Lost Souls

by Kelley Armstrong

  He took out his phone and checked it.

  "Waiting for something?" the male pixie said.

  "Nothing of import," he said, in a tone that suggested otherwise. "Now, I would like to discuss the matter of Christina Moore."

  The female pixie feigned a yawn. "Dull. Let's talk about someone else. His name starts with a G. Not Gabriel, though. What was your mother even thinking, naming you after the opposing team?"

  When he didn't reply, she prodded, "Gabriel's Hounds? It's another term for the Cw^n Annwn."

  "I prefer to think she named me after the archangel, as befits my saintly disposition."

  When they hesitated, Gabriel discreetly texted Patrick: Tips for dealing with pixies?

  "What are you doing?" the male asked.

  "Checking my stocks. I'm thinking I might want to drop any interests in Pigsie Industries. I hear they are about to suffer a setback."

  Silence. Then the male snorted, "Oh, that's good. Clever Gwynn."

  If Gabriel tensed at the name, the pixies failed to notice, and the female said, "One of our kind met you years ago. Or so she said. Gwynn ap Nudd, the greatest king the Tylwyth Teg have ever seen, reborn as a street boy seeking shelter in abandoned buildings. Others thought she was telling stories. I knew it was true--proof of how far the Tylwyth Teg had fallen. Their king, a dirty-faced boy rooting around in trash cans."

  Gabriel could say he never ate from the garbage, but the truth was that he'd come closer than he cared to admit. Instead, he only shrugged. "Isn't that one of Gwynn's titles? The warrior with the blackened face? I was simply fulfilling my destiny. Now, about Christina--"

  "Let's talk about Gwynn. Do you know who he is to the pixies?"

  "Nothing, I presume, as you are not Tylwyth Teg."

  The pixie blinked, as if he'd stolen her punch line.

  "No," Gabriel said. "That's not entirely correct. I am something. I am useful. That's why you've waylaid me."

  "We waylaid you to tell you to get out of our business, which is not Tylwyth Teg business. We want you to remember that."

  "That's what you seek, then. A pardon from the king, for this and all future transgressions committed on his lands."

  "This is not your land," the female spat.

  "Of course it is. In asking me for diplomatic immunity, you acknowledge the territorial rights of the Tylwyth Teg as extending beyond Cainsville--"

  "We didn't ask for diplomatic immunity."

  "You've asked me to allow you to conduct your business on what is presumably Tylwyth Teg territory or you would not ask--"

  The female pixie flew at him. The male lunged to hold her back.

  "No," Gabriel said. "Let her do as she wishes. At worst, she might kill me, but it's not as if I won't return, in another time, in another form. Which is more than I can say for either of you when the Tylwyth Teg avenge my death."

  "You think you're protected, boy?" the female said. "It's true we don't dare harm you. But we haven't harmed anyone. You humans do that all by yourselves, and if you decide to put a gun to your head two days from now, do you think anyone will question it? Do you think anyone will care?"

  His shoulders tightened before he could hide the reaction, and her lips curved in a smile.

  "They'll care about Gwynn," she said. "But you, Gabriel Walsh? No. There's nobody to care, is there? Nobody to mourn."

  He told himself it didn't matter, but that was a lie. A lie for the man he'd been. A lie for the man he'd tried to be.

  But he would not go unmourned. Rose would care. And Olivia, as unsteady as their relationship might be right now. Perhaps others, but those two were enough for him to know the pixie's words should be easily sloughed off. One moment of self-doubt and then a sneer for her poor effort.

  But as he told himself it wasn't true, his breathing quickened, doubt seeping in. Was he certain about Rose? Perhaps she'd mourn at first but then be relieved, no longer tied to him, no longer forced to pick her way carefully through the minefield of their relationship. Olivia, too. She would miss him at first, but then perhaps feel relief, Matilda finally freed of Gwynn and his endless betrayals. Freed to live her own life.

  Gabriel gritted his teeth. It was as if the pixie had reached inside him and found the tender spots beneath his armor, as if she knew exactly where to poke and prod and release the fears of a child. He looked into her eyes and saw them glitter, working whatever magic she possessed.

  "I'm fine," he said through those gritted teeth.

