CHAPTER SEVEN

It was late afternoon by the time we made it back to Cainsville, the Jag headed to the auto shop. We went straight to Rose’s and told her about the woman claiming to be Seanna. She took the news quietly and then excused herself to go make tea.

“Should we leave?” I whispered when she was in the kitchen. “Give her time alone?”

“If she wanted us to go, she’d make an excuse. She just needs a moment to herself.”

“Then maybe I should go. This is a family matter and—”

“I would rather you didn’t,” he said, with a touch of alarm. “We don’t—” He cleared his throat. “About Seanna. We don’t…”

“Talk about her?”

“Yes. We just…we don’t. Ever.”

“Would you like to leave?” I asked. “Let me handle it?”

He glanced toward the front door and Lloergan lifted her head, sensing it might be time to go, but he said, “No, I want to stay for Rose.”

When I checked my phone, Gabriel said, “The DNA results won’t come that quickly, Olivia.”

“I’m not—”

His look stopped me.

I put my phone away. “It doesn’t matter. I’m sure this woman isn’t your mother.”

“As tempting as it is to presume that, I need to consider the possibility, and prepare a plan to deal with that.”

He took out his notepad and pen, and I realized he was literally going to plan this, as if she were a potential client he wanted to avoid. That was how he would cope.

“Okay,” I said. “So if the DNA is a match—”

“I’ll handle it,” Rose said as she came in with the tea tray. “If the DNA is a match, I’ll meet with her. I will handle the situation without Gabriel getting involved.”

“I don’t see how that’s possible,” Gabriel said.

“It is. It will be. I…I failed to—” She cleared her throat. “I’ll handle it.”

She failed to handle it twenty years ago. That’s what she started to say—that she hadn’t realized how dire the situation had been and therefore failed to save Gabriel from Seanna.

It didn’t matter if Gabriel had purposely hid Seanna’s neglect and abuse. Rose still blamed herself for not seeing through the lies. Nothing anyone could say would change that.

As we sipped tea and nibbled cookies, Rose distracted us with the tale of her latest client—a woman who wanted the cards to tell her if she’d ever lose weight, rather than, you know, try losing it. It hadn’t taken Rose long to determine that the woman was indeed carrying an extra two hundred pounds that could be lost with no change in diet or exercise. Namely her husband, whose constant bullying and haranguing only made the woman eat more as she sunk deeper into depression.

What the client needed was a therapist. What she wanted was magic. So Rose would give her both, gradually convincing her that a future as a single woman might be the way to both health and happiness.

We were still talking when Lydia called. I scrambled off my chair fast enough to wake Lloergan. I motioned that I’d take the call in the next room.

“Is that Lydia?” Gabriel asked.

When I hesitated, he prized the phone from my clenched hand and set it on the desk. Then he poised one finger over the speaker button and looked at me.

I swallowed and nodded. He hit it.

“Lydia? It’s Gabriel,” he said. “I’m with Olivia.”

After a moment’s silence, she said, “I need to speak to Liv on a personal matter.”

“Gabriel knows,” I said. “He’s on speaker. So is his aunt. You have the DNA test results?”

Another pause. Then, “They’ve run the tests, but…they had a problem processing Gabriel’s DNA. They think the sample may be degraded. I said no, it’s fresh, and we provided plenty of it. I’m going to send the samples to another facility. That may take a few days.”

“The results were inconclusive?”

“Yes.”

“It’s Gabriel’s sample that’s the problem?”

“Yes. I’ve let them know exactly how unhappy I am with their explanation. They had the nerve to suggest we’d supplied a manufactured sample, one that wasn’t entirely human. We won’t be using their services in the future. Gabriel? Could you provide a more direct sample for the second test?”

He shook his head at me.

“I think we’re going to drop it for now, Lydia,” I said. “Maybe science isn’t the best way to handle this.”

I thanked her and signed off. When I looked over at Gabriel, he didn’t meet my gaze, just pushed his chair back, stood, and walked from the room. The front door opened and then shut. I tore my gaze back to Rose and tried to say something, but when Gabriel’s silhouette passed the front window sheers, I turned to follow it.

“Go,” Rose said.

“I shouldn’t.”

“Yes, you should. Go after him, Liv. Please.”

Gabriel was already halfway up the street and moving fast. He’d put on his boots but left his jacket at Rose’s, and he didn’t appear to notice the cold. It seemed clear that he didn’t want company. I slowed far enough back to give him space. He stopped and turned.

“I’m not trying—” I began.

“I know.”

“You have the keys to my place. If you want to just go there and be by yourself for a while, I can work at Rose’s.”

He motioned for me to catch up, and we continued on to my house. Gabriel walked straight through while I took off my boots inside the door and shook the snow from them.

