Free When the Stars Threw Down Their Spears: The Goblin Wars, Book Three by Kersten Hamilton

walking.”
    “That’s true,” Mr. Wylltson said. “Things are much more serious than I’d thought when Mamieo invited you. You don’t need to be involved. I wish to God none of us did.”
    Seamus looked around the room. “You are all going to”— his eyes rested on Aiden, and he hesitated—“need to build traps. Really good traps.”
    You are all going to die . Teagan was sure that was what Seamus had started to say. He just couldn’t bring himself to say it to a six-year-old.
    Aiden took his hands from his head. “That’s what I said!”
    “The angel’s in the kitchen,” Thomas offered. “I’m afraid he’s having a little difficulty reconciling himself to being in the same house with me.”
    “Because you’re lhiannon-sídhe ?”
    “Because Thomas killed Raynor’s brother,” Mr. Wylltson explained.
    “He killed an angel?”
    Aiden folded his arms and frowned. “ On purpose . But Dad says we have to let him stay because he loves Aunt Roisin.”

Six
    “T ECHNICALLY , he killed himself,” Thomas said. “I was just the catalyst. Geert was a musician and a poet with a touch of melancholy, which made it simple to inspire certain thoughts.”
    “Come on.” Mamieo took Seamus by the elbow and dragged him toward the kitchen. “I’ll introduce you to Raynor.”
    Teagan followed them. The Wylltsons’ kitchen was huge, stretching across the whole back of the house. Raynor was on his knees in the corner that had once been her mother’s art studio. His blue work shirt and jeans showed evidence of living in the park for days, but his blond hair was neatly pulled into a ponytail as always, and his round glasses gave him a quizzical, wizardly air. Some of the motorbike parts he’d been collecting—the frame and rims, gas tank and handlebars—were together now, but the engine was in pieces, spread across newspaper on the floor. Tea realized this was the stuff he had gone back to salvage from the park. He’d been hiding the parts in the bushes and working on it at night.
    “Raynor!” Mamieo put her hands on her hips.
    The angel pointed a greasy finger at John Paul Wylltson, who’d just stepped through the door behind them. “He said I could.”
    “In the kitchen , John Paul?”
    “He said he needs to keep his hands busy.” Mr. Wylltson glanced back toward the living room, where Thomas sat. “It keeps his mind off . . . other things.”
    It was a large motorbike, even for such a huge kitchen. Raynor was taking up well over half of the room. Teagan was sure there were more parts now than he’d had at the park. Perhaps he’d found some kind of delivery service. She saw a box with a label from California that had definitely not been sitting out behind the library. It had just been opened.
    Seamus stepped forward. “Mamieo claims you’re a holy angel.”
    “Only the Creator is holy,” Raynor said, wiping his hands on a red grease rag. “But I am an angel.”
    The lawyer’s eyes went past him to the parts scattered over the floor, and his face paled. “My God, that’s an Indian Four!”
    “Just an angel,” Raynor said. “We’ve established that. But yes, it is a 1930 Indian Four.” Raynor pulled a magazine page from his pocket and unfolded it. The shiny red motorbike in the photograph had only the vaguest resemblance to the things spread over the papers, but the four massive cylinders and the lettering on the gas tank were recognizable enough.
    Seamus said, “It will bring you at least sixty thousand on the open market when you’ve finished restoring it. Do you have a buyer?”
    “I’m not going to sell it.” Raynor took a protective step toward the frame. “I’m going to ride it.”
    Seamus reached out and touched the lettering on the tank. “I’ve dreamed about this motorbike since I was a kid.”
    “Lots of people dream of the Indian Four,” Raynor said. “One of the most beautiful motorbikes ever made. She’s got a seventy-seven-cubic-inch engine—”
    Teagan edged