Deceptions: A Cainsville Novel (22 page)

G
abriel was right there, his face taut. He moved away, releasing me fast.

“I couldn’t get you back,” he said, as if in explanation.

“I know. I was just sitting here and . . .” I inhaled. “It’s over now. I got the whole story.”

“I couldn’t get you back,” he said again, and there was a different note in his voice now, almost angry. “You would not come back. Your temperature kept rising, and you were gone.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I—”

“I’m not accusing you of anything, Olivia,” he said as he stood, snapping his shades back on. “I’m telling you that I could not bring you back. It keeps getting worse, and I don’t know . . . I couldn’t get to you—” He bit off the sentence, and I remembered the fire, the terrible fire between the worlds, Arawn shouting, Gwynn shouting, trapped on their opposite sides, Matilda lost in the middle, screaming, as she burned.

They couldn’t save her. Couldn’t get to her.

Gwynn . . .

I closed my eyes. Gabriel wasn’t Gwynn. Thrust into the role, but not the same person, not bound to the same fate, not feeling the same emotions, the same bonds. I had to remember that. Otherwise . . . well, otherwise, I thought I’d go mad, trying to reconcile it, Matilda and Gwynn, me and Gabriel.

“I think it’s over now,” I said. “I’ve seen it all.”

“And you’ll tell me.”

I hesitated.

“Olivia
.
”

“Of course.”
As much as I can, as much as I dare.
“Not here, though. We should go someplace. Maybe . . . Shit! Ricky.” I checked my watch.

“I heard his bike a few minutes ago.”

“He’ll be wondering where I went. Did you text him?”

A cool look. “At the time, I was a little more concerned with snapping you out of a trance state before fever short-circuited your brain.”

I texted, telling Ricky I was out for a walk with Gabriel and heading back now. Then I rose, my knees shaky as I started for the gate.

“We aren’t discussing it, then?” he said.

“Not while Ricky’s waiting with pizza.”

“I should think this is more important than pizza.”

Now I was the one giving him a look. “It is, but he just rode twenty miles to get it for me, and you want me to say I’m too busy to eat it? Or that I’m busy talking to you about things that I can’t tell him . . . when he thinks I’ve told him everything? Unless you
want
me to tell him everything.”

“Fine. But I expect to speak to you tonight about this.”

I nodded and headed out the gate. We’d just reached the walkway beside my building when I heard Ricky’s voice along with another I recognized.

“Patrick,” Gabriel murmured.

Patrick was, technically I guess, one of the Cainsville elders, though the form he took didn’t look much older than me. That was even more disconcerting, given that he was Gabriel’s father. Not that Gabriel knew that. Rose did, and we’d agreed that was one secret we were keeping for now.

Patrick was a
bòcan
. A hobgoblin, which didn’t mean some kind of troll-like creature. The best-known example of a hobgoblin is Puck from
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
, which about sums up Patrick.

I hurried down the lane. Ricky kept glancing over Patrick’s shoulder, clearly eager to be gone but not wanting to be rude.

When he caught sight of me, he grinned, pleasure mixed with relief.

“Hello, Liv. Gabriel,” Patrick said. “We were discussing motorcycles. I might buy one. They look like fun.”

“Isn’t there some kind of rule against that?” I said. “Crossing into enemy territory?”

There was, for one split second, the most wonderful look of surprise on Patrick’s face before he covered it with a breezy grin.

I turned to Ricky. “Gabriel’s joining us for pizza.”

“Actually,” Gabriel began, “Olivia and I need—”

“Can you take it over to Rose’s?” I asked Ricky. “I’ll meet you both there. I’d like to speak to Patrick.”

I waited until they were gone, and then I said to Patrick, “Leave him alone.”

“Which
him
? You have so many.”

“One fewer now.”

His lips pursed. “I wasn’t going to say that. It seemed rude.”

“I’m making a point. James’s death had something to do with this Mallt-y-Nos nonsense.”

