My dramatic eye roll is cut off by my squeak of surprise when he starts walking and yanks me along with my hand still in his. The conservatory is fairly busy, but the people naturally move around us without so much as even looking in our direction. As we make our way down the path in front of the North bed, we study the display itself and the tiles along the path that make up the raised beds.

“You know,” I say, as I bend down to run my fingers across a couple of tiles that don’t appear as flush as the rest. “Something I don’t understand is how whatever we’re looking for was placed here to begin with. Vegas wasn’t even a thing back in 1903, right?”

He shakes his head. “The Golden Gate hotel opened in 1905. It was the first establishment of what my father envisioned for this city. He did a lot of celebrating the night of the grand opening.”

“Is that what he told you?”

“No, that’s what my birthday tells me,” he says with a wry grin. “My grandmother knew about me at least three years before I was born, but I doubt she told my dad because he didn’t want another kid. Which means she wouldn’t have involved him in hiding whatever it is we’re looking for.”

“What about your mother?”

“What about her?”

“Would Moira have recruited her to help her?”

He thinks about that as we move on to the West Bed, searching for anything that might resemble a loose stone. “I don’t think my mom would’ve been able to keep it a secret from me all this time, but I suppose it’s possible.”

“If we can’t find what we’re looking for here, it might be worth asking her or anyone else who was around back then.”

“Like Seamus,” he says, his eyebrows raising. “He was my father’s best friend and advisor and he’s like an uncle to us, but I think his loyalty would be to Faerie first. He would’ve done whatever Moira asked and kept her secrets if he thought Faerie’s future depended on it.”

“Sounds like he’s our best bet, then.” Turning my head to the left, I gasp at what I see. “Gods, I can’t believe it.”

“Did you find the stone? Where is it?”

I shake my head. “No, sorry, it’s not that. Come on,” I say, leading him to the far end of the West Bed where I’ve found a piece of my childhood. Hundreds of pale blueish-purple flowers, each with five elongated petals with wavy edges that stretch up toward the sky. I crouch down and cup one of the unique blossoms.

“They’re native to Tír Tairngire. I knew my mom gifted some to a human long before I was born, but I never came across any since being in this realm.” I smile up at him. “I had so much fun with these as a kid.”

“Doing what, making flower crowns?” he asks wryly.

“No, smartass. When I was a kid, we discovered that they react to our power’s heat by forming images. We made a game out of guessing what they’d choose next.”

“Wonder if these would react the same way without Faerie’s magic.”

Nostalgia rises in my chest. Lifting my open palm in front of my face, I summon a small flame, then blow on it. The heat fans out over the tops of the flowers, making them sway slightly as though disturbed by a light breeze, then…nothing.

Straightening, I give a careless shrug to hide my inner child’s disappointment. “Guess we have our answer. Come on, let’s keep looking.”

I start for the South Bed when Finn’s hand catches my wrist. “Taryn.”

Turning back, a zing of excitement rushes through me as the flowers begin to shift. The ones on either side curve toward the ground, turning their blossoms upside-down so that they’re mostly unnoticeable. It leaves a section in the center of four flowers wide that stretches from the front of the bed where we’re standing all the way to the back.

“They made a line,” Finn says.

My brows draw together. “More like a column on a bar graph, but yeah.”

Finn crosses his arms, clearly unimpressed. I can’t say that I blame him. “Maybe the lack of magical environment leads to unimaginative designs.”

“Wait, they’re still moving.” I glance around at the other people milling around the conservatory but no one else seems to notice the shape-shifting flowers. They slowly lean into each other, creating a tighter and narrower column. “Okay, now it’s a line.”

“No,” he says, unfolding his arms and pointing to the far side where a different shape is forming at the end. “It’s an arrow.”

“Oh my gods, Finn, that’s it. I can’t believe I didn’t remember until now. Back home these are called lile lasrach. It means flame lily.”

Our gazes snap together. “Because the petals look like flames. Petal fire.” I nod, then we race around to the other side where the tip of the arrow ends at the edge of the raised bed. “Okay, we only have ‘loosened stone’ and ‘two then three’ left to figure out, and now we have a more concentrated area to search.”

“Don’t you think we probably skipped over the stone part since that came before the arrow?”

“You’re asking the wrong person. Unlike my grandmother, I don’t have the gift of foresight.”

He crosses to the back wall of the conservatory and runs his hand along the wall. While he covers that, I scan the area for anything in groupings of twos or threes. I find several throughout the room but they’re nowhere near the arrow. Finn turns away from the wall and shakes his head. “Nothing.”

I sigh and look down at the floor, but there’s no way any of the floor tiles would be loose. They’d be too noticeable and fixed immediately. That leaves us with… My head turns to where the arrow ends at the lip of the raised bed. I kneel to get a closer look at the small black tiles.

Finn crouches next to me. “See anything?”

“Not yet.” I trail my fingers over the grout lines that span the entire width of the arrow’s head but none of them feel damaged or any different than the ones outside of that perimeter. Sighing in frustration, I sit back on my heels. “I don’t get it. It has to be here.”

“Maybe it was. Someone could’ve discovered whatever it was that was loose and fixed it. Which means whatever we’re searching for may have already been found. Let’s go back to the penthouse and I’ll call Seamus, see if he knows anything.”

Finn braces his hands on his knees and starts to push up but I stop him. “Wait. Let me try something first.”

Licking my lips nervously, I send up a quick prayer to Brigid that this works. My magic feels stronger with every passing hour, but after not being able to use it for so long, my confidence in my abilities is shaken. I rub my fingers against my palms a few times, then hold them out a few inches in front of the low barrier.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes, concentrating on my intention. Then I whisper it into existence. “Creathadh.” Vibrate.

The magic in my blood flows into my hands, sending a wave of energy against my target. When nothing happens, I take another breath and very carefully raise the intensity. If I let too much through it’s possible I won’t just vibrate the tiles, I’ll decimate them and everything else in the vicinity.

Sweat pops out on my brow, and I’m about to give up, when the grout surrounding the very top piece gives way in a tiny shower of dust that lands on the floor. I pull my magic back in and close my hands for good measure as I stare in disbelief.

“Holy shit,” he says.

“Don’t be too impressed. It’s entirely possible I just shook loose a perfectly intact tile that has nothing to do with this.”

“Hey.” Finn uses a finger on my chin to turn my head toward him. When his honey gaze locks onto mine, he brushes his thumb over my cheek and says, “Don’t diminish your gifts, Taryn. I saw the effort it took for you to control that. Whether this pans out or doesn’t, what you did was impressive as hell. Got it?”

Trying not to think about how much his praise means to me, I swallow past the thickness in my throat and force a casual tone. “Got it. Now, are you going to end the suspense, or should we just sit here and contemplate the possibilities?”

A wry grin tilts one corner of his mouth up before he leans in to speak low into my ear. “One of these days, solnyshko, I’m going to bind you in my ropes and find a better use for that smart mouth of yours.”

I don’t get the chance to toss back a retort—not that my brain is capable of anything but static after hearing his deliciously wicked threat—because he pulls away and grabs the barely exposed edges of the tile. I cross my fingers as he wiggles it back and forth to loosen the rest of the grout holding it in place. And then it’s free.

Behind it is a dark, seemingly empty space no larger than a square inch. “Moment of truth.” Finn blows out a breath, then reaches inside with his forefinger. “I feel something.” A second later he’s withdrawing a glass tube with a cork stopper. Inside is a rolled-up piece of⁠—

“Parchment,” I say, staring in awe. “Open it up, let’s see what it says.”

Finn scans the room. “Not here. Let’s get away from these crowds.”