Rituals

by Kelley Armstrong

  "Why can't we see my mother?" I said. "On whose orders?"

  "One of the doctors. He said you'd be by. And he said you'd cause trouble, which is why you can't see her. At all. Or I lose my job, which is worth more to me than your hundred bucks."

  "And that doctor's name?"

  "Lang? Lee? I'm new here. I just know he said it was important to keep you away from your mother, and that's what I'm doing."

  "I'm sure he was very compelling," I murmured as I stepped away from the desk.

  "What was all that about?"

  "Ms. Taylor-Jones mistook you for someone else," Gabriel said. "She's very distraught. Now, I appreciate that you're doing your job, but are you aware of the legal ramifications of keeping my client from her mother?"

  "Client?"

  Gabriel continued, smoothly holding the nurse's attention as I headed for the closed door. "Yes, client. Ms. Taylor-Jones is the de facto guardian for Pamela Larsen, who is a prisoner of the state, and under the provisions of the penal code..."

  I tuned out whatever legalese fiction he was spinning and opened that door. Then I slipped through and found myself in an empty room. Across from me was another door, cracked open, which seemed a little too obvious. So I checked furniture instead--under a desk, inside a cabinet--and texted Gabriel.

  Second door partly open. No sign he's hiding.

  I hit Send and then typed: I'll wait 4 U, and imagined his exhale of relief as he got them, saving him from madly texting a warning.

  I did wait. I also approached that door, though, slipping close enough to peer through and--

  The hall door opened, and Gabriel walked through.

  "The nurse is occupied," he said as he approached. "I put the fear of legal action into her and suggested she find the doctor who issued the order."

  "Who I'm presuming is the one who went through that door. And is likely on the other side, listening to us. He could make this much easier by coming in here and joining the conversation."

  I waited. Silence.

  "And that's a no." I pushed open the door. It led into a back hall. An empty one, lined with doors. As we started along it, I called, "We get that you're luring us somewhere. It's kind of obvious."

  "Then why are you following?" asked a voice.

  We turned to see the so-called doctor, leaning in an open doorway.

  "No, don't answer that," he said. "You're Tylwyth Teg. You can't help yourselves, poor things."

  "Pretty sure you're more fae than we are."

  "Fae, yes, technically. Tylwyth Teg?" He scrunched his nose. "No, I come from sturdier stock. Fae far less likely to allow blind curiosity to lead them into obvious traps."

  "We love traps. They're like puzzles, only with higher stakes." I stepped toward him. "And for a fae who's so dismissive of his Welsh brethren, you're taking quite an interest in their affairs, playing sycophant to my mother."

  "Sycophant?" He laughed. "Hardly. It's a mutual allegiance."

  "Mmm, yeah. You just keep telling yourself that. Ask Tristan about my mother's idea of a mutual allegiance."

  "Tristan was a spriggan. Inferior stock, again. I know what I'm doing."

  I opened my mouth to dispute that, but Gabriel edged past me, saying, "Where is Pamela?"

  "Ah, the great Gwynn speaks." The doctor mock-bowed. "Your highness. It is a pleasure."

  Gabriel gave him a quick appraisal, those pale blue eyes taking his measure. Then he turned to me.

  "He's stalling us. He has accomplished his mission--helping your mother escape undetected--and now his orders are simply to keep us from pursuit. She's gone exactly where I said she'd go. He's of no use to us."

  Gabriel had not said anything about where Pamela would go, but I played along and turned to leave.

  "I'm under no such orders," the doctor said as we walked away. "Your mother didn't expect you to show up. I only compelled that silly nurse to block anyone who asked after Pamela as a general precaution."

  We kept going. A moment later, something flashed past us. Then he was there, in our path.

  "You do not want to interfere with her," he said.

  "Is that a threat?" Gabriel said, his voice a low rumble.

  The fae opened his mouth, his expression saying he was about to make a jaunty response. Then he looked up into Gabriel's eyes and stopped.

  "No," Gabriel said. "I thought not."

  Gabriel shouldered the fae aside to give me room to pass. I did, and the fae popped in front of us again, far enough ahead to stay out of Gabriel's reach.

