Visions

by Kelley Armstrong

  "So you want me to forget what I know about Ciara's death and go to the authorities with the DNA results."

  "Exactly."

  I pretended to weigh the moral ramifications of this. Except there were no ramifications, because once I got to safety, there would be nothing to stop me from turning her in.

  "All right," I said. "You walk away. I'll say I fell asleep at the wheel. I had a fever last night, which my doctor can verify. I drifted off and crashed the car. Then I'll turn over the DNA results."

  "Do you really think I'd make it that easy?" Macy said. "You walk away scot-free?"

  Why shouldn't I? I wanted to say. I haven't done anything. But I bit my tongue and said, "I've crashed a very expensive car. I'm battered and bruised. I might have seriously injured a guy who won't hesitate to sue me for every penny of my trust fund. That's not scot-free."

  "You're right. You need to get rid of the lawyer."

  "Exactly. I'll fire him."

  "I mean kill him."

  "What?" I prairie-dogged up for a split second before dropping behind the sofa again.

  "Is that a problem?" she said.

  "Is murdering someone a problem? Hell, yes. You know who my parents are, so maybe you think that makes it easy for me, but no, I'm not going to kill Gabriel. I'll deal with any fallout--"

  "It's not an option," she said. "You're going to shoot him with this gun. I'm going to take a video of you doing it. If you double-cross me, I'll hand it over to the police. Refuse, and I will shoot both of you."

  She wasn't as stupid as I'd thought. Just crazy. Another shadow passed, and I looked up to see an owl now, silently winging past to land in a distant treetop. Ravens and owls. Not so much an omen as a reminder of the puppet master pulling Macy's strings.

  "Does Tristan know you're doing this?" I said. "I bet he doesn't. He wants me alive."

  "Because you're valuable?" She spat the word. "Tristan is full of shit. I figured that out at that psych hospital, how he treated me there, like a prop in his play for an audience of one. You."

  "Do you know why he thinks I'm important?"

  "Because you're rich. That's why everyone is important. Your adoptive family has the kind of power and money that makes the Conways look lower-class. And you don't deserve it any more than Ciara did. You're the child of murdering freaks. You should have been locked up with them, before you grew up into a monster, too. But no, you got special treatment. A special family. They put me with the Shaws and put Ciara with the Conways. And you? They put you with the goddamn Taylor-Joneses."

  Put me? Had I been placed with my family? A child of fae blood slipped into a human home, a better home? Just like Ciara?

  Everyone wondered how I'd vanished into the system. How the child of serial killers ended up with the Taylor-Joneses. How the Larsens "lost" me in a so-called bureaucratic mix-up.

  The owl rose from its tree, winging to a closer one. I watched it.

  "Who put me with my family?" I asked.

  "The same people who switched me," she said, with a snap in her voice, annoyed with me for being so dense.

  "What people? Why?"

  "If I knew who did it, I'd be going after them, wouldn't I? As for why, money obviously. It's always about money."

  "So these people are switching babies for profit. And that's all they are: people. Like Tristan. He's just a regular guy. Nothing more."

  A pause. "You know who's behind this, don't you? Is it the government? Is that what you mean?"

  Macy had no idea what she was really involved in. Why would she? She didn't have the blood. No one cared about her. Tristan was only using her as a means to his end. He certainly wasn't going to share their secrets.

  "Enough of this," Macy said. "Time to make your choice."

  "Fine. I'll kill Gabriel. But I'm not coming out of here while you're holding a gun on me."

  She laughed. "Should I toss it to you?"

  "No, just hold it up, in one hand, over your head. Then start walking to the wreck."

  "Giving you the chance to jump me from behind?"

  Damn, I really wished she was dumber. "Walk backward, then. Gun in the air."

  The gun rose, where I could see it. I crept from behind the sofa, and we started for the car.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

  While I would have liked to get that gun from Macy before we reached Gabriel, her gaze never left me, and she made me stay ten feet away--too far to dash and catch her off guard. I kept hoping she'd trip as she walked backward. She didn't.

  What I really needed was that damned owl or raven to swoop at her head. No such luck. If they were still around, they were observing only, as they had at the psych hospital, each watching the situation for their respective team.

