Betrayals (Cainsville Book 4) (31 page)

“God forbid,” he said, and then gave me a smile, as warm and relaxed as his earlier one.

“It’s about fireplaces. Namely, the one in your office. Have you ever used it?”

“That’s
personal?”

“Sometimes, with you, I think ‘Would you like fries with that?’ is too personal.”

He leaned back against the sofa, getting comfortable again. “To be honest, I’ve always found that question rather insulting. If I wanted fries, I would order them. The answer, by the way, is no. I do not—ever—want fries with that.”

“Good to know.”

“As for the fireplace, the answer is again no. I have never used it, and not because I don’t want to. It’s like window seating. I intended to take advantage of it and haven’t.”

“Was the office what you wanted, then? Or did you just get a good deal on it?”

Another twitch of the lips. “Had you asked me that six months ago, I’d have said I got a good deal. Which I did. Also, the proximity to the county jail is a distinct advantage. And that is what I told myself when I first leased it. But the truth?”

He eased down further, stretched out. “The truth is that the style reminded me of Rose’s house, and there was comfort there.
It also reminded me of the house I told you about, the one I dreamed of owning someday. I was, therefore, pre-inclined to appreciate a building of that era. And yet …” His lips pursed. “I walked into that office, and it was like something out of a novel, and somewhere in my head there was an image of what a lawyer’s office should look like. I wanted that office, as I’ve wanted few things in my life. Although I did lease it at a very good price, given that the basement was being used as a meth lab.”

“What?”

“I never told you that part?”

“Um, no. But you will now, right?”

“The man who originally owned the building was a former client who …
allegedly
ran a meth lab out of the basement. I used the main floor for my office on the condition I’d never come in past nightfall or before dawn and would provide free legal advice. After two years of this, if I wished to purchase the building, I could, at a very reasonable price, so he could relocate without the undue attention that might come with a normal resale.”

“You
own
the building?”

“Did I not mention that?”

“You mention nothing, Gabriel. Ever. Okay, forget owning the whole damned building. Tell me about the meth-lab dude.”

“He actually made an excellent landlord. All went perfectly fine until the day …”

I
woke smelling something and leapt up swinging. Gabriel didn’t miss a beat, just pulled the coffee out of striking range and waited patiently while I rubbed my eyes.

“You are sleeping on my floor,” he said. “I would have moved you, but I fell asleep myself. And yes, the floor is terribly uncomfortable. But … coffee?”

He held it out again, and I sputtered a laugh.

“No comment on the fact that I nearly punched you?” I said. “I would expect no less. Which is why I remained out of range.”

“So I couldn’t get you back for the first night you slept at my apartment. When I made the mistake of waking you and got clocked.”

“We both have excellent reflexes.”

“Or it’s a sign that we’re both paranoid and need to lead much less dangerous lives.”

He shook his head and handed me my coffee.

“You have time to drink that and dress,” he said. “Before Ricky picks you up for breakfast.”

I grabbed my phone. “Did I miss—?”

“No, I contacted him this morning and told him to come.”

“You
told
him to take me to breakfast?”

“We have a full day, and I know you’ll want to see each other. I have a few things to do at the office, but I’d like you there by eleven so we can leave for Cainsville.”

“Cainsville?”

“You’ll want to see how Melanie and Pepper’s first night went. Also, you wanted to speak to Patrick about Cŵn Annwn deals. And we should go talk to Pamela, but I would suggest we have more data before we take that step.”

He walked into the kitchen and returned with a bottle of aspirin. “If you require it. I did wake with a slight headache from the alcohol.”

I smiled and took the bottle.

Ricky had club duties that afternoon, so he dropped me at the office. After lunch, Gabriel and I headed to Cainsville. We visited the lamiae first, making sure that they were settled in.

Gabriel took us the long way to Patrick’s because he allegedly wanted to show me a hidden gargoyle. Instead, he only led me near one and then told me to find it. When I couldn’t, he said, “It’s the wrong time of year,” and I slugged him for that.

“So it can only be seen during a certain season?” I asked.

“One night, actually. Winter solstice.”

“How the hell did you find it?”

His brows shot up. “Who says I did?”

“You found them all. Veronica told me.” I paused, and then pushed on. “That means there’s one more than when you found them. Your gargoyle.”

I waited for him to tense, but his eyes stayed that same soft and mellow blue as the corners of his mouth twitched. “Perhaps.”

“So where is it?”

“Do you really think I’d tell you?”

“Do I get a prize if I find it?”

“Perhaps.” He pointed up at the town hall bell tower. “As for this one, that’s where you’ll see it on solstice night.”

“In the bell tower? Like the Hunchback of Notre Dame?”

“Exactly what I said.”

“And you just randomly found it?”

“Not entirely,” he said as we resumed walking. “We are allowed hints for the last gargoyle. I said I didn’t want them. Patrick gave me one anyway, in a roundabout way. He asked if I was coming for winter solstice. The most important day of the year for Cainsville. But an even more important night for gargoyle hunting.”

“Ah, and you got the hint?”

“I did.”

“Clever boy.”

He smiled, and we continued on. So it was a good walk. Very good. Why, then, as we approached Patrick’s house, did my breathing pick up, a pit of panic forming in my gut? Because talking about Patrick helping Gabriel find the gargoyle reminded me that I was keeping a secret from him. And the last time I’d done that had nearly cost me Gabriel’s friendship.

“Dare I offer you refreshments?” Patrick asked as we sat on his sofa.

Gabriel said no for both of us. Patrick might insist that the old stories about fae food and drink don’t apply to us, but we didn’t take any chances.

“Gabriel says you have questions, Liv. Admittedly, I might hope that someday you’ll visit for the pleasure of my company …”

“Then you would suspect we had an agenda,” Gabriel said. “You would not appreciate the subterfuge. Also, a visit for merely social reasons would bore you as much as it would me.”

Patrick said, “True …” He added something else, but I didn’t catch it, because having Gabriel point out a similarity between them, however innocuous, was like a hammer blow to the spike already driving into my conscience.

“So … questions?” Patrick said.

Gabriel motioned for me to go ahead, but I shook my head and murmured that he could start, and I got a searching look for that.

“Is everything all right?” Gabriel asked, his voice low.

I nodded.

“Oh, something is definitely not all right,” Patrick said. “You’ve barely said a word since you got here, and Gabriel is practically bouncy.”

Gabriel turned a cool gaze on him. “I am hardly—”

“You’re as close to bouncy as I’ve ever seen you. You didn’t eat enchanted fortune cookies, did you?” When Gabriel frowned, Patrick said,
“Freaky Friday?
Body switch?” He sighed. “It’s a sad day when the three-hundred-year-old bòcan makes pop culture references that the thirty-year-old humans don’t get.”

“You’re three hundred?” I said.

“There. Got your attention. Even in your lowest mood, your curiosity will get the better of you. Three hundred … give or take a few decades. After a while, one stops counting. Are you back with us, then, Olivia? Leaving the brooding to Gabriel?”

“Brooding and bouncing,” Gabriel murmured. “I’m not sure which is worse.”

“The bouncing is adorable,” Patrick said. “It’ll keep people on their toes, wondering what you’re up to. The proverbial cat with the canary.”

I cut in. “We’ve made significant progress solving the lamiae murders. Which we haven’t shared with the elders.”

“That’s why I like you, Liv. You know how to play the game.
Very refreshing. So, in return for questions answered, I get the scoop on the murders. Which don’t interest me personally, but the fact that you confide in me is currency.”

“Even if I only confide in you because you’re useful?”

“You aren’t supposed to admit that.”

“Honesty, remember? But because your ego is so delicate, here’s a boost for you. You were right; Ioan was wrong.”

“Naturally.” Patrick leaned back in his chair. “What was I right about this time?”

“The samhail. They still exist. Which I confirmed because the guy who killed the lamiae—Ciro Halloran—also comes from a samhail family. Unlike the Madoles, his family has mostly retired from the biz. They didn’t feel they were getting enough out of it.”

“As a pragmatist and a realist, I must admit he is correct. Our skills did not hold their value well. Take the leprechauns, for example.”

“There are leprechauns?”

“Irish fae known for making trouble. Related to bòcan, but with far more press, which we are very happy to let them have. They’ve gotten a little bitter about theirs. If you ever meet one, be sure to offer him some Lucky Charms. They
love
that.”

“Do they grant wishes? That’s the lore, right? Three wishes if you catch one?”

“Sadly, no.”

“Pot of gold?”

“One gold coin. Which in past times meant you could feed a family of twelve for a year. These days? What’s an ounce of gold? A few hundred dollars?”

“Sixteen hundred,” Gabriel said. “It’s doubled in the past four years and quadrupled in the last twenty.” When I looked his way, he shrugged and said, “I have investments.”

“Well, consider me behind the times, then,” Patrick said. “Perhaps I should go round up a few leprechauns myself.”

“Your point,” I said, “is that the value of a single gold coin has dropped drastically over time. Which is an example of how the value of the fae and samhail relationship has fallen. Those who remain in it do so out of obligation and charity.”

Patrick made a face. “Unfortunately, yes. Which is a hard blow for fae, and the reason most no longer avail themselves of samhail services.”

“Those who do still accept the help are like the lamiae. Where need outweighs pride. Similar to those in the human world who accept charity. And maybe also those who consider it their due.”

“Correct. Rumor has it that a few fae subtypes have virtually enslaved samhail families, insisting that they continue aiding them or they will reap punishment instead of benefits. An interesting side note, but unconnected to the current case.”

“Unconnected to lamiae, you mean,” I said.

“Yes. Their only negative power is the draining of energy during intercourse. Which most men would not find such a terrible fate, but given that the lamiae require variety—to avoid draining a particular victim—sexual slavery would be rather counterproductive.” He paused. “Though it might make an interesting story. Not quite my usual fare, but there is a market for—”

“And we’ll stop there,” I said. “Moving on to deals with Cŵn Annwn. Ciro apparently had one. That was his motivation for killing lamiae.”

Patrick went still. When he spoke, it was with care. “I am not fond of the Cŵn Annwn, Liv, but as someone who considers himself well versed in both lore and fact, there is nothing in my understanding of the Hunt to suggest …” He trailed off, and I could see him struggling, the troublemaking bòcan and the scholar.

“It wasn’t actually the Cŵn Annwn,” I said. “Not officially, at least.”

He nodded in obvious relief at not having to defend the other team. Then he said, “Officially?”

“It’s a rogue Cŵn Annwn. We’re still trying to get his story. Apparently, he told Ciro that the lamiae murdered his wife, but if he killed four of them, he could bring her back. He invoked my parents’ case, saying I’d died of my illness and the Cŵn Annwn brought me back.”

“The Cŵn Annwn
personally
had nothing to do with—”

“Yes, I know. They invoked some higher power, which is neither god nor demon, and let’s not even go there again, because my head is still spinning from the last conversation.”

“Because there’s too much mortal blood in you. It constricts your imagination.”

“Or, possibly, you just aren’t very good at explaining things.”

“I can’t explain what your mind cannot—”

Gabriel cleared his throat.

“Back on subject,” I said. “This rogue Huntsman twisted my parents’ case, and lied about the lamiae killing Lucy—Ciro’s wife. He convinced Ciro to murder lamiae in a ritualistic way, presumably because my mother also used a ritual, though we now know she was only copying the first deaths. Also, Ciro had no clue who Ricky was, which proves that part was a setup. This rogue made it look as if Ricky was involved in Lucy’s death, but it wasn’t exactly a bang-up framing job.”

“Just enough to get Ricky involved,” Patrick mused. “To get your attention. All of you.”

“Maybe? The point is that we have all these connections, but they aren’t fitting together. Cŵn Annwn, my parents, rituals, Ricky, deals … They all link to one or another, but there’s no
through line. Feel free to tell me it’s a failure of my puny human imagination and you have the solution.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Thank you. In the meantime, I know enough about the samhail for now, so instead I want to cash in my research chit and look up Cŵn Annwn bargains.”

“You have a chit?”

“You said I was free to use your books to research samhail. Instead, I want to know more about Cŵn Annwn deals. How do people get them? What kind do they offer?
Why
do they offer them?”

“Bargains with Cŵn Annwn are rare, but not unheard of. When you came to me about your parents’ deal, I did some preliminary research, which you didn’t end up needing. It does make for entertaining reading, though.”