"I'll go for help," I said.
He shook his head. "I don't want you getting trapped again."
"I think that's over," I said. "And from the looks of it, if you take another flight of stairs, you'll end up at the bottom. Keys."
"I can handle--"
"Give me your damn keys, Gabriel. Someone's blocking cell service in here, and I may need to drive to get a signal. The longer you argue, the worse Ricky is going to get, and--"
He handed over the keys.
"Now sit," I said. "There. And don't move."
At a pained quirk of his lips, I hesitated, and then said, "I'm glad you're here. I'm sorry if I didn't say--"
"You don't need to. I'm the one who's sorry, Olivia." He met my gaze. "For everything."
I nodded. He looked away then, lowering himself to the floor beside Ricky and saying, "There, I'm sitting. Now go on."
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
At the bottom of the steps, I hesitated. I fingered my gun and switchblade. I should have given one to Gabriel. At the very least, I should have told him to take out Ricky's knife. He'd said something attacked Ricky, which meant we weren't alone here.
I was considering going back up when I heard Gabriel's voice, so distant I had to strain to pick it up.
"I know you're there," he said.
I slowly climbed three steps.
"Stop hiding in the shadows," he said. "I'm not the one who sees visions and hears voices. I know you're there. Come out."
I quietly picked my way past the rotted steps.
"Are you sure that was me, Gabriel?" a man's voice said. "I suspect it sounded a lot like that little inner devil you humans seem to have, the one that sits on your shoulder and whispers all the things you want to do and know you shouldn't."
"That's called a conscience," Gabriel said. "Mine might be underdeveloped, but I recognize its voice perfectly well."
The man laughed. "No, boy. That's not conscience. It's cowardice. Which is much the same with your kind. You tell yourself you should not, when in truth you only dare not."
I knew that voice. It was exactly who I expected to find here: Tristan.
I continued down the hall, painfully slowly, testing each step first, for the rotted boards and to keep silent.
"I'm not going to kill Ricky," Gabriel said, and I stopped dead, my heart pounding. "You can whisper all you like. I'm not Gwynn."
"No, boy. You don't have the balls."
"If you think that will provoke me, then you understand me much less than you believe. I might be Gwynn's representative in this drama. I'll accept that. I'll even accept that there's more to it than that, that part of me is Gwynn. But the whole is not, and that's a choice I am free to make."
"Pretty speech, but you aren't in front of a judge here, Gabriel. I've already rendered my judgment and delivered my verdict."
"Arawn dies at Gwynn's hands. Something tells me you don't want peace after all. What a surprise."
"My, you are cynical. Your darling Matilda bought it quite handily." Tristan's voice took on that earnest tone from the lake. "I just want everyone to get along. Give peace a chance." His voice reverted to normal. "You didn't believe me for a second. Too bad you didn't tell her that. So, Mr. Walsh, attorney-at-law, tell me, what's my real plan? Let's see that illustrious mind at work."
"Chaos. That is your plan. Your only plan. You set James against me to separate me from Olivia. When that failed, you decided to remove me from the picture. But you can't kill me. You don't dare provoke the Tylwyth Teg like that. So you murdered James and framed me. I did consider the possibility you were working for the Cwn Annwn, since all your plans involved removing me. But the fact that you're now ordering me to kill Ricky proves the Cwn Annwn are innocent in this scheme. Which means your plan is, as I said, chaos. War, to be precise. The Tylwyth Teg already blame the Cwn Annwn for my arrest. Then the Cwn Annwn would blame them for Ricky's death. You take both of us away from Olivia, and you set the two local fae factions at war, with their so-called champions both lost."
Gabriel had been raising his voice for each of his speeches. Nothing obvious, just enough that, if I was still in earshot, I might pick it up. It also helped to muffle my footsteps as I returned, picking up speed as he talked, then slowing when he stopped.
"Would you like to know your next step, too?" Gabriel continued, in that same unhurried way, as if he were indeed in front of a judge, and the case wasn't really all that important.
"Please."
