"Todd Larsen," he said.
"Y-yes, sir."
"You found and dispatched our prey. I presume those summoning symbols mean you wish something in return."
I told him what I wanted. Then I waited for him to laugh. To mock me. Scorn me. Or just turn and walk away.
Instead, he said, "Spina bifida..."
"Yes, sir. It's a condition--"
"I know what it is. A failure of completion. What is the name of the child's mother?"
I hesitated. I didn't want to tell him, but that was stupid--he could find out easily enough.
"Pamela."
"Family name?"
"Bowen."
He went still, and when he looked at me, I saw the shape of a face under that cowl. "Bowen? Where is her family from?"
"She grew up in Chicago, but her family is from a little town near here."
"Which town?"
"Cainsville."
The Huntsman exhaled. Silence. Then he nodded. "We can do this for you."
"Wh-what?"
"We can heal your daughter. There will, however, be a price. A blood price."
I looked at Kirkman's corpse.
"More than that, I'm afraid," the Huntsman said. "But I can assure you, they will all be equally deserving. The magic you need requires blood sacrifice. The exact nature of those sacrifices does not matter, so we will find you those whom we would take ourselves, had they committed crimes within our purview."
"They..." I swallowed, tasting vomit and bile and blood. "How many?"
Even as I said the words, my brain rebelled. Shouted that even one more was too much, that I could not do this again, could not.
The Huntsman didn't answer, and when I looked up, he was searching my face again.
"How many?" I repeated.
"I would need to make the proper inquiries and determine the sacrifice required. It will be more than one. Likely more than two."
I can't. I'm sorry, I just...
"It would not need to be like this," he said, his voice softer. "You were angry here. These would be fitting executions of killers who, like this man, cannot be allowed to live or they will continue killing."
I nodded. That's all I could manage. Nod, even as my brain screamed that I couldn't do it.
"Think on it," the Huntsman said. "While I conduct my investigations, you give it more thought. Meet me back here in a week, and we will discuss it further."
I nodded, and the Huntsman backed away, leaving me staring at Kirkman's bloodied corpse.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
I rose from Todd's memories slowly, almost groggily. I could see light and moved toward it until the light became a room, and I was sitting in front of him, and he was staring at me, his eyes round with horror, my hand still on his arm.
"You...you saw..."
The scene flooded back. Everything he'd felt flooded back.
I yanked my hand away as my eyes filled with tears.
"Not quite as innocent as you thought," he said, with a smile that was more grimace, like he was trying not to throw up. He pushed his chair back. "Okay, I...I'll go..."
He got one step before I leapt up and took his arm.
"No. Please," I said. "I knew...I'd already figured out...I just had to see...I'm sorry. I should have just asked, but I had to know."
"You didn't do it," Gabriel said from his spot near the door. "I did."
I shook my head. "I planned to. I would have. It was wrong, and I knew that before I did it, which only makes it worse."
Todd returned to his chair. He lowered himself into it and rubbed his mouth.
"I'm really, really sorry," I said, tears threatening again.
"No, you were right. And Gabriel was right to help when you couldn't. You had to know the whole thing. See the whole thing. What I did. What I didn't do. Couldn't do. I should have..." He shook his head. "I think that makes it worse. That I started it and couldn't finish. I didn't have faith. Your mother did."
"No, my mother was just willing to take the chance. It isn't..." I sat again. "It wasn't the same for her. It didn't feel the same. Killing someone."
"They all deserved it."
He sat with his hands on the table, his gaze fixed on them.
"Can I ask...?" I couldn't finish.
He lifted his gaze to mine and said, "Anything, Olivia. You've seen the worst. You can ask me anything."
"Did you talk to Pamela after that? Did she go to that meeting instead of you? Or did you go and then talk to her?"
He shook his head. "I didn't go. I never told her. She found out, somehow. They must have approached her. She once asked me..."
"What would you do to cure me," I said. "Whether you'd kill someone who deserved to die. I saw it in a vision. That's how I knew it was her, not you."
