Deceptions: A Cainsville Novel (33 page)

W
e talked about our dream homes. Then we talked about whatever came to mind, chasing tangents as we emptied the bottle and evening turned to night, the moon reflecting off the water, lighting the dark shore to twilight.

It wasn’t just the alcohol. We’d hit a milestone, a huge one, and though it didn’t solve Gabriel’s problem—he was still charged with murder—that didn’t seem to matter tonight. It was a start, and that false charge was connected to my parents’ crimes, which meant it was still progress.

Tonight, we had wine and we had solitude. And I had him. For one night, I had Gabriel—really had him, the secret him, the hidden one, lazing on the bank, shirtsleeves rolled up, those light blue eyes like faded jeans, warm and comfortable. I had him talking. I had him smiling. I even had him laughing. And as I lay on my side, watching him tell me a story, I knew I loved him. I couldn’t brush it off as “not that way,” as platonic love, as intellectual love. It
was
that way.

I loved Gabriel. And I loved Ricky. It wasn’t the same, but it wasn’t different enough, either, not as different as it should have been, not as different as I wanted it to be. That twisted and burned. I wasn’t this person. I’d never been this person. I gave myself to one man at a time, and I never so much as looked in another direction—and now that one acknowledged truth had been warped. I was still fiercely loyal—to two men. Two men I loved. Two men I’d do anything for. Give anything to protect.

That was fickle. It was selfish. It was wrong. And it wasn’t fair to the guy who thought he had all of me, committed and faithful in every way.

I would never cheat on Ricky. If Gabriel had given some sign that he wanted more, had leaned over and kissed me, I’d have pulled back and said no. What mattered was that I wouldn’t
want
to say no.

Even if a romantic relationship with Gabriel wasn’t an option, I had to choose: break it off with Ricky or commit myself to him. Work with Gabriel, yes. Be his friend, yes. Sit on a beach, drinking and talking, for half the night? No. That was where I went too far.

The realization that I had to make that choice should have been like falling into the cold water of Lake Michigan. I should have staggered to my feet, blurted some excuse, and escaped, fleeing this perfect evening as fast as I could.

I didn’t. The realization came hard and painful but bittersweet, too, as if I’d been mentally picking my way across the rocks for weeks now, this destination in view, getting ever closer until I reached it, dreading it a little, but knowing I had to get there. I had Gabriel—really had him—for those few hours, and maybe after tonight I’d choose to step back and I’d never have this again, and if that was the case, then I was grabbing it with both hands and hanging on while I could.

When I started yawning, I stifled it, but eventually Gabriel noticed.

“We should think about getting back,” he said.

I nodded, and we did nothing more about it for at least an hour, talking instead about college, which subjects we’d liked and those we’d gritted our teeth through. Finally, yawning wasn’t enough. My eyelids were flagging.

“Let’s get you back,” he said. “You spent last night in my office. You shouldn’t spend this one on the beach.”

I wanted to say I’d be fine with that, but as the alcohol slid from my bloodstream, I knew I shouldn’t. If I’d come to the realization that something needed to change, I couldn’t start by spending the night with Gabriel, however innocently.

We started out, still light-headed, joking about who was in better condition to drive, making each other walk straight lines and recite Sherlock Holmes quotes.

“The fact that you’re admitting you can recite Holmes quotes proves you’re in no shape to drive,” I said as we crested the last rise.

“I’ve read the comics.”

I laughed. “And
that’s
better than admitting you read novels? How—?”

Gabriel grabbed my arm, and the next thing I knew I was staring at his back.

“Take three steps backward,” he said.

It took a second to realize he was talking to someone else. I peeked around him to see a thin man, brown-haired, not much older than me. Or
looking
not much older than me, though I suspected he was many times my age.

Tristan raised a hand. “I come in peace.”

“Bullshit.” I sidestepped around Gabriel. “The last time we had contact with you, it was through your flunky, Macy Shaw, when she tried to
kill
us.”

“In opposition to my explicit directions. I made it very clear you weren’t to be harmed. Either of you. That’s the problem dealing with humans. Petty grievances and jealousies flare, and they ignore orders. Logic, too, as it seems. If one has to deal with them, one is better choosing
sìol
. They’re usually able to rise above that.”

“
Sìol
?” I tried to move closer, but Gabriel gripped my arm, and he was right. Maintain distance.

