It was in that state, listening to her while processing thoughts of his own, that he became acutely aware they were not alone. He looked about.
"Everything okay?" Olivia asked.
He started to say yes automatically. He might encourage Olivia to pursue her preternatural abilities, but he found it difficult to share his own.
"I had the feeling..." He looked around without finishing.
"That someone else is here?"
"You sensed it?"
"I thought I saw someone run behind the kiosks earlier. I figured if you didn't, it was just a vision."
He looked at Lloergan. The hound studied him far too intently and then moved alongside him to lean against his leg. He stopped himself before stepping away, and he laid a tentative hand on her head as she scanned the amusement park, seeing nothing but unable to shake--
Something moved behind the carousel. Lloergan took off. Olivia gave a small cry of alarm--a cwn in pursuit often results in a deadly conclusion--and Gabriel broke into a run to acknowledge her concern. He tore around the carousel booth just as Lloergan leapt onto the back of a fleeing teenage boy, sending him sprawling beneath the front hooves of a prancing wooden horse.
"Lloergan!" Gabriel shouted.
The cwn fixed him with a withering look, clearly insulted by the inference she would kill her target. As Gabriel jogged over, he saw the "boy" was perhaps college aged. A young woman stood flattened against the booth, her dark eyes wide. Both wore jeans, sneakers, and jackets. They had light brown skin and braided dark hair and resembled one another enough that they seemed more likely siblings than lovers.
Lloergan growled and let the boy up, and then growled again, as if to say, Don't go anywhere.
"Why were you spying on us?" Gabriel asked.
"Spying? We weren't anywhere near you until your dog took me down." The boy eyed Lloergan. "I should call the cops. Or animal control."
"Go ahead. I'll wait."
The young man hesitated. "I would, but I don't have a cell phone."
"Here." Gabriel held out his. "Use mine."
The boy ignored that. "We'll let it go this time, but you need to put that dog on a leash."
"What are you?" Gabriel said.
"I beg your pardon?" the girl said.
"What. Are. You?"
"That's rude," she said. "Possibly racist." She looked at the boy. "Is it racist?"
"I think so."
"Just answer my question," Gabriel said.
"Do you ask everyone that?" the girl said. "Or only those who don't look like you?"
"No," Gabriel said. "Only those who aren't human."
The girl laughed. "You're mad."
"Here." Olivia held out a handkerchief. It fell open to reveal a chunk of cold-forged iron. "Do you mind holding this for a sec?"
"You hold it," the boy said.
Olivia dropped the metal into her bare hand and squeezed. When she opened her fingers, her palm was bright red.
"Now you," the girl said to Gabriel.
He took it, ignoring the burn of the metal against his skin.
"Gwynn and Matilda," the boy breathed.
"Didn't I say that?" the girl said. "Do you know any ordinary humans who walk about with a cwn?"
"Just because we've never encountered such a thing doesn't mean it can't exist."
Olivia held out the iron. "So...are you going to answer Gabriel's question, or are you going to show us how much worse this burns full-blooded fae?"
The boy shuddered. "No, thank you."
"We admit it," the girl said, climbing onto a painted horse.
"Freely admit it," the boy echoed.
"Then answer Gabriel's question, and tell us what you are. I'd run through the list of overly chatty fae, but we'd be here all day."
"True," the girl said.
The boy nodded. "Very true."
At a glare from Olivia, the girl said, "Dryad."
"So they're not all female?" Olivia said.
The male looked down at himself. "I should hope not. Or Nature has made a very serious mistake."
Olivia turned to Gabriel. "They're Greek fae. Even more capricious than most, which is saying a lot."
"That's rude," the girl said. "Talking in front of us."
"Quite rude," the boy said. "Also, quite true. However, if we are capricious, it isn't through malice, but simply a love of adventure and good fun. There's nothing wrong with that."
"Unless you're the person being played in the name of that good fun," the girl said.
"True."
"How did you find us?" Olivia asked. "Did you follow us? Or did you have something to do with our car breaking down?"
They both stared at her.