"Which should have told me that she knew about the deal. I never even considered that. I thought..." He shook his head. "I thought maybe I was talking in my sleep or...I don't even know. I didn't want to think about it. I missed that meeting, but I was still considering doing it, working up the nerve. Before I did, you started getting better, and I breathed a huge sigh of relief. It wasn't until we were arrested that I realized Pam had done it in my place. It never occurred to me that the Cwn Annwn would approach her."
I snuck a look at the Huntsman guard, who shook his head.
"They didn't," I said. "Pamela went to them. She took that meeting in your place."
The guard nodded, confirming.
"I had another vision," I said. "Me, as a baby. She was meeting with them at the house. The Cwn Annwn thought you knew about the deal and that she was handling the details in your place."
Todd glanced at the guard. "Is that true, Keating?" When the Huntsman blinked, Todd gave a wry smile. "I'm not that clueless. I know what you are. Otherwise, I'd hardly talk about this in front of you. Is Liv right?"
Keating nodded. "Pamela came to the meeting. She said you two had decided it was better if she handled all contact. You'd taken care of Kirkman, and you had a connection to him, so it was safer to remove you from the conversations. Also, if anything went wrong, the police would be less likely to suspect a woman. We dealt with her on the understanding you were involved. It wasn't until Olivia uncovered the truth that we realized we'd been tricked."
"But how..." Todd looked from me to the guard. "I never said a word to her."
"You heard someone in the woods that night," I said. "Several times. You thought you were being paranoid. You weren't. Pamela followed you. She was worried you were cheating on her, so she followed."
We lapsed into silence. Then Keating said, "Pamela needs to tell the truth. To let you out of here." He turned to Gabriel. "That will set him free, won't it? A confession from her?"
"It would add to the grounds for appeal, but..."
"It's not a get-out-of-jail-free card," Todd said. "Which is why we're avoiding that option until we've exhausted the others. After what Liv saw, I think everyone can understand why I'm refusing. I did kill someone. I'm no better than Pam. No less guilty."
"The crime is not the deaths," Keating said. "The crime was sacrificing your freedom. She took you from your daughter. She took you from your life. One word from her--"
"Pamela and I agreed never to turn on one another."
"The only honorable one here is you, Todd, for not condemning her. It was her duty to tell the truth--for you and for your daughter."
Todd shook his head.
Keating grumbled under his breath and said to us, "Pointless. Always pointless. He has too much of our blood, and he will do the right thing, even when it is the wrong thing."
Todd's lips twitched. "You realize that makes no sense."
"Yes, it does. Come on, then. Back to that cell you so obviously love."
--
I was quiet on the way out. When I looked over at Gabriel, he walked purposefully, his face set in that way that sent anyone in his path scurrying.
I wanted to say something, but I couldn'
t until we were in the parking lot, and then it was only, "We have things to do."
"Yes." The word came clipped, as if annoyed by the reminder of the obvious.
"I don't want to do them."
He looked at me then, gaze hidden behind his shades.
"We need to speak to Ioan about this and the sluagh," I said. "We need to figure out what Seanna knows about Kirkman and how to stop her from using that information. We need to get back to figuring out the meaning of that damned ritual I saw at the fun house, which has gotten completely lost in the crap with Seanna and the sluagh. And I don't want to do any of it. I just want to..."
"What?"
"The same damn thing I've been wanting since this started. A break."
"You're upset."
I wrapped my arms around myself. "I'm a lot of things. Frustrated, confused, angry. Scared." Hands back in pockets. "Ignore me. I'm being a brat."
"I need clothing," he said as we reached the car. "If we're going to stay in Cainsville for the foreseeable future, I need to pack a bag."
I managed a wan smile. "Add that to the list, then. We'll grab it after we speak to Ioan."
"We should do it now. It may take a while."
I realized then what he was saying. Not adding yet another task to the list, but giving me an excuse to rest someplace quiet.
When we were in the car, I said, "I like the way you push me."
He frowned, one hand on the ignition.
"Easy is, well, easy," I said. "It's someone who accepts me exactly the way I am, which seems great, no pressure, no expectations. But then it chafes. Makes me restless. I don't want someone constantly pointing out my flaws. That's toxic. But you get it right. What's the old saying? Have the serenity to accept the things you can't change, the courage to change what you can, and the wisdom to know the difference?"
His brow furrowed as if he was trying to figure out what the hell I was talking about.
"You do that," I said. "You accept what I can't change, and you push me to do the things I can."
"All right..."
"Don't ever stop doing that. Please. I want to be better. Be stronger. If I waver, don't fix things for me."
He gave a slow and careful nod. "I apologize. I realized I made a mistake as soon as I did it. I was trying to help, but that was the wrong way to go about it."
"Umm, this isn't about making a side trip to your apartment, is it?"
"You were talking about that?"
"And you weren't," I said.
"I was talking about putting your hand on Todd's arm. That wasn't my place."
"No, it was." I turned to him. "It absolutely was. I could have resisted if I disagreed. I'm only sorry you needed to push me."
"You were intruding on what is probably your father's worst memory, but you needed that information. Accessing memories is like reading omens or seeing visions. They provide what you need. What no one will--or can--give you."
"The truth."
"Yes. As for going to my apartment, I think we both need a break right now." He paused. "I would like one."
"Good."
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
As we were pulling into the condo garage, Detective Fahy called to remind Gabriel that his mother was still missing, presumed dead, and that she strongly considered him a person of interest. That was exactly what he needed right now.
On the elevator up, Gabriel seethed. He didn't say a word. Didn't even stab the buttons. That would be a loss of control. The angrier Gabriel gets, the more tightly he reins it in.
By the time that ride ended, I felt like I'd been locked with a keg of dynamite and a smoldering wick that sucked all the air from the tiny room. I wanted that keg to explode, blow the doors off, let me breathe. Because if Gabriel didn't vent his frustration, then slamming a door or cursing would make me seem selfish.
Look at me. I'm pissed off and I'm frustrated and I'm hurting. Pay attention to me. I'm the one who matters.
Gabriel unlocked his condo door so slowly I wanted to rip the key from his hand and do it myself. He was being deliberate, resisting the urge to throw the door open, stalk inside, and say, Fuck this. Fuck all this.
He'd gone about three steps when he seemed to forget why he was there. He stopped. I circled wide, careful not to startle him, in case he'd forgotten I was there. And he did seem to have, his eyes widening when I moved in front of him. Then he gave an abrupt nod.
"Yes. Packing. I need..."
He turned, and it was like his brain cut out, every ounce of energy spent keeping his temper reined. When his phone beeped, he tensed so fast I thought he'd throw it again.
He pulled it out and saw the damage from when he'd whipped it into the wall. Then he carefully and deliberately set it on the table, as if to say, I won't do that again.
I moved in front of him again, slowly, but he still jumped.
"Sorry," I said.
"No, I just..." He looked around, as if trying again to remember what he'd come here for.
I reached up, lacing my hands behind his neck, braced for him to tense. Instead, he closed his eyes, relaxing and leaning into my hands. I moved closer, my body brushing his, fingers moving up into his hair. He exhaled, the barest sigh. I could feel the tension strumming through him, and when his mouth lowered to mine, it moved carefully, restrained. But as soon as we touched, the restraints snapped, and he pulled me hard against him, his mouth coming down rough and urgent. Then he pulled back abruptly, holding me at arm's length. "I didn't mean--" he began.
I took a half step closer. "It's okay."
"It's not. I'm out of sorts and--"
"And that's fine," I said. "So am I."
I kissed him, pouring all my own frustration into it. And that really did snap off those restraints, and hell, oh, hell. Five seconds later, I was halfway over the back of the sofa, my legs around him, hearing the sound of a shirt ripping and not knowing whose it was and not really giving a damn. Then I was against the wall, his hands pinning my arms, kissing me hard enough that I tasted blood. He must have, too, and he stopped, blinking.
"Sorry, sorry," he mumbled, letting me go so fast I started falling to the floor before he caught me.