“Do you want—?” I began.

The back door shut with a click. I looked out the rear kitchen window to see Gabriel in the garden, heading for my new wicker set.

I hurried upstairs and grabbed towels. When I got onto the back porch, Gabriel was already sitting on the love seat.

I walked out, towels in hand. “Use these. Those cushions are soaked from that snow. We really need to put them in storage for the winter.”

He said nothing. Didn’t even look up.

“I’ll go back in,” I said. “I’ll leave the towels here.”

“Do you want to go back in?” he asked.

“No, I just…” I shifted my weight. “Let’s not do this. It always escalates into a fight and hurt feelings. I’m fine with doing whatever you need right now. Just tell me.”

He gave me this look, as if I should know the answer and he was confused that I didn’t. He lifted his hand. I tossed him the towel and he laid it, folded, on the seat beside him. That’s when I understood what he meant—if he wanted to be alone, he wouldn’t have chosen the love seat.

I sat beside him.

“I don’t want to care,” he said after a moment. “Whether it’s her?”

“If it is, I don’t want to care that she’s back. I’m not…”

He trailed off, and I heard his words from earlier, that he wasn’t a child anymore, couldn’t be shoved into a cubbyhole anymore.

“It’s not—” He bit off the sentence so hard his teeth clicked. Then he sat upright. “I’ll deal with it.”

“Of course you will. But you were going to say…”

An abrupt shake of his head.

I let the silence stretch for a minute, and then said, “That it’s not fair?”

He rubbed his hands over his face. “Fair doesn’t matter. Fair is an excuse. Expecting fair is pointless.” He inhaled and took out his notebook. “We need a plan. Whoever she is, she’ll come back, and feeling sorry for myself won’t fix that.”

“But you’re allowed to feel sorry for yourself, Gabriel. To be angry. To be frustrated. It isn’t fair. She was gone, and now, if she’s back, you’re allowed—”

“It’s not productive.”

I took the pen and pad from his hands, and set them on my lap. “You don’t need to be productive for the next thirty seconds. Tell me how you feel.”

Panic sparked in his eyes, sheer and wild panic, and I was about to give back his pen and paper, return his security blankets, and let him do whatever he needed to get past this. But then he blurted, “It feels like punishment. My life is almost—It’s everything I wanted and more, and this feels like punishment. Like someone is saying I don’t deserve this, certainly don’t deserve more, and…” A shake of his head. “I’m babbling.”

“You’re allowed to.”

“When clients whine that the charges against them aren’t fair, I lose patience. The charges are a problem, which we must focus on fixing. Complaining about the unfairness of it is counterproductive.”

“There’s nothing wrong with taking a moment to whine before you focus on the problem.”

“When Rose said she’d handle it, I was glad. I wanted that. I wanted to just say yes, please, do that. And it felt like cowardice.”

I reached to take his hand and then stopped, remembering what had happened in the fun house. But he looked over, meeting my gaze, and then took my hand, firmly and deliberately, wrapping his fingers around it as he said, “It’s all right.”

He didn’t mean it was all right to hold his hand. He meant that whatever I saw—whatever memories this might drag back to the surface—that was all right.

He leaned over, his lips going to my ear as he said, “Thank you. For everything.” He shifted until his face was right in front of mine and again said, “Thank you, Olivia.”

I moved to kiss him, just kiss him, don’t think about it, can’t think about it, brush my lips against his. If it was quick, I could say it was nothing, just a peck between friends. I leaned in, and he moved forward and—

The gate squealed open. Gabriel only eased back and let out a low growl of annoyance.

“Yes, Ida,” he said. “We’ve returned. However—”

He stopped, and I looked over to see the woman from this morning.

Gabriel’s lips parted. “Sea—”

He stopped himself. But I knew. Seeing his expression, I knew.

“Oh, am I interrupting something?” She looked up at the house. “I’m guessing this is your place, Eden?”

“Her name is Olivia.”

Seanna continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “I remember this house from when I was a kid. We’d dare each other to sneak back here, with all the weird statues.” She glanced toward the pond, surrounded by fae and cryptid statuary. “Huh, they’re still here. Nice.”

Her nose wrinkled, like a sullen teenager’s, making sure everyone knew she was not impressed.

“They used to call it the witch’s house,” she said as she walked toward us. “Kids said Old Lady Carew’s ghost still haunted it, and if you saw her, she’d burn your eyes out. They’d dare each other five bucks to come back. I made a lot of money off those morons. Never saw a ghost, though. Old Lady Carew wasn’t a witch. Just a crazy old bat muttering and ranting about omens and portents.” She looked at me. “You’re a Carew, right, Eden?”

“I am,” I said evenly.

“So she’s a relative of yours. Did you buy the place for sentimental value? Or because you belong here, in your crazy relative’s house?”

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. Gabriel glanced over, alarmed.

“Seriously, Seanna?” I said. “Is that the best you can do? Try again.”

She slowed her approach.

“No, really,” I said. “Give me a real zinger. You can do it.”

Her mouth set in a way that reminded me of her son’s…and yet it didn’t. Gabriel’s lips would compress only for a moment, an involuntary show of emotion. Hers stayed pressed together until she was scowling.

Gabriel had suggested Seanna wasn’t the brightest bulb. That hers was only a feral intelligence—the Walsh survival instinct cranked to eleven. I saw the truth of that as her scowl deepened.

After a moment, she said, “So how are your parents, Eden? Rotting away in prison for butchering eight people?”

I burst into a peal of laughter. Beside me, Gabriel snorted, and Seanna’s head jerked up, as if this was a sound she’d never heard from her son. When I looked over, he wasn’t quite smiling, but his eyes had warmed and he’d relaxed back in the love seat.

“The conviction was recently amended to six,” he said. “And Olivia has heard that particular insult before. After the hundredth time, it does start to lose its sting.”

He pushed to his feet. Seanna looked up, and something gratifyingly like consternation flashed over her face as she realized exactly how big her son had gotten.

As Gabriel advanced, Seanna steeled herself not to step back.

See? He’s not a child anymore. I’d love to see you try shoving him into a cubbyhole now, Seanna. Love to see you try shoving him at all.

“I presume you want something, Seanna?” he said, and there was no edge of warning there, just a matter-of-fact tone, as if she hadn’t been gone for fifteen years, but only headed out for cigarettes last week.

He stopped far enough away that he wasn’t looming or menacing, letting her look up into his eyes and see no fear to feed on.

“I need—” she began.

“Money?” he finished. “Yes, I’m sure you do.” He took out his cell phone. “If I can get your bank account number, I’ll transfer you some right now. Before you leave.” He paused. “No, you don’t have a bank account, do you?”

“I don’t trust banks.”

“Yes, yes. I don’t have checks on me. Olivia, would you mind writing one for Seanna? Ten thousand, please. I’ll wire you the money immediately.”

“Ten thousand?” Seanna said. “Did you really think it would be that easy?”

His cheek twitched. He’d hoped it would be. I know he did.

But he only said, “I’m offering you ten thousand to leave and allow me to continue with my life. If you walk away without that check, don’t expect it to increase.”

“I need a place to stay.”

“Ten thousand will more than pay for a hotel room.”

“I was thinking more of a high-rise condo. Maybe one just north of the Loop.”

Another twitch.

She held out her hand. “Just give me the keys, Gabriel. You’ll get them back after we’ve come to an agreement. Until then, I’m sure your girlfriend won’t mind you staying here.”

“You are not staying—”

“I’ll stay wherever I want, Gabriel.”

“No, Seanna,” said a voice behind her, the gate half open. “You won’t.”

The gate opened, and Patrick strolled in.

Seanna stared at him—her son’s father…looking even younger than her son.

“You,” Seanna breathed. “No, it…” A sharp shake of her head before she regrouped, demanding, “Who are you?”

“Really? You’ve forgotten me? After all the fun times we had together? I’ve held up pretty good, haven’t I? Which is more than I can say for you. Really more than I can say for you.” He shuddered.

I shot Patrick a look, but he only tossed me his usual devil-may-care grin.

“Come along, Seanna,” he said. “We’re going to leave the kids alone.”

“You—you can’t be—”

“But I am. You know I am. Either that or you’re the one going crazy, not Liv. Yes, I was eavesdropping. I do that. I thought I’d let the kids have some fun. Good show, Liv. You seem to have discovered Seanna’s fatal flaw. She’s a fucking idiot.”

I wasn’t sure what shocked me more—the profanity or the undiluted venom behind it. Hate shone from Patrick’s eyes, the kind that chilled the marrow in my bones and reminded me that, however charming Patrick might seem, a bòcan wasn’t a fae you wanted to cross.

There’s more to this story than I thought.

“Come along, Seanna. Let’s go chat. Catch up. It’s been so long.”

He said those last words with a bite that sparked genuine fear in Seanna’s eyes. I’d always presumed Patrick had seduced Seanna. He’d suggested as much, happily taking credit for impregnating a teenaged girl. Now I saw the looks on their faces and knew that wasn’t the story. Not at all.

As he took her arm, she said, “I won’t go anywhere with—”

“Yes, actually, you will.” His grip tightened, and he met her gaze and said slowly, “You are coming with me, Seanna,” as he worked his fae compulsion.

When he started leading her to the gate, she didn’t resist. Patrick tossed back a jaunty, “Ciao, kids,” and escorted her out.