Visions

by Kelley Armstrong

  "If anyone catches me here . . ." the woman began.

  "They won't. Now finish."

  At first I thought it was an autopsy, but after a moment I realized she was embalming my corpse, naked on the table. There was a book on a cart. A text. Thanatochemistry. Where had I seen that before?

  I remembered where I'd seen the book, and as soon as I did, the woman pulled down her mask.

  Macy Shaw.

  She turned to Tristan. "If you want the head, you have to do that yourself."

  He sighed and lifted a bone saw. The floor vanished under my feet, sucking me down and spitting me out--

  I was lying on the mortuary table. I tried to leap up, but I couldn't move. Fire rushed through my veins. Fire and poison, and I gasped, but it made no sound. I saw Tristan approaching, the light above the table glinting off the saw blade, and I tried to scream--

  He kissed me. I was standing on a balcony again, feeling arms wrapped around me, but it wasn't the same kiss as in the vision. It was one I knew, one that sparked feelings of grief and nostalgia and anger.

  "James," I whispered as I pushed away.

  An engine sounded below. Not the rev of a motorcycle. The purr of a high-performance car. I twisted out of James's arms. I was at his mother's house, on the tiny balcony overlooking the driveway. Gabriel was below, standing beside his Jag. It was daytime and he had his shades on. He tugged them off and cast an impatient look up at me.

  "Olivia," he called. "We need to go."

  "I'll be right--" I began, but James yanked me back.

  "He's dangerous," he said.

  I sighed. "Yes, I know. I got the file and your message. It doesn't matter. I--"

  "No, Liv. You don't understand. Walsh has a plan. An agenda. He's going to use you, and he's going to hurt you. He's a psychopath. You know that, don't you? Will Evans tried to warn you."

  "Will Evans helped cover up the murder of his own son. He lied about Gabriel to cover--"

  "Evans didn't kill anyone. He got caught up in--" James shook his head. "It doesn't matter. You need to believe me. I've been warned about Walsh, what he'll do to you."

  "By who?"

  "Men who know what they're talking about. Men who can give us what we want, you and me, the kind of life we want."

  I tugged from his grip. "Are they Cwn Annwn or Tylwyth Teg?"

  "What?" His face screwed up.

  "They're lying. That's what they do. Tell lies and sell dreams. You need--"

  "Olivia?"

  I glanced over the balcony. Gabriel tapped his watch.

  "We have work to do," he called.

  "Coming," I called back.

  I started for the door. James grabbed my arm. I yanked, but he yanked back, pulling me off my feet. I hit the wall, the wind knocked out of me, and I struggled to my feet, staring at him.

  "What the hell are you doing?" I said.

  "Protecting you," he said, advancing.

  He caught my arm as it swung to ward him off. He dragged me to the balcony railing, and then there was no railing and I was standing on a ledge outside Gabriel's apartment, fifty-five stories above the street. Below, I could just barely make out the Jag, under a streetlight, and Gabriel beside it, his arms waving.

  "Olivia!" His shout reached me. "No!"

  James gave me a tremendous shove, and I went over the edge.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  I jolted upright in bed, shouting, "No!"

  Beside me, I heard a gasp as Gabriel leapt from his chair, eyes wide, fists raised.

  We stared at each other for a second, both yanked from sleep.

  I recovered first and laughed softly. "Well, I'm glad I was out of punching range when I woke you this time." I'd made the mistake of waking him once, when he'd slept on my couch.

  He rubbed his face and fell back into the chair. "Did you cry out?" he said.

  "Hmm, I think so. Bad dreams."

  "What about?"

  I stifled a yawn as I stretched. "I was arguing with James about you, something about what he said yesterday, and . . ." I shook my head. "That's all I remember."

  "How do you feel?"

  "Like a train ran me over, followed by a steamroller and then a herd of wild horses."

  I shifted to get comfortable and winced as every muscle screamed in a wave that threatened to knock me back onto the bed again. Gabriel rose and pushed pillows behind my back to keep me upright. He reached for a water pitcher on the bed-stand, saying the doctor wanted me drinking as much as I could.