  "Oh, no, Gwynn, you are not. You've lost your Matilda. Again. Rather tiresome, isn't it? To keep needing her. To keep losing her. To feel lost without her."

  "I'm fine."

  The female smiled. "You keep telling yourself that, Gwynn."

  "I don't need to. I know it. I am fine. Yes, I lost my way, but I'll find it again. I always do. I don't need Olivia. I want her in my life, but that's an entirely different thing."

  The pixie's eyes narrowed, and her mate made a noise, like a growl.

  "I cannot offer that boon you requested," Gabriel said. "I'm in no position to do so. But I am willing to negotiate. If you leave Illinois, I won't pursue you for the crimes you've committed here."

  "Crimes?" the male sneered. "We've toyed with humans. That's what we do. It's what all fae do. If you plan to stop that, Gwynn, then you have a lifetime of disappointment ahead because it's like vowing to clean up the ocean, one grain of sand at a time."

  "I'm not concerned with the ocean. I'm concerned with you. Here. Now. Stop killing humans."

  "One more," the female said.

  "No more."

  "Oh, I'm afraid you don't have a say in the matter, Gwynn. One more. And then we will stop. You have our word."

  The male reached up and grabbed him by the hair, wrenching so fast that Gabriel didn't have time to react. His head snapped to the side, and the female put her lips to his ear and whispered, "You're lost, Gabriel Walsh. So terribly lost. But you can fix it. You know how to get back on track. How to end this. End it for good." Her voice lowered. "You have one hour."

  Gabriel blinked. Then he rubbed his neck and looked about.

  "What am I doing here?" he said.

  The female smiled. "You know, Gabriel. Tell me what you have to do."

  "Fix things. End it."

  "Exactly."

  He frowned at her. "Exactly what?"

  The pixies chortled.

  "One hour," the male said. "Best get moving."

  Gabriel texted Olivia, asking her to meet him...

  He looked around. "Where are we?"

  The male fae leaned over and typed an address into the text message. "That will get her close enough."

  "That's very helpful," Gabriel said. "Considering she's coming to help me stop you."

  The female smiled. "No, she's coming to help you, Gabriel. Help you get back on track. And we can't wait to see it."

  TWENTY-FIVE

  PATRICK

  Patrick grumbled as he stalked down the alley. He'd been left out. Again.

  Oh, yes, Patrick, please help me contact this ghost. Please watch my back. Now, when the fun starts, run along and play.

  Okay, that wasn't exactly how it happened. But that's how it felt.

  Gabriel had texted him--him--to ask how to deal with pixies. Not Liv. Patrick. Had he gotten a thank you for his response? For his reassurance that darling Olivia was fine? Not a word. Instead, Gabriel switched to texting Liv. Plotting with Liv. Telling her that he had the pixie and needed her help capturing it.

  How was Liv supposed to help? Patrick was the expert.

  To be fair, Liv had noted the oversight and realized Gabriel presumably meant for Patrick to sneak up another way and do the actual capturing while she and Gabriel distracted the pixie.

  It was the "sneak up another way" part he was grumbling about. They'd split up, and Patrick had followed Gabriel's directions--to the letter--and wound up at a dead end. Worse, he had no idea where Liv had gone. He'd texted Gabriel twice without a
response.

  He'd finally broken down and texted Liv, who naturally replied with: Got lost, huh? as if he'd just failed to follow the directions properly. Then she sent GPS coordinates along with: I hear G. Going to him now.

  Patrick texted back for her to wait. No reply to that one. She'd spotted Gabriel and nothing else mattered. Worse than starry-eyed teenagers, both of them.

  He reached what was, according to his GPS app, the correct location. And there was no sign of Gabriel or Liv. He sent texts to both. Neither answered. So he started wandering about, looking and listening, soon as lost as if he'd been pixie-led himself.

  When he turned down the next street, he finally caught the sound of Liv's distant voice.

  "Hey, there," she was saying. "Did the pixie escape?"

  "Pixie?" Gabriel said.

  "Uh, yeah. The one you were guarding?"

  "I don't know what you're talking about, Olivia."