"We're dryads," the boy said slowly. "Not auto mechanics."
"Not tracking dogs, either," the girl said. "You were here. We were here. A happy coincidence."
The boy looked from Olivia to Gabriel and then back to Olivia. He smiled smugly. "You've dumped Arawn, then? Good." He glanced at Lloergan. "No insult to the Cwn Annwn, but it makes things easier. Throw over Arawn, take Gwynn, and everyone lives happily ever after. Except Arawn. And the Huntsmen. But we fae live happily ever after, and that's what counts."
"If she threw over Arawn, she wouldn't have his hound," the girl said.
"Maybe she stole it."
The girl lit up as she straightened on the wooden horse. "Ooh, yes." She turned to Olivia. "Did you steal the cwn? Whisk it away from under Arawn's nose?"
"Ricky's in Florida. I'm hound-sitting."
"Oh." The girl slumped over her steed's neck.
"What are you doing here?" the boy asked, twirling around one of the poles. "We couldn't figure it out."
"I told you it's a mystery," the girl said.
"I know, that's why I'm asking."
She leaned over to cuff him. "I mean they're solving a mystery. That's what they do. He's the king of the Fae."
"She's the lady of the Hunt."
In unison, they said, "They solve crime!"
The girl looked at the boy. "We're forgetting Arawn."
"Hmm. Let's see...He's the king of the Fae. She's the lady of the Hunt. He's the lord of the Otherworld. They solve crime."
The girl wrinkled her nose. "That doesn't work."
"Not at all. She'll have to throw Arawn over."
The hound sighed. Deeply. Undoubtedly thinking that, while her life was dedicated to avenging crimes against fae, perhaps such crimes were sometimes understandable.
The girl slid off her horse. "It is a mystery, isn't it? Something exciting? A terrible death? Several terrible deaths?"
"I don't think deaths are supposed to be exciting," the boy said.
"But they are. Right or wrong, one cannot argue with the excitement value of a good murder, because it leads to a good mystery. Is that it, then? You're solving a mystery? Someone has died here?"
"Yes, but it was about twenty-five years ago," Olivia said. "I don't suppose you were around then."
"Of course. We've been around for a very long time."
"But not here," the boy said.
"No, not here. Not for that long. We can help, though."
"Uh, no," Olivia said. "Why not?"
"Well, let's see. What experiences have we had with helpful fae? First there was Tristan, who left a young woman's head in my bed and then tried to convince me he wanted peace for the Tylwyth Teg and Cwn Annwn, while attempting to sow strife by killing my ex-fiance and blaming Gabriel."
"He was a spriggan," the girl said. "They're nasty. Not like us."
"Not at all."
"We're..." The girl pursed her lips. "What's the word you used?"
"Capricious," the boy said.
The girl swung onto another horse and leaned backward over it. "Yes, that's us. Capricious."
"It isn't a compliment," Olivia said.
"But it sounds like one. It's a lovely word. Innocent and fun. Like dryads. We never intend to hurt anyone."
"The operative word being 'intend,' " Olivia murmured. "And then, after Tristan, there was Melanie, a lamia who tricked us into investigating deaths of other lamiae...whom she'd had killed herself, hoping the danger would get her into Cainsville."
"Cainsville?" The girl scrunched her nose. "Who'd want to live there? It hardly has any trees at all. I don't understand lamiae. Never have, even when we lived together back in the old country."
"Tricksy," the boy said, climbing onto the horse behind the girl.
"Yes, that's the word for them. Tricksy. Not nearly as nice as capricious."
"A much different word. As we are much different fae."
"But we'd say that anyway, wouldn't we?"
"True." The boy stood on the horse's saddle. "I wouldn't believe us, either, if I were you. However, being me, and knowing me, I believe us."
"That doesn't help," the girl said.
"I suppose not." He jumped from the carousel horse, landing hard enough to make Olivia wince. "So we'll prove ourselves. We'll solve your crime and prove dryads are not tricksy like lamiae."
"Unless we only do it to ingratiate ourselves with them and then be tricksy, like lamiae."
"Look, guys. I love your enthusiasm," Olivia said, in a tone that suggested she'd love less of it even more. "But this murder doesn't concern you. The victim wasn't fae."
"A clue!" the boy crowed.
"If it's not fae, though, it isn't that interesting," Olivia said.
"True."
"Which is why you don't have to investigate."
"But we will!"
"We'll be detectives," the girl said.
"I have a hat," the boy said.
"And I have a notepad."
"He's a dryad. She's a dryad. They solve crimes!" The boy looked at the girl. "That doesn't really work."
"It doesn't," Olivia said. "Which is why you shouldn't--"
"But we will!"
They took off, weaving through the rides. Once they were out of sight, Olivia turned to Gabriel. "So that's an example of the fae I'm supposed to save? Score one for the Cwn Annwn."
"We heard that!" the boy called back.
"But we'll prove ourselves!" the girl shouted. "Just wait."
Olivia shook her head. Gabriel glanced back, but the dryads were already scampering away.
CHAPTER SEVEN
It was late afternoon by the time we made it back to Cainsville, the Jag headed to the auto shop. We went straight to Rose's and told her about the woman claiming to be Seanna. She took the news quietly and then excused herself to go make tea.
"Should we leave?" I whispered when she was in the kitchen. "Give her time alone?"
"If she wanted us to go, she'd make an excuse. She just needs a moment to herself."
"Then maybe I should go. This is a family matter and--"
"I would rather you didn't," he said, with a touch of alarm. "We don't--" He cleared his throat. "About Seanna. We don't..."
"Talk about her?"
"Yes. We just...we don't. Ever."
"Would you like to leave?" I asked. "Let me handle it?"
He glanced toward the front door and Lloergan lifted her head, sensing it might be time to go, but he said, "No, I want to stay for Rose."
When I checked my phone, Gabriel said, "The DNA results won't come that quickly, Olivia."
"I'm not--"
His look stopped me.
I put my phone away. "It doesn't matter. I'm sure this woman isn't your mother."
"As tempting as it is to presume that, I need to consider the possibility, and prepare a plan to deal with that."
He took out his notepad and pen, and I realized he was literally going to plan this, as if she were a potential client he wanted to avoid. That was how he would cope.
"Okay," I said. "So if the DNA is a match--"
"I'll handle it," Rose said as she came in with the tea tray. "If the DNA is a match, I'll meet with her. I will handle the situation without Gabriel getting involved."
"I don't see how that's possible," Gabriel said.
"It is. It will be. I...I failed to--" She cleared her throat. "I'll handle it."
She failed to handle it twenty years ago. That's what she started to say--that she hadn't realized how dire the situation had been and therefore failed to save Gabriel from Seanna.
It didn't matter if Gabriel had purposely hid Seanna's neglect and abuse. Rose still blamed herself for not seeing through the lies. Nothing anyone could say would change that.
As we sipped tea and nibbled cookies, Rose distracted us with the tale of her latest client--a woman who wanted the cards to tell her if she'd ever lose weight, rather than, you know, try losing it. It hadn't taken Rose long to determine that the woman was indeed carrying an extra two hundred pounds that could be lost with no change in diet or exercise. Namely her husband, whose constant bullying and haranguing only made the woman eat more as she sunk deeper into depression.
What the client needed was a therapist. What she wanted was magic. So Rose would give her both, gradually convincing her that a future as a single woman might be the way to both health and happiness.
We were still talking when Lydia called. I scrambled off my chair fast enough to wake Lloergan. I motioned that I'd take the call in the next room.
"Is that Lydia?" Gabriel asked.
When I hesitated, he prized the phone from my clenched hand and set it on the desk. Then he poised one finger over the speaker button and looked at me.
I swallowed and nodded. He hit it.
"Lydia? It's Gabriel," he said. "I'm with Olivia."
After a moment's silence, she said, "I need to speak to Liv on a personal matter."
"Gabriel knows," I said. "He's on speaker. So is his aunt. You have the DNA test results?"
Another pause. Then, "They've run the tests, but...they had a problem processing Gabriel's DNA. They think the sample may be degraded. I said no, it's fresh, and we provided plenty of it. I'm going to send the samples to another facility. That may take a few days."
"The results were inconclusive?"
"Yes."
"It's Gabriel's sample that's the problem?"
"Yes. I've let them know exactly how unhappy I am with their explanation. They had the nerve to suggest we'd supplied a manufactured sample, one that wasn't entirely human. We won't be using their services in the future. Gabriel? Could you provide a more direct sample for the second test?"
He shook his head at me.
"I think we're going to drop it for now, Lydia," I said. "Maybe science isn't the best way to handle this."
I thanked her and signed off. When I looked over at Gabriel, he didn't meet my gaze, just pushed his chair back, stood, and walked from the room. The front door opened and then shut. I tore my gaze back to Rose and tried to say something, but when Gabriel's silhouette passed the front window sheers, I turned to follow it.
"Go," Rose said.
"I shouldn't."
"Yes, you should. Go after him, Liv. Please."
--
Gabriel was already halfway up the street and moving fast. He'd put on his boots but left his jacket at Rose's, and he didn't appear to notice the cold. It seemed clear that he didn't want company. I slowed far enough back to give him space. He stopped and turned.
"I'm not trying--" I began.
"I know."
"You have the keys to my place. If you want to just go there and be by yourself for a while, I can work at Rose's."
He motioned for me to catch up, and we continued on to my house. Gabriel walked straight through while I took off my boots inside the door and shook the snow from them.
"Do you want--?" I began.
The back door shut with a click. I looked out the rear kitchen window to see Gabriel in the garden, heading for my new wicker set.
I hurried upstairs and grabbed towels. When I got onto the back porch, Gabriel was already sitting on the love seat.
I walked out, towels in hand. "Use these. Those cushions are soaked f
rom that snow. We really need to put them in storage for the winter."
He said nothing. Didn't even look up.
"I'll go back in," I said. "I'll leave the towels here."
"Do you want to go back in?" he asked.
"No, I just..." I shifted my weight. "Let's not do this. It always escalates into a fight and hurt feelings. I'm fine with doing whatever you need right now. Just tell me."
He gave me this look, as if I should know the answer and he was confused that I didn't. He lifted his hand. I tossed him the towel and he laid it, folded, on the seat beside him. That's when I understood what he meant--if he wanted to be alone, he wouldn't have chosen the love seat.
I sat beside him.
"I don't want to care," he said after a moment. "Whether it's her?"
"If it is, I don't want to care that she's back. I'm not..."
He trailed off, and I heard his words from earlier, that he wasn't a child anymore, couldn't be shoved into a cubbyhole anymore.
"It's not--" He bit off the sentence so hard his teeth clicked. Then he sat upright. "I'll deal with it."
"Of course you will. But you were going to say..."
An abrupt shake of his head.
I let the silence stretch for a minute, and then said, "That it's not fair?"
He rubbed his hands over his face. "Fair doesn't matter. Fair is an excuse. Expecting fair is pointless." He inhaled and took out his notebook. "We need a plan. Whoever she is, she'll come back, and feeling sorry for myself won't fix that."
"But you're allowed to feel sorry for yourself, Gabriel. To be angry. To be frustrated. It isn't fair. She was gone, and now, if she's back, you're allowed--"
"It's not productive."
I took the pen and pad from his hands, and set them on my lap. "You don't need to be productive for the next thirty seconds. Tell me how you feel."
Panic sparked in his eyes, sheer and wild panic, and I was about to give back his pen and paper, return his security blankets, and let him do whatever he needed to get past this. But then he blurted, "It feels like punishment. My life is almost--It's everything I wanted and more, and this feels like punishment. Like someone is saying I don't deserve this, certainly don't deserve more, and..." A shake of his head. "I'm babbling."
"You're allowed to."
"When clients whine that the charges against them aren't fair, I lose patience. The charges are a problem, which we must focus on fixing. Complaining about the unfairness of it is counterproductive."