His jaw ticked visibly. “What would be?”
“I want to know what happened that day. In London. When we were kids.”
There was a silence.
I saw it, the way his pupils contracted. I saw his complexion change.
“I don’t know what?”
“Bollocks,” I cut in warningly. “You do know. You remember. I know you do. I want to know who killed my parents. And you were there. I want you to tell me everything you know about that day, and who was involved. And I want your help to find out why.”
Was I imagining things, or did I see a flicker of relief touch his eyes?
Why did it look like he thought he’d dodged a bullet?
“I didn’t see anything,” he said, a little too quickly.
“You know more than I do. You have to knowloadsmore than me.”
He shook his head, certainty in his gold eyes. “I don’t, though. I don’t know anything.”
“What were you doing there?” I demanded.
“Doesn’t matter.”
I let out a disbelieving, humorless laugh. “I strongly disagree.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he repeated, that warning bleeding back into his voice. “It had absolutely nothing to do with your parents, Shadow.”
“Your parents aren’t with the Praecuri?” I pressed. “You weren’t there with them?”
He stared at me blankly. Then he let out a dark laugh.
“You thinkmyparents, Malefic and Vaevarya Bones, were there as members of the Praecuri?” He scoffed openly, contempt in his voice. “You clearly knownothingabout my family if you think they’d stoop to being employed in a profession. Particularly one requiring they spend most of their time in Overworld.”
His voice grew a layer of disgust mixed with disbelief.
“And in what world do you think the Praecuri bring theirchildrenwith them out in the field to commit extralegal assassinations?” His eyebrow rose. “Seriously, did your La Fey mother drop you on your head when you were an infant? Or is this embarrassing stupidity of yours genetic?”
My jaw hardened. “So you can’t help me,” I said. “Why on earth would I help you?”
“I told you why,” he snapped.
I shook my head, once. “And I told you, it’s not good enough.”
He pulled his hands out of his pockets to rest them on his hips.
After another moment, he exhaled, then nodded slowly.
“Fine. I’ll help you,” he said. “With both things. They’re probably connected, anyway.”
I was about to open my mouth, but he cut me off.
“Whoever’s trying to kill you is likely the same person who killed your parents,” he said, with maddening reasonableness. “Or hadn’t that occurred to you yet, mongrel?”
“You get to stop calling me that, too,” I warned.
He shook his head, but he was smirking now. He knew he had me. His last comment alone had my head spinning, thinking about whether he might be right.