  Patrick swore under his breath. The pixie had cast her befuddlement magic on Gabriel and escaped. He looked for any sign of the fae, hoping her hunger for entertainment would outweigh her common sense, and she'd circle back to watch the fun.

  But there was no sign of the pixie.

  He continued toward Liv's and Gabriel's voices, and he was just about to round the corner when he caught what sounded like a titter. He stopped mid-step. He could sense her there, just ahead, so he crept along the wall and peered around the corner. Behind a dumpster, the pixie crouched, her attention on Liv and Gabriel.

  Completely focused on the drama unfolding down the alley.

  Patrick smiled.

  He took a careful step, easing past--

  Something moved beside the pixie. Patrick flung himself back around the corner. Then he peered out to see a male pixie crouched next to the female.

  Two of them? Couldn't warn me about that, Gabriel?

  Patrick shook his head. No matter. He could handle a couple of pixies, particularly when they were so enrapt in the scene up ahead.

  "What are you talking about?" Liv was saying. "Fix what?"

  Patrick had been ignoring their conversation. Now Gabriel was saying, again, that he didn't know what Liv was talking about. Patrick watched the pixies, timing his attack.

  "You just said you had an hour to fix it," she said. "What does--?" She stopped, as if the realization hit her at the same time it did Patrick. As he whispered, "Cach," she echoed it in English.

  "Okay," Liv said. "You've been infected with pixie dust. We can handle this. One hour, huh?" She muttered under her breath, "Couldn't get the usual forty-eight, could you? Gabriel Walsh requires a real challenge."

  "Olivia, I have no idea--"

  "Yeah, yeah, you don't know what I'm talking about. Just hold tight. We'll get this...Gabriel?"

  "Yes?"

  A thud. Then Liv's voice. "What the hell? Get your--"

  Another thump. Patrick ran to the corner and swung around it to see Gabriel there with his hands wrapped around Olivia's neck.

  TWENTY-SIX

  GABRIEL

  Gabriel had often heard the phrase "wanting to throttle" someone. Longing to put your hands around a person's neck and squeeze. It was, he presumed, an expression of frustration rather than an actual desire to kill. Normal people didn't smile when they said they wanted to shoot someone or bash their head in. They would, however, chuckle or roll their eyes when expressing a desire to strangle.

  When Olivia texted him this suggestion, she'd even acknowledged that. Pretend to strangle me. I'm sure you've wanted to do it often enough LOL.

  Except he hadn't. Any frustration he'd felt was exasperation, usually when she did something reckless, and it would hardly make sense to have the urge to kill someone because she was doing something that could get her killed.

  Olivia, though, had likely battled the impulse to strangle him. Throttle some sense into him--that's how she'd put it. Understandable. But he'd never had that frustration with her. Even when she'd suggested he feign strangulation, he'd wanted to text back and say no, he'd rather not. He'd refrained only because he recognized that this was the best plan.

  So he put his hands around her neck and squeezed, and it was one of the most difficult things he'd done in his life.

  He had no issue with violence--that was the language of the streets. This was different. He put his hands around Olivia's neck, and he heard the pixie's words again, about fixing the problem, and it didn't matter if there was not one cell in his body that believed killing Olivia would fix anything in his life, that was still what this felt like. The culmination of all the tumult she'd brought into his world, twisted into a nightmare where he put his hands around her neck and squeezed until he was free.

  It didn't matter that his hands barely cinched her neck. Didn't matter that she snuck a smile at him before she closed her eyes. That she stuck her tongue out the corner of her mouth, faking comic-level strangulation. That she did not tense, even for a second.

  She trusted him.

  Olivia let him put his hands around her neck, knowing the pixie had tried to convince him to kill her and trusting that he would not.

  He didn't deserve that trust. Had not earned it. Wasn't sure he wanted the responsibility of it.

  But it wasn't a matter of what he wanted. One didn't ask for trust. One received it as a gift. Olivia gave him hers, and he did want it. Any thoughts to the contrary arose from fear--the terror that he could not live up to the responsibility of her trust and therefore it was safest to refuse it.

  He might not like even pretending to throttle her, but he did, gritting his teeth and carrying through with the plan and--

  "Gabriel!" a voice shouted, and he did not need to wonder who that was. Nor did Olivia, her green eyes flying open in a death-glare aimed in the intruder's direction, as her lips formed his name: "Patrick."