“Descendants,” Tristan said. “For us, it means those descended from our kind.
Disgynyddion
in Welsh, but that’s a mouthful. In my language, it’s
diyskynnyas
, which is just as bad, so we’ll stick to Gaelic. I’m not Gaelic. Or Welsh. But you are. Both of you. Part Tylwyth Teg, part human, part . . . other things. Cwn Annwn among them for you, Eden. That’s the thing about
sìol
. They’re terribly attractive to fae, at least as breeding stock. Keep hitting the same lineage over and over, and eventually you get quite an interesting mix.”

I glanced at Gabriel. “So that’s where we get it from. The hyperverbal gene. Fae do love to talk.”

“True . . .” Tristan said. “But in this case, I believe you’re the one who wanted to talk to me. You left an invitation.” He held out a scrap of notepaper. On it I could see my phone number . . . in my own handwriting.

“You’re Jon Childs,” I said.

“Among others. But you’ve invited me to talk, so I’m taking you up on the offer, though this might be a somewhat one-sided conversation. It appears you have a problem I may have caused.”

“Besides the fact that your psycho assistant tried to murder us?”

“Yes, besides that.”

Gabriel’s hand moved to my shoulder. “We have nothing to say to you, whatever you are.”

“
Spriggan
,” Tristan said. “I’ll give that information freely as a token of my goodwill. As for what a
spriggan
is—”

“You murdered Ciara Conway,” I said.

“Mmm, no. Macy did, attempting to restrain her. I will admit, however, that I did utilize her corpse in ways you might have found disturbing.”

“You left her
head
in my
bed
.”

“Her spirit had long fled. I was simply using the shell to encourage you to discover your own heritage. I was being helpful. If you look at it in the right light.”

I couldn’t even respond to that.

“Why did Edgar Chandler ask me to kill you?” Gabriel said.

“That’s . . . complicated.”

“You have one minute to find an uncomplicated answer. If you do so, you will earn five minutes of our time.”

“You’re very cute,” Tristan said. “Both of you. You act as if you have a say in the matter. As if you could, indeed, just push me out of the way and go about your evening.”

“Is that an invitation to try?” Gabriel said.

“Not particularly. I lack your fondness for confrontations.”

“Chandler,” I said. “He wanted us to kill you.”

“No, I don’t think he did. He wanted you to find me. I’d gone to him once before, when he was working on his brainwashing techniques with the merry Huntsman. I’d made him an offer. He refused. I believe he was reconsidering, namely because he realized he was in deep trouble. He sent you after me. He thought I would use my abilities to overpower you and learn who sent you, and then I’d go and speak to him. He was overcomplicating things, as usual. I wouldn’t have bothered with him. He was damaged goods by that point. There’s your answer, so I’ll take my five minutes.” He gave us no time to object. “I’m the one who started the business with James Morgan. Making him think Eden was in danger from you, Mr. Walsh.”

“What?” I said.

“I had a plan,” he said, with a combination of nonchalance and smugness that left me staring.

They aren’t human. You need to remember that. Don’t expect them to think, to act like humans.

Tristan continued, “I want peace, Eden, and you could start a war that will make this entire corner of the world a very uncomfortable place for those like me. So I’m going to help you make the right choices. If you don’t . . .” He shrugged. “I’ll have to kill you. Which would be regrettable.”

“All right,” Gabriel said. “We’ve heard enough—”

“I still have four minutes. The point is that I ruffled Mr. Morgan’s feathers for the same reason I toyed with Ciara Conway’s unfortunate shell. All part of my plan. Mr. Morgan was a pest. Pests need to be eradicated.”

I lunged forward. “You killed—?”

His hands shot up. “An unfortunate choice of words. Please allow me to finish. He was a nuisance because he was distracting you from discovering your identity and your role. I expected Mr. Walsh would stomp him, and in the process the bond between you and Mr. Walsh would strengthen. That bond is important, as I’m sure you know by now.”

I glanced uneasily at Gabriel, but he only watched Tristan with the same wary look he’d had since we’d been waylaid.

I answered quickly. “So you made James think Gabriel was a danger to me. You compelled him—”

“Which was only possible because he was quite willing to be persuaded,” Tristan cut in, as if that made a difference.

“You got Gabriel arrested for assault and trespassing—”

“
That
I didn’t expect. Morgan was more committed to you than I anticipated. The situation escalated.”

“No shit it escalated.” I stepped toward him. “
You
escalated it. You sent cult deprogrammers after me, in James’s name.”

“No, I presume Morgan was behind that. And now our Mr. Walsh has been falsely charged with his murder.”

“Do you know who did it?”

“Well, no. Not yet. I believe if we pool our resources—”

I laughed.

“I realize you haven’t seen me as an ally,” Tristan said. “Though I’d argue I am. In fact, I’m the only one who doesn’t seek the destruction of either side. I want peace.”

“Is that an option?” I said. “Because according to everything I’ve heard, I have three choices: I choose to align myself with one side and let the other die out. Or I choose neither and both die. I’m not hearing an alternative.”

“I haven’t exactly worked out the logistics—”

I groaned and turned to Gabriel. “Can we go now?”

“The Cwn Annwn,” Tristan said. “They’re the most likely suspects. They want to get rid of Gwynn so Arawn controls the playing field.”

“We need to go,” I said, reaching for Gabriel’s arm. He lifted it out of my reach without even looking over.

“Gwynn?” Gabriel said. “Arawn?”

“You do know who they are, I presume?” Tristan said.

“Of course,” I broke in. “Matilda, Gwynn, Arawn. The myth or history or whatever it is. Gabriel, can we—?”

“In a moment. This could be important.” He turned to Tristan. “Explain what you mean—”

“Gabriel, please.” I gripped his elbow.

He seemed to catch the growing desperation in my voice. He nodded. “All right.” Then, to Tristan, “We’ll speak—”

“Investigate the Cwn Annwn. I haven’t been able to prove they’re behind Morgan’s murder, but it’s the solution that makes sense. If you’re arrested, that removes Gwynn from the equation, and leaves the biker boy, Arawn.”

“Gabriel,” I said loudly, trying to distract him from Tristan’s last sentence, but it did no good. Gabriel stared at him so intently he could have read his lips.

“Biker boy?” he said.

“Richard Gallagher.”

“You’re saying Ricky is Arawn? And I’m . . .”

“Gwynn, of course. Gwynn ap Nudd. King of the Tylwyth Teg.”

Gabriel pivoted on his heel, so slowly I swear it took ten seconds before he was facing me, and still it wasn’t enough time to plaster on a look of confusion.

“Olivia,” he said. “You knew . . . ?”

“We aren’t them,” I blurted. “Not reincarnations. It’s a role. You have Tylwyth Teg blood and Ricky has Cwn Annwn, and I have both, and we know one another, so we’ve been thrust into these roles—”

“Not exactly,” Tristan said. “True, it isn’t reincarnation, but it’s not happenstance. There couldn’t be another Gwynn to your Matilda. It’s all preordained. He is
the
Gwynn—”

“Enough.” Gabriel’s voice was so low we both turned, as if uncertain we’d heard it. “That’s enough,” he said, articulating each syllable. “We are going to leave now. If you wish to speak to us, you know where we are.”

Tristan thrust business cards at both of us. “Or you can call me. Anytime. I really do think we can solve—”

Gabriel had already walked away, leaving the card in Tristan’s outstretched hand. Tristan tucked mine into my pocket.

“It’s not the Cwn Annwn,” I said to Tristan. “Unless James has murdered someone with fae blood, they can’t kill him.”

“That’s the general idea, but I’m not convinced it’s a rule.”

“It is,” I said.

“That makes it more complicated,” he said, sighing. “Why don’t we—?”

Now I was the one walking away—jogging, actually—to catch up with Gabriel.

“I can help you,” Tristan called after us.

“That’s what everybody says,” I muttered, and raced after Gabriel.

—

I’ve had quiet drives with Gabriel. Sometimes it’s a comfortable, worn-in kind of silence, both of us relaxed and burrowed deep in our thoughts. Sometimes it’s like being stuck in an empty chamber, painfully and uncomfortably aware of the lack of communication. That night, the silence was a living thing, a rat gnawing at me as I sat bound to my chair, unable to throw the beast off and escape. Gabriel’s silence forbade discussion and told me that if I opened my mouth, said a single word, it would only make the situation worse.

We were nearly at the city before he spoke.