  I resisted the urge to joke about his nursing skills. If I did, he'd be back in that chair in a second, and I wanted to hold on to this a little longer, these few moments where he wasn't quite fully awake. I watched him pouring the water, hair tumbling forward, face smooth, gaze open. That's when I noticed the gouges under his dark stubble.

  "Ouch. Did I do that?" I reached out, fingers stopping an inch from his cheek. Look, don't touch.

  He pulled a face. "Just a scratch. You were delirious." He handed me the glass of water. "Drink up."

  Rose appeared in the doorway. When she saw us, she started to retreat. I would have let her, but Gabriel turned as if sensing someone there. He paused and it seemed as if he was going to pretend he hadn't noticed her, but then he cleared his throat and called, "Rose?"

  She returned.

  "I was going to ask Olivia what she remembers from her vision at the house," he said. "You should be here for that."

  "I'll make tea and toast," she said. "Get some food in you."

  I wanted to tell her yes, go on, give us a few more minutes alone, but my eyelids were flagging, lethargy pulling me under. "We'd better do this now, before I fall asleep again. I don't want to forget it."

  --

  I told them about the vision. When I finished, Rose left, saying she'd check her books.

  "I'll see what I can find online," Gabriel said to me when she was gone.

  "I can do--" I couldn't stifle a yawn, then tried again. "I can do that."

  "Normally, I would be quite happy to let you," he said. "Right now, the best thing you can do is sleep."

  "We need to talk about the rest first. About Cainsville. Rose has to know." I glanced over. "If she doesn't already."

  Gabriel's expression betrayed him then, a tightening of his lips, and I knew this was the part he'd been dreading. Not telling Rose about Cainsville, but finding out how much she already knew. How much she'd kept from him.

  "I can do that," I said. "Why don't you go get some rest--"

  "I'm fine."

  "Clothing, then." I glanced down at the satin chemise wrapped around me. "While this is lovely, I really should . . ." Another yawn.

  "Take a minute," Gabriel said, tugging the pillow out from under me so I slid down onto the bed.

  I struggled to smile. "Thought you weren't allowed to say that."

  "Only when I don't mean it. Close your eyes."

  "Just for a moment," I said, my lids dropping as if obeying a summons.

  I fell asleep.

  --

  I awoke to find myself staring into a pair of eyes. Yellow eyes.

  "TC?" I croaked, lifting my head from the pillow.

  He blinked in response.

  "I brought him over," Gabriel said from the chair. "I was picking up your clothing, and he seemed concerned about you. I thought he might help you feel better."

  I looked at TC, sitting rigid and unblinking on the other pillow.

  "Did you hear that?" I said. "I'm sick. You're supposed to curl up with me. Cuddle. Purr."

  He lifted a paw and started to clean it. Then he hopped down and strolled from the room, tail high.

  "Ingrate," I called after him. I rolled over to look at Gabriel. "Is Rose downstairs? I really should talk to her."

  "I already did."

  "Oh." I paused. "How did it go?"

  He tensed. "Fine."

  Another pause, longer, then I pushed the words out. "Are you okay?"

  I'd hesitated
before asking, because this was one of those boundaries. Don't ask him how he's feeling. It presumes that he would have an emotional reaction, and, moreover, that he'd deign to share it with me.

  So why did I ask? Because every time we drew closer, I had to press my fingers against those boundaries and see if they were still there. See if I'd made any progress.

  I got as far as "Are you--" before the wall slammed down. His shoulders stiffened. His gaze cooled. Any hint of emotion emptied from his face.

  "Yes, of course," he said, words clipped.

  I slumped back on the pillows.

  There'd been a time when I'd imagined how many women over the years must have thought they'd be the one to break through Gabriel's wall, and I'd decided I would never be so foolish.

  Respect his boundaries. Don't test them. Accept this relationship for what it is, because hoping for more is like hoping for that damned cat to race in here, cuddle up, and start purring.

  I was closing my eyes when the door clicked, and my gut dropped, and I hated it for dropping, hated myself for reacting to him walking out.

  The faint creak of chair springs made me jump. I rolled over to see Gabriel there again. The door was closed.

  "I don't think she knew exactly what Cainsville was," he said, his voice low. "I may be deluding myself in that. I think . . ." He cocked his head as if searching for phrasing. "I believe she understood at some level but never articulated it."

  "Which is why she was always joking about fairies and hobgoblins and wards."

  He nodded. "She wants to talk to us about your vision. I'll bring you breakfast, and we'll talk."

  "No, I'll come down," I said. I peeled back the covers and a wave of dizziness made my gorge rise.

  Gabriel pulled up the covers. "Dr. Webster said the fever will drain you for a few days. Either you stay in bed or you go to the hospital--"

  I tugged the sheets to my chin.

  A brief smile. "I thought so. I'll bring Rose and food."

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  This Tristan called you Mallt-y-Nos," Rose said as we settled in. "You dreamed that you were a young woman named Matilda--"

  "No, she wasn't me. I was inside her."

  "All right. Mallt-y-Nos is, not surprisingly, a figure in Welsh folklore. Otherwise known as Matilda of the Night, or Matilda the Crone."

  "Crone, huh? That's flattering."

  "Perhaps you'd prefer the other translations? Night Curse. Night Fiend. Night Hag."

  "And the story with Matilda is . . . ?"

  "She's associated with the Wild Hunt, again not surprisingly. She's the only woman who rides with them. In some stories, she leads them. The Hunt rides in pursuit of the recently dead, and if she captures a soul, it goes to the Otherworld. If she fails, it has a chance to pass to heaven."

  "So the Otherworld is hell?"

  "That's a late interpretation. Post-Christian, obviously. In the early stories, the Otherworld is merely the afterlife, undifferentiated, as in many pagan religions. In those older tales, I would presume Matilda just captures them and sends them on their way."

  "Like the grim reaper on horseback. In those versions, then, the Hunt chases spirits, not the living."

  "Sometimes. Other times, they hunt those not yet dead, those who may deserve death. Matilda sets the hounds on them, and they rip the victim limb from limb, and she seizes the soul."

  "Lovely. So my vision has nothing to do with the story, then. Except for the hunt aspect."

  "No, that part, I believe, relates back to Matilda's origin legend. One version says she was a beautiful noblewoman who loved to hunt. She declared that if there was no hunting in heaven, she did not wish to go there."

  "And so, on her death, she was doomed to hunt forever."

  Rose smiled. "You're good at this."

  "Legends. So predictable. That's not quite what I saw . . ."

  "The other story is that Matilda was due to wed, and her husband disapproved of her hunting, so she promised never to go again after they were married. But she snuck out. He caught her and doomed her--"

  "To ride forever," I finished.

  "And, yes, again, not what you saw but rather a variation on it. In your vision, you--or Matilda--were to wed a fae king or prince." She paused. "Did you hear his name?"

  "I . . . don't think so." Some faint memory twitched. Had I heard names? Other than Matilda? I couldn't remember.

  "All right," Rose said. "So Matilda was to wed this man, but she could not resist the call of the Wild Hunt, despite a vow never to join it again. In making that impulsive decision, the fae realm was closed to Matilda forever. Given what you've said of Cainsville and what's happened to you, that has its parallels here."

  "Two sides wooing me. I must choose one. Despite the fact that I have no goddamned idea why they want me."

  "Mallt-y-Nos," she said. "Mallt-y-Dydd. Matilda of the Night. Matilda of the Day. Those are your options."

  "When you put it like that . . . it still doesn't make a damn bit of sense."

  "I know," she said. "I'll keep looking. Though I don't know how much more I'll find that will be useful. Folklore is a way of explaining the inexplicable. It's humans guessing at the mysteries of the unknown. If there's a true story, it's not going to be in my books."

  I glanced over at Gabriel. He'd been silent during the discussion. Now his brows arched as if to say, Don't ask me. I'm as confused as you are.

  "Okay, so back to the real world," I said. "I need to--Shit! Work. My shift starts at--"

  "I've called in sick for you," Gabriel said.

  "Thanks." I paused. "I'm sure you have work to do, though."

  He fixed me with a cool look. "If I wanted to leave, I would. If you want me to leave, I should hope you would tell me to go. I do not feel obligated to stay. Nor do I require false niceties if you'd prefer I didn't."

  "Nothing's ever simple with you, is it?"

  "I don't see how it could be simpler. If I want--"

  "Enough," Rose cut in. "Don't dissect the question, Gabriel. Just answer it."

