Betrayals

by Kelley Armstrong

  The hard truth of the matter was that Gabriel was spoiled. He got what he wanted, and did not want what he could not get.

  "May I ask you a favor?" Olivia said. She continued without waiting for an answer. "Go to Rose's, please. I don't want you driving home, and I know you don't want me around, so just do that. Please."

  She didn't look at him when she said it. It was not as if she was intentionally avoiding his gaze, but as though she simply couldn't be bothered facing him. Resignation dragged down her voice to a monotone, as if she were reading instructions from a card.

  Just go, Gabriel. I'm done with you.

  She was tired of him. Tired of tiptoeing around his moods. Tired of putting up with him.

  Then why do you?

  He'd asked her that because he wanted an answer. No, he wanted a declaration. Not of love but of something. Of friendship, of commitment, of caring.

  He'd wanted her to say what he could not. He'd put the burden on her.

  I'm not good at this, so I won't do it. You will.

  Only she hadn't. Her face had crumpled and her eyes had filled with tears, and he'd pulled back sharply, trying to figure out what he'd done, what he'd said. It was only when she walked away that he realized she hadn't heard Please tell me why you stay but a sneering and sarcastic Why do you stay, then? Even if he hadn't said it that way, that's what she'd expected.

  She rose. "Your jacket is inside. I know you keep your keys in the pocket. I'm taking them. If you insist on having them back, come and get them. But I'd really like you to stay at Rose's tonight."

  Let Rose deal with you. I can't. Won't.

  Could he blame her? No, not at all.

  She got as far as the door, and then turned and said, her voice gentler, "If you want to talk, you know where I am." A pause, and a sadder, "I won't hold my breath," before she went inside.

  Go talk to her. Just go talk to her. Or tell her you don't want to talk about it, and talk about something else. Or tell her you don't want to talk at all, and work beside her instead. Just stay with her. Show her you won't run. That you're making progress. That she can count on you.

  He stared at that closed door for at least ten minutes. Then he walked away.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  I called Rose right after I checked that Gabriel's keys were indeed in his jacket pocket. I told her I'd accidentally pulled him into a vision of another Gwynn, and it had been a bad one, and if he came over, he just needed a place to sleep. I didn't ask her not to question him or pressure him to talk. She knew better. I was the one who couldn't learn that particular lesson.

  For the next hour, I did record searches on other cases. Busywork to keep my mind off what had happened. Resist the urge to call Rose and ask if he'd gotten there okay. Resist the urge to walk to her house on some pretense, in hopes of some sign that things between us were all right, that he just needed a little time.

  When Rose called at midnight, I grabbed the phone before the second ring.

  "He didn't come," she said.

  I hurried to the front window. "His car's still here. Maybe he went to my apartment?"

  "I checked. I gave him time to walk it off, but it's been too long for that."

  "I'll find him and call you back."

  I pocketed the phone and hurried to the back door. I was scooping up my shoes when I saw Gabriel in the garden, sitting on the ground, leaning back against the bench, blankets over his lap.

  I tugged on my shoes and went out. I was sure he'd fallen asleep, but when I drew near, I could see his eyes were open. He just sat there, staring at the empty fishpond, hair tumbled over his forehead, not glancing up as I approached. Deeply lost in his thoughts.

  I crouched beside him and said, "It's cold. Come inside," and he gave a start. Then he saw me, his gaze still unfocused. I waited for him to say no, he'd go to Rose's. Or that he wanted his keys back. But when I told him to come in again, he only rose and followed.

  --

  I woke the next morning to the smell of breakfast and found Gabriel in my kitchen, cooking eggs. I didn't say a word. Just walked in and sat at the table, and he poured me a coffee, and a minute later breakfast followed, my eggs done exactly as I liked them, toast made from Larry's rye bread and topped with Veronica's raspberry jam. Even my bacon was cooked exactly right.

  Gabriel had asked why I stayed with him. Here was the answer: because he'd made me breakfast exactly as I liked it, and I didn't even know he could cook it.