  Barring interference by the birds, I hoped Gabriel had woken and could suss out the situation and distract her while I got the gun. Again, no such luck. I could see him ahead, lying exactly where I'd left him. So it was all up to me.

  "You're really going to kill him?" she said as she stopped ten feet behind Gabriel's head.

  "Do I have a choice?"

  "You can die with him."

  "Not really an option."

  She smiled. "I didn't think so. Now come over here, on that side of him, put your hands around his neck, and squeeze."

  "Wh-what?"

  Another smile as she shook her head. "You thought I was going to give you the gun? Not a chance. He'll die the way Ciara did. Strangulation. It's easier than you'd think."

  Shit. Still not stupid.

  When I didn't move, she said, "Trying to find a way out of this? There isn't one. You'll kill him or you'll die." She paused. "Or there is a third option."

  "What?"

  "God, you're quick to jump on that, aren't you? I guess you aren't your parents' daughter after all. Can't kill someone even to save your own life. Or does it depend on who the someone is? I bet you'd have killed me, if Tristan had given you this choice in that hospital. But him--" She motioned at Gabriel. "He's different. So here's option number three. You crawl back into that burning car. You die in there. He lives."

  I looked over sharply at her. "Bullshit. You wouldn't let--"

  "Why not? You dragged him out and went back in for something and died. Tragic accident. Once you're dead, Gabriel Walsh won't care about Ciara and the case. Tristan will accept that it was an accident, and I'll get my DNA results another way."

  "The moment I'm in that car, you'll shoot Gabriel."

  "If he's dead of a gunshot, that's no accident."

  "Then you'll drag him back into the car."

  "With what? A crane? I can't make his death look like an accident, Eden, so he gets to live. That's the deal. The question is, will you take it?"

  I looked at her. I looked at Gabriel. She was too far away for me to get a jump on her. I had no weapons. My gun was . . .

  I looked at the smoke-filled car. The flames were in the front seat now, licking the fabric. If I could find my purse . . .

  What exactly were the chances of that? Finding my purse and getting my gun before passing out from smoke inhalation? Not good. But the alternative? There wasn't one.

  "I'll do it," I said.

  She didn't answer, just looked at me as if I was a fool.

  I walked to the car. Heat and smoke streamed out. I couldn't even see the door, just the dark shape of the black car, lost in the smoke. I dropped to all fours.

  "Don't stall," Macy said. "If you give me any excuse, I have a backup plan. I'll shoot you both."

  I crawled through the smoke, eyes closed as I breathed through my nose. My fingers touched the side of the car, and I let out a yelp, metal burning my fingertips.

  "Keep going," Macy said. "If I can still see your shoes in ten seconds--"

  A shot fired. I hit the ground, flat on my stomach.

  Oh God, she'd shot Gabriel.

  I jumped up into a crouch--

  "Don't move or I fire again."

  I froze there, brain stuck on th
e words. No, not the words. They were exactly what I'd expect. It was the voice that stopped me.

  "Olivia? Are you all right?"

  Gabriel's voice. Then his footfalls.

  I staggered from the smoke to see him jogging toward the car with my gun trained on Macy, who was hunched on the ground, her hand pressed to her side, blood streaming through her fingers. Her gun hung from her other hand.

  I wheeled on Gabriel. "Make her drop--!"

  "Drop the gun," he said before I could finish.

  She raised her head and looked from him to me, her eyes dull with shock.

  "I said drop it." Gabriel took two steps toward her. "You're injured. Perhaps badly. You need an ambulance, and as soon as you put that gun down, I will call one."

  She lifted the gun, slowly, training it on me. Gabriel fired. His shot hit her in the leg, and she fell back with a stifled scream.

  "I won't kill you," he said. "No matter how much you might want that. I will simply continue to shoot you until you pass out and drop the gun."

  She raised her head and stared at him, her eyes blazing, furious. She'd go to jail for killing Ciara, and that reunion with her real family would never happen. It was over, and all she wanted now was some final satisfaction. To die knowing we'd suffer, too, fighting to clear our names. If we wouldn't give her that . . .

