NOT EVIL
Rose could hear Olivia and Ricky in the parlor. Yes, she was thinking of her as Olivia now. She’d been calling her Eden, if only to herself, but had come to accept that the possibility of “slipping” made it inadvisable. She liked and respected the girl, which meant she shouldn’t call her something she clearly didn’t wish to be called.
Speaking of names . . . When she’d heard that Rick Gallagher went by Ricky, she’d dismissed him. He was younger than Olivia, and his choice of diminutive only seemed to emphasize his youth. He’d be cocky and brash, immature and insubstantial, a pretty plaything for a young woman in desperate need of distraction.
As she eavesdropped on them in the parlor, she realized that Ricky was indeed distracting Olivia, but intentionally, guiding her attention away from shock and grief, immersing her in a subject she enjoyed. He listened to her explanations, made insightful remarks, asked intelligent questions, and coaxed out laughs along the way. Neither immature nor insubstantial.
Damn him.
Rose had slipped her deck of tarot cards out of the parlor before they arrived, and now, as she fixed the tea, she consulted them, hoping they’d tell her that Ricky Gallagher was a duplicitous bastard and the sooner Rose squashed this dalliance, the better off Olivia would be.
The cards said no such thing. They did tell her there was trouble. She’d known that from the moment she’d woken this morning from a sleep plagued by swirling nightmares. Tragedy, danger, darkness, grief, circling Gabriel and Olivia—and some shadowy third party. As soon as she’d seen Ricky Gallagher, she’d known who that third party was, and it had been easy to pounce on the conclusion that he was the cause of the rest. But the cards said no. He was intricately involved, and there was blame here, but it was through impulsiveness, not evil intent.
Olivia and Ricky laughed, and Rose slapped two cards on the counter. The Queen of Swords and the Knight of Wands. She swore under her breath. She shuffled, focused on the young couple, and tried again. The Queen of Swords and the King of Wands. Even worse.
The Queen of Swords was Olivia’s card. Bright, perceptive, intuitive, independent—it fit her perfectly. As did the reverse position, the more negative qualities that could slide to the fore in the wrong situation—cold-hearted, critical, cynical. The Knight of Wands was Ricky Gallagher. Energy, passion, action, adventure—those were the traits that guided the knight, and from what she’d seen, the card fit Ricky. Reversed, it meant he had a tendency to be easily frustrated, to act in haste. As for the King of Wands, that suggested a process of evolution—that Ricky was becoming a leader, someone with vision and honor, the reverse retaining that impulsiveness and adding a streak of ruthlessness.
She should seize on that last one. Ruthlessness. A sign of evil, was it not? Sadly, no. There was nothing wrong with ruthlessness. It was a trait she admired, and the only way for a young man like Ricky to come into his own.
Good cards, both of them. Excellent, in fact. Which was the problem. She wanted something minor for Ricky, something forgettable, a sign that he himself was inconsequential. But a knight evolving into a king? Not inconsequential at all.
Rose put the King of Wands aside, flipped over so she wouldn’t have to look at it. Then she cut through the deck until she found the card she wanted. The King of Pentacles, symbolizing control, power, security, and discipline. Reversed, it suggested a tendency to be controlling, authoritative, domineering. Gabriel’s card.
She smiled at the austere and foreboding figure on the front. She laid it beside the Queen of Swords with a snap of satisfaction, stepped back, and . . .
Her grandmother’s voice sounded at her shoulder. You can’t do that, Rosie. It doesn’t work that way.
But this is what I want.
I know, but you can’t force the cards to come. You can put them there, but what do you feel when you look at them?
Rose looked at the two cards on the counter. They did work together. Her gut said they did. But her gaze kept drifting to that discarded King of Wands.
Damn it.
If fifty years with the sight had taught her anything, it was exactly this. She could use her gift to manipulate circumstances and guide people down a path, but ultimately, they made their own choices.
At the creak of a floorboard, she glanced into the hall to see that Gabriel had arrived. He was standing outside the open parlor door, tucked back into the shadows as he watched Olivia with Ricky. His face was impassive, but she could see the turmoil in his eyes, the hesitation in his stance, as if he wanted to back up and walk away. Run away.
Goddamn it!
She wanted to march into the parlor and tell Ricky Gallagher to get the hell out of her house. To turn on Olivia and tell her to smarten up or she could get out, too. She needed to see what she was doing to Gabriel and tell Ricky it was over.
None of that was fair, of course. Ricky was doing nothing wrong. Nor was Olivia. If there was blame here, it fell on . . .
Her gaze slid to her nephew, and she stifled a pang of guilt. It wasn’t his fault. Not really. The problem could be traced back to everything that had gone into making Gabriel the way he was today: his mother’s neglect, his father’s negligence, and, yes, Rose not doing enough to mitigate the damage.
She had told herself he was fine, and he was, in so many ways. Brilliant, driven, successful, as capable and competent as a man twice his age. And completely, utterly incapable of forming anything remotely resembling a normal human relationship. Until Olivia.
Rose didn’t have a romantic bone in her body, but she wanted it for Gabriel. With Olivia, he could have that perfect bond between two people who are both partners and lovers. Ultimately, though, what mattered was having a bond. For Gabriel to have someone he cared for, who cared for him in return. Someone who made him happy. A few months ago, she’d have said that was impossible. Now she’d seen it wasn’t. He had Olivia. And Olivia had Ricky.
Gabriel turned toward the kitchen, as if to come look for Rose instead. Olivia noticed him there. She said, “Just a sec,” to Ricky, came out into the hall and retreated with Gabriel to the front door. Rose watched Olivia’s face for any sign of distance, proof that her bond with Gabriel was thinning. There was none. She was relaxed and comfortable with him, her gaze as warm as ever, her regard as strong as ever.
And Gabriel? He answered her questions about the police investigation concisely but sincerely, no impatience or sign that he’d rather be anyplace else, doing anything else.
Good. Now, ask her how she’s doing. How she’s holding up.
“Everything is under control,” he said. “You have nothing to worry about.”
“Thank you. I’m sorry I couldn’t stick around and answer more questions—”
“There was no need. That’s what I’m for, as your lawyer.”
Damn it, Gabriel. No. Not as her lawyer. As her friend. She just found someone she cared about murdered. If you can’t express some sympathy, at least let her know you’re thinking of what she’s going through.
“Right,” Olivia said. “Anyway, billable hours or not, I appreciate it.”
Her tone was steady and her thanks sincere, but Rose didn’t miss the rueful twist to the words “billable hours.”
Goddamn it, Gabriel. You have no intention of adding a single dollar to her bill. Clarify that. It’s a gift, not a service. Make sure she knows—
“Is Rose around?” Gabriel asked.
“In the kitchen, making tea.”
“Would you mind giving her a hand? I need to speak to Ricky.”
“Sure.”
Rose slid the cards into her pocket and opened the cupboard.