"Your attempt to play on my sense of competition failed, so you will now appeal to a stronger motivation: my sense of self-preservation. You're holding a gun on me. You'll threaten to pull that trigger unless I reach over and . . . strangle him? Yes, I suppose that would work best, though I'd need to remove the bandages first, so my fingerprints will be on his neck, leaving no doubt that I killed him."
A short laugh. "If you really expect me to believe you'll give in that easily, you think me a fool, boy. You would kill him to save yourself, but the prospect of life in jail is going to give you pause. No, you're stalling, waiting for . . ."
Tristan swung on me, poised at the top of the ladder. He pointed the gun. "You both think you're clever, but you're still human. There are limits and--"
Gabriel sprang--his leg obviously not as bad as he'd pretended. He snatched the gun from Tristan's hand. "No, I don't believe there are limits. Not to fae arrogance, that is."
Tristan laughed. "Do you think that will hurt me? Go ahead. Shoot. See what happens."
"Nothing," Gabriel said. "My goal was simply to stop you from pointing it at her."
I lunged and buried my blade between Tristan's shoulders. We both went down, me on him.
"That won't kill you, either," I said. "But it will slow you down. Particularly with this." I rammed a nail into the hole. He snarled and bucked.
"Iron," I said. "Again, it won't kill you. But there is a grain of truth in the lore." I leaned over to his ear. "I had a little chat with someone about spriggans today. He wouldn't tell me how to kill fae--probably afraid I'd use it on him--but he did tell me how to incapacitate one. Cold-forged iron. Or regular iron inserted under the skin. Seems to work quite well."
"You two do love to talk, don't you?" Tristan snarled under me.
"It's genetic. So let's keep talking. Yes, the Tylwyth Teg would suspect the Cwn Annwn killed James and framed Gabriel, but that's complicated. Having Gabriel kill Ricky is a much better guarantee of chaos. So why start with James?"
"I'm sure I had a reason," Tristan said. "Or perhaps someone else did. Someone with a slightly different agenda. Someone whose allegiance I could use."
"Pamela."
I didn't think before I said her name. It just came out, and as soon as I heard it, I expected him to laugh. Which he did. But it was not the laugh I wanted to hear.
"Pamela?" He feigned shock. "Your sweet, wrongly accused, deeply devoted mother? Whatever would make you say that?"
Yes, Pamela was the one responsible for the Valentine Killer murders. In my gut, I knew that was true. The pain of that was alleviated by the conviction that she'd done what she thought best. She'd done it for me. But this? This was like a right hook to the gut, leaving me gasping inside, screaming I was wrong, even as I knew I was not.
Pamela hated Gabriel. Even the fact that he represented her best chance of freedom didn't help. She hated fae, too, and recognized that blood in Gabriel. Moreover, he was their champion. She wanted to hurt the Tylwyth Teg and to wrest me from their clutches. Framing Gabriel would do both.
What had Tristan told me in his message? Check Pamela's visitor log. Tipping his hand in arrogance, delighting in pointing me in the right direction, knowing I wouldn't find him there because he'd used an alias.
"Pamela conspired with you to kill James and frame Gabriel," I said. "I don't know if you had anything to do with Ricky beating James, but if not, I'm sure it was an added bonus, throwing extra confusion in the mix. Mutilating James to match Pamela's vict
ims threw a little confusion in there, too."
"Bravo," Tristan said. "Guilty as charged--on all counts, though I suspect dear Pamela won't appreciate my saying so. There's very little of your father in you, Eden. Poor Todd, always trying to do the right thing, a coward hiding behind the cloak of conscience. Like your mother, you'll do whatever it takes to protect those you love. I think you and I can come to an agreement, as long as I promise not to harm your darling boys."
"I don't need your promise. You're right, I'll protect them--by myself, as my mother did for me. I'm my father, too, though. I can worry that my voice of conscience is too soft, but it's loud enough that I want nothing to do with you and your plans. Here's mine. Once I get help for Ricky, you're coming with us--to the Tylwyth Teg or the Cwn Annwn or whoever wants to deal with you. So--"
"Actually, I believe I can simplify this next step," said a voice from the ladder. Patrick pulled himself up, fastidiously wiping his hands on his trousers as he stepped into the room. "Tristan, good to see you--particularly in that position. You've caused a lot of trouble, and I'm going to win a heap of gratitude turning you over to the elders." He looked at me. "Don't worry. I know you don't trust me enough to turn him over so easily. Gabriel will accompany me back to Cainsville with Tristan, while you take care of the boy."