  "It wasn't a threat," he said. "It was a warning. A..." A nervous glance at Gabriel. "A respectful warning. Whatever your mother has gone to do, Matilda, it is for you. It is always for you."

  "Gone to do?" I slowed.

  "Ignore him," Gabriel said. "His very phrasing makes it clear he doesn't know what she has in mind."

  "But she has a purpose," I said. "Beyond simply escaping from prison."

  The fae laughed, finding his arrogance again. "Escape? To what purpose? She can better protect you in jail than on the run from the police. No, Pamela will bide her time until she is legally freed. This is merely an excursion. The undertaking of a task. She'll be back before dawn, no one the wiser, and I would suggest you leave her to whatever she's doing."

  "You have no idea what that is, do you?" I said.

  "I don't require a reason. She was concerned for you, and she needed to leave briefly, so I manufactured an opportunity, putting her in my debt." A pleased smile. "Putting you in my debt, too, I'll wager."

  I started to answer, but Gabriel's hand gripped my shoulder.

  "Whether you have earned Olivia's regard--and mine--remains to be seen. You said Pamela was concerned for her daughter? Perhaps it's not what I thought it was. Is it something we should be worried about? A new threat?"

  "Relatively recent," he said. "Not urgent, though. She contacted me two days ago, saying she feared a new threat against Matilda, and asking if it might be possible for me to orchestrate a temporary departure." That smug smile again. "She'd asked Tristan the same this spring, but he couldn't manage it. That's why he had to act for her. I provided, though. She asked, and I provided."

  --

  "She's going after Seanna," I said as we got into the car.

  When Gabriel started the engine without answering, I said, "No, that's a wild guess, isn't it?" I took a deep breath. "Okay. Calm down. Talk it out. She said she's doing something for me, but that might not be true."

  "It always is."

  "It could be for Todd. Not breaking him out. Like that fae said, escape is pointless. It would mean life on the run, when they have a genuine shot at getting out legally."

  "It's Seanna."

  I looked over at him.

  "Seanna is in Grace's building," he said, "with the dryads watching over her. Pamela can't simply slip in and kill her."

  "But you agree that's what she's planning."

  "It's the most obvious answer. Seanna visited her a few days ago, shortly before Pamela contacted that fae. Pamela's version of the conversation didn't match Seanna's. Seanna told you the sluagh provided a script for her side of that conversation, which amounted to thinly veiled threats against you."

  "Seanna was supposed to upset Pamela, which supposedly would upset me."

  "No. The real goal was to anger Pamela. The conversation was carefully orchestrated to convince Pamela that you are in danger from Seanna."

  "Not just me," I said. "My father, too. That was the whole point of bringing up Kirkman. To threaten Todd. Either he'd read the note and tell my mother, or I'd get the note and ask her what it meant. The sluagh threatened me and Todd. Loading a double-barreled shotgun. Pointed squarely at Seanna."

  "As the sluagh said, she's played her role. That means she has outlived her usefulness and is now more trouble than she's worth. A wild card, so to speak. She has only one final role to play: leverage against you. As far as Pamela knows, Seanna is the threat."

  "We know b
etter. Kill Seanna, and the sluagh still hold their ace on my father with Kirkman."

  "Kill Seanna, and they gain another--a murder they can squarely pin on your mother. With that, they can guarantee that both your parents will remain in prison for life."

  "Patrick," I said.

  Gabriel's brows arched as he turned onto the highway.

  "We need to tell someone in Cainsville. Someone who can help," I said. "He's the most obvious choice."

  "Yes, but that also puts us in his debt, which is why I was going to suggest Veronica."

  I shook my head. "Patrick owes us, and he's a much better match for my mother."

  Gabriel paused and then nodded. I called Patrick and told him that Pamela was out of prison and going after Seanna.

  "Ah," he said.

  "Going after her to kill her," I said. "Not to invite her to tea. In case that wasn't obvious."

  "No, it was. I suspect even a tea between them would end in bloodshed. Seanna's blood, shed."

  "This isn't a public service announcement, Patrick. I'm asking you to do something about it. To watch over Seanna."

  "Ah."

  My hand gripped the phone tighter. "Fine. Obviously, Gabriel was right. I should notify Veronica--the one elder in Cainsville who actually gives a shit."

  "We all give a shit, Liv, in our way. If I sound overly calm at the prospect of Seanna's death, well, you can hardly blame me."

  "It's not just her death. If she dies--" I stopped myself and glanced at Gabriel as I thought of Seanna's mark. "Speak to Veronica or Grace, okay? There's more to this. But if you'd rather not get involved, I can call Veronica."

  "No, Veronica has many talents, but I don't want her going toe-to-toe with your mother. I'm too fond of our Veronica. I'll head over and keep an eye on Seanna."

  "And speak to Grace. Please."

  SACRILEGE

  If I were going to kill Seanna Walsh, how would I do it?

  It was not a question Patrick had difficulty answering. He'd considered it many times, in fantasy and even in fiction, having written a few characters in whom one might recognize aspects of his son's mother, all of whom met terrible--and terribly satisfying--fictional demises.

  But now, as he stood on the corner of Main Street, the question was not how he'd do it, but how Pamela Larsen would. Which was another matter altogether.

  First there was the problem of finding Seanna. He doubted Seanna had provided contact information to Pamela.

  Oh, and in case you decide to escape prison so we might take tea, I'm currently residing in Grace's building in Cainsville.

  Patrick did have to smile at the image, so helpfully provided by Liv, of Seanna and Pamela at tea.

  Oh, my dear, you must try the cookies. The lethal dose of arsenic adds a lovely almond flavor.

  No, much too obvious.

  I know, Seanna darling, at our age, it can be so difficult to get a good sleep, but I've found an incredible cure, a most remarkable tea, the perfect blend of nightshade and belladonna.

  Nice, but poison was easily detected and not really Pamela's style.

  Please, Seanna dearest, do try the chicken sandwiches. I deboned them myself. Well, mostly.

  Yes, that was more Pamela's style. Still, he might be forgiven if he held quite another image in mind, a much more satisfying teatime pictorial of Pamela Larsen lunging across the scones and cucumber sandwiches, knife in hand, snarling, "Die, bitch!"

  Crude but effective.

  Yet there would be no tea. Simply murder.

  So, how will you find her, Pamela? You won't leave that to chance. You wouldn't set foot outside your prison walls until every detail had been planned.

  Patrick might not know Pamela Larsen, but he knew her daughter. Take Liv's more deliciously devious side, multiply it tenfold, and he'd have Pamela.

  So it mattered, he supposed, not how she'd know where Seanna was, but simply acknowledging that she would.

  Pamela Larsen was coming to Cainsville.

  Coming to murder Seanna Walsh.

  And Liv expected him to ruin such a perfect scene?

  Sacrilege.

  No, this wasn't about stopping Pamela. Not at all.

  As he approached Rowan Street, he replayed exactly what Liv had said. She asked him to speak to Veronica or Grace first. Which seemed odd.

  Patrick shook his head. His curiosity really could get the better of him sometimes.

  As for why Liv wouldn't want him to let Pamela kill Seanna, well, that was no mystery at all. She had to say that, didn't she? Gabriel was sitting right next to her in the car, and while Patrick suspected Liv would kill Seanna herself if she could get away with it, she'd be much more circumspect in front of her new lover.

  Gabriel would want Seanna dead. Yet he could not do it himself. Ergo, under other circumstances, Liv would happily turn a blind eye to Pamela's scheme. But Liv finally had Gabriel and was more nervous than became a young woman of her cunning and resolve.

  Cunning...

  Interesting word choice. And there, perhaps inadvertently, he had solved the mystery. Answered that niggling feeling that said such squeamishness did not become Olivia.

  Patrick had misinterpreted the point of the call entirely. It wasn't to stop Pamela. It was to protect Gabriel. Call Patrick and tell him what was happening, and ask--demand--he do something about it, while knowing full well he wouldn't. Therefore, when Seanna died at Pamela's hands, Gabriel would suffer no guilt at having failed to stop it. Liv had tried to stop it. Gabriel had overheard her. Whatever happened after that...well, that was Patrick's fault, wasn't it? Not theirs at all.

  Patrick smiled.

  Clever, clever Liv. He should be furious, of course, at being played. But he admired her skill too much for that.

  He appreciated the steps she took to protect his son, and he would reward her.

  No, it's my fault, Gabriel. I told Liv I'd stop Pamela. I was very clear on that. She had no reason to doubt me.

  There. A selfless act. Liv would be pleased. Moreover, Matilda would be pleased, and as much as Patrick liked to pretend otherwise, he was very aware of Matilda's importance. Currying her favor was to his benefit. She would owe him. Quid pro quo.

  Now, time to give you what you want, Liv. What my son needs. For his mother to return to an unmarked grave and a cold-case file.

  As Patrick walked behind Grace's building, he spotted a middle-aged woman, her rounded figure further padded by a long down-filled jacket. A dark winter hat--pulled down as far as it would go--hid her hair and part of her face, the rest obscured by a thick scarf.

  "Dressed for the occasion, I see," he said as he ambled over. "A cold night's dark endeavor."

  The woman let out a laugh. "Well, it is cold. This will warm me up, though." She lifted a wine bag. "Just as soon as I get up to my friend's apartment."

  Patrick stopped a few feet away, staying deep in shadow. "Who's your friend?" Before she could answer, he lifted a sheet of paper and unfolded it. "Ah, now, you really did come prepared. A map of the building and all. Very thorough."

  The woman patted her pockets. "How--?"

  "You dropped it," Patrick lied, flashing his teeth in a smile, and she finally turned to him.

  Pamela Larsen. I see where your daughter gets that look of hers, the one that says she knows she's being conned but doesn't have enough evidence to convict.

  He handed back the map. "That looks like Liv's floor."

  Pamela smiled, a wonderfully guileless smile. "It is. I'll have to tell her I met you. Now, if you'll excuse me..." She reached for the door.

  "Aren't you forgetting something?"

  "Hmm?"

  "My name. In order to tell Liv you met me, you'll need to know who I am first."

  He stepped between her and the door, full under the light. Her eyes widened. Then they narrowed.

  "You do remember me," he said. "It was such a brief encounter, and how long ago? Thirty years, at least. But you don't forget a fae face, do you?"

&nbs
p; "I don't know what you mean," she said evenly. "If you'll excuse me--"

  "I'm afraid you won't find Liv there. She moved into the old Carew house. Kids these days." He shook his head. "Communications options we only dreamed of--text, e-mail, voice mail. But they still don't talk with their parents nearly enough. Of course, in your case, I guess there's an excuse. You don't have Snapchat in prison, do you, Pamela?"

  Pamela went still.

  "Regretting the fact you can't kill me?" he said. "You could, but I haven't done anything to warrant it, and you need a good reason, don't you, Pamela? Well, maybe not good. You haven't quite sold me on your motivation for conspiring to kill James Morgan. I suspect a large part of that was just the opportunity to frame Gabriel. Which, between you and me?" He leaned closer. "Puts you squarely in my bad books. You'll understand that, though. Paternal instinct can be just as strong as maternal."

  "Pater...?" She trailed off and then curled her lip. "You're Gabriel's father." A contemptuous snort. "I knew there was more than a few drops of fae blood in him."

  "Much more. Almost as much combined fae as is in your daughter, with her fae and Cwn Annwn blood."

  "The Cwn Annwn are not fae."

  "They are, too, but we won't debate that. I will only say that if you go after my son again, I will crush you."

  "I won't. I've already promised Eden that."

  He smiled. "Excellent. Liv looks out for Gabriel, as much as he looks out for her. He jumped off a bridge for her. You know that, don't you?"

  "I know he fell off one, but I'm sure he's telling a very different story. And if he did jump? Well, her trust fund wouldn't have paid out if she died before her birthday."

  "Pamela, Pamela, Pamela. You are a bright woman. As clever as your daughter and even more underhanded. Yet when you sing that particular song, you seem as foolish and thickheaded as the woman you've come to kill."

  "I don't know what--"

  "No time," he said. "Liv and Gabriel are coming to stop you, and having been in a car with my son, one cannot presume normal travel times. We must hurry. You're here to kill Seanna. But you'll never get to her without help. That's why I'm here. To make sure you can do it. And make sure you get away with it."

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  I burst through the front doors of the apartment building. Grace and Pepper stood just inside, deep in conversation.

  "Where's Seanna?" I said.

  "Right where you left her," Grace said. "What's the emergency-of-the-moment?"