  "She's going to--" I didn't get the rest of the words out.

  Macy swung the gun up. Gabriel fired. She did, too--gun trained upward, shot going through the bottom of her jaw. She was dead before she slumped to the ground.

  Gabriel still ran over . . . to grab the gun from her hand as it dropped to her side. Only then did he seem to realize the shot had been fatal, and he stood there, looking down at her. Then he lowered himself to one knee, reached into her pocket, took out her cell phone, and called the police.

  --

  "I think we've been here before," I said to Gabriel as he sat on the back bumper of the ambulance while a paramedic examined the gash on his head. "Except last time, I didn't total your car."

  "It wasn't your fault," he said. "And it's well insured."

  "I still feel bad."

  A soft chuckle, pointing out, I suppose, that of everything that had happened this evening, his car ought to be the least of my concerns. I was more worried about him, but I knew better than to say that. I'd asked, of course, right after he'd called the police, and he'd brushed the question aside with a brusque "I'm fine."

  Now he was struggling to sit with relative patience as the paramedic checked him over. I'd already had my examination--Gabriel had insisted I go first. I'd swallowed some smoke, bumped my head, sliced open my arm, and possibly cracked a rib in the crash, though I'd begun to notice the pain only after everything settled down.

  Macy was dead. How did I feel about that? Relieved that Gabriel hadn't been the one to shoot her, because I didn't want him dealing with that, either legally or emotionally. As for how he'd gotten my gun, he'd apparently regained consciousness while I was hiding behind that couch. My purse--with the gun--hadn't been in the car at all, but had been thrown free from the wreck. He'd spotted it, retrieved the gun, and played possum until he got his chance.

  Otherwise, what did I feel about Macy? Not much. She'd had a crappy life, but that didn't justify murder. Ciara hadn't done anything wrong. She'd been struggling with the biological destiny of having fae blood. Her death was a tragedy. Macy's was not.

  Macy's death was, however, a problem, because, as I said, Gabriel and I had been here before, a month ago, police and paramedics called to the scene after someone tried to kill us. There's a limit to how often that can happen before the cops start to wonder what the hell you're up to. I think that limit is one.

  Gabriel's basic advice was to keep my mouth shut. We'd both suffered head injuries. Given the crash and the aftermath, we could claim confusion and trauma, and say as little as possible.

  The paramedic finished and proclaimed that Gabriel might be suffering from a mild concussion. He should get himself to the hospital, and he should be woken every hour tonight. I doubted I'd get him into a hospital, but I promised to look after him.

  When the paramedic left, Gabriel stood. I would have sworn it wasn't possible for someone with skin so fair to turn pale, but he did. There was a tinge of green there, too.

  "Take it easy," I said.

  "I'm--"

  "I didn't ask if you were okay. I know better than to do that more than once, and even then not to expect an honest answer. I'm just asking you to take it easy, because you look like you're going to throw up, and that will get you hauled to the hospital whether you like it or not."

  He nodded and straightened, tugging on his shirt and adjusting it, as if it wasn't blood-spattered and filthy. Then he looked down at me. "I am a little queasy. And my head hurts. Also, there's a slight pain in my shoulder, but it didn't seem worth mentioning. None of that, however, will impede me."

  I smiled. "Nothing ever does. Come on. Let's talk to the police and get out of here."

  CHAPTER SEVENTY

  The state police weren't all that interested in questioning our story, probably because they didn't know that we'd called the Chicago cops to a similar scene three weeks ago. To them, we were just the victims of a crazy woman.

  They'd found Macy's truck--her brother's, actually--and the smashed front end proved that she'd pushed us into the gully. The coroner supported our story that while Gabriel had shot Macy in self-defense, the fatal bullet had come from her own weapon. All this would require an autopsy and further investigation, but Gabriel had identified himself as a defense lawyer, and they didn't seem concerned he was a flight risk. We were injured and confused and could provide full statements later.

  The police were going to drive us back to Cainsville, but as we were about to leave, Rose drove up. So did a second vehicle. The Clarks' Buick pulled over in front of Rose.

  I asked Gabriel to go speak to his aunt while I talked to the Clarks.