"It's okay."
He shook his head. "No. I didn't mean to hurt--"
"Gabriel?" I wrapped my hand in the front of his shirt. "I'm a big girl. I can tell you to stop, and I know you will. If you think I'm giving any indication that I want you to slow down?" I yanked him closer. "Then you are really lousy at reading the signs."
He let out a strained chuckle.
"You're angry. You're frustrated. Let's work on that." I pulled him closer and leaned into his ear. "If this is any indication of how you'd like to work on that, I am one hundred percent in."
He shivered against me.
I moved my mouth to his lip and nipped. "Pretty sure I can give as good as I get," I said. "And the same warning goes for you--if it's too much, say so. Is it too much?"
He answered by backing me against the wall hard enough to rattle the door. Then I was straddling him, pinned to the wall, his mouth crushing mine, and when his shirt came off, I suspected it wasn't going back on without some serious mending.
If asked before now whether I'd had rough sex, I'd have said yes. What I'd had, though, had been enthusiastic sex. In-too-big-a-hurry-to-be-gentle sex. There'd been some experimentation with BDSM, but very mild, because while I was intellectually curious, once I actually experimented, it didn't hold the appeal I expected.
I didn't like giving up control. Really didn't. As for the idea of taking control, I'd tried it, with a lover who wanted that, but there'd been no...thrill of victory? I'd already held the upper hand in the relationship, and dominating in sex only seemed to hammer that home, which really didn't do anything for me.
This wasn't BDSM. It was just rough sex. Really rough sex. Fingers grabbing hard. Nails digging in. Nips that drew blood. Restraint and struggle mingled with hard kisses that lasted until they hurt. Then a moment to cat
ch our breath, touching and caressing and gentle kisses and murmurs and whispers and sighs, and then right back into it, a stroke turning to a grasp, a caress to a light scratch, as if testing the boundaries.
Testing and reciprocating, the heat and fervor building again. Not sex as a battle but as a game, the upper hand changing constantly, both of us fighting for it and then, when the other achieved it, giving in because, yes, if Gabriel wanted that upper hand, there was no way in hell I could physically take it from him. But if I managed to get on top or pin him, he'd let me have that, which meant I'd won. A willingness to submit from a guy who did not ever submit? Delicious.
There was control in submitting, too. In knowing I could, with a word, stop him.
By the end, I honestly wasn't even sure who was on top. It was a hard, blinding, I-have-no-idea-where-I-am-and-I-don't-care climax. Probably more than one. Even when he stopped, I was still riding that wave, and once he realized that, he obliged, going until I collapsed--on him, apparently--exhausted, my whole body quivering. He turned me onto my side and kissed me, a long, sweet, gentle kiss. When it ended, he said, "Thank you."
"Oh, hell, no. Thank you," I said, and he chuckled, the sound vibrating between us. "That was...Wow." I lifted my head to look at him. "You want to know how to help me work off my angst? That'll do it."
He pulled me against him for another long kiss, our bodies entwined. I reached to touch his jaw, run my fingers over it, savoring the freedom to touch him. When I moved my arm, though, he caught my hand and frowned down at finger-shaped bruises rising on my forearm.
"I'm sor--"
I put my fingers to his lips. "I like the fact you've learned to apologize. But sometimes, you kinda overdo it."
"It wasn't so much an apology as an acknowledgment that I didn't realize I grabbed you hard enough to leave a mark. Which I suppose is an apology."
"Yep. It is. And if you apologize for that, then I have to apologize for this." I touched a scratch on his chest. "And this." A bruise on his bicep. "And I don't even want to see your back."
"It's fine." He rolled over and pulled me on top of him. "The acceptance of an apology would imply that one was required, which would imply that I would prefer no repeat of the circumstances that led to it. So I strongly reject any apology you might feel obliged to give."
"Ditto."
He relaxed and closed his eyes, and I touched his hair, still damp with sweat, and then tickled his neck, and he lay there, calm, eyes closed, lips curved as he enjoyed the attention.