  This is why I stay. Because no matter how frustrated I get, no matter how much I feel like I'm banging my head against a wall, I know that I am making progress. The man I met five months ago would have walked away without a backward glance. This time, when he couldn't follow me inside, he'd settled in the garden instead. Then he cooked me breakfast as an apology.

  "I hope you made some for yourself," I said as he refilled my coffee.

  He looked at the stove, and I could see there was nothing on it, and that was the real sign of how much things had changed, that this wasn't even him making breakfast for us, just for me.

  "I'm fine," he said.

  "At least have toast and sit with me."

  He put bread in the toaster, poured himself a coffee, and sat across from me. Then he cleared his throat. "Last night, when I asked why you put up with me--"

  "It's okay," I said quickly.

  "No, it's not. I wasn't being sarcastic. I just meant..." He struggled for words and settled on, "I didn't mean it the way you thought."

  "Okay. So about this morning. We should--"

  "I wanted to let you know..." he began, as if I hadn't spoken, but that's all he said. A few awkward moments of silence, then he repeated, "I want you to know..."

  More silence.

  "It's okay," I said.

  "No, it's not. This is important. I want to say that...that..."

  The toast popped up, and he scrambled after it, a drowning man spotting a life preserver.

  "Thank you for breakfast," I said, as he silently buttered his toast at the counter.

  He nodded and sliced it in two.

  "Do you have any appointments today?" I asked, and there was another minute of quiet before he surrendered and said, "Yes, one at ten with a potential new client, and if you could be there, that would be helpful."

  "Sure. I have a few things I want to chase down today..."

  --

  I spent the morning at the office with Gabriel doing "real" work. The kind that pays the bills. That afternoon, Ricky would be meeting with Ioan to persuade the Cwn Annwn to hunt down Aunika. He didn't need me for that, so I'd pursue Aunika in my own way while Gabriel tackled more of the stuff that pays the bills.

  When I'd exhausted my online work, I headed out to chase down leads. I'd made a list of people cross-referenced between Aunika's social media and cell records. As I drove to the first address, I called Melanie. We'd given her a cell phone, so she wouldn't feel overly isolated in Cainsville. We hadn't splurged on voice mail, though, so when she didn't answer, I called Veronica. I got her answering machine and left a message.

  I was halfway to my first stop when Veronica called back.

  "Melanie's in Chicago," Veronica said. "Have you tried her cell?"

  "I have. When did she leave?"

  "This morning. She wanted to speak to one other lamia and see if she'd talk to you in light of Damara's death. I drove her in, and she said they'd get a ride back with you or Gabriel."

  "They?"

  "She took Pepper, against my advice. She doesn't quite trust us yet."

  I thanked Veronica, signed off, and called Melanie. Still no answer. I sent a text, saying I was glad she'd changed her mind about helping but really needed her to call me, or better yet, meet me at the office. Then I phoned to warn Gabriel, but he was in a meeting so I left a message with Lydia that if two teenaged girls showed up, I'd be there soon.

  When I arrived back at the office, I found my parking spot occupied, presumably by Gabriel's client. I circled
the block to the rear lot. There's a walkway through to the back door of the greystone, but no drivable shortcut. I was getting out of the car when I heard running footfalls and turned to see Melanie tearing toward me, her eyes wide, hair flying loose from her braid.

  "Oh, thank you," she said, breathing hard. "Thank you for having that fancy car. The taxi driver dropped me off on the wrong street, and I thought I was totally lost, and then I saw your car and--"

  "Slow down," I said. "Where's Pepper?"

  "That's--that's why I ran--" she said, gasping for breath. "I didn't dare call. I couldn't. He's tracing my phone. He must be. He knew where we were going, and he took Pepper. He has Pepper, Liv."

  "Who?"

  "The Huntsman. The one you warned us about. He grabbed Pepper. He said she wants her."

  "Who?"

  "Aunika. Remember you said Damara told you it's about Pepper? She's right. It's all about Pepper."

  "What's all about Pepper?"

  "I have no idea. But Aunika has her, and she'll take her to the tunnels. She knows we don't like to go there. Come on."

  "I need to get Gabriel."

  "There's no time."

  "He's right--"

  "There's no time."