  A pause. Then, "It's Saturday. I do not need to work. However, my laptop is in the car, and I was going to retrieve it to do some work, but I drifted off." He rose. "I'll go get that, if it will make you feel less like you are imposing on my time."

  "It would."

  --

  "He's right," Rose said as we heard Gabriel's footsteps going down the stairs. "He didn't stay because he felt obligated. If Gabriel does something, it's because he wants to."

  "I know."

  "Do you also know what he would have done if anyone else had passed out at his feet? Called an ambulance. Oh, he'd stay until it came, but only because he might be sued for negligence otherwise. Then he'd be gone. He carried you back here. Running the entire way, I'm sure. You feel like you aren't making progress--"

  "Before he comes back, we need to talk about something."

  I pushed myself from the bed and joined her at the window. Gabriel was talking to Grace.

  "Patrick is Gabriel's father," I said.

  Her mouth opened, and I braced for the expected responses. Was I crazy? How could that be possible?

  "Did Patrick say that?"

  "He didn't admit it outright, but he didn't deny it, and I get the feeling that's as much as he can do. As much as he's allowed to do."

  She lowered herself to the bed, her fair skin paling. "Did you tell him?"

  "Gabriel? God, no." I glanced out the window again. Gabriel seemed to be talking to some guy getting out of a van. "Patrick screwed around with Seanna and fucked up her life. Then he fucked off on Gabriel. Abandoned him. He saw what was happening. Hell, all the elders apparently knew, because they wanted to do their changeling trick with Gabriel, but Patrick wouldn't let them. He left Gabriel in that situation, with no support. And do you know why? To toughen him up. That's what he said." I realized how harsh my voice had gotten and stepped from the window. "No, I'd never tell him."

  A long silence, as Rose sta
red at the wall, her expression blank but her eyes moving, as if seeing something there. Footsteps sounded on the stairs. Rose stood quickly, maybe worrying he'd overheard, but his steps kept coming at his normal pace, steady and deliberate.

  A single rap on the almost-closed door.

  "Come in."

  He pushed it open and stepped through, holding . . . daisies. He was clutching a bouquet of daisies with sprigs of small purple flowers. The stems were short, his hand dwarfing them, and he held them awkwardly, as if they were something he'd found on the road and didn't quite know what to do with.

  "Yours," he said, thrusting the bouquet at me as Rose stepped out. "Ricky."

  "Ricky?"

  "He called your cell this morning. I answered and told him you weren't feeling well. Mild food poisoning. That seemed the simplest way to explain the situation in a way that wouldn't bring him on the next plane."

  I took my flowers to the bed. "He'd know better than to hop a plane unless I was in critical condition, but yes, that'll keep him from worrying. Thanks."

  The card with the flowers said only, "Check your e-mail when you're up to it." He'd left a longer message there:

  Hope you're feeling better. I told you I'm not good at flowers, but these reminded me of the ones at the cabin. I just hope they aren't actually weeds. If they are . . . um, sorry. Either way, I'll make it up to you with an actual trip to the cabin when I get back. Call me, but only when you feel better. I mean that, too. Rest up. All is fine here. Talk soon.

  I fired off a Love the daisies. Call in an hour? and then laid my phone aside and said, "Okay, so where are we on everything?"

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

  Macy called me yesterday, and . . ."

  "And?" Gabriel prodded when I didn't continue.

  I gave my head a sharp shake. "Sorry, just . . . there was something about Macy from my dreams, when I had the fever. Not surprisingly, considering she's on my mind as much as the rest of it."

  "What did you dream?"

  A short laugh. "Believe me, mine are not prophetic. I'll leave that to Rose. I don't even remember what it was. Probably some mixed-up nonsense like the rest of it. Did I mention I dreamed that James threw me off your balcony?"

  "I don't have a balcony."

  "Whew."

  "I wouldn't say that's without meaning. Your subconscious is acknowledging the threat that James poses and--"

  "And did I say Macy called? I think she suspects something's up with her and Ciara. Maybe it's a gut feeling. Anyway, we need to discuss how we're going to handle that. We can't show up on her doorstep and announce . . ." A memory niggling at me again.