“Like you took your leave of Gabriel?”
He looked at me.
“You abandoned him,” I said. “You watched him grow up. You had to know what happened later, when she died and he was alone. And you did nothing.”
“What would you have me do, Olivia? Find him a better family? That’s what they wanted. The other elders. I refused. He needed to stay with his mother.”
“The drug addict who neglected him. Who made his life such a hell that when she disappeared, he never even thought she might be dead. How bad does a mother need to be for her fifteen-year-old to presume she’d abandon him?”
“So you think I should have let them switch him?” His brows lifted. “We are monsters for what we did to the Conways’ child, giving her to a troubled family to make way for our own, but if it was Gabriel who’d have gotten a better life . . . ?”
“I only meant that you should have done something. You were responsible for him, Patrick. For creating him. For creating the situation. And when it all went to hell, you turned your back—”
“Do you know how they temper steel, Olivia?”
“I don’t care—”
“The application of controlled heat. As strong as the metal will withstand. That produces the most resilient steel. Too much and it will break. It must be tough, yet slightly malleable. Adaptable to the greatest number of situations. That’s Gabriel. He’s been tested and tempered and—”
“And he is a person!” I roared, unable to hold back any longer. “He is not a sword. Not a tool. I don’t care what the hell you had in mind for him. You screwed him over, and now you tell me you were tempering—”
The sound of footsteps cut me short. They came from the walkway to my apartment, as a figure ran down the path. It was too dark to see more than a shape, but there was no question who it was. Gabriel didn’t slow until he’d emerged into the moonlight and saw who I was with.
“Sorry,” I called. “Everything’s fine.”
He glanced at Patrick, then at me again. “I’ll wait . . .” He motioned back toward the path.
I nodded, and he retreated between the buildings, far enough for privacy but not letting me out of his sight, either.
I started walking away. I had what I’d come for. The rest was just anger, futile rage.
Before I could open the gate, Patrick caught my arm.
“Look at him, Olivia,” he whispered.
I did, in spite of myself, glancing at Gabriel, backed into the shadows now but still visible, the set of his shoulders and his jaw, the glitter of his pale eyes, fixed on us, watching for trouble.
“You know what kind of man he is,” Patrick said, his voice low. “You know what he’s capable of. His intelligence. His strength. His resourcefulness. That is the result of the choices I made. Would you really have him any other way?”
“Yes.” I met Patrick’s gaze. “I would have him happy.”
He didn’t miss a beat. “Maybe that part is up to you.”
“No, I don’t think it is.”
I pulled away and walked to Gabriel.
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
Hey,” I said as I drew close to Gabriel, fixing on my best everything-is-just-fine smile. “I didn’t expect to see you tonight. Visiting Rose?”
He shook his head. “Waiting for you. Ricky called. He told me about the Miami trip. He was concerned, leaving you alone, with everything that’s happened. I thought it best if I came over and spent the night.”
“He didn’t need—”
“He wasn’t asking me to. He simply mentioned that he wouldn’t be around, and you might need the extra . . .”
“Protection?”
“I was avoiding that particular term. Support. Attention. Given what’s happening with James.” He motioned for me to accompany him back down the path.
“I wouldn’t have been alone. I have my cat. And a security system, a gun, and a switchblade.”
“Switchblade?”
“Ricky carries one. I liked it.”
He shook his head, then said, “Are you telling me to go home or simply pointing out that you’re capable of taking care of yourself?”
“Door number two.” I glanced over at him. “I’m glad you came, though. The cat’s not a very good conversationalist.”
We walked a few more steps, then he said, “Given the shouting, I take it Patrick didn’t confess to the switching of Macy and Ciara.”
“He didn’t, but he confirmed it in every other possible way. We were right about Cainsville. What it is. What he is. What happened with the girls. I know why it happened, too. I’m not ready to go inside yet. Can we walk while I tell you?”
“Certainly.”
—
We passed the apartment and continued down Rowan as I told Gabriel why Ciara and Macy had been switched. I did not tell him that Patrick was his father. Not now. Maybe not ever. What good would it do to know that the whole time he’d been fighting for survival, his father had watched and done nothing?
I did, however, tell him that the Walshes were one of “the” families—the unwitting recipients of fae blood. After I said that, we walked half a block in silence.
“So which part don’t you believe?” I said. “That Cainsville is a refuge for fairies? That they’ve been interbreeding with the human population? Or that your family is part of the breeding stock?” I paused. “And having just heard myself say those three sentences, I should be glad you aren’t suggesting we take a ride to the psych hospital. If we do, though, can you at least find me a place that’s still open? That last one was a bit primitive for long-term residency.”
A few more steps in silence.
“Gabriel?”
“Oh, are you finished? I didn’t want to get in the way of your backpedaling. And don’t give me that look or I will return it in kind. I thought we were past the point of laughing this off. Also past the point of interpreting my thoughtful silence as disbelief.”
“Sorry.”
“I was processing the information. I believe all of it. How could I not? I come from a family with strange gifts. Second sight is the most obvious, but we have other abilities, less obviously supernatural but clearly above normal. Inherent . . . aptitudes for certain iniquitous talents.”