Patrick walked over and looked down at Tristan. "Nicely done, Liv. You took my instruction well. After both you and Gabriel called today, asking about spriggan, I knew something was up. Fortunately, Gabriel was more forthcoming with a name. Tristan's associate, Alis, supplied the rest after some effort. She told me where to find you. I arrived just in the nick of time, before anyone got hurt." He looked at Ricky. "Well, close enough."
Patrick smiled at me, very pleased with himself. It wasn't only the elders he wanted to win gratitude from.
I pretended not to be impressed, and said only, "Gabriel's hurt, too. He'll be fine to accompany you, but he can't carry Ricky. That'll be your job."
His brows shot up. I hauled Tristan to his feet and led him out.
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
After Patrick finished with Tristan, "Jon Childs" turned himself in and confessed, and Patrick promised that Tristan would give the police evidence they needed to be certain he murdered James.
The next day, I went to the jail to confront Pamela.
Pamela now. Not my mother. Maybe never again my mother.
I didn't know how to process what Tristan said she'd done. I wanted to say it wasn't true. He was fae--he couldn't be trusted. But I knew it was true. In my gut, I knew.
Gabriel drove me to the jail, but I left him outside. This I had to do alone.
I don't remember walking into that room. Don't remember sitting. I do remember Pamela coming out, that moment when a two-year-old girl in my soul screamed, How could you? and I had to squeeze my eyes shut, clench my fists, banish that girl, and remember I was not Eden Larsen. I was Olivia Taylor-Jones. My mother was Lena Taylor. My ex-fiance was James Morgan, deceased. My boss--and, yes, friend--was Gabriel Walsh, framed for a murder he did not commit. Framed by the woman sitting in front of me.
"I know everything," I said as she sat.
She sighed. That was her reaction. A sigh, and a shake of her head, as if I were a child coming to her with some vicious rumor. "I don't know what you mean, Olivia, but whatever it is--"
"It was you. Not Todd. Pamela Larsen. Not my dad."
And that, perhaps, was the second-worst thing I could have said to her, the way I phrased that, and she flinched, and then I added the worst, a lie I needed to tell: "Dad confessed . . . after I told him how you tried to blame him."
Pamela reeled then, and all I could think was, Good. I'm glad I hurt you, for all the ways you hurt them: my father, James, Gabriel. And me. Yes, for all the ways you've hurt me.
"You think you did it for me," I said. "But you know what wasn't about me? James."
"Wh-what?"
I lowered my voice so the guard across the room wouldn't hear. "You conspired with Tristan to kill James and frame Gabriel."
It took her a moment to say, "I don't know what you mean," and that moment's hesitation answered any remaining question I had.
"Gabriel was your best shot at freedom," I said, struggling against the rage that swirled through me. "He would have gotten you out. We would have--Gabriel and I, together. You screwed yourself over. You get that, don't you?"
She shook her head, and I understood then. I understood that it didn't matter. That her hatred of fae was pathological, and it wasn't so much because Gabriel was part fae--so was she--but that his role, as Gwynn, was to bring me to the Tylwyth Teg, and she could not allow that. As for freeing her, she didn't believe that would happen, not really. After all, she was guilty. I suspected she'd only rehired him to keep him close enough to watch and to have some control over him, as leverage to separate him from me, which had failed. Step two, then, was more permanent.
"Why James?" I said, forcing as much calm into my voice as I could muster. "What did he do?"
"He was obsessed with you. I saw that when he came to speak to me. I didn't mean for that spriggan to kill him. I only wanted him hurt enough to scare him off."
"And then frame Gabriel for the assault."
"Yes. Assault, not murder."
"Then Tristan did kill James. You were horrified. You confessed to me what happened, told me he planned to frame Gabriel and you couldn't let that happen because it went too far, much too far. Oh, wait. No. That's not how it happened."
"I . . ."