  "Olivia." Ida hurried over faster than a seventy-odd-year-old pair of legs ought to hurry. I'd seen signs of this before--little points of evidence that the elders weren't nearly as old as they appeared.

  "What happened?" She looked genuinely concerned, as did Walter beside her. I wished they didn't.

  "Macy Shaw drove us off the road and tried to kill us."

  "Macy . . . ?"

  "Don't pretend you don't know who that is," I said, lowering my voice as I subtly moved them away from the police. "She's the girl you took from the Conways and swapped out for Ciara. I know she doesn't concern you as much as Ciara did. Macy was human. A pawn. Then again, we're all pawns, whether we have fae blood or not. I know I am."

  There are two ways of reacting to that: confused shock and alarmed shock. While the Tylwyth Teg of Cainsville were good at hiding responses, they still reacted, and it was definitely alarm, squelching any remaining doubts.

  "What--?" Walter began after a moment. "Whatever are you talking about, Olivia? Have you hit your head?"

  Ida waved him to silence, her bright eyes piercing mine. "It was Patrick, wasn't it? Patrick and his wild stories. He likes to cause trouble--"

  "Of course. That's what hobgoblins do." I moved closer, towering over her. "You don't need to admit to anything, Ida. Just don't insult me by denying it. I ran the DNA. I know the girls were switched. I know why. I know why I can see omens, too. Why Rose has the second sight. I know how the Larsens managed to lose me in the system. Another form of changeling magic. Not a switch of children, but of parents, which is the point anyway. Like a bird sneaking its eggs into another nest, hoping to give its offspring a better chance at survival, which sounds very sweet, except they're just birds--they don't care about their chicks, only about their blood, their lineage. Sound familiar?"

  "That is not true, Olivia. Every parent cares--"

  "Like Patrick? How he cares about Gabriel?"

  Surprise flashed across her face. I lowered my voice again and made sure Gabriel was s
till talking to his aunt. "I know who Gabriel's father is. I put the pieces together. Patrick didn't tell me anything, so don't blame him. I'll blame him, though, for what he did to Gabriel. Like I blame you for nearly getting us killed tonight, and for the dead girl who's being taken back to a morgue in Chicago, and for the dead girl I found in the Carew house--the one whose body you stole--robbing her parents even of the chance to bury her. I blame you for all of it."

  "No amount of explanation will convince you we are blameless. We aren't. But you need to understand, even if you can't agree with what we've done." She laid her hand on my arm. "Give us a chance to explain."

  I looked into her eyes, and I felt the tug of her words. Maybe it was influence or fae charm. Maybe it was just me. I loved Cainsville. I loved my place here, my home here. I wanted an explanation that could put things right.

  "Olivia?"

  Gabriel's voice made me jump. He took a step my way. Just a step. A question. Did I want him over here?

  "He cares for you," Ida murmured. "As you care for him."

  "Someone has to," I snapped back. "God knows you didn't."

  Did I imagine it or did she flinch?

  "We tried--" she began.

  "You wanted to switch him. Patrick wouldn't allow it. That's not what I mean. There are other ways of looking after your young, Ida. Human ways. But I guess that's too much trouble. Pawn them off on someone else. Let them deal with the problems you inflicted, the problems your blood caused."

  "We--"

  "Save the excuses. If I need answers"--I pulled the boar's tusk from my purse and waggled it at her--"the Cwn Annwn are more than willing to give them. That's where I should have gone in the first place. Maybe I could have prevented all this."

  I walked away. She tried to call me back. Walter stepped into my path. That had Gabriel striding forward, clearing his throat in warning, and they backed off, settling instead for turning their pleas to him. We needed to talk. All of us. They would explain. This wasn't what it seemed.

  Gabriel steered me to Rose's car. She stood outside the driver's door, and I could tell this scene made her uncomfortable. She wanted us to listen to the elders. But when we got into the car, she climbed in and drove us back to Cainsville without another word.

  --

  I stood on the sidewalk outside my apartment building. Rose had retreated into her house. Gabriel was beside me, saying nothing, just letting me look up at the building in the gathering darkness.