He looked at me.
“You abandoned him,” I said. “You watched him grow up. You had to know what happened later, when she died and he was alone. And you did nothing.”
“What would you have me do, Olivia? Find him a better family? That’s what they wanted. The other elders. I refused. He needed to stay with his mother.”
“The drug addict who neglected him. Who made his life such a hell that when she disappeared, he never even thought she might be dead. How bad does a mother need to be for her fifteen-year-old to presume she’d abandon him?”
“So you think I should have let them switch him?” His brows lifted. “We are monsters for what we did to the Conways’ child, giving her to a troubled family to make way for our own, but if it was Gabriel who’d have gotten a better life . . . ?”
“I only meant that you should have done something. You were responsible for him, Patrick. For creating him. For creating the situation. And when it all went to hell, you turned your back—”
“Do you know how they temper steel, Olivia?”
“I don’t care—”
“The application of controlled heat. As strong as the metal will withstand. That produces the most resilient steel. Too much and it will break. It must be tough, yet slightly malleable. Adaptable to the greatest number of situations. That’s Gabriel. He’s been tested and tempered and—”
“And he is a person!” I roared, unable to hold back any longer. “He is not a sword. Not a tool. I don’t care what the hell you had in mind for him. You screwed him over, and now you tell me you were tempering—”
The sound of footsteps cut me short. They came from the walkway to my apartment, as a figure ran down the path. It was too dark to see more than a shape, but there was no question who it was. Gabriel didn’t slow until he’d emerged into the moonlight and saw who I was with.
“Sorry,” I called. “Everything’s fine.”
He glanced at Patrick, then at me again. “I’ll wait . . .” He motioned back toward the path.
I nodded, and he retreated between the buildings, far enough for privacy but not letting me out of his sight, either.
I started walking away. I had what I’d come for. The rest was just anger, futile rage.
Before I could open the gate, Patrick caught my arm.
“Look at him, Olivia,” he whispered.
I did, in spite of myself, glancing at Gabriel, backed into the shadows now but still visible, the set of his shoulders and his jaw, the glitter of his pale eyes, fixed on us, watching for trouble.
“You know what kind of man he is,” Patrick said, his voice low. “You know what he’s capable of. His intelligence. His strength. His resourcefulness. That is the result of the choices I made. Would you really have him any other way?”
“Yes.” I met Patrick’s gaze. “I would have him happy.”
He didn’t miss a beat. “Maybe that part is up to you.”
“No, I don’t think it is.”
I pulled away and walked to Gabriel.
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
Hey,” I said as I drew close to Gabriel, fixing on my best everything-is-just-fine smile. “I didn’t expect to see you tonight. Visiting Rose?”
He shook his head. “Waiting for you. Ricky called. He told me about the Miami trip. He was concerned, leaving you alone, with everything that’s happened. I thought it best if I came over and spent the night.”
“He didn’t need—”
“He wasn’t asking me to. He simply mentioned that he wouldn’t be around, and you might need the extra . . .”
“Protection?”
“I was avoiding that particular term. Support. Attention. Given what’s happening with James.” He motioned for me to accompany him back down the path.
“I wouldn’t have been alone. I have my cat. And a security system, a gun, and a switchblade.”
“Switchblade?”
“Ricky carries one. I liked it.”
He shook his head, then said, “Are you telling me to go home or simply pointing out that you’re capable of taking care of yourself?”
“Door number two.” I glanced over at him. “I’m glad you came, though. The cat’s not a very good conversationalist.”
We walked a few more steps, then he said, “Given the shouting, I take it Patrick didn’t confess to the switching of Macy and Ciara.”
“He didn’t, but he confirmed it in every other possible way. We were right about Cainsville. What it is. What he is. What happened with the girls. I know why it happened, too. I’m not ready to go inside yet. Can we walk while I tell you?”
“Certainly.”
—
We passed the apartment and continued down Rowan as I told Gabriel why Ciara and Macy had been switched. I did not tell him that Patrick was his father. Not now. Maybe not ever. What good would it do to know that the whole time he’d been fighting for survival, his father had watched and done nothing?
I did, however, tell him that the Walshes were one of “the” families—the unwitting recipients of fae blood. After I said that, we walked half a block in silence.
“So which part don’t you believe?” I said. “That Cainsville is a refuge for fairies? That they’ve been interbreeding with the human population? Or that your family is part of the breeding stock?” I paused. “And having just heard myself say those three sentences, I should be glad you aren’t suggesting we take a ride to the psych hospital. If we do, though, can you at least find me a place that’s still open? That last one was a bit primitive for long-term residency.”
A few more steps in silence.
“Gabriel?”
“Oh, are you finished? I didn’t want to get in the way of your backpedaling. And don’t give me that look or I will return it in kind. I thought we were past the point of laughing this off. Also past the point of interpreting my thoughtful silence as disbelief.”
“Sorry.”
“I was processing the information. I believe all of it. How could I not? I come from a family with strange gifts. Second sight is the most obvious, but we have other abilities, less obviously supernatural but clearly above normal. Inherent . . . aptitudes for certain iniquitous talents.”