“Nonsense?”

“Oh, I know, it’s life or death to you. But to me? It’s a whole other kind of life or death. The kind that is getting people I care about killed. And other people I care about charged with murder.”

“That is unfortunate.”

“Unfortunate
?
”
I choked with sudden rage. “He’s your
son
. I know that doesn’t mean fuck-all to you, but could you at least have the decency to acknowledge he’s in trouble?”

Patrick had abandoned Gabriel. No, not abandoned him, because he’d always been in Cainsville, like an old family friend—and that somehow made it worse, made it colder. He’d seen the hell that had been Gabriel’s young life, and he’d stood back and watched, then dared to claim it was for Gabriel’s own good. Tempering steel, he’d said.

“Take a deep breath,” Patrick said.

My fists clenched.

“You can hit me if it’ll make you feel better. I promise not to hold it against you. It won’t do any lasting damage.”

“Then why would I bother?”

The son of a bitch smiled.

I forced myself to continue. “I would appreciate it if you could see fit to at least acknowledge what is happening with Gabriel the next time you see him. At least say you’re sure it will all be fine.”

“But he will be fine. He obviously didn’t kill the man, and he’s an excellent lawyer. He’ll fix this.”

“And if not, well, hey, what better way to toughen him up than twelve years in maximum security?”

“I’ll acknowledge the situation and express my certainty that it will resolve itself.”

“On second thought, don’t bother. You’ll only screw up that, too.”

He met my gaze with a cool look, one of the few times I could see a resemblance to his son. “I might suggest you moderate your tone with me, Olivia.”

“You don’t like it,
bòcan
? Then curdle the cream and get me fired. Oh, wait, no . . . I have another job.” I headed for Rose’s. “And stay away from Ricky.”

“I was simply talking to him,” he called after me. “I have no issue with him being here. In fact, I find it an intriguing set of circumstances.”

“No, you find it an
amusing
set of circumstances. You love seeing the elders squirm, and what’s better than this? They’ve pinned all their hopes on me, certain I’ll hook up with their golden boy and save them from extinction, and instead, the competition is sharing my bed, in their own town, and there’s not a damn thing they can do about it.”

His lips quirked. “It is rather amusing.”

“For you. Not so much for me. Or Gabriel. Or James. Or any of us caught up in this mess. I’d think you’d be less amused, given the ending if I ride off with Ricky. I hear it would be your ending, too.”

“Hardly. They’ll go down with the ship. I’ll bail. I’ve done it before.”

“Like a rat.”

“An apt comparison.”

“Then none of this concerns you, so unless you can help, stay the hell away from Ricky. From both of them, in fact. And speaking of helping, if you know anything that can assist Gabriel’s defense—anything at all—you’d better—”

“I would let you know. You don’t need to threaten me. In fact, I daresay you’d better not.”

“And again, I don’t give a flying fuck.”

“You’re angry with the elders, but you’re furious with me. They lie to you. They deceive you. They’ll use you if they can. But my crime is greater because you believe I’ve wronged
him
.”

I followed his gaze to see Gabriel at the end of the passageway, standing back on the sidewalk, out of earshot, but waiting and watching.

“Can I leave now? I have pizza waiting.”

He smiled. “Pizza. That’s very important. You can leave anytime you want. But you aren’t foolish enough to turn your back on me. Remember this,
bychan
. I’m no threat to you. Or to him. I can be an ally, if you can put aside your anger long enough to ask for help. If not for your sake, then for . . .”

He nodded toward Gabriel, and fresh rage whipped through me.

“Yes, I’m exploiting your weakness,” he said. “I’m not above that. In fact, as you might imagine, I’m extremely pleased by it. Gabriel doesn’t need my help or my support. He has more than enough of yours.”

I glared at him.

