Deceptions

by Kelley Armstrong

  "I'll go grab one." She stood. "When I return, though, there's a case we need to discuss before you leave for your appointment." Which was her way of putting the Clarks on notice that this meeting would indeed be short.

  As soon as the door closed behind Lydia, Walter said, "We understand that you're upset, Olivia."

  "Mmm, I'm not sure upset is the right word." I perched on Lydia's desk. "I mean, I completely understand why you wouldn't tell me what you were. What do you say? 'Hello, I'm a fairy.' Sorry, fae, right?"

  "Actually, we prefer Tylwyth Teg," Ida said. "You are upset."

  "No, upset is what I'd get from learning that people I trusted aren't what they seem to be. Pissed off is what I get when my life is in danger, on account of said people not telling me what the hell is going on. Cainsville welcomes me with open arms and I think, 'Huh, that's really nice,' only to discover the town is run by supernatural beings. The reason they're being so nice to me? Well, I haven't quite figured that all out yet, but I know I sure as hell can't trust any explanation you give, so I'll keep digging. I know my family is connected to Cainsville, on Pamela's side. I know you two had something to do with getting me adopted by the Taylor-Joneses and making me disappear from the system--and from my birth parents. I know that's all somehow connected to my parents' alleged crimes. And I know that, apparently, I'm very, very special."

  "You are special, Olivia," Ida said.

  "I don't want to be. It is, as Gabriel would say, highly inconvenient. I've got you trying to woo me, and the Wild Hunt--sorry, the Cwn Annwn--trying to woo me, and it's like I'm the top NFL draft pick when I didn't even realize I knew how to play football. I'm being waylaid everywhere--"

  "That's the Cwn Annwn, not us."

  "No?" I looked around Gabriel's lobby. "Huh. This certainly feels like waylaying."

  Ida stepped toward me. "Olivia, I can assure you that we have your best interests in mind. The Cwn Annwn do not. Stay away from us if you must, but stay away from them, too."

  "And end your association with the Gallagher boy," Walter added.

  "Ricky? Seriously? After everything, you still need to bitch about me dating a biker?"

  "It's not--" Walter began, but Ida shushed him with a look.

  Gabriel cut in. "I believe I know Ricky well enough to vouch for him, but if you have some insight that I don't, anything that would suggest he'd harm Olivia . . ."

  With obvious reluctance, Ida said, "Not intentionally. We simply don't think it's wise for her to associate with a known criminal--"

  "Ricky Gallagher is not a criminal. He has never even been arrested. He's an MBA student and a member of a motorcycle club. Neither is a crime. Now, if you'll excuse us, Olivia and I have work to do."

  --

  Once Lydia returned, we headed off to Cook County for our visit. Edgar Chandler had been a psychologist working on MKULTRA, the CIA's brainwashing experiments in the sixties. MKULTRA was a flop. Yet Chandler had continued working in the pharmaceutical field. With help of the fantastical kind, he'd attained one of MKULTRA's goals: discovering a way to turn innocent people into unwitting assassins.

  We couldn't tell the authorities that he'd killed using mind control because, well, rational people don't believe in mind control. Or omens. Or fae. The state attorney's office had settled on charging him with accessory to murder.

  "So why didn't Chandler get bail?" I asked as we walked from the parking lot to the prison. "I'm certainly not complaining. It just seems odd, given his age and spotless record. Is it set too high?"

  "Edgar Chandler could put up a million-dollar bond as easily as I paid for that car. But he hasn't."

  "Which means what?"

  "That he's not in any rush to get out."

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Chandler looked every month of his eighty-five years. I wouldn't have said I was sorry to see it. Not only had he ordered the deaths of Jan Gunderson and Peter Evans, but he'd used his mind-control drugs to murder Jan's father and a friend of Peter's as a test of his new toy. Two innocent people had died and two equally innocent people were now charged with their murders.

  Chandler tottered into the visitors' area on a cane. Not because the weight of his crimes had finally become too much to bear, but because he hadn't recovered from being shot in the leg by Gabriel last month.

  When a guard strode over to help him, Chandler peered at him.

  "I don't know you," he said to the man.

  "Name's Ransom. I was here last week when you talked to your lawyer."

  "No you weren't. I've never seen you before."

