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“A sleeping bag in the spare bedroom.”
Kane finally shifted his intense stare to me. “You could’ve told me about this arrangement.”
“It only just happened. I’m sorry I didn’t have a chance to type out the memo, not that it’s any of your business.” I waved a hand at the door. “Are you coming in? You’re letting in the cold air. My radiators aren’t functional enough to be working overtime.”
Kane took an exaggerated step across the threshold.
“Don’t even think about marking your territory,” I whispered. “I don’t want the house to smell like pee. Nana Pratt will lose her mind.”
“I’m searching for my lost sibling,” Sian announced. “And Lorelei has kindly offered to assist me.”
“Has she now?” Kane looked at me. “She tends to overextend herself in matters that don’t concern her.”
“I could say the same thing about you.” I smiled at the fae. “Sian, would you mind giving us a minute alone?”
“I would be happy to boil water for tea, Lorelei.”
Kane scoffed. “Lorelei is perfectly capable of making tea in her own home.”
“I am, but isn’t it nice to have someone else willing to do it for me?” I looked at Sian. “That would be great, thank you. Make enough for three. I get the sense Mr. Sullivan will be joining us.”
Sian bowed slightly before dipping into the kitchen.
Kane stared at me with an inscrutable expression.
“What?” I asked.
“Is he at least paying you for your detective work?”
“You said yourself I’m the liminal deity for the crossroads, remember? How could I request payment to help him find a changeling?”
Kane stuffed his hands in his trouser pockets. “I’m beginning to regret telling you that.”
I tried a different approach. “The sooner we find the changeling, the sooner Mr. Pretty Boy skips back to Faerie.”
“You think he’s pretty, do you?”
Ooh, a direct hit. Somebody’s fourth deadly sin was showing. “Come on, Kane. There isn’t a creature alive that would describe Sian any other way. He’s like a walking Renaissance painting.”
The demon’s gaze flicked to where Sian had been standing. “I suppose you’re right.”
“Hold on.” I tugged my phone from my back pocket and opened the calendar app.
Kane leaned over. “What are you doing?”
“Marking this day down for posterity. I don’t know if I’ll ever hear you utter that sentence again.”
Kane’s nostrils flared. “What information do we have to help us find the changeling?”
“A nineteen-year-old girl named Rhiannon adopted as an infant by a Fairhaven woman.”
“And do we have the name of the woman?”
“Only a first name. Sarah.”
Lines rippled across Kane’s brow. “Why doesn’t he know her last name? Surely the fae recall the full name of the woman with whom they entrusted their child?”
“Not according to Sian.”
