CAPRICIOUS

The moment Gabriel stepped from the fun house, his phone buzzed with an incoming message. They had cell service again.

“Please tell me it’s a complete coincidence that we got service as soon as I received my vision message,” Olivia said.

“Given the number of times it’s happened, I sincerely doubt it.”

“When I say ‘please tell me,’ I mean ‘please lie to me.’ ”

“Ah. Well, perhaps the cell phone outage was caused by the snowfall, which interfered with the electromagnetic field and thereby disrupted cellular frequency reception.”

“Not a science major, were you?”

“No.”

“Me neither, so it sounds totally legit.”

He called for a tow truck as they walked to where the hound waited. Then he surreptitiously checked that incoming text. When it wasn’t the one he was expecting, he grumbled under his breath.

Olivia said he’d told her to keep the weekend clear. He had…but not for work. He had plans. A weekend away. Together.

He would tell her it was a well-earned vacation. Which it was. However, it also marked an occasion. Six weeks since her breakup with Ricky. Not an occasion she’d want to celebrate. Gabriel, on the other hand…

He was loath to say their breakup came as a cause for celebration. Olivia had been happy, and Gabriel wanted that. Yet Ricky was not the only person who could make her happy. Perhaps not even the one who could make her happiest.

No, Gabriel was not displeased by the breakup. “Relieved” was a better word. Suitably un-gleeful. Relieved, because the alternative would have been wooing her away from Ricky, which made him uncomfortable. Immensely, if he was being honest. It came too close to repeating Gwynn’s mistake.

Gabriel had decided six weeks was a respectful period. He’d planned this getaway down to the last detail. Rent a cabin with two bedrooms, so as not to set up awkward expectations. Arrange catered dinners, to be followed by a blazing fire, a comfortable couch, and vintage wine. He would drink exactly half a glass, enough to relax without risking actual inebriation. Olivia rarely exceeded her glass-and-a-half personal limit, but if she did, he’d cancel his plans and try again the next night. And by “try again” he meant making the most subtle of moves, escalating incrementally so if he encountered resistance, he could withdraw before she realized his intention. Even if she failed to respond to his overtures, it wouldn’t mean he’d failed. Not permanently. He would resume his careful wooing, showing her that he could be what she needed.

He knew she cared for him. He knew she wanted to be with him in some way. It was simply a matter of inching toward a destination he was confident they could reach, eventually.

Now he waited for a response to his earlier text, informing the cabin owner that they would be unexpectedly bringing a canine. He was not asking permission—that wasn’t how one handled such matters. But he was aware that negotiations—and an extra fee—might be involved. That was fine. While having Lloergan there was hardly ideal, in accommodating that, he would please Olivia. He had encouraged her to “dog-sit,” knowing it would impede his secret weekend plans, and thereby honoring his pledge to Ricky that, whatever happened, he wouldn’t interfere with their friendship.

Lloergan would join them for the weekend, and that would not disrupt his plans. Nothing would disrupt his plans. Particularly not…

At the thought of Seanna, his jaw tightened. All Gabriel’s life, he’d refused to hate his mother. She wasn’t worth it. Even as a child, he’d tolerated her much as one might tolerate a debilitating condition. Accept that it exists and learn to deal with it, and if it goes away, then count that as a blessing but understand that it might return.

For fifteen years, he’d understood Seanna might return. Then Olivia found proof that she was dead, and Gabriel had finally exhaled. His mother was out of his life forever.

And now, perhaps, she’d come back, and for the first time he felt not just anger, but a lick of something dangerously close to rage. Like a child who wants to stamp his feet and say, “No, no, no!”

You will not come back now, Seanna. You will not. He was inches away from a perfect life, and she would not ruin that. Would not.

“Hey, Lloe.” It took a moment to realize what Olivia was saying. When she called the dog Lloe, it sounded like Thloy, more of a complex exhalation than an actual word. He still struggled with the hound’s full name, which sounded something like Thl-oy-r-gan. When he had to say it, he did so quickly, in hopes speed would cover mispronunciation.

The hound hopped off the fun-house steps. The move was awkward, the cŵn’s joints having never quite healed, but that didn’t stop her from leaping when she saw them. She walked to Olivia and waited for her ear-scratch. Then she looked at Gabriel, and he was never certain whether that look meant she expected the same from him or she was telling him he’d better not try it. Perhaps she was simply acknowledging—with some chagrin—that he was still there.

They started for the exit. Olivia was talking. He listened—he always listened—but it wasn’t the kind of chatter requiring his undivided attention. She wasn’t ready to discuss the vision. She’d be processing that while talking about something inconsequential, perhaps to ensure he wouldn’t broach the subject until she was ready.

It was in that state, listening to her while processing thoughts of his own, that he became acutely aware they were not alone. He looked about.

“Everything okay?” Olivia asked.

He started to say yes automatically. He might encourage Olivia to pursue her preternatural abilities, but he found it difficult to share his own.

“I had the feeling…” He looked around without finishing.

“That someone else is here?”

“You sensed it?”

“I thought I saw someone run behind the kiosks earlier. I figured if you didn’t, it was just a vision.”

He looked at Lloergan. The hound studied him far too intently and then moved alongside him to lean against his leg. He stopped himself before stepping away, and he laid a tentative hand on her head as she scanned the amusement park, seeing nothing but unable to shake—

Something moved behind the carousel. Lloergan took off. Olivia gave a small cry of alarm—a cŵn in pursuit often results in a deadly conclusion—and Gabriel broke into a run to acknowledge her concern. He tore around the carousel booth just as Lloergan leapt onto the back of a fleeing teenage boy, sending him sprawling beneath the front hooves of a prancing wooden horse.

“Lloergan!” Gabriel shouted.

The cŵn fixed him with a withering look, clearly insulted by the inference she would kill her target. As Gabriel jogged over, he saw the “boy” was perhaps college aged. A young woman stood flattened against the booth, her dark eyes wide. Both wore jeans, sneakers, and jackets. They had light brown skin and braided dark hair and resembled one another enough that they seemed more likely siblings than lovers.

Lloergan growled and let the boy up, and then growled again, as if to say, Don’t go anywhere.

“Why were you spying on us?” Gabriel asked.

“Spying? We weren’t anywhere near you until your dog took me down.” The boy eyed Lloergan. “I should call the cops. Or animal control.”

“Go ahead. I’ll wait.”

The young man hesitated. “I would, but I don’t have a cell phone.”

“Here.” Gabriel held out his. “Use mine.”

The boy ignored that. “We’ll let it go this time, but you need to put that dog on a leash.”

“What are you?” Gabriel said.

“I beg your pardon?” the girl said.

“What. Are. You?”

“That’s rude,” she said. “Possibly racist.” She looked at the boy. “Is it racist?”

“I think so.”

“Just answer my question,” Gabriel said.

“Do you ask everyone that?” the girl said. “Or only those who don’t look like you?”

“No,” Gabriel said. “Only those who aren’t human.”

The girl laughed. “You’re mad.”

“Here.” Olivia held out a handkerchief. It fell open to reveal a chunk of cold-forged iron. “Do you mind holding this for a sec?”

“You hold it,” the boy said.

Olivia dropped the metal into her bare hand and squeezed. When she opened her fingers, her palm was bright red.

“Now you,” the girl said to Gabriel.

He took it, ignoring the burn of the metal against his skin.

“Gwynn and Matilda,” the boy breathed.

“Didn’t I say that?” the girl said. “Do you know any ordinary humans who walk about with a cŵn?”

“Just because we’ve never encountered such a thing doesn’t mean it can’t exist.”

Olivia held out the iron. “So…are you going to answer Gabriel’s question, or are you going to show us how much worse this burns full-blooded fae?”

The boy shuddered. “No, thank you.”

“We admit it,” the girl said, climbing onto a painted horse.

“Freely admit it,” the boy echoed.

“Then answer Gabriel’s question, and tell us what you are. I’d run through the list of overly chatty fae, but we’d be here all day.”

“True,” the girl said.

The boy nodded. “Very true.”

At a glare from Olivia, the girl said, “Dryad.”

“So they’re not all female?” Olivia said.

The male looked down at himself. “I should hope not. Or Nature has made a very serious mistake.”

Olivia turned to Gabriel. “They’re Greek fae. Even more capricious than most, which is saying a lot.”

“That’s rude,” the girl said. “Talking in front of us.”

“Quite rude,” the boy said. “Also, quite true. However, if we are capricious, it isn’t through malice, but simply a love of adventure and good fun. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Unless you’re the person being played in the name of that good fun,” the girl said.

“True.”

“How did you find us?” Olivia asked. “Did you follow us? Or did you have something to do with our car breaking down?”

They both stared at her.

“We’re dryads,” the boy said slowly. “Not auto mechanics.”

“Not tracking dogs, either,” the girl said. “You were here. We were here. A happy coincidence.”

The boy looked from Olivia to Gabriel and then back to Olivia. He smiled smugly. “You’ve dumped Arawn, then? Good.” He glanced at Lloergan. “No insult to the Cŵn Annwn, but it makes things easier. Throw over Arawn, take Gwynn, and everyone lives happily ever after. Except Arawn. And the Huntsmen. But we fae live happily ever after, and that’s what counts.”

“If she threw over Arawn, she wouldn’t have his hound,” the girl said.

“Maybe she stole it.”

The girl lit up as she straightened on the wooden horse. “Ooh, yes.” She turned to Olivia. “Did you steal the cŵn? Whisk it away from under Arawn’s nose?”

“Ricky’s in Florida. I’m hound-sitting.”

“Oh.” The girl slumped over her steed’s neck.

“What are you doing here?” the boy asked, twirling around one of the poles. “We couldn’t figure it out.”

“I told you it’s a mystery,” the girl said.

“I know, that’s why I’m asking.”

She leaned over to cuff him. “I mean they’re solving a mystery. That’s what they do. He’s the king of the Fae.”

“She’s the lady of the Hunt.”

In unison, they said, “They solve crime!”

The girl looked at the boy. “We’re forgetting Arawn.”

“Hmm. Let’s see…He’s the king of the Fae. She’s the lady of the Hunt. He’s the lord of the Otherworld. They solve crime.”

The girl wrinkled her nose. “That doesn’t work.”

“Not at all. She’ll have to throw Arawn over.”

The hound sighed. Deeply. Undoubtedly thinking that, while her life was dedicated to avenging crimes against fae, perhaps such crimes were sometimes understandable.

The girl slid off her horse. “It is a mystery, isn’t it? Something exciting? A terrible death? Several terrible deaths?”

“I don’t think deaths are supposed to be exciting,” the boy said.

“But they are. Right or wrong, one cannot argue with the excitement value of a good murder, because it leads to a good mystery. Is that it, then? You’re solving a mystery? Someone has died here?”

“Yes, but it was about twenty-five years ago,” Olivia said. “I don’t suppose you were around then.”

“Of course. We’ve been around for a very long time.”

“But not here,” the boy said.

“No, not here. Not for that long. We can help, though.”

“Uh, no,” Olivia said. “Why not?”

“Well, let’s see. What experiences have we had with helpful fae? First there was Tristan, who left a young woman’s head in my bed and then tried to convince me he wanted peace for the Tylwyth Teg and Cŵn Annwn, while attempting to sow strife by killing my ex-fiancé and blaming Gabriel.”

“He was a spriggan,” the girl said. “They’re nasty. Not like us.”

“Not at all.”

“We’re…” The girl pursed her lips. “What’s the word you used?”

“Capricious,” the boy said.

The girl swung onto another horse and leaned backward over it. “Yes, that’s us. Capricious.”

“It isn’t a compliment,” Olivia said.

“But it sounds like one. It’s a lovely word. Innocent and fun. Like dryads. We never intend to hurt anyone.”

“The operative word being ‘intend,’ ” Olivia murmured. “And then, after Tristan, there was Melanie, a lamia who tricked us into investigating deaths of other lamiae…whom she’d had killed herself, hoping the danger would get her into Cainsville.”

“Cainsville?” The girl scrunched her nose. “Who’d want to live there? It hardly has any trees at all. I don’t understand lamiae. Never have, even when we lived together back in the old country.”

“Tricksy,” the boy said, climbing onto the horse behind the girl.

“Yes, that’s the word for them. Tricksy. Not nearly as nice as capricious.”

“A much different word. As we are much different fae.”

“But we’d say that anyway, wouldn’t we?”

“True.” The boy stood on the horse’s saddle. “I wouldn’t believe us, either, if I were you. However, being me, and knowing me, I believe us.”

“That doesn’t help,” the girl said.

“I suppose not.” He jumped from the carousel horse, landing hard enough to make Olivia wince. “So we’ll prove ourselves. We’ll solve your crime and prove dryads are not tricksy like lamiae.”

“Unless we only do it to ingratiate ourselves with them and then be tricksy, like lamiae.”

“Look, guys. I love your enthusiasm,” Olivia said, in a tone that suggested she’d love less of it even more. “But this murder doesn’t concern you. The victim wasn’t fae.”

“A clue!” the boy crowed.

“If it’s not fae, though, it isn’t that interesting,” Olivia said.

“True.”

“Which is why you don’t have to investigate.”

“But we will!”

“We’ll be detectives,” the girl said.

“I have a hat,” the boy said.

“And I have a notepad.”

“He’s a dryad. She’s a dryad. They solve crimes!” The boy looked at the girl. “That doesn’t really work.”

“It doesn’t,” Olivia said. “Which is why you shouldn’t—”

“But we will!”

They took off, weaving through the rides. Once they were out of sight, Olivia turned to Gabriel. “So that’s an example of the fae I’m supposed to save? Score one for the Cŵn Annwn.”

“We heard that!” the boy called back.

“But we’ll prove ourselves!” the girl shouted. “Just wait.”

Olivia shook her head. Gabriel glanced back, but the dryads were already scampering away.