tells me this assignment is a stepping-stone.”

The edge of his lips twitched. “Of course. I get to use a visit to Auntie Bree as an excuse to further my career.”

That made my eyebrows go up. “I can’t imagine Briallen would be pleased to hear you phrase it like that.”

He snickered. “She’d laugh and call me a naughty boy. She’d be hard-pressed to claim innocence as to where I learned to lie honestly.”

I laughed, too. If Briallen had taught me anything, it was always to appear innocent to further my own ends. Of course, I had taken that too far and confused innocent with oblivious. People hadn’t called me arrogant for nothing. Some still did. “So what’s next? Department Director?”

Dylan lounged back. “Oh, I’m already that. I’m looking to move to a more elite position.”

He was too young to mean Guildmaster. “Black Ops?”

He looked around the restaurant. “You know Black Ops are mythical, Con. It would be an exciting thing to do. If it existed, I mean.”

I poked my cheek out with my tongue. “Of course. What was I thinking?”

The waiter placed a small collection of breads on the table. Dylan ran through several questions with him about the menu, convinced he was missing something, before making a final selection. The waiter topped off our glasses as he left.

Dylan’s eyes shifted back and forth as he looked down. It was a behavioral tic that meant he was sorting through his thoughts. I remembered it well. He glanced up at me. “You know the Weird pretty well, don’t you?”

“Sure. I live there.”

“Have you… have you noticed anything… different lately?”

I exhaled sharply through my nose. “In the Weird? How about every day? Ask me what you want to know, Dylan.”

“What do you know about the Taint, and have you noticed any particular people connected with it?” he asked.

I eyed him for a long moment. “This sounds like Ceridwen’s hearing.”

He gave an indifferent shrug. “The Seelie Court is very worried about the Taint.”

“Everybody is.”

“Come on, Connor. You asked me to be up-front. Return the courtesy.”

I sighed. “What we’ve been calling the Taint is the remnants of the essence from an out-of-control spell. It provokes hidden impulses and desires, usually violently. The only person who had any control over it is dead.”

“Have you noticed anyone trying to control it?”

I knew my smile had an annoyed curl to it. “Only the Guild.”

Dylan ignored the gibe. “What about the Teutonic Consortium?”

I rubbed my hands over my face before answering. “No, I haven’t. Now, can I ask you something? I know you’re loyal to both the Guild and the Seelie Court. If you’re trying to understand the Taint, can you please not assume it has some nefarious Teutonic plot behind it? You sound like Nigel, and he let that assumption blind him to the truth.”

He pursed his lips. “I’ll let you in on a secret, Con. Part of the reason I am here is to track Teutonic spies. That part of my job led me to the Taint, not the other way around. I’m seeing a correlation. I’m not making any assumptions yet.”

“Fair enough.”

Dylan twirled his glass, watching the light reflect in the deep ruby wine. “You’ve had a rough time here.”

I gave an embarrassed shrug. “It’s been a roller coaster. I was pretty bitter about losing my abilities, but I think I’m getting over it.”

Dylan’s eyebrows gathered. “You keep saying you’ve lost your abilities, but you seem to end up pulling off some heavy-duty spells. You either have abilities you never knew you had or you sure as hell have some new ones.”

I hunched forward, cupping my wineglass. “That’s the big question. Most of what’s happened this past year seems lucky, but lately I’ve been starting to wonder. I know I’m blocked from doing lots of things I used to do. At the same time, I can do things I never could before.”

“Like sensing gender in essence,” he said.