  Ransom rolled his eyes and took Chandler by the arm to help him into his seat.

  Chandler shook the man off. "I don't know you."

  "Someone's a little paranoid," I whispered to Gabriel.

  Chandler turned to us. "Mr. Walsh. I don't believe you were invited to this tete-a-tete. If Eden feels threatened, I can assure you both I'm quite harmless here."

  "Gabriel stays," I said. "So you've decided to speak to me?"

  "I have."

  "That means you want something from me. Let's get that out of the way first."

  "I called you here because I believe we can benefit one another. This was never about hurting you, Eden."

  I leaned forward, elbows on the table. "You forget I heard you give Mrs. Evans the order. Kill the girl." He'd brainwashed Peter Evans's wife after having their housekeeper kill Evans.

  "Then you misinterpreted, which can happen when you eavesdrop, Olivia."

  Reverting to my preferred name suggested he was anxious to show his sincerity, but . . . well, I had the feeling it took someone a lot scarier than me--or even Gabriel--to make Edgar Chandler anxious.

  "I offered to protect you from any fallout after Evans's death and to help you better understand your situation," he said. "I tried to work with you."

  That wasn't quite how I remembered it, but I said only, "You also warned me about the hounds. You said they'd come to Cainsville and, when they did, I'd regret turning you in. Well, they've showed up there. Hell, they've showed up in a lot of places. But I'm not quite getting the 'regret' part."

  "Again, you misunderstood me. I never warned you against the hounds. I can promise they're no threat to you."

  Bingo. I knew who had Chandler scared shitless.

  "The Huntsmen showed you how to perfect your mind control, didn't they?"

  "Huntsmen?" He tried for an air of bewilderment.

  "Cwn Annwn," I said. "I think I'm finally pronouncing that right. Welsh. So many letters. So few vowels."

  "I realize recent events have been confusing, Eden, but I have no idea what you're talking about."

  "No? Huh." I looked at Gabriel. "Is it warm in here?"

  "Cool, actually."

  "Then why is Edgar breaking into a sweat?"

  "It's a fever," Chandler said. "I've been unwell. I'm also under a great deal of strain. You've heard about Anderson's death?"

  "We have," Gabriel said. Chandler's former bodyguard had apparently OD'd on morphine in the hospital a couple of weeks earlier. "I presume he was murdered. While you would be the obvious suspect--and mind control the obvious weapon--the fact you contacted us says you are not responsible and, moreover, you fear you're next." He motioned toward the guard. "Hence your paranoia."

  Silence dragged on for so long that the guard started walking over, expecting Chandler to declare the visit at an end.

  "I need to make amends," Chandler said finally.

  "To us?" I said. "Oh, that's sweet."

  Chandler looked confused.

  I glanced at Gabriel. "Not to us."

  "To the Huntsmen, I take it," Gabriel said. "You've outlived your usefulness, and you could be a threat."

  "There's someone I need to . . . have removed."

  Gabriel's brows shot up. "I provide many services, Mr. Chandler, but that one is outside my area of expertise."

  "No, I don't think it is."

  "Then you think wrong." A chill crept i
nto Gabriel's voice.

  "All right. If not you, then Olivia here. She has the background for it."

  "Um, no. I--"

  "I'll tell you everything. About the hounds. The Huntsmen. My association with them. Your parents' association with them." An anxious smile as I reacted. "That one intrigues you, doesn't it? I can answer every question you have, for the small price of 'removing' a man who, as you will discover, richly deserves it."

  "The name?" Gabriel said.

  Chandler turned to him.

  "I will require a name."

  A genuine smile spread across Chandler's face. "How quickly your ethics change, boy. A word of advice: don't feign outrage next time. It really doesn't suit you."

  "The name?"

  "Jon Childs."

  Gabriel nodded as if making a mental note. Chandler eased back in his chair, chortling to himself, and I realized he wasn't a sociopath at all. That would imply an inability to recognize ethical boundaries. This was a man who recognized such lines and delighted in pulling others over them, because it proved they were no better than him.

  I knew Gabriel didn't have any intention of killing Jon Childs. There were a dozen reasons why, starting with the fact that he's not an assassin and ending with the fact that he'd never play one for a guy like Chandler. But with the target's name, we could track the man down and see why Chandler wanted him dead.

  I let Chandler enjoy his amoral victory for about ten seconds. Then I leaned across the table. "People who do what you're asking expect a down payment. I want an answer up front."

  "Nothing about your parents. I'm not that stupid."

  "What exactly did you do to piss off the Cwn Annwn?"

  "I'm in here. They are not impressed."

  "Maybe. But you're not a serious threat. You can't unmask them. That's like Scooby-Doo pulling off Mr. Wikles's face and revealing a monster underneath. No one would believe you. There's more to it. You seriously pissed them off. How?"

  When Chandler didn't answer, Gabriel said, "By targeting you, Olivia. The Cwn Annwn are courting you. They certainly don't want you dead. Which explains Mr. Chandler's eagerness to insist he was, in fact, not targeting you at all."

  Chandler's hand flexed against the table.

  "But there's more," I said. "The whole scheme to keep me from uncovering the truth about Pete's and Jan's deaths. Killing Will Evans and Josh Gray. That was personal, wasn't it? Unsanctioned by the Cwn Annwn."

  "An unsanctioned use of their tool," Gabriel said. "The mind control. You were using it for your own purposes, which is not permitted."

  Chandler glowered at us. "Why ask a question if you're going to answer it yourselves?"

  "Because it's more fun that way," I said. "All we need is for you to confirm it."

  "I'm not going to--"

  "Your reaction already did. Not only did you use their drug without authorization, but you attempted to use it against me. No wonder they're pissed."

  "We are indeed." The guard--Ransom--had appeared at Chandler's back.

  When Chandler tried to scramble up, Ransom put a hand on his shoulder. It seemed a gentle touch, but Chandler's face convulsed in pain.

  I started to rise. Gabriel gripped my arm, and his touch may have been as light as the guard's seemed, but the look in his eyes was rock hard. I followed his gaze to see the other guard and the video cameras trained around the room. Gabriel's meaning was clear. We are in a jail. With armed security. Who will not hesitate to act if we seem to be interfering with a guard.

  Ransom bent to Chandler's ear. "Do you hear the hounds, Edgar?"

  Chandler gave a jerky nod. "I--I'm sorry. It was a mistake. I'll make amends. I'm doing that right now."

  "He is," I cut in. "Let him make amends. Please."

  The guard didn't appear to be more than thirty, but when he turned his gaze on me, I saw someone much older. "I'd be concerned about your sentimentality if I didn't know you were only pleading for his life because it benefits you. Edgar here is a genius. But that does not mean we consider him an ally or that we don't feel the need to bathe in bleach after dealing with him."

  Chandler made a noise that might have been a protest but came out as a terrified bleat.

  Ransom continued. "He is a self-absorbed, egotistic maniac, Olivia. That means he lies. Consistently and pathologically. He will not tell you the truth. He will tell you whatever version of it best suits his needs. If you want answers, come to us. Only us. As for Chandler . . ." He leaned down to the man's ear again. "You hear them coming, don't you?"

  Chandler's head bobbed.

  "Good. Then I need say no more." He patted Chandler's shoulder and looked at us. "Visiting time is over."

  --

  On the way out, I hit the restroom. I couldn't have been more than five minutes, but from the look Gabriel gave his watch when I exited, you'd think it had been hours. Waiting was one thing. Waiting without doing anything productive was quite another.

  "You could have gone out to the car," I said.

  "I'm not leaving you alone."

  "I'm in a prison. The only danger I face is that they might decide I should stay."

  As we passed through security, I recognized the man ahead of us. It was Ransom. When we reached the parking lot, he continued to the streets beyond.

  "I'd like to follow," I said. "See where he goes."

  CHAPTER SIX

  The neighborhoods surrounding the jail were . . . well, pretty much what you'd expect for neighborhoods surrounding a jail. There were good areas in East Garfield Park, but they didn't extend to the doorstep of the nation's biggest prison. Still, it wasn't such a bad neighborhood that we looked out of place. Ransom stuck to the sidewalk, moving at a purposeful stride down one street after another.

  "Where the hell is he going?" I muttered. "I've seen them vanish, so why not just walk into the guards' change room and never come out? Do you think he knows we're tailing him?"

  "Possibly."

  Ransom turned down another street, this one industrial, with a building in the throes of demolition on the left.

  "They can't actually disappear, right?" I said. "It must be some kind of Jedi mind trick."

  "I believe you are conflating your fantasy worlds."

  "You know what I mean. He alters our perception so we no longer see him. Rather than actually vanishing."

  "Does it matter?"

  "Yes. I want limits, damn it. I'll accept omens and portents and second sight. I'll accept giant black hounds and creepy ravens and magpies. I'm still working out the fae and Wild Hunt thing. But I draw the line at people disappearing into thin air. Don't give me that look, either."

  "Look?"

  "You're laughing at me."

  "I'm quite certain I didn't even smile."

  "I can feel the laughing."

  His lips twitched. That's when Ransom did disappear, if only around the side of a coin laundry. I picked up my pace. Gabriel laid his fingers against my back. "Careful, Olivia."

  He was right--I'd left my purse in the car, to avoid checking it at security, which meant I was unarmed.

  We caught another glimpse of Ransom as he turned into the gap between two buildings. Gabriel stopped me before I could follow. He surveyed the area and then swung his gaze back to that gap, his eyes narrowed. If he were a cat, his fur would have been standing on end.

  "Trouble?" I said.

  "We've been led up and down these streets. Now our target has vanished into a dark alley. I don't believe it takes an omen to signal we're being led into a trap."

  "So we retreat?"

  "No, we proceed with extreme caution."

  The dark alley was actually a narrow road between buildings. It wasn't all that dark, either, only dim from the shadow of one building stretching across to the other. It was still midday, and we could hear the shouts of men at a construction site a block over. The last dangerous place I'd ventured had been an abandoned psychiatric hospital at 2 A.M. This was nothing.

  There was no sign
of Ransom. When we got halfway down the lane, Gabriel pointed to the mouth of an adjoining alley. Which meant that Ransom could have gone that way . . . or be lying in wait there to pounce on us.

  "I'm going to check," Gabriel said. "Wait here and stand watch, please."

  When he reached the intersection, he peered around it. At a noise behind me, I glanced around to see a plastic bag tumbling my way. I turned back and . . .

  No Gabriel.

  I was almost ashamed of the sudden impulse to run and see where he'd gone. Um, down the side alley obviously. I waited a minute. Then I walked to the intersection and looked around the corner to see . . .

  A dead end.

  The alley was only about ten feet long and stopped at a chain-link fence. I couldn't imagine Gabriel hopping that fence. He's too big to be agile, and his dignity stops him from doing anything that could look, well, undignified.

  I walked to the fence and peered through. No sign of Gabriel. That's when my heart started pounding in earnest. And when I started cursing us both out for not retrieving our cell phones from the car before we set off to follow a Huntsman.

  I returned to the lane and walked along it. When a dark shadow loomed over me, I turned with a greeting on my lips. No one was there. The shadow stayed, though, and I craned my neck to see an owl perched on the roof above.

  Owl in daytime. Always a bad sign.

  I rubbed the back of my neck.

  Across the road at the end of the lane was a block of housing. An old woman stood in a rear yard scrubbing clothing in a basin with a washboard. I crossed the road, pulled by the archaic sight. She had her head down, scrubbing diligently while crooning to herself. I walked right up to the fence and peered over. I could see her long, snarled hair and her reed-thin, wizened arms. When she raised her head, I knew what I'd see. Those blackened, jagged teeth. That long nose and sunken eyes--one black and one gray.

  "Y mae mor salw a Gwrach y Rhibyn," I whispered.

  Her mouth opened. "Fy mhlentyn, fy mhlentyn bach," she shrieked. "Fy mhlentyn, fy mhlentyn bach."

  My child. My little child.

  The bean nighe warns of death.

  As she wailed, I stared at the white shirt in her hand. Gabriel's shirt.

  I turned, tripping and stumbling down the road. Then there was no road. I was in a field. I took two staggering steps and felt the soft earth beneath my feet and the long grass whispering against my legs. The field flickered, like a broken recording, and I was on the street again, feeling the pavement and hearing the whine of distant machinery. Two more steps and I was back in the field, a butterfly tickling past, the smell of wildflowers on the breeze.