"I don't know if you planned for James to die or not, but you knew it was a possibility, and when he did, you continued as planned. One innocent man died and another was due to spend his life in prison for the crime."
"Gabriel is not an innocent man, Olivia. Far from it. The sooner you realize that, the better off you will be." She leaned in. "He wouldn't have gone to prison anyway. He's too good a lawyer for that."
"James is still dead."
"Yes, and that is a tragedy, but I had nothing--"
"James is still dead!" I spat, leaning across the table, Pamela falling back, the guard across the room shooting forward. I moved back and the guard stopped.
"James was innocent," I said, my voice barely above a whisper now, the pain too great. "And he is dead, and as far as I am concerned, you are responsible for that, as much as if you'd put your hands around his neck yourself."
I stood and I turned away, and as I did, she got to her feet. "Olivia, no. Please. I can explain."
I walked to the door. "Olivia," she called. "Please."
I opened the door, and as it closed behind me, I heard her shout, "Eden!" and I kept walking.
--
I was now permitted to see Todd. The prison officials explained it had been an "administrative miscommunication," which I interpreted to mean there'd been some magic at work, likely Tristan's.
On my way into the waiting room, I'd grabbed a tissue, but if I did cry, it wasn't going to do me much good, because by the time that door opened, it was shredded on my lap, my fingers still pulling apart every scrap big enough to shred.
Todd walked over, that tentative I'm not sure of my welcome smile playing on his lips. When I smiled, he returned it and slid into his seat.
"Hey, there," he said.
"Hey."
He glanced at Gabriel, standing over by the wall. "Tell him to grab a chair."
"He'd rather stand."
"Loom, you mean."
I smiled again. "Exactly. More intimidating." I took a deep breath. "I know the truth. I know who did it, and I know why, and I know it wasn't you." I met his gaze. "It was Pamela. All Pamela."
Todd jerked back. "What? No. Whoever told you that--"
"She did. I figured it out, and she admitted it."
"Then she's lying."
"She's not, though I'll admit she's very good at it. You, on the other hand? You need to work on your technique, Dad."
He'd opened his mouth to protest. The
n, realizing what I'd called him, he froze. His mouth worked and then stopped as his eyes glistened and he shook his head. "Shit."
"Yep," I said.
"Whatever she said, I'm sure she exaggerated to protect me."
"She blamed you."
"She--?"
"She told me you were the one who did it. That she was the guilt-stricken conscientious objector who went to prison to protect you and support your actions."
He stared, and I almost wished I could pull the words back. He didn't deserve that. But he hadn't deserved any of it, and that was why I had to plow on, however much it hurt him.
"She . . . she must have had a reason. A plan." He gave a twisted smile. "Your mother always has a plan."
"I know," I said. "And sometimes, as much as she thinks she's protecting the ones she loves, she hurts them. Hurts them so much."
"She doesn't mean it."
"Maybe, but we need to stop making excuses for her. It's time for you to tell the truth."
"What?" He blinked hard. "No. We have an appeal. Gabriel will--"
"No, Gabriel won't. Not for her. Even if he did, freedom is far from a guarantee. I want a guarantee. For you."
"Your mother . . ."
"There's more." I told him what she'd done: ordering James's death and framing Gabriel.
When I finished, he seemed to have aged ten years, his face sagging, his eyes dark with pain.
"I know that in some twisted way she was trying to protect me," I said. "But she killed someone I loved and tried to destroy someone else I care about very much. There is no justifying that."
He dipped his head in a slow nod.
"I know you feel you owe her, for what she did for me, but I think you've repaid that. You've repaid it and repaid it, and even if you still love her, you don't owe her a thing." I crumpled the remains of the tissue in my hand. "And I want you back. I really want you back."
He tore his gaze from mine. "I will tell the truth," he said. "But first, I need to let Gabriel work his magic, try to free me without turning on her."
"What? No. Gabriel's good, but I want guarantees, Dad. I need a guarantee."
"Even my telling the truth doesn't guarantee anything, sweetheart. If the appeal fails, I'll do it. But you need to give me this chance, Liv. Whatever she's done, I need to try it this way first."
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE