CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

I took Rowan at a near jog and turned left onto Cherry. The moment I slowed, I heard the thump of footsteps behind me.

“It’s only me,” Gabriel called after me. “I’ll stay back here.”

I stopped and waited for him to catch up.

“I didn’t mean to interfere with your walk,” he said. “While the situation has changed and you no longer require protection, this is Cainsville, and you may be safe from outsiders, but some here wish to speak to you. You wanted a quiet walk. I’m ensuring you get that. I won’t bother you.”

“You never bother me, Gabriel,” I said, managing a smile. “Walk with me. Please.”

He nodded, and we continued in silence. When we reached the corner of Beechwood and I started to turn onto it, he cleared his throat.

“Maybe we shouldn’t go that way.”

I looked down the street. The sun was still out, people cutting lawns and tending gardens, enjoying the warm June evening. I couldn’t see the house, hidden behind the towering maples, but I could spot the fence, wrought-iron with chimeras. The Carew house, where I’d first had the visions, one of Matilda that had spiraled me into a dangerous fever.

“I just want—” I began.

“Quickly,” he said.

I started walking, faster now, pulled toward that house. When we reached the gate, I unlatched it and stepped through. He stayed on the sidewalk.

“We aren’t going inside,” he said.

“I’m not. I’m just . . .” I trailed off, looking at the house.

“We aren’t going inside.” Anger edged his words. “I know you want answers, but this isn’t how you’ll get them. I won’t do that again.”

“I didn’t take off on you at the Villa. I—”

A middle-aged couple walking on the opposite side of the road slowed to watch us.

“Can we go around back?” I said. “Into the gardens. I won’t step inside the house. I just don’t want to stand out here.”

Seconds ticked by as he considered.

“Please,” I said. “I need a few moments of . . . of peace. I’ll find it in the garden. Five minutes, and we can leave. I swear.”

He nodded abruptly.

We went around the house. It was a Queen Anne, with a rounded porch, columns, and huge bay windows. The gardens were classic Victorian. No grass here. Only cobblestone walks, empty flower beds, and a fishpond with a fountain. I walked over to a statue in the corner. It was of a young woman, naked, raking her fingers through tousled, wet hair. At her feet was what looked like a fur rug, until I got closer and saw it was a sealskin. She was a selkie.

There were at least a dozen other statues, perhaps more small ones hidden under ivy. When I’d first come here, I’d paid little attention to the ones that seemed human, my attention instead drawn to the fantastical—the water dragons and trolls. Now I realized the humans weren’t human at all.

I glanced at the house. Had Glenys Carew known what Cainsville was? Or had she, like Rose, only sensed it, and become captivated with images of the fair folk, like Rose was fascinated by their folklore?

Gabriel stood in front of a bench but gave no sign of wanting to sit. Silently waiting. On guard, too, against me breaking my word.

I joined him. “At the Villa, when you didn’t want me going inside, I really wasn’t ignoring you. I saw you go inside, so I followed. Like in the alley. I was only trying to find you.”

He dipped his chin, acknowledging me, but he stayed rigid, his eyes hidden behind his shades.

“I can be stubborn,” I said. “But you know it’s more than that. I want to face whatever’s out there. It’d be too easy to hide. Too tempting. Just pull the covers over my head until it all goes away. But today? You were right. I didn’t need to see . . .” I swallowed. “I really didn’t need to see James like that.”

“True, but encountering his ghost may help in the long term.”

“You heard me tell Rose I saw that?”

“I wasn’t supposed to? I’m sorry for not realizing it was a private conversation. But you mentioned that he apologized and I’m glad you had that opportunity, even if I’d have preferred you could have avoided seeing his body.”

He said it so matter-of-factly, just like he treated omens, fae, and visions. The question of what I’d seen was not a question at all. Clearly, I’d seen a ghost.

James’s ghost.

My breath hitched, and I turned around fast, before the tears came.

“Sorry,” I said. “Just give me a moment.” Did I actually just say that? All the times I’d given him shit for saying take a moment, the very phrase bristling with impatience. I wanted to make a joke about that, but when I opened my mouth, a hiccuping sob escaped. I pressed my palms to my eyes.

Get it together. You can break down later. Don’t dump this on him.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s just that it’s still sinking in.”

“I wish you wouldn’t . . .” He trailed off.

“You wish I wouldn’t keep breaking down.”

A long moment of silence. Then, “That wasn’t what I was going to say, Olivia.”

He cleared his throat, as if struggling to find words, and I swore I heard a soft growl of frustration.

“It’s okay,” I said. “Whatever you meant, I—”

“I meant that I wish you wouldn’t apologize for your reactions. I wish that you didn’t feel the need to apologize. But I understand why you do. You are correct. I have little patience with emotional outbursts. Yet sometimes I may convey the impression of impatience when I’m simply frustrated by the awareness that I am . . . not responding . . . in a way . . .”

I felt sparks of friction, of discomfort, as if I were forcing his hand into a tank of electric eels.

I wanted to turn to him, but I was afraid if I did, he’d mistake my smile for mockery. I squeezed my eyes shut, finding the right expression, and—

Gabriel’s hands slid around my waist, pulling me against him, his chest warm and solid, his chin lowering to rest on my head as his arms tightened around me. As I leaned back into him, I kept my eyes closed because I knew if I opened them, I wouldn’t see the garden. I wouldn’t see Gabriel’s arms around me. I’d fallen into a vision.

The arms tightened again, hands finding mine and holding them, calming me. I tried to tell myself it could be Gabriel, that in the right moment, the right environment, the awkwardness and discomfort could fall away and Gabriel could hug me like this.

I still didn’t open my eyes. Not even a crack. Because I knew, in my gut, it wasn’t him.

The arms loosened then, hands still holding mine, tugging me around to face him. Then the hands went around me, sliding up my back, into my hair, his mouth coming down to mine in a perfect kiss, so sweet and warm and all-consuming it pushed everything else from my mind. And if there was any doubt, any at all, it vanished, and I knew this was not Gabriel.

And if it was?

I jumped at the thought, disentangling fast, eyes snapping open to see . . .

The man from my vision, the night of the fever.