  "Then I'm going to make time. I'm sorry, Melanie, but I'm not running off after Pepper without backup. Gabriel and Ricky are coming. I'm getting Gabriel now and calling Ricky--"

  Melanie screamed. She grabbed my arm and wrenched, and I pulled away and twisted just in time to see the Huntsman swing out from behind a parked car. Melanie was already fleeing. I turned to follow, but he caught me, and as soon as he touched me, the pain was so sharp that I let out the first note of an agonized shriek. Then everything went dark.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  I'd been kidnapped. My first thought on waking was, Well, this is new. With everything I'd gone through in the last five months, I had not been kidnapped before. Or, if I had, I couldn't recall it, and I'll blame that on my pounding head rather than the sheer volume of mishaps I've had.

  Melanie had been right--I was exactly where she expected to find Pepper: in the tunnels under the drop-in center. I could tell by the smell alone, as I lay on damp earth that stunk of age and rot and mildew. I reached for my penlight, but given that it was attached to my switchblade, it came as no surprise to find it'd been taken from me, along with my gun and phone. I squeezed my eyes shut against the booming headache and struggled to focus. Bits and pieces of the day tumbled around in my brain, refusing to fall into place and tell me what was going on.

  I remembered Melanie saying Pepper was gone, that she'd been brought here. By whom? An image of the rogue Huntsman answered.

  Another image flickered. Gabriel. I'd been with...No, I'd been telling Melanie that I needed to get Gabriel. To bring him. Being smart, refusing to rush headlong into danger to save someone. And I'd be very proud of that, if the foresight hadn't come too late.

  Oh, no, Gabriel. I don't need you along this afternoon. What's going to happen? That rogue Huntsman will show up in the parking lot in the middle of the day and knock me out with his psychic powers? Ha-ha.

  I kept sifting through memories, like reading a book backward. Gabriel, Huntsman, Melanie, Pepper, Aunika...How do they connect? What were we investigating?

  The pieces fell into place, and when they did, it was as if someone had blown apart my jigsaw puzzle and when I was forced to reconstruct it, I saw an entirely different configuration. A different picture. A different solution. My brain said, "That's not right," and started moving pieces back to the answer I'd had before, but I stopped myself, put them in their new configuration, and...

  And yes. That solution worked as well as the last. Better, even, because it contained the elusive element of motive.

  I sat up, wincing as my stomach roiled along with my aching head. I blinked and took a better look around. I was in a tiny room, barely big enough for me to lie flat. No windows. One wooden door. What looked like a candle shoved into a crack near the roof. When I tried jumping to retrieve it, all I got was hot wax dripping on my face.

  I looked around again. Remnants of rotted barrel slats--along with my visions from before--suggested the room had once served for Prohibition storage. Other than those bits of wood and the out-of-reach candle, it was empty.

  I went to test the door only to find it wasn't secured at all. Kidnapped and there's no lock on the door? Definitely a trap.

  I backed up and rooted around on the floor until I found a barrel slat pointed enough to do some damage.

  I returned to the door and eased it open. The first thing I saw was another door. With my makeshift stake poised, I opened my door wider and saw...

  An empty room, exactly like the one I was still standing in. Except, on a visual sweep, I realized it wasn't exactly the same. On the floor lay a body. Melanie's body.

  I stifled the urge to rush to her side and slid carefully through the door. Then I walked the few steps to the next door. It didn't budge, and when I looked through the crack, I could see a latch.

  As I turned back to Melanie, I noticed metal embedded in the wall. Manacles, hanging on the ends of short chains. Leg irons rested on the floor below. I walked over and touched a manacle. My fingers tingled. Cold iron.

  The room flickered. A man's voice said, "You don't like your bed, whore? Try these accommodations." Muffled scream as he snapped on cold-iron manacles. Another snap, the leg irons presumably following. The lamia kept trying to scream, as if from behind a gag. The man laughed and said, "I'll give you a day to wear yourself out. Then I'll bring you some company. There's a fancy man from the city who doesn't like our beds, either. He pays very well for this particular arrangement."

  The man laughed, and the voices faded, and I fell back into the room, with Melanie at my feet. I crouched and checked her vital signs. She was breathing fine. When I squeezed her shoulder, she leapt up, eyes wild as she looked around the tiny room, saying, "No, please, no." Then she saw me and clutched my arm.

  "We need to get Pepper," she said.

  "The door's barred."

  "No, you don't understand. We need to get Pepper."

  "Because it's all about her. Everything is about her."

  She blinked at my calm tone. "Are you all right, Liv?"

  "Earlier, you said this was all about Pepper. You said Damara told us that. Except we didn't say that at all. Gabriel told Pepper that Damara said goodbye because it's what Pepper needed to hear, but the truth is that Damara only said Pepper's name."

  Melanie's face screwed up. "Wh-what? All right. I got confused. But it is about her. Obviously. She's the one he took."

  I hunkered down. "You're right. It's about Pepper. It's about her needing sanctuary and healing, and Cainsville refusing to provide it."

  "What?"

  "Cainsville wouldn't offer sanctuary, and Pepper was deteriorating. That's when you heard about me--the new Matilda, who used to work at women's shelters, who spearheaded fundraisers for girls on the street. Then there was Lucy, a samhail who refused to give the lamiae what you thought was your due. And Rina and Steph, two lamiae who'd been causing trouble with other fae. Put all those things together and a plan was hatched to get Pepper--and the rest of your sisterhood--into Cainsville. Through me."

  "No! I would never--"

  I grabbed her throat and pinned her to the floor.

  "I'm bigger than you, Melanie. I'm stronger than you. Either you shut up and listen or I put you in those manacles and leg irons."

  She hissed at that, her eyes slitting, glamour rippling.

  "You hired the rogue Huntsman to help," I said. "He wouldn't kill, though. So you murdered Lucy yourself, maybe with the help of one of your sisters. You told yourself Lucy deserved it, for daring to want a life beyond service to the lamiae. Then the Huntsman made his fake deal with Ciro, and Rina and Steph died. And that, you hoped, would be enough to bring me running. You encouraged Aunika to get the police and the press involved, so I'd see the story. But without bo
dies, no one cared. To catch my attention, you had the Huntsman frame Ricky. You didn't dare take it too far. Ricky is the Cwn Annwn's champion, and while your Huntsman must have delighted in tweaking them, he wouldn't risk bringing them to his doorstep. But having Ricky questioned was enough to bring the case to my attention."

  I looked down at Melanie. She'd gone still, and it was only when she noticed I'd stopped talking that she reacted, her eyes going wide, head shaking vehemently. Too little, too late, and I squelched that part of me that hoped I'd been wrong, that this wasn't the betrayal Rose meant. But I'd known better. The pieces fit too well.

  "You had the Huntsman menace Aunika, possibly to keep her from investigating. But it wasn't enough, so he captured her. You're keeping her, both to make sure she doesn't interfere and in case you need a scapegoat, because while she'd been a loyal samhail, as far as you're concerned she exists to serve you. Erin served you, too, and that didn't matter. When you needed to spur us to action, to convince us to help you get into Cainsville, you tortured and murdered her."

  "No! I--" She stopped and clamped her mouth closed with a quick glance toward the manacles.

  "Erin died. You got into Cainsville. But then somehow you found out Ciro was dead, which meant the elders might kick you out. So Damara died. Another expendable lamia, one who insisted on having a human boyfriend, meaning you could tell yourself she was a threat, like Rina and Steph. But the lamia you sent to do the job screwed up. She left her target alive, and you had no idea what Damara told us. Time to step up your game by having Pepper disappear. Bring me running and have the Huntsman take us both captive. What happens now? Oh, wait. Let me guess. Together we free Pepper and...Do I die in the process? No, if I die helping lamiae, the elders would never let you set foot in Cainsville again. Do we free Pepper? Kill the Huntsman and Aunika together? And then, bonded by this terrible experience, I convince the elders that the lamiae deserve permanent sanctuary in Cainsville?"

  She said nothing.

  "Oh, come on," I said. "Humor me, Melanie. How close am I? Eighty percent? Ninety?"

  Her eyes narrowed. "This is a game to you, isn't it? Our lives are a game to you."

  "No, I was the one who was trying to save them. You were the one ending them."