“You think I mock you,” he said. “I don’t. You might not be sleeping with my son, but sex is only sex. If a choice were to be made, I have no doubt who it would be. It’s the Cwn Annwn who should be worried.”

“No, it’s both sides that should be worried, because I’m not playing your little game.”

“I’m afraid you don’t have that option,
bychan
.”

“Oh, I think I do.”

I turned and strode back to Gabriel.

R
icky and I were back from Rose’s, lying in bed after sex. TC was perched on the foot of it, staring at us. Ricky was on his back, eyes half closed, arm around me as I traced the Celtic crown tattoo on his upper arm.

“That one is for my dad,” he said. “Since you’ll never ask me to explain. The triskele is for my nana and the asklepian for my mom. Obviously, the patch is for the Saints.” His gaze shifted to my hip, his fingers tracing the dip of my waist. “I want to get one for us, like we discussed. But I don’t want to without . . .” He frowned. “Your permission? Does that sound right? Sure, it’s my body, but if you get a tattoo because of a girl and she doesn’t want you to, then it’s kind of awkward. And a little creepy.”

“A big ‘Property Of’ sign would be fine with me.”

He laughed, so loud it startled the cat. “I’m tempted to do that, with a Sharpie, just to see the look of horror on your face.” He sobered. “Is that a yes? Or are you kidding in hopes of changing the subject?”

I leaned in to kiss him. “No games, remember? I would be honored to have a permanent place on your body. And, yes, I know the tattoo isn’t about
expecting
anything permanent. It’s memorializing me.”

He sputtered a laugh. “That makes it sound as if you’re dead. It’s like the rest of my tattoos—marking someone or something significant in my life.”

“I want one, too.” I rolled half onto his chest, looking down at him. “Like we discussed.”

“You don’t have to, Liv.”

“I want to.”

He studied my face, then gave a slow smile. “Okay. But I’m going to insist you get a small design, something easily hidden. I have an idea, too.”

He reached down for my jeans and pulled something from the pocket. It was the boar’s tusk given to me by one of the Cwn Annwn.

He’d first seen it the night we’d heard the Wild Hunt, and I remembered the fascination glittering in his eyes as he’d turned it over in his hand. A gut-level recognition that this was significant somehow. Like his grandmother’s stories of the Hunt.

I should have known what he was.

The girl was right. I
had
known. Deep down.

He pointed to a symbol on the tusk—a Celtic-style sun and moon, intertwined. “For my tattoo, I’d like this. It reminds me of you. Don’t ask me why. It just does.”

The sun and the moon. Tylwyth Teg and Cwn Annwn. Two halves of my whole.

I ran my fingers over the engravings of the moon. The symbol of the Cwn Annwn. Ricky’s symbol. It fit him. It always had, and maybe it wasn’t what I wanted for him, but it
was
him. There was no changing that. For Ricky, then, I chose this design. When I said that, I thought he’d ask why, but he only nodded, looking pleased.

I put the tusk aside. “Okay, so we have the design. Where should I put it?”

His grin was devilish now as he rolled me onto my back. “Well, that’s going to take some exploration. If the spot’s too hard, it’ll hurt too much. Too soft, and it’s really not going to look as good in thirty years.”

I stretched out, hands behind my head, covers kicked off. “Explore away. I trust your judgment.”

—

I woke to the buzz heralding a text message. As I reached for my phone, I glanced out the window. It was pitch-black . . . except for a faint glow from Rose’s house. Shit.

Sure enough, I had three texts from Gabriel. They grew increasingly terse as I failed to reply. The last was simply:
Are you coming?

I looked out the window at that light. I could feel the pull of it.
Go talk to Gabriel. He’s waiting for you.

I glanced at Ricky, soundly sleeping, his leg over mine, his hand on my hip.

Patrick said that if I was forced to choose between Ricky and Gabriel, he had no doubt whom it would be. I remembered the smug smile on his lips, the conviction in his eyes.

