We were riding together, sharing a horse. I sat behind him, holding on tight as he spurred the stallion ever faster, whipping through the forest so fast my heart was in my throat and I was sure every leap was going to see me unseated, my brains dashed against a tree. And I loved it. I loved that pounding adrenaline, that delicious fear, and he knew it, and I loved that most of all--that this ride was for me. For us.
The ride seemed to last forever, the horse moving preternaturally fast. I heard the hounds in the forest. I could see only glimpses of red eyes, but I knew they were there and I smiled. His hounds. Keeping him safe.
He took me so far that I no longer even knew where I was. Then there was a hill, and the coal-black stallion raced up the steep face as if it was flat ground. At the top, I looked around and sucked in breath.
"By the gods," I whispered.
Arawn turned to me, and I saw his face for the first time since the vision began. He was a young man, not yet out of his teens. Wild dark hair. Wild dark eyes. A grin so big and so dazzling that I stared, transfixed, before yanking my gaze to the sight that had transfixed me only a moment ago.
Standing stones topped the hill. Ancient, weathered, moss-covered stones. They glowed as the moonlight shone on them, bright as the midday sun. I slid off the horse and ran between the stones, running my hands over them, feeling their power as I raced from one to the next, greedily touching each. Then I stopped and looked up at the moon, and I laughed. I laughed with pure joy, pure glee, and when I lowered my gaze, it fell on him. Arawn. Standing in front of me, smiling.
"You're happy?" he said.
"I am incredibly happy," I said, grinning up at him. "Thank you."
"That smile is all the thanks I need." He stepped closer and lowered his voice. "I want you to be happy, Mati. That's all I want."
I smiled, and he moved closer still. His hand went to my chin, and he lifted my face to his. I saw him there, the handsome face of a boy I loved. And yet it lasted only a blink before I saw another face. A fair-haired boy with blue eyes I could lose myself in. Blue eyes I had lost myself in, and it didn't matter if Gwynn had given no sign he felt the same. I told myself I should take this, take Arawn's kiss, be happy with that, because I did love him. He leaned in for that kiss and...I dipped my head. Ducking away. He hesitated. Then his lips brushed my forehead and he pulled me into a tight embrace.
"Whatever makes you happy, Mati," he said, and there was a wistfulness that pulled me out of the dream, just a little, reminding me of Ricky.
Arawn kissed my forehead again. "Friends?"
I kissed his chin. "Best friends."
"No matter what?"
I hugged him tightly. "No matter what."
"Why aren't you paying attention?" a plaintive voice asked behind me. I turned from Arawn to see the lamia who'd spoken to me in the vision, that night I'd seen one of their deaths.
"We die, and you play with Arawn and Gwynn. You laugh and you flirt and you fuck, and we die, and you care not at all."
I was back to myself, standing alone on that hill, the girl in front of me.
"Actually, I'm pretty sure what I'm doing right now is sleeping," I said. "Which I'm going to need to get back on the case." Oh, and sorry I missed a couple of days there. Being unconscious in the hospital. After falling off a bridge while on that case that I'm not investigating, apparently.
"Do you have anything to help my investigation?" I asked.
She said nothing, just fixed that reproachful gaze on me.
"Can I ask you questions?"
"You need to pay attention, Mallt-y-Nos. Pay attention to us. To what's happening to us."
"No, actually, she does not," said another voice. I turned to see a man. Tall, golden hair, bright blue eyes. It was the eyes I knew. Otherwise, he was so much older than I'd seen him before, his face lined, those blue eyes exhausted.
"Gwynn," I whispered.
I looked down at my hands again, expecting to see Matilda's, but they were still mine.
"Pay the lamiae no mind," he said. "You have more important things to focus on."
"He's right." Another voice. To my left. I looked, and it was Arawn, just as old, his dark beard shot with gray, eyes as tired, as if he had lived longer than he cared to. His lips quirked in a smile, a hint of the boy I knew. "Yes, occasionally he is right. It's rare, I know."
Gwynn rolled his eyes. Arawn stepped toward me. "Ignore them, Mati. Ignore the lamiae. As cruel as that might sound. They are but a symptom of the disease. Cure the disease, and you help them. Decide your future, and you help them."