  Of course it was Patrick. Doing exactly what he did best: interfering. The bocan shouted for Gabriel to stop as he raced forward, and the pixies launched themselves at him, taking him down.

  "Just keep going," Olivia whispered, which was rather like carrying on a stage play while a riot erupted in the audience.

  Patrick had come to their rescue. Damn him.

  This was precisely what they had tried to avoid, ignoring his texts, giving him false directions and GPS coordinates. Gabriel would pretend to kill Olivia, and then once the pixies were convinced of success, they'd turn the tables. If they needed Patrick's help then, he would be within shouting distance. They did not, however, actually want him on the scene. And yet here he was, brawling with pixies.

  Damnably inconvenient.

  Gabriel glanced over at the fight.

  "Just hold on," Olivia whispered. "I think I'm dead now. Lower me to the ground and keep your back to them..."

  As he lowered her limp body, she kept her eyes open just enough to watch the fight.

  "Okay," she whispered. "They're not paying any attention to us. So at the count of three...we run like hell and leave Patrick to his fate."

  When Gabriel didn't respond, she sighed. "It was worth a shot. Fine. At the count of three, we rescue the damn bocan. I've got the pixie-chick. You get the guy. Now, as I count down, start retreating, keeping your back to them, attention on my dead body, horrified by what you've done..."

  He complied, ignoring the fact that he was backing toward a fight when he struggled to even sit in a restaurant without putting his back to a wall. Olivia was watching out for him, and he trusted her. Unquestioningly.

  She counted down, and when she reached one, he wheeled and sprang. He grabbed the male pixie by the shoulders, yanking him off Patrick. They went down fighting. Which was not how this encounter was supposed to go at all. The plan was to resolve it with trickery, not violence. But Patrick had ruined that, and as Gabriel heard his suit jacket tear, he made a mental note that it would definitely be going on the bocan's bill.

  Gabriel subdued the male pixie. By then the female realized what was happening. She let out an inhuman sque
al and charged in to save her mate. A shot from Olivia's gun stopped her.

  The pixie looked at the gun, and then at the hole in the wall above her head.

  "That was the warning shot," Olivia said. "The next one will be about a foot lower. And, in case you're wondering, yes, the bullets are cold iron. Patrick? Could you take that guy? He's bleeding all over Gabriel's shirt."

  The male pixie gnashed his teeth, but Gabriel kept him pinned, moving off him only once Patrick had him secured.

  "Okay, pixies," Olivia said. "You have the right--no, actually, the obligation to remain silent. Anything you say will definitely be used against you..."

  Gabriel watched as Olivia rose from her perch on a gravestone. "Okay, it's nearly dawn, and I think we can leave. Looks like pixie-chick's curse-removal worked. Christina's gone, hopefully gone to wherever she should be." She brushed off her jeans. "So, how do you feel?"

  "Fine."

  She peered at him. "Are you sure?"

  He was. The pixie's magic had failed because Gabriel knew he was lost. He knew he had to find his way back. And he knew he couldn't do that in one hour...or in forty-eight. He might want to mend things with Olivia quickly, but this wasn't like his other betrayals. He'd hurt her too much for a speedy fix.

  As they started walking, she yawned, and he said, "Rest tomorrow. Take Monday off, too."

  She tensed. "No, I--"

  "That isn't a hint not to come back to work."

  "I know. I just..."

  "The last time I told you that, it wasn't a threat. It was me being, as you'd say, pissy. And, yes, it was a warning. An inexcusable warning, which I regret, and for which I am apologizing." He glanced over at her. "I would never have fired you. I ought not to have said or done anything to suggest I might. I'm sorry, and it won't happen again."

  They took a few steps in silence, and he could sense her clamping her jaw shut against a response.

  "Let me rephrase that," he said. "I promise I will endeavor to ensure it does not happen again, and if it does, you can be assured I do not mean it, and that if I continue in that vein, I should understand that you will find employment elsewhere, which I wouldn't want. Is that better?"

  She forced a smile. "It is. You don't do well with absolutes, Gabriel."