I cared about Gabriel. Deeply. But we weren’t Gwynn and Matilda, no more than Ricky and I were Arawn and Matilda.

I sent back a message.
Talk tomorrow
. And the light across the road went out.

—

I woke to a message that Gabriel had headed home the night before, so I needed to drive myself to the office. I arrived expecting to talk to him about my vision, only to discover he’d retreated with his door closed. He’d left work for me in the meeting room. Lydia buzzed to tell him I was there. He didn’t come out.

Gabriel had left me Pamela’s file. The note on top gave me instructions. Or I think they were instructions. It was exactly two words:
Inconsistencies
.
Motive
. Motive was underlined twice.

If there were inconsistencies in the Larsens’ case, he’d have found them by now. As for motive—seriously? No one had figured out my parents’ motive during their trial. How the hell was I supposed to?

More information would help. Hell, actual sentences would help. But I dug in.

—

When a client arrived, I gathered my work and went into the reception area. The client—a guy wearing an expensive but ill-fitting suit—glared as if I’d cut him off in traffic. Gabriel ushered him into the meeting room without a glance my way.

It was not a long session. It consisted of a lot of angry words from the client, followed by the only two that counted:
You’re fired.

The man stormed out. Then his shoes squeaked as he pulled up in front of me.

“Let me give you a word of advice, girlie,” he said. “Unless you want your boyfriend defending traffic violations, you’d better back the hell off and let him do his job.”

Gabriel beat me to a reply, saying, “Ms. Jones is my employee and my client.”

“Really?” The man snorted. “If you aren’t at least getting some pussy out of the deal, then you really are an idiot. You want some advice, boy? A couple hundred bucks will buy you better and won’t cost you clients.”

The man stomped out. Gabriel glanced at Lydia. “Please move Mr. Harris’s file to the drawer for former clients and prepare his final bill. How many is that so far?”

“Three, but you’ve—”

“That’s all I asked.” He turned his gaze my way, just for a second, empty eyes meeting mine; then he returned to his office.

I slid my chair up to Lydia’s desk. “He’s lost three clients because of me?”

“Three
minor
clients, with
minor
cases. Since Edgar Chandler’s confession, I’m fielding a half-dozen calls from potential clients a day. He’s not mentioning that part because he’s fuming about something. I take it you two had a falling-out?”

“Actually, no. There’s a reason he might be annoyed with me, but this is beyond annoyance.”

“Then it’s stress. It’ll pass.”

Maybe, but if he
was
that upset with me, working it out might decrease his stress.

I rapped on his door. When he didn’t answer, I turned the handle.

“Yes?” he said, voice crackling with such irritation you’d think I’d pranced in ahead of a marching band.

“Can we talk?”

He waved a hand across his desk, covered in files.

I closed the door behind me. “I wanted to apologize.”

“I’m busy, Olivia.” An emphatic gesture at his desk.

“If you’re upset about last night . . .”

“Why would I be?” He lifted those empty blue eyes to mine. “First I had to stop you from going to the Carew house—”

“No, I was coming back on my own. I realized I was doing something stupid—”

“Then you went and had a vision anyway, knowing how I felt about it.”

“I was
sitting
on a
bench
. The vision came—”

“I do not have time for this, Olivia. You can see the state of my business . . . in addition to the murder charge I now face.”

“After weeks of telling me that you’re helping because you want to—and because it’ll further your career—you’ve suddenly decided I’m ruining that career?”

“I did not say—”

“Bullshit.” I strode over and put my hands on his desk. “You are in a pissy, pissy mood. Lydia says you’re stressed. Completely understandable. But do not take it out on me. Yes, maybe I didn’t handle last night as well as I should have. I apologize for that.”

“I have work to do, Olivia.” His eyes were ice-cold. “And if you intend to keep your job, I might suggest you do as well.”

The temptation to quit then and there was almost overwhelming. Instead, I straightened, said, “Yes, sir,” and walked out.