"Choose, you mean." I glanced from Arawn to Gwynn.
Arawn gave me that same tired but affectionate smile. "Not that choice. That one is decided. It always has been. We were just too selfish to see it. Too selfish and afraid."
"I meant choose Tylwyth Teg or Cwn Annwn."
"Ah, did you now?" Arawn's lips twitched. "Yes, there is that choice, but it isn't so simple, as I think you've begun to realize, which is why you're avoiding the issue altogether. You tell them you're taking a bit of time to get your thoughts straight. Really, you're postponing and procrastinating."
"Nothing will change by waiting," Gwynn said. "The answer will not come in a dream or a vision. The longer you delay, more problems will arise." He waved at the lamia, frozen as if she was a statue. "To solve those problems, address the core issue."
"Not while girls are dying," I said.
"They aren't girls."
When I tensed, Arawn said, "He doesn't mean it like that."
"Yes, I do," Gwynn said. "They are not girls. It doesn't mean they deserve to die, but they aren't innocent children in need of protection."
"No?" I said, meeting his gaze.
"No, Matilda. They're not. The sooner you remember that, the easier this will be."
"I'm not Matilda."
His lips curved, the smile so faint that I couldn't help but see Gabriel in it. "You are our Matilda, as much as we are the men you know now and as much as we are the boys you remember."
"That makes no sense," I snapped.
He met my gaze. "Doesn't it? I am the Gwynn in Matilda's memories. Your memories. Whatever is left of me is there, in your world, in your Gabriel, just as whatever is left of our Mati stands before us. As much as you don't want to hear that."
"I--"
"You don't want to hear it because you want to be your own person. You want Gabriel and Ricky to be their own persons. Which you are. Which they are."
"You're only confusing her," Arawn said. "You do realize that, don't you?" His hand went to my arm. "He's right in this, though, Liv. We want you to forget the lamiae. Yet we know you will not. Matilda would not, and so you would not. Just take care. Please." He leaned and kissed my forehead again. "Now it's time for you to wake up."
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
I bolted upright in bed and looked around. Ricky rose beside me.
"Liv?" he croaked.
"I..." I peered around the dark and silent room. "I was having a dream. I think it was..." I rubbed my eyes and shook my head.
He reached up and tugged the blind, letting moonlight slide across the bed.
"A vision?" he asked.
"I...I don't know. Arawn was there."
A twist of a smile, one that mirrored Arawn's so well I shivered. "Was he being a jerk?"
No. Arawn was never a jerk in my visions. Not Arawn nor Gwynn. Not even in that terrible last one, when they'd forced Matilda to choose. Not jerks. Just young men, a little arrogant, a little frightened, a little angry, both struggling to hold on to her, only to both lose her.
"We were riding and..." I shook my head. "Never mind. Details aren't important."
He tugged me down as he stretched out on his back. "I'd like to hear them."
I hesitated. Then I told him everything I remembered, from the thunder of the horse's hooves to the baying of the hounds. This is the dilemma, the contradiction we cannot resolve. We do not want to be them. Yet we are fascinat
ed by them, because every detail tugs at a buried memory. It's like smelling balloons and getting a flash of a forgotten birthday party, and as I talked, Ricky pulled me against him, both of us sharing those tugs of memory.
I told him the rest, too, about the lamiae and the older Arawn and Gwynn.
"Well, that's bullshit," he said.
"Telling me to ignore the lamiae?"
"No, that's just pointless, which they seemed to realize. The bullshit is that lamia saying you aren't paying attention to their deaths. You almost died working their case."
"Maybe it's my subconscious then? Making me feel like I'm not working hard enough?"
"I'd buy that. I also get where Arawn and Gwynn are coming from--whether they were visions or subconscious manifestations. The lamiae aren't your responsibility. And, no, I'm not telling you to stop investigating. But maybe..."
"Holding the Tylwyth Teg and the Cwn Annwn to my timetable isn't helping anyone. I'm pushing them off because I don't want to deal with it."
"You were giving yourself mental space. Which you needed. If two more months helps, then screw the dreams. They might very well just be your subconscious, expecting too much of yourself. As usual."
"Hmm."
He slid his hands under my arms and pulled me onto him.
"You do," he said. "You have a very high set of personal expectations. It's not necessarily a bad thing...except when you beat yourself up for not meeting them."
He kissed me before I could answer, a slow and wonderful kiss, his hands sliding up my back, warming my chilled skin, and I lifted my hands to his hair, wrapping my fingers in it and kissing him back and--
My phone rang. Ricky let out a growl, and I chuckled.
"It's no one on my ring-tone list," I said. "Therefore I can safely ignore it."
I kissed him again, but before I closed my eyes, his gaze shifted toward my phone on the nightstand. I sighed and pulled back.
"You want me to answer?" I said.
"I think that the fact an unknown number is calling at three in the morning might not be something to ignore."
I reached for the phone, but he beat me to it, picking it up and saying, "May I? If it's nothing, I'd like to give them proper hell."
I smiled. "Go for it."
He answered with a grunted, "Hello," devoid of his usual charm. He held the phone far enough from his ear for me to hear.
"Wh-who is this?" a young female voice asked.
"Ricky Gallagher."
"Arawn," the voice breathed, exhaling the name, and Ricky stiffened.
"It's Ricky," he said.
"I-I know. Sorry. Is Mat--Eden there?"
He said nothing.
"Olivia," the voice said quickly. "She goes by Olivia now. I'm sorry. I'm just--I need to speak to her. Please. I know it's late--early--but I really need--"
"Who is this?"
"I-I'm a friend--a client of Aunika. One of her girls. From the clinic."
"If you know who I am, then you don't need to beat around the bush. Liv has spent two days in the hospital because of Aunika and her 'girls,' and she's recovering with some much-needed sleep."
"Lamiae," the girl blurted. "I'm one of the lamiae. I'm sorry. I'm just...I'm not accustomed to--"
"Get to the point."
Every time he was curt with the girl, I had to resist reaching for the phone. Gwynn was right--I may know they're fae, but I see teen girls, and right now I heard a lost girl in trouble.
"They call me Melanie," she said.
"What matters to me is that it's three in the morning, and if you so desperately need to speak to Liv, you'll tell me what it's about before I hang up."
"Something's wrong at the clinic. There's--"
"Why are you there at this hour?"
"Looking for Aunika. One of the others saw a light after midnight. We thought Aunika might be back. But I can't get in. There's cold iron blocking the doors."
"Isn't there always?"
"Not the main doors. She just puts it on her office and her apartment because there are fae who'd like to hurt her."
"Why?"
A soft hiss of frustration, reminding me what Melanie really was. "I'll answer all your questions later, Arawn. Right now, something's wrong. I can't get past the doors and I...I smell blood."
"All right. Thank you for the information."
"Wait! You're not--she's not coming?"
"Whatever happened in there will wait until a decent hour."
"But--"
"If you were so concerned about Aunika, maybe you should have returned the message Liv left for you this morning."
"I--"
"If you want to speak to Liv, wait at the clinic. She'll show. Eventually."
He hung up, handed me the phone, and rolled out of bed. He didn't ask if we were actually going to wait until morning. He didn't need to.
"You make a very good hard-ass," I said. "You know that."
"I don't get nearly enough practice, so I take advantage of every opportunity. Long-term job training."
I smiled and grabbed my jeans as he tossed them my way.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Ricky stopped at the end of the clinic block and let the bike idle, as if he was surveying the playing field. Which he was, but this was also an unspoken opportunity for me to pick up any omens that shouted, "Thou shalt not proceed."
I took off my helmet and looked around. It was a crisp October night. The full moon hung low in a star-filled sky.
Perfect night for a hunt.
I smiled as the thought came unbidden. Sadly, that wasn't why we were out here. I was about to put my helmet on when I caught a flicker of movement to my left. I turned sharply. Ricky followed my gaze, squinting with his visor raised, but all I saw was shadowed darkness.
I tilted my head to listen. The idle of the Harley made that impossible. Ricky turned off the engine without any sign from me.
We both looked into the silent night. Then his chin shot up, and he turned. I followed his gaze but saw nothing.
"I thought I heard..." He frowned and then said, "A horse whinny. I thought I heard a horse whinny."
Perfect night for a hunt.
But the Cwn Annwn couldn't ride here. There wasn't a forest for miles. Ricky stayed tense, his sharp gaze cutting through the night, and when I leaned in to kiss the back of his neck, my lips brushed goose bumps.
"What's wrong?" I whispered.
He said nothing. Just kept looking. Then I heard him inhale, and I caught the faintest whiff of horse.
With his gaze still on our surroundings, he reached back, took my hand, and moved it to my pocket. I pulled out the boar's tusk. He felt it in my hand and nodded.
"But if it's the Huntsmen..." I whispered. The tusk was from the Cwn Annwn, to protect us against everything else.
"It's...wrong," he said, still searching the street and the surrounding buildings.
"Not Cwn Annwn?"
"I...I don't know. It's just wrong." He rolled his shoulders. "Sorry. I'm--"
"No, stay with that." I tugged his own tusk from his pocket and pressed it into his hand. "Follow your gut. Always."
He nodded, started the bike, and rolled it slowly down the street. I kept my helmet off and continued searching the shadows. He stopped a few doors from the drop-in center, turned into a gap between the buildings, and killed the engine.
I hopped from the bike while he kept it steady. Helmet off, he scanned the street. Then he nodded, as if satisfied that whatever he'd sensed was gone. There was no one in sight. No one even peeked out from behind a window blind at the very distinct sound of a Harley rolling along their street.
We were about to cross the road when I noticed that flicker again, dark movement in the shadows. This time, I spotted a large shape hunkered down behind a parked car. I tapped Ricky's elbow, but he was already turning that way.
As I reached for my gun, his hand closed on mine, and he shook his head. He took a slow step toward the shadow. It moved, and the mo
onlight glinted off dark red eyes.
"A hound?" I whispered.
That couldn't be right. Hounds didn't cower. As Ricky walked toward the car, the dark shape shrunk back, and I thought for sure he was mistaken.
I tucked the tusk into my pocket and palmed my switchblade instead. Ricky didn't seem to hear me even as I jogged up, gravel crunching. But then he lifted his fingers, holding me back as he continued until we were close enough to see black fur.
The beast lay flattened against the pavement, as if thinking itself safely hidden there. I lifted my switchblade and flicked on the penlight.
It was definitely a hound. And yet not like any hound I'd seen. Its fur was matted. One eye was glazed white. One ear a stump. A leg crooked, as if broken and not allowed to heal properly. The worst, though, was the look in its eyes: absolute terror.
"No," Ricky whispered. "How...? Who...?" He dropped to one knee on the sidewalk and lowered his hand to the ground. "Come here."
The hound backed up.
"It's all right," he said.
The hound stopped. It lifted its eyes to Ricky, and the hope in them was heartbreaking to see.
"Who would do this?" Ricky whispered. "Who would dare...?" He shook his head and crooned, "Come here. It's all right."
I turned off the penlight. The hound started at the click but then crept forward, still belly to the ground, gaze fixed on Ricky's face.
"That's it," Ricky said. "Come on."
The hound crawled closer, good ear pricking forward. Then a car skidded around the corner, tires squealing, music blaring, and the hound wheeled and took off running.
"No!" Ricky shouted. "Come back--"
He ran a few loping paces after the beast, but it disappeared down a side road.
"Fuck," he said, shooting a glower at the car as it sped past. "What the hell happened to that hound? Who would do that?"
Rage pulsed from him, his eyes glowing with it. Rage and indignation, that one of his hounds could be so mistreated. Yes, his hounds. Arawn's hounds. That's what he felt--the fury of Arawn for his beasts.
"Go after it," I said. "It was coming to you. It knows you."
He shook off the idea. "No, it was just--"
"It knows you, Ricky," I said. "At the very least, it recognizes your blood. Go after it, and I'll take care of this."
"You got a mysterious call in the middle of the night," he said, already crossing the road, headed for the drop-in center. "From a freaked-out girl. Remember what happened the last time?"