CHAPTER FIFTY

As furious as I was with the Cwn Annwn, they were just a convenient target. Patrick had talked about outside fae and other creatures that would have a stake in this power play between the local Tylwyth Teg and Cwn Annwn. I should have extrapolated that to mean Ricky could be targeted. I hadn’t.

Now I had to tell him what he was. I cleaned his neck wound as I did. Was I purposely keeping busy? Avoiding looking him in the face while I explained that he had Cwn Annwn blood and I’d kept that from him? Yes. But as soon as I said it, he tugged me in front of him.

“So I’m descended from them?” he said. “The Wild Hunt?”

I nodded.

“Well . . .” He paused, looking pensive. “I suppose that explains a few things. The motorcycles, for one. Substitute horses. The thrill of the ride. And earlier.”

“Earlier?”

His eyes glinted. “The thrill of the chase.”

I laughed.

He caught me in an embrace, squeezing hard and whispering in my ear, “I don’t blame you for not telling me. You’re right. There’s a weekly limit of weird shit anyone can take.”

“Have you passed yours?”

“Not yet, but I have a feeling there’s more to come.” He settled me on his lap. “Want to tell me who Arawn is?”

I stiffened.

“You do know, then. Can I ask? Or have you reached your weekly limit of weird shit you care to explain?”

I exhaled. “It’s a long story.”

“I’d like to hear it.”

I nodded and told him everything. About Matilda and Gwynn and Arawn. Then about the three of us—the roles we played in that old drama.

When I finished, he said, “Huh.” Then, “Well, that explains even more.”

“Like why you stick with a girl who causes you so much trouble?”

He said nothing, just sat there and looked at me until I squirmed and said, “Sorry.”

Ricky shifted closer, our legs brushing. “Like you said, this isn’t reincarnation. We aren’t them. Thank God for that, because the guys both sound like self-centered pricks.” He paused. “Does Gabriel know?”

I choked out a laugh. “The phrase ‘self-centered prick’ prompted that question?”

“Not entirely. But I don’t know what’s tougher to swallow—me as King of the Underworld or Gabriel as King of the Fairies.”

I laughed, then sobered and looked at him. “I’ve told him the story. His role? No. I . . . I suppose I should. I’m just . . .” I took a deep breath. “My gut tells me he won’t handle it nearly as well as you did.”

“Because he’s playing the role of the guy who won you? Betrayed his best friend? Lied, lied, and lied some more until the woman he loved died horribly, because he couldn’t stand to share her—even in friendship—with another guy?”

“All of the above.”

Ricky went quiet. After a minute, he said, “I’d like to say you’re wrong, and he can handle it. You and I both know how he is, though. My advice? Don’t tell him now, but if there’s any chance he’ll find out, you need to get the jump on that. I wouldn’t have cared who told me. Gabriel will—especially if I already know. I don’t want to cause trouble. I know how much he means to you.”

“I—”

“I know he does, and now I understand why, and that doesn’t change anything, because I always knew not to interfere, that the worst thing I could do would be to come between you two. You’re with me. That’s all that matters. Gwynn and Arawn might have claimed they were best friends, that they both loved Matilda, but they didn’t seem to give a shit about her or about each other. I’m not that guy. I’m never going to be that guy. Gabriel is my friend. But even more, he’s your friend. More your friend than mine. I will not interfere with that. Ever.”

I kissed him. As I did, I pulled something from my pocket and pressed it into his hand. “For you.”

He looked down at the boar’s tusk.

“It’s not mine,” I said. “That’s for you from what’s-his-name.”

“They don’t have names?”

“I haven’t asked. That would imply that I care.”

He laughed. “Okay. So this is what I’m supposed to keep on me to avoid elves and wights?”

“Apparently, though he wasn’t clear on that when he gave me mine. They aren’t clear on anything.”

He lifted the tusk and turned it over in his fingers. Then he stopped. “If this is from them, then these symbols . . .” He touched the moon. “That’s the Wild Hunt. The night and the moon.”

I nodded.

“Then that’s you.” He pointed at the intertwined moon and sun. “Sun for the fae, moon for the Hunt. You’re both. Blood from both. And the moon is mine.” He touched my necklace. “That’s why you hesitated when I gave it to you.”

“Guilt,” I said. “You sensed what you are, and I wasn’t telling you. I meant to—”

He kissed me to silence. “I’m not accusing you of anything, Liv. I’m just making connections. You knew what this was”—he pointed to the moon on the tusk—“when you said you wanted it for your tattoo. You knew what it symbolized. Me. The Hunt. Arawn. All of it—how it fits together, what it means.”

“I still want to get it, if that’s okay with you.”

He paused and I held my breath.

“I’m not sure how to answer that,” he said. “If I’m honest, and I say yes, then you’ll feel obligated to go through with it. Which I don’t want. So I’ll just say that the fact you considered putting that on your body, permanently, is enough. It means enough.”

—

When we returned, the Cwn Annwn had disposed of Beau. The Huntsman assured us that no one from the clubhouse would have heard the commotion.

I told the Huntsman what I’d learned about my parents and their crimes, finishing with, “Meaning they did it because someone promised them the cure for me.”

“And delivered.”

“So it was you. Or your kind.”

“Yes.”

I’d expected a denial, and when I didn’t get one, my questions dried up.

Ricky took over. “You made the deal with the Larsens?”

“Yes.”

“You specifically?”

“Yes.”

“You cured Liv?”

“I orchestrated the events that led to her cure. I cannot heal or I’d fix that bite on your neck. I’d strongly suggest washing it well, with antiseptic. I’m not well versed in the exact nature of elf-to-human transformations, but I wouldn’t discount the possibility of bacterial transfer.”

“I know how to treat a fight bite.”

He smiled at Ricky. “I’m sure you do.”

“But you made the deal. You instructed her parents to kill six people.”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t see fit to tell Liv this? Before she started investigating?”

“Why? It would have stopped her. It was the answer she wanted before she met them: proof they were the murderers that society thought they were, and they deserved to spend their lives in jail, so she could forget them.” He turned to me. “That is what you wanted, wasn’t it? A tidy answer? Black and white?”

I saw no point in admitting it.

“But now it’s not so black and white,” he said.

“Because they murdered six people for me?” I shook my head. “I was two. I didn’t ask for spina bifida. I didn’t bring it on myself. In fact, if I’m right, you guys ‘did’ it to me—your blood. A failure of completion.”

“Fae.”

“What?”

“The condition is caused by fae blood.”

“You are fae. You might go by another name, but that’s what you are.”

He pursed his lips, as if ready to pursue it. Instead, he said, “You are not to blame. Nor your parents. However, we could not fix this for them. We could not take the lives ourselves or we would have. For you. To make you whole. To protect Mallt-y-Nos and leave her in a good, loving family. But that could not be.”

“So you offered a way to fix it, if they murdered six innocent—”

“Do you know what we do, Olivia? The Cwn Annwn? Our purpose?”

“I know versions of the story.”

“And you?” he asked Ricky.

“Same.”

“Then tell me.”

Ricky checked with me, but when I nodded, he proceeded. “In some, you’re just hunting and anyone who sees you dies later. In others, you come to fetch the living and take them to the underworld. Sometimes, you’re randomly hunting people whose time is up. In other versions, you target the wicked.”

“Which is correct?”

Ricky rocked back, shrugging. “I have no—”

“In your gut, which is correct?”

“I’ve always liked the last, but that’s only because it makes the best story. Killing randomly is more frightening as a concept, but killing for cause is more interesting.”

“It’s also the version that makes sense. That suggests a purpose. A reason for the Hunt.”

“That’s it, then?” I said. “You’re executioners?”

“Not quite the word I’d—”

“Vigilantes, then.”

“We exact justice where the human world cannot. Our purview is crimes against those from the Old World. All manner of fae. Them and their descendants.”

“What does this have to do with my parents?”

“What indeed.”

I looked up at him. “You aren’t going to tell me, are you?”

“No, I am not, because as much as you complain about not getting answers, you don’t trust any we give. You need to find them for yourself. I will say only that your parents are not as guilty as you fear. Nor as innocent as you hope. Do you want a hint? To start you on your way?”

“Will it cost me?”

He smiled. “I rest my case. You are too suspicious. It will serve you well.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Here’s the hint, freely given. Focus less on your parents. Look at the victims. Connect the first pair to the second, and keep an open mind. The connection will not be what you expect. Forget the third for now. Focus on the first two pairs.”

“More,” Ricky said.

The Huntsman looked at him.

“She needs more,” Ricky said.

“She needs to find answers for herself—”

“Agreed. We need to find answers for ourselves. But Liv needs a concrete place to start. Gabriel has been charged with murder, which puts us on a tighter timetable.”

A twist of the man’s lips. “I’m not particularly concerned with Gabriel Walsh.”

“Because you were involved with that, too?” I said. “Getting Gabriel framed for James’s murder?”

He frowned. “What would I have to do with that?”

“Someone visited Pamela and told her Gabriel did it. I think it was you.”

“I haven’t seen your mother in many years. Nor have any of the Cwn Annwn. We have helped ease her situation, but only from a distance. We had nothing to do with either James Morgan’s murder or Gabriel Walsh being implicated.”

“But I do,” Ricky said. “Because I’m the one who attacked James Morgan and beat the shit out of him.”

“You didn’t kill—”

“I’m also Gabriel’s alibi. At the time, I was with him getting legal advice, which he can’t admit without the police thinking it’s awfully suspicious I was asking for legal advice the night my girlfriend’s stalker ex was murdered. If there’s any chance he’ll be convicted, I’ll turn myself in. Does that concern you?”

“You should not involve yourself—”

“Yeah, actually, I’m pretty sure I should. It may not be in your best interests, but I get the feeling it’s in mine—in ours. We’ll stick together. Me, Liv, and Gabriel. Arawn, Matilda, and Gwynn. You can deal with that later. What I want now is a starting point. Don’t tell us what the connection is. You’re right—we won’t trust you. But where do we look first?”

“Marty Tyson’s girlfriend.”

“The second pair of victims. Tyson and his girl— Wait, no. It was his wife, wasn’t it?” Ricky glanced at me. “Tyson was killed with his wife.”

I nodded.

“But he had a girlfriend?” Ricky said.

“Yes,” the Huntsman replied. “The police saw no reason to make that public knowledge, as it did not affect the case and would only embarrass the families of the victims. It’s in a file somewhere.”

“All right, then,” Ricky said. “We have our breadcrumbs.”

We turned to leave. The Huntsman made a noise, getting our attention. When we looked back, his gaze was on Ricky.

“Do you have questions?” he asked. “About what else you’ve discovered tonight? What you are?”

“That depends. Is there anything that’ll get me into unexpected trouble? Sudden appearance of strange powers, maybe?”

A faint smile. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“So, nothing I need to know, then?”

“No, but I’m sure you’re curious—”

“Nope. I’m good.” Ricky put his arm around my waist and led me away.