I knew fairies weren’t limited to the night, as the vamps were. I knew they were very strong, as strong as vampires. I knew the fae who were actual fairies (as opposed to the fae who were brownies or goblins or elves) were beautiful and ruthless; that even vampires respected the ferocity of the fairies. The oldest fairies didn’t always live in this world, as Claudine and Claude did; there was somewhere else they could go, a shrinking and secret world they found vastly preferable to this one: a world without iron. If they could limit their exposure to iron, fairies lived so long that they couldn’t keep track of the years. Niall, for example, tossed around hundreds of years in his conversational chronology in a very inconsistent way. He might describe some event as being five hundred years ago, when another event that predated it was earmarked two hundred years ago. He simply couldn’t keep track of the passage of time, maybe partly because he didn’t spend most of that time in our world.

I wracked my brain for any other information. I did know one other thing, and I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten it even momentarily. If iron is bad for fairies, lemon juice is even worse. Claude and Claudine’s sister had been murdered with lemon juice.

Now that I thought of them, I thought it might be helpful for me to talk to Claude and Claudine. Not only were they my cousins, but Claudine was my fairy godmother, and she was supposed to help me. She’d be at work at the department store where she handled complaints and wrapped packages and took layaway payments. Claude would be at the male strip club he now owned and managed. He’d be easier to reach. I went inside to look up the number. Claude actually answered the phone himself.

“Yes,” he said, managing to convey indifference, contempt, and boredom in the one word.

“Hi, sweetie!” I said brightly. “I need to talk to you face-to-face. Can I run over there, or are you busy?”

“No, don’t come here!” Claude sounded almost alarmed at the idea. “I’ll meet you at the mall.”

The twins lived in Monroe, which boasted a nice mall.

“Okay,” I said. “Where and when?”

There was a moment of silence. “Claudine can get off late for lunch. We’ll meet you in an hour and a half in the food court, around Chick-fil-A.”

“See you there,” I said, and Claude hung up. Mr. Charm. I hustled into my favorite jeans and a green and white T-shirt. I brushed my hair vigorously. It had gotten so long I found it a lot of trouble to deal with, but I couldn’t bring myself to cut it.

Since I’d exchanged blood with Eric several times, not only had I not caught so much as a cold, but I didn’t even have split ends. Plus, my hair was shinier and actually looked thicker.

I wasn’t surprised that people bought vampire blood on the black market. It did surprise me that people were foolish enough to trust the sellers when they said that the red stuff was actually genuine vampire blood. Often the vials contained TrueBlood, or pig’s blood, or even the Drainer’s own blood. If the purchaser did get genuine vampire blood, it was aged and might easily drive the consumer mad. I would never have gone to a Drainer to buy vampire blood. But now that I’d had it several times (and very fresh), I didn’t even need to use makeup base. My skin was flawless. Thanks, Eric!

I don’t know why I bothered with being proud of myself, because no one was going to look at me twice when I was with Claude. He’s close to six feet tall, with rippling black hair and brown eyes, the physique of a stripper (six-pack abs and all), and the jaw and cheekbones of a Renaissance statue. Unfortunately, he has the personality of a statue, too.

Today Claude was wearing khakis and a tight tank top under an open green silk shirt. He was playing with a pair of dark glasses. Though Claude’s facial expressions when he wasn’t “on” ranged from blank to sullen, today he actually seemed nervous. He scanned the food court area as if he suspected that someone had followed me, and he didn’t relax when I dropped into a chair at his table. He had a Chick-fil-A cup in front of him, but he hadn’t gotten anything to eat, so I didn’t, either.

“Cousin,” he said, “are you well?” He didn’t even try to sound sincere, but at least he said the right words. Claude had gotten marginally more polite when I’d discovered my great-grandfather was his grandfather, but he’d never forget I was (mostly) human. Claude had as much contempt for humans as most fairies did, but he was definitely fond of bedding humans—as long as they had beard stubble.

“Yes, thank you, Claude. It’s been a while.”

“Since we met? Yes.” And that was just fine with him. “How can I help you? Oh, here comes Claudine.” He looked relieved.

Claudine was wearing a brown suit with big gold buttons and a brown, cream, and tan striped blouse. She dressed very conservatively for work, and though the outfit was becoming, something about the cut made her look somewhat less slim, I noticed. She was Claude’s twin; there had been another sister, their triplet Claudette, but Claudette had been murdered. I guess if there are two remaining out of three, you call the living two “twins”? Claudine was as tall as Claude, and as she bent to kiss him on the cheek, their hair (exactly the same shade) mingled in a cascade of dark ripples. She kissed me, too. I wondered if all the fae are as into physical contact as the fairies are. My cousin had a trayful of food: French fries, chicken nuggets, some kind of dessert, a big sugary drink.

“What kind of trouble is Niall in?” I asked, going directly to the point. “What kind of enemies does he have? Are they all actual fairies? Or are they some other kind of fae?”

There was a moment of silence while Claudine and Claude noted my brisk mood. They weren’t at all surprised at my questions, which I thought was significant.

“Our enemies are fairies,” Claudine said. “The other fae don’t mix in our politics, as a rule, though we’re all variations on the same theme—like pygmies, Caucasians, and Asians are variations on human beings.” She looked sad. “All of us are less than we used to be.” She tore open a ketchup package and squirted it all over her fries. She stuck three fries in her mouth at one time. Wow, hungry.

“It would take hours to explain our whole lineage,” Claude said, but he wasn’t dismissing me. He was simply stating a fact. “We come from the line of fairies that claims kinship to the sky. Our grandfather, your great-grandfather, is one of the few surviving members of our royal family.”

“He’s a prince,” I said, because that was one of the few facts I knew.Prince Charming. Prince Valiant. Prince of the City . The title carried a lot of weight.

“Yes. There is another prince, Breandan.” Claude pronounced it “Bren-DAWN.” Diantha had mentioned Breandan. “He is the son of Niall’s older brother, Rogan. Rogan claimed kinship to the sea, and from there his influence spread to all bodies of water. Rogan recently has gone to the Summerlands.”

“Dead,” Claudine translated before she took a bite of her chicken.

Claude shrugged. “Yes, Rogan’s dead. He was the only one who could rein in Breandan. And you should know, Breandan’s the one who—” But Claude stopped in midsentence, because his sister had her hand clamped down on his arm. A woman who was feeding a little boy French fries looked over at us curiously, her attention attracted by Claudine’s sudden gesture. Claudine gave Claude a look that could blister paint. He nodded, removed his arm from her grip, and began to speak again. “Breandan disagrees very strongly with Niall about policy. He . . .”

The twins looked at each other. Finally Claudine nodded.

“Breandan believes all the humans with fairy blood should be eradicated. He believes every time one of us mates with a human, we lose some of our magic.”

I cleared my throat, trying to get rid of the lump of fear that had risen to block it. “So Breandan’s an enemy. Any more royalty on Niall’s side?” I asked in a choked voice.