"What?" the young woman said. "Dancing--? I can barely dance at all with my twisted foot. I walk in the forest when I can, gathering herbs for my grandmother, and if the summer's day is hot, I'll go out in the evening instead, but . . ."
She trailed off as the clergyman shook his head.
"No," the young woman said. "No, it's not true. William, tell him. Please, tell him."
Her husband looked away. The baby let out a wail, and the floor opened up beneath me again.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
I crashed back into my body. I felt the smack of it, like a belly flop, pain slamming through me. Yet I didn't make a sound, didn't move a muscle. My eyes were closed, and I was lying on Patrick's couch. I could hear Gabriel's voice, feel his iron grip on my arm, and I tried to open my eyes, but I could only lie there, limp and still.
"She's snapped out of it." Patrick's voice.
"Then she should wake up. She always wakes up."
A cool hand resting gently on my forehead. Not Gabriel's. Patrick's, then.
"She's feverish, but not dangerously so. The vision exhausted her. She's learning to cope with them."
"Cope with them?" Gabriel's grip on my arm vanished, and his knees cracked as he stood. "I don't want her to cope with them. I want them gone."
"She's fine--"
"No, she's not. Goddamn it, how many times do I need to say this? Ida, Walter, you . . . all of you tell me how important she is, how you'd never hurt her, but this is hurting her. The fevers and the visions. They're dangerous, and the fact that none of you give a damn--"
"We give a damn, Gabriel. But there's nothing we can do except assure you that this is a normal part of the process."
"Then stop the process. Stop whatever the hell is happening to her."
"We can't."
Gabriel's voice moved, as if he'd stepped closer to Patrick. "You don't mean can't. You mean won't. Whatever is happening to her, you need it to happen, and you won't do anything to interfere with it. You like bargains, Patrick. How about this one: find a way to stop the visions or I will make sure Olivia leaves Cainsville and never comes back."
"Mmm, I don't think she'd appreciate that."
"I don't care."
"If you tricked her into leaving Cainsville and she found out what you'd done, I think you'd care very much."
"Then you'd be mistaken. The visions are tied to Cainsville. If you can't cure her, maybe taking her away will."
"I don't think Olivia is the sort of woman who'd stand for that. If you think she is--"
"Then I'd be a fool. I make my choices, and I accept the consequences. Now, can you cure her?"
"What if I offered you an alternative? If I could tell you something that would force the police to drop the charges against you? All charges."
"Then I would appreciate that. Later. Right now, my concern--"
"It isn't two separate deals, Gabriel. It's one. A choice."
No. Goddamn him, no. Patrick and his games. His endless games. I struggled to leap up, open my eyes, but I was still trapped there, as if asleep.
Patrick continued, "So what will it be? Free yourself from the prospect of a life in prison or Olivia from the fevers and the visions?"
Did Patrick know I was awake and listening? Was that the game? Force Gabriel to choose himself over me, after I'd proven I'd do the opposite? I knew which Gabriel would pick. I didn't care. I could live with the visions. I could not live with myself if he went to jail because he got mixed up with me.
"Exoneration or a cure," Gabriel said. "That is my choice?"
"It is."
"And my decision will remain between us?"
"Of course."
"I mean that, Patrick. I will demand your word on it. Whatever I choose, Olivia will never know that I had a choice. Correct?"
"You have my word."
"Then cure her."
No! The word echoed in my head, but I couldn't move, no matter how hard I struggled, fighting against the prison of my body.
You son of a bitch, Patrick. You goddamned--
"I wish I could," Patrick said. "Sadly, I cannot. Nor do I know anything that would set you free. It was a hypothetical."
A thud. A gasp and a hard thump, and then Patrick, wheezing as if struggling for breath. "While I applaud your reflexes, Gabriel, I might suggest that it's unwise to target me with them."
Gabriel's voice came low, razor-edged. "As it is unwise to target me with your games, Patrick. Particularly if they involve Olivia."
"I see that." A grunt, as if Patrick was pulling himself up off the floor. "I apologize for the trick. I believe I did pose it as a hypothetical, and if you misunderstood--"
I shot upright so fast I started falling. Gabriel's reflexes saved me from that ignoble fate, though I might wish he'd caught me by the arm or the shoulders instead of grabbing me by the collar, leaving me dangling like a kitten. A choking kitten. He released me fast enough, letting me settle upright onto the sofa.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"Fine." I looked around, getting my bearings. Seeing Patrick watching, I got to my feet. "I think we should leave now."
"I would agree."
Gabriel stood between me and Patrick, as if blocking him, while I rose and started for the door.
"Wait," Patrick said. "We need to discuss--"
"Nothing," I said. "We need to discuss nothing."
"I can explain the spina bifida. It's--"
"One of the side effects of fae blood. One of many, apparently. Now, if you'll excuse us . . ."
"I believe I can shed more light on the subject and what may have happened with your parents."
"No, thank you," I said. "I'll find my answers elsewhere."
"I can help with Gabriel's case."
That slowed my steps, and even when Gabriel murmured, "Keep going," and I knew he was right, I couldn't help myself. I turned to Patrick.
"That's what Gabriel and I were discussing when you were recuperating," he said. "While I don't have any answers, I do have a few ideas. Leads, as you'd say. I could pursue them, if you'd like."
As he said the words, perhaps he realized how they sounded--he'd only help free Gabriel if I agreed to talk. More likely it was the sudden surge of blood pressure turning my face an unhealthy shade of red that made him quickly retract with, "I will help either way, of course. But I'd like to discuss this as well."
"No," Gabriel said. "We don't need your help. Olivia?"
Patrick kept his gaze fixed on me. "As for the fevers, while I'm sure they concern you, Liv, they shouldn't. Am I correct that none have been as serious as that first one?" When I didn't reply, Patrick took that as agreement and continued, "Your body is learning to cope with them. As it must. They are a vital part of the process." A quick look at Gabriel. "The process of you coming into your powers, which benefits you as much as any of us. The visions are a protective mechanism, though they probably don't seem like it right now."
"What do they protect me against?"
"Us."
He waved me to the couch. I hesitated, but if Patrick had won me over with the promise of help with Gabriel's case, this is how he won Gabriel. He used us against each other, and I could rage at that, but deep down, part of me had to say, Well played, sir.
Gabriel headed into the living room and I followed.
Patrick continued. "The visions are hereditary memories, as you may have figured out. Think of it as a massive repository of knowledge from countless generations. My collection would be a mere shelf in your mental library. The problem is that there are too many books for one person to ever read. Too many memories for you to ever absorb. So you are thrown from one to the next, as you require them."
"You said they protect me from the Tylwyth Teg."
"Tylwyth Teg. Cwn Annwn. And every other type and subtype of fae out there, because there are many, and you are valuable to all of them. You can keep Cainsville alive. Or you can let it burn. There are many who would be overjoyed by either opti
on."
"How do the visions protect me?"
"By showing you truth. Without them, you're left relying on us for answers. Which we'll withhold until it suits us. Then we'll twist answers to our purposes and outright lie if that serves us better."
"What I saw, about the children . . ."
"A failure of completion. You are correct that it is one of the side effects of fae mingling with human. This form"--he gestured at himself--"is not our form. So procreation with humans can result in a body that is not entirely complete. Even when it happens, which is rare, the effect is usually not even noticeable. Shortened finger joints, missing wisdom teeth, one fewer rib than there ought to be. On occasion, though, it is more serious. In spina bifida, the spinal column fails to form completely, therefore fails to properly enclose the spinal cord. Which isn't to say that every child born with spina bifida has fae blood. But it is one of the most serious manifestations of the problem."
Manifestations of the problem. He said it so formally, so abstractly. A child is born unable to walk because a fae chose to impregnate a human woman. That child's condition is nothing more than a somewhat regrettable side effect. Like breeding cattle experimentally. Eventually, you're going to get one with a fifth leg, but the risk won't stop you from breeding them.
I hated their attitude. But did I hate them for it? No. They interbred to survive.
"We've confirmed Olivia had this condition," Gabriel said. "It has been verified beyond any doubt. But you knew nothing of it."
"We knew nothing of Liv," Patrick said. "Not until the Larsens were arrested. Then we realized that the girl was our Mallt-y-Dos. Which is why the elders facilitated her adoption. Hiding her until she was old enough to bring home to Cainsville."
"The leak," I said. "My identity. The Tylwyth Teg leaked--"
"Certainly not." Patrick looked affronted. He might hold himself separate from the others, but he was still one of them. "We would not orchestrate such a debacle. It was careless and thoughtless, and could as easily have driven you to Peru as to Cainsville. I'm sure the elders would point fingers at the Cwn Annwn, but if pressed, they would admit it was too clumsy and dangerous for them as well. I don't doubt that whoever leaked it wasn't entirely human, but it was not one of us. Back to your condition, though. We had no knowledge of that. You were a healthy, happy child when we found you, and we had no reason to think you'd ever been otherwise. If it's true, though, that this condition cannot be reversed by medical means, then you have almost certainly answered what was one of our biggest questions: why your parents did it."
"You knew they were guilty."
"We knew only what we read in the papers. We thought perhaps the mingling of blood, and the coming together of Tylwyth Teg and Cwn Annwn, produced . . . an unsatisfactory result."
Turned my parents into killers, he meant. That their darker fae natures had played off each other and stripped away their humanity.
"This is a more satisfactory answer." He caught my look and quickly added, without much conviction, "Though not as satisfactory as discovering they were innocent."
"It was not the Tylwyth Teg who offered the Larsens this deal, then," Gabriel said. "You are certain of that."
"I am. We don't have the power to reverse the condition, no more than we can alleviate the fevers better than modern medicine. At one time, that was different. Our knowledge of plants and herbal medicines helped. But these days, you can pick up something better on the shelf of any drugstore."
Gabriel seemed ready to pursue it, but I shook my head at him. What I'd seen in the visions confirmed they could not fix the children their blood had damaged.
"Who has healing powers?" I asked. "Or what does? Which fae?"
"None."
When I gave him a hard look, he threw up his hands. "We don't. What you are looking at is a ritual. Presumably your parents killed in that specific manner for a reason, and that reason is tied to your cure."
"If you tell me it was a satanic rite . . ."
He made a face. "Nothing so pedestrian. Or ludicrous. Demons are a very human creation. You look for ways to explain evil, and instead of seeing it in yourselves, you offload the responsibility onto monsters. The monstrous exists in the mirror, not in the sulfurous depths of some fantasy world."
"Or in the fantastical world of fae."
"It's not that fantastical, as you can see. We don't live in another realm. We're here sharing yours. There's no such thing as an evil race of fae. No more than there is an evil race of humans. Individuals, yes. But for the rest of us, we are like you--neither wholly good nor wholly bad. We simply don't feel as compelled to hide the bad."
"And as fascinating as this philosophical discussion could be, it doesn't help me solve the problem."
"True. Another time, then."
"Or not . . ."
Patrick only smiled. "You should at least humor me, Liv."
"You wouldn't respect me if I did."
"Also true. Back on topic. Fae may not have innate healing abilities or a direct line to the imaginary world of demon sacrifices, but there are . . . powers."
"Like healing?"
"No, I mean . . ." He made a vague gesture. "Powers. Higher powers, you might say, though I'm not inclined to put it that way."
"Gods?"
He made the face he had when he'd talked about demons. "That's why I didn't put it that way. I wouldn't call them gods or deities. Just . . . powers."
"Uh-huh. Are we talking about the Druids again?"
"Not really."
"That isn't an answer."
He sighed. "There are powers. Those powers have greater abilities. It is possible to invoke their favor."
"Like demons."
He made a noise in his throat that sounded remarkably like Gabriel's soft growl of frustration. "This is the problem with talking to boinne-fala. You have your boxes and everything has to fit into them or you'll damn well cram them in. God, demons, saints, monsters . . . There are powers. They have powers. Those powers can be invoked."
"By us?"
"No. Only fae. However, we could do so on behalf of a human."
"How is that different from having the actual power to heal?"
"It's vastly different," he said.
"It still comes down to the same thing. Any of you could have made the deal with my parents."
"I suppose that's true," he mused. He caught my darkening look. "But we didn't. It wasn't the Tylwyth Teg. At least, not the Tylwyth Teg of Cainsville."
I heard Gabriel sigh. This was going to be a long conversation.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
We didn't get anything more from Patrick. Nothing useful, at least. He suggested I begin with the Cwn Annwn. Not that he had any reason to actually suspect them, but it was a place to start. Except, you know, I shouldn't actually attempt to contact them, because that wouldn't be wise.
"We will have to speak to one of the Huntsmen," I said to Gabriel as we left Patrick's.
"I would agree."
"They've invited me to make contact, but they haven't exactly left a cell number." I took the boar's tusk from my pocket, rubbed it, and squeezed my eyes shut. "I'd like to speak to the guy in charge." I opened my eyes and looked around. "Nope, that's not it."
Gabriel's lips twitched in a smile. "We'll figure it out."
"I hope so."
--
After that, I talked to Larry. He hoped I'd "work out whatever I needed to work out" and come back to Cainsville. I didn't say much to that. I couldn't.
Gabriel and I detoured to the prison to get my car. We also tried again to see Todd. Nothing had changed. If some branch of the fae Mafia was blocking me, it was doing so at a level high enough that I couldn't dodge around it.
I'd just made it to my car when Ricky called. I put him on speaker and followed Gabriel's car from the lot.
"I want to see you tonight," he said as I drove.
"Um, good, considering that's what we had planned."
Two seconds
of silence told me those plans had changed.
"Club business?" I asked.
"Yeah. Just a private meeting with my dad. Stuff we can't discuss on the phone. He needs me to come by at nine, which is going to totally fuck up our evening. Unless I can convince you to come with."
"To the clubhouse?"
A shuffle in the background. I could hear the distant murmur of voices. Still at school, then, taking a moment between classes.
He continued. "We discussed you making an appearance at the club, just coming by, hanging out, showing the guys . . . you know."
"That I don't think I'm too good for them."
"Mmm, yeah."
What I'd just learned from Patrick was huge. Overwhelming, too. I needed time to clear my head so I could work it through. Spending the evening in a biker clubhouse was pretty much guaranteed to be all the distraction I needed.
"I'll come tonight."
"Thank you."
--
The Saints aren't your typical biker gang. Ricky downplays the differences, because he doesn't want them to seem like justifications. Running a successful criminal operation means you do make choices, and some the Saints make may seem ethical, but it's more about profit and self-protection. If you stick within certain lines of the law, you can skirt the notice of the law.
Within the club, the rules are equally strict, but again each one has a purpose. A biker gang is not a democracy. There's a guy in charge, and he owns your ass, and that's okay, because it's a way of life that the guys in a gang understand. Give them democracy and they'd smell weakness, toss your ass overboard, and seize control for themselves.
Yet as progressive as Don was, equality for women didn't rank high on his reform list, because the gang wanted it about as much as they wanted democracy, which was to say, not at all. This was one reason Ricky hadn't been rushing me out for an evening at the clubhouse. If there was a drop of sexism in Ricky, I hadn't seen it. He didn't go out of his way to treat me as an equal, because to him, I just was. Now he had to ask me, for an evening, to accept an inferior role. I'd never seen Ricky so uncomfortable as when he had to lay out those expectations before our visit.
"It's okay," I said as we talked at his place. "I get it. You're not asking me to dress in micro shorts and serve them beer before the wet T-shirt contest. The rules are simple enough. One, treat you with respect, which I hope I always do."