Betrayals
Page 39
“Hmm?” Gabriel said as he turned back to Liv, juice in hand.
“I …” Ricky swallowed. Grace and understanding, remember? “Shit, you know what I forgot? I was going to grab something for Liv. I’ll be back. You need anything?”
Gabriel shook his head. Ricky started for the door. At a noise from Gabriel, he turned. Gabriel gestured at the juice.
“Thank you.”
Ricky’s gaze went to Liv, her fingers twitching again, and he forced a smile. “No problem,” he said, and hurried from the room.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I fell from the bridge, landed in the river, and heard laughter ringing out above me. I pushed through the surface into a sun-dappled day, trees casting shadows on the crystal water. I looked around to see more trees and a distant meadow.
“If you stay there, don’t expect to stay afloat, Mati,” a voice called from far above, and I craned my neck to see a dark-haired boy crouched on a tree branch. A blond boy sat beside him, legs dangling, both of them grinning down at me.
“You have been warned,” the blond boy—Gwynn—called, just as Arawn jumped. He hit the water beside me, the force of his cannonball dragging me back under, sputtering, as they laughed. Another splash, before I could surface, and hands grabbed my arm, pulling me up.
“Not going to let me drown?” I said.
Gwynn smiled. “Never.”
“Olivia!” The voice seemed to come from far away, and as I turned, the sky darkened, the trees on the shore morphing into fog-shrouded buildings. I saw a face in front of mine, blurred through the murky water. A woman’s face, her long blond hair fanning around her, blue eyes wide with horror. She reached for me and I saw, not a hand, but a hoof, the feathered hair like seaweed.
I yanked back with a scream, water filling my mouth. Hands grabbed me again and pulled me up to the surface, and I saw sunlight and smelled trees and heard birds chirping. I looked to see Arawn and Gwynn, each holding me by one arm, their faces drawn with worry.
“I—I saw—” I began.
Then the kelpie surfaced, but this one had long, flowing red hair, like a mane. She rose, frowning, and the boys laughed.
“Did you scare Mati?” Arawn said.
“I did not mean to,” the kelpie said. She put out her hands, fingers now. “Come and swim, Matilda. I will show you wonders below.”
I froze, remembering the kelpies from my vision at Villa Tuscana, dragging a young woman to her death. When the kelpie tried to take my hand, I jerked back.
Arawn laughed. “Someone’s been listening to stories again.”
“They aren’t stories if they’re true,” Gwynn said.
“All stories have truth,” