"Yes. As those safe havens grew, some of the wilder fae found homes there. But in the early days, they took refuge where they could. In places like this. Today, wherever they might live, the Tylwyth Teg and the Cwn Annwn are kept safe by human ignorance. One cannot fear what one doesn't believe exists. In the early days, though, there were more believers, and sometimes it ended like this . . ."
The sun flashed, blinding bright, forcing my eyes shut, and I reopened them to a moonless night. Men carried torches at the perimeter of the main property. A dozen men with torches and bags. They dumped something from the burlap sacks in a ring around the grounds.
"What is this?" one man called. "It looks like . . . metal shavings."
Iron. They're sowing iron.
I shivered in spite of myself and rubbed my arms. I glanced around, but Gabriel and the little girl were gone. It was just me, alone in the yard, watching the men work. At a whisper, I saw a shadow slip behind a tree.
"Cad ata ar siul?"
I turned toward the voice. A woman stood beside me. Or it looked like a woman--I struggled to focus on her, as if she were behind old glass, her form and features shifting and blurring. She was my height, with dark hair and sky-blue eyes. Those eyes were fixed on the men.
"Cad ata ar siul?"
What's happening? That's what she was asking. I knew it, though I couldn't place the language.
They're sowing iron filings, I wanted to say. But what came out was, "Nil fhios agam."
I don't know.
The men finished the circle, a huge one that wrapped around us and the land that would one day hold Villa Tuscana. Then the torches went out. I stood there, with the woman, unable to speak or move, as voices whispered all around me. What's happening? What's going on? What should we do?
We don't understand.
The torches leapt to life again, but the flames . . . the flames were blue, and I caught a whiff of something both unfamiliar and terrifying, something that chilled my very core. That's when the screams began.
"Run!" I shouted, wheeling to the woman beside me. "Run!"
I heard my voice, my English words, and saw her stare in fear and incomprehension, and I struggled for the right words, any that would help, but I knew none would. Nothing could help.
The men threw the torches, and the blue fire ripped through the dry field, devouring it at an impossible speed. The woman ran. Others ran, too, shadows and forms in the night, all racing for safety . . . and stopping when they reached the perimeter the men had drawn. The ground sown with iron.
They cannot cross. They're trapped.
The fire caught a shimmering figure in the field, a blond man. It caught him . . . and it rolled over him, consuming him, leaving screams long after he'd vanished. Terrible, unearthly, impossible screams, as if the very ground continued to shriek after he'd disappeared.
I could see the iron filings on the ground. I raced over and reached down. They burned my fingers. I lifted a handful to throw aside, to clear an opening for the others, those whose blood ran true, who could not cross. But the filings fell through my fingers. I frantically tried to scoop them, then to kick them aside, to no avail. The field was aflame and all I could hear were the screams of the dying, trapped within the circle.
Then I saw another figure. One of flesh and bone, no shimmering phantasm, no blurred and shadowed being. Gabriel, standing where I'd left him, the blue flames swirling around him.
I raced back, shouting his name, but the screams drowned me out. He just stood there, impassive, his shades still on as he stared out into the blazing field. When I drew close, he turned to me.
"I smell fire," he said. "And I hear . . ." He trailed off, brows knit in confusion.
The flames licked at his feet, and I grabbed for him, but I stumbled and it was like falling face-first through a portal. I was in darkness, and then I wasn't, and I was still stumbling, still falling. Gabriel caught my arm and pulled me upright.
"Did I startle you?" he said. "I was only saying that I--"
"--smelled fire and heard something."
"Yes." He looked out at the ruins. "It's gone now."
"It was . . ." I gulped for breath, and it felt like inhaling that terrible fire, as it scorched my lungs. Gabriel took my arm again, keeping me upright.
"Before the construction, they trapped the fae in a circle of iron and lit the field with some kind of blue fire. I don't know what it was, but it was . . ." I shivered. "Awful. The smell and the sound and the screaming. They died. They all died, horribly."
Still gripping my arm, Gabriel turned. I glanced back to see the girl there. He yanked off his shades with his free hand, staring in her direction.
"Is this really necessary?" he said. Then he shook his head sharply. "No, let me rephrase that. This is not necessary. There is no possible reason she needs to see a hundred-year-old massacre."
I expected her to smile and answer with some riddle. Or perhaps to solemnly say that it was necessary. Instead, she walked to him and reached out to touch the hand hovering there, holding his sunglasses. The moment her fingers made contact, he yanked his hand back and then covered the reaction with a scowl.
"What have they done to you, Gwynn ap Nudd?" she said.
"Leave Gabriel out of this," I said.
She smiled at me, wistful. "You protect him as he protects you. And the other, too. The three of you, in a circle of support, as it should be, as it was once, before the circle was torn asunder and the darkness came."
"The other. What other? I have no idea what--or who--you mean."
"You know exactly who I mean. Matilda, Gwynn, Arawn. Over and over, until the damage is fixed. Until the two sides"-- she held up her hand, a black and a white stone on her palm; she closed her fist, and when she opened it again, there was one stone, two colors swirling through it--"are one again."
"You realize I have no idea what you're talking--"
"You will."
"But this Matilda . . . am I her? Reincarnated or something?"
"Or something." She pursed her lips as if in thought. "Reimagined. Not reborn, but born anew. As he"--she motioned at Gabriel--"is not Gwynn ap Nudd, nor the other Arawn. You are, and you are not. You are destined to play the roles again. To give us another chance. But when two sides have been at war so long, neither cares for peace. Only victory."
"Two sides," I said. "You mean the Tylwyth Teg and the Cwn Annwn, right?"
"There's more to this story," she said. "Follow me."
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The girl tore off. When I started after her, Gabriel caught my shoulder.
"We're done here," he said.
He still had his shades off and was looking toward the house, his gaze distant.
"Gabriel?"
"We want answers, but not at the expense of showing you horrors you can do nothing to stop. It's pointless and cruel."
"It's data."
His eyes narrowed as if I were mocking him. I took his hand from my shoulder. When I touched it, I expected him to pull back. He gave no sign he even noticed, still watching me with that wary look. I lowered his hand but didn't release it.
"It's information," I said softly. "You need it. I need it. And this is the only trustworthy source."
I thought he'd say there were no trustworthy sources. He only gazed in the direction the girl had run, that cautious look easing but not evaporating.
I squeezed his hand. He still didn't pull away. He looked as if he wanted to retreat behind his wall, snap at me not to be foolish, to leave this place. Yet he couldn't. He looked at me, and I felt so much. Too much.
I dropped his hand and turned in the girl's direction. She was long gone.
"I need to see this through," I said, and took off.
Gabriel ran after me. I heard a grunt and turned to see him pulling off his suit coat. He caught me looking and scowled as he laid the jacket over his arm.
"Next time you plan to take us climbing through ruins, I would appreciate advance notice,
so I may dress appropriately."
"Do you even own anything appropriate?"
Another scowl, as if this wasn't the point.
"Tell you what, the next time you get a fake message telling you to meet me at some remote location, just hit a Target on your way."
I took off again, hearing him growl in annoyance as he came after me. As his mood darkened, it lightened mine. This wasn't Gabriel truly angry--it was pique and ego and mild discomfort. It was a Gabriel I knew well, and it chased off the last shadows of my vision.
We came around the side terrace, picking through rubble and brambles until . . .
"This," I said, waving my arm toward the lake. "This is what I want."
He didn't even look. He was too busy loosening his tie and undoing the top button of his shirt. But when I walked across the ruined patio and climbed onto the railing, he noticed. "Get down from there."
"I'm looking for the little girl. Also, it's an amazing view." I stepped to the side and motioned at the railing. "Hop on up."
He didn't dignify that with a response, just gingerly laid his jacket over the railing after inspecting the level of filth.
"You obviously don't see her, so get down from there, Olivia. It's not safe and if you fall, let's hope you're still able to dial 911, because I won't do it for you."
"Grumpy."
"No, cautious. One of us has to be. Down. Now."
"Yes, sir."
I hopped down--the other way. I heard a sharp intake of breath, and then he scrambled down the steps . . . to see me standing on an intact planter below, grinning at him.
He crossed his arms, pinned me with a look, and then shook his head. "I suppose I should be glad you bounce back from trauma so quickly."
"I have to, don't I?" I said as I hopped off the planter. "Given how quickly the traumas come these days. It's that or assume the fetal position and wait for the white coats."
I looked out toward the lake again. As he turned, he blinked, and then stared at the gorgeous ruined terraces, green-choked fountains and pools, an endless cascade of gardens and patios and water features leading down to the shore of Lake Michigan.
"Did I say it was amazing?" I said. "I'm serious, too. I want one of these."
"With a five-million-dollar trust fund? You'd be lucky to get a house on the lake at all."
"Your pragmatism will not deter me. I don't want a house, anyway. I just want this." I waved at the terraces. "I'll find my own ruins, where I can hide away with a book and a bottle of wine and contemplate the impermanence of empires."
"Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair?"
"Nothing beside remains. Round the decay of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare the lone and level sands stretch far away." I gazed out at the sands below. "Fitting, don't you think? And deservedly so." After what happened here, I meant. The girl was right. The beauty I saw here was the revenge of nature, destroying the claims of interlopers and murderers.
"You could possibly buy the property with your trust," he said. "I suspect there would be significant back taxes, but the trick would be to first secure the right to sever the property and obtain development permits and then divide it and sell most of the land for vacation condos. If done right, you could even turn a profit."
I smiled at him. "Very practical. And not the nature of fancies at all, Gabriel. I wouldn't buy it, and I'd certainly never sell it for development. I'll just bring my book and my wine and trespass like ordinary folk."
He nodded and looked out at the view. "If the girl is gone . . ."
"I'm pretty sure she didn't send those e-mails."
"Though it sounded as if she gave you some idea what you were brought here for."
I hesitated.
"Olivia . . ." He moved in front of me, blocking both the sunlight and the view.
I started down the marble steps. "To your left and to your right, you'll see what appear to be matching horse fountains, though I don't know why horses are leaping out of water."
"They're kelpies. Look at the hooves."
Long feathers of hair covered their lower legs and hooves, like the spats on a Clydesdale. When I looked closer, though, the hair was seaweed, and under it the "hooves" were actually frog-like feet.
"I remember a story about kelpies," I said. "They lure children to the water, and when the kids climb on their backs, they can't get off again. The kelpies ride out to sea and the children are drowned. The story I heard was about ten children. Nine climb on. The tenth refuses, but he makes the mistake of reaching to touch the horse's nose. His hand gets stuck, and he hacks it off to escape just as the kelpie leaps back into the sea."
"That's a charming bedtime tale."
"Did I mention I was raised by serial killers?"
"Alleged serial killers."
I smiled. "Right. Sorry. And honestly, I don't think Pamela is responsible for the more gruesome tales of my youth. Definitely not Todd."
"Why definitely?"
I shrugged and continued down the steps. "I'm pretty sure I found the stories on my own." I turned to head out across the next terrace. "Ahead, you'll see the lily pond--" I stopped. "Shit. Lily pond. Ricky."
"Interesting word association."
Hopefully, I didn't blush. I busied myself pulling out my cell phone and typing in a text, and then . . .
"No signal," I said. "Do you . . . ?"
He checked. "The same. Did he have classes today?"
"No, he's free. I guess he'll just be well-caffeinated by the time we're done." I stuffed my phone back into my pocket. "Okay, as I was saying, the next stop on the tour is the lily pond, which is completely overgrown. If you look beyond the sunken gardens, you'll see vandalized statues. The historical records call them herms, which is technically inaccurate. A herm is a column with a head and, well, Hermes is a fertility god, so you can guess what else they had. These ones were clothed, much to my twelve-year-old self's bitter disappointment."
He shook his head as he followed me down more steps.
"The swimming pool is way down here," I said. "Right at the beach side."
"The girl said you were here to find something. What?" When I sighed, he said, "Did you really think I'd be distracted?"
"Hoped."
"The fact that you are reluctant to tell me indicates the message was not a positive one. There's some sort of danger, isn't there, if you go looking?"
"She said that I'll be hurt, but not physically."
"Doesn't that matter?"
I walked down the last few steps to the beach.
Gabriel continued. "Seeing something that leaves a mental or emotional mark is no different from tripping and breaking your ankle on the way to see it. In fact, I'd suggest it's worse."
I turned to look at him.
"Yes?" he said.
Did you really just suggest that emotional pain is worse than physical?
He repeated, "Yes?" with a touch of impatience.
I said, "Nothing," and continued toward the pool.
"Am I arguing with myself, Olivia? What exactly did the girl . . ."
He trailed off. When I looked back, he was gone.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Gabriel?"
The sun flashed, as it had done earlier, and I was again plunged into night. This time there were lights everywhere, the Villa glowing with them. Music poured from the open windows. Not ethereal fae music, but the sounds of a string quartet. I could hear chatter and laughter, too, human in origin. The house was whole and new, sparkling in the moonlight. Figures walked down the curving steps.
"Oh my," a girlish voice said. "Thank goodness Nathaniel installed an elevator. I only wish it was working already."
Two other feminine voices laughed with her. They turned a curve into the moonlight. None looked older than me. All three were wearing gorgeous Empire-waisted dresses. The one in the middle was no more than twenty, with finger-curled blond hair. She'd referred to Nathaniel Mills by his given name, which left little doubt who this was. His
bride, Letitia Roosevelt.
But if my history was right, Letitia had never spent a night in this house. She . . .
I looked up at the Villa again, the lights blazing, music and laughter pouring out.
It's Letitia's grand welcoming party. The first time she saw the house her husband built. And the last time she sees it, because . . .
I wheeled and stared at the swimming pool. Then I turned back to the three girls.
"No," I said. "You can't--"
They stepped right through me, still chattering and giggling.
"Aren't you glad we pulled you away from that dull party?" said one of Letitia's companions--a dark-haired beauty with perfect skin and bright blue eyes.
"I know we're glad to meet you," the other said. "The social life here is as dull as that party. I'm sure the three of us can liven it up." She was light-haired and green-eyed, as strikingly beautiful as her friend. "Oh! Is that the pool?"
"It is," Letitia said. "There's a bathhouse over there."
"Are there any suits?" the brunette asked.
The light-haired girl giggled. "Do we need them?"
Letitia turned bright red. The other two giggled, and she tried to shake off her embarrassment. Whatever the time period, no girl wants to seem uncool in front of her new friends.
"Don't listen to her," the brunette said. "We'd never do anything so shocking." She grinned. "Not when there's a house full of people close by." She walked to the pool, lifted her skirt, and lowered herself beside the water. Then she dangled her fingers and let out an exclamation. "It's warm! What magic has your handsome groom wrought to accomplish that?"
"There's a heating system of some sort," Letitia said. "I don't quite understand it."
"Who cares?" said the light-haired girl. "If it makes swimming water warm at night, it is the best kind of magic." She tugged off pointy, low-heeled shoes and then reached under her skirt. She paused and looked at Letitia. "You won't be shocked if I remove my stockings, will you?"
"Not if that's all you remove," the brunette said with a laugh. There was something about that laugh . . . a tinkling music almost too low for the ear to detect.
They're fae.
"No," I said.
I hurried over to the two girls, the light-haired one now sitting on the edge of the pool, dangling her feet in. The brunette swished her hand back and forth in the water, and under the surface, seaweed swirled about her hand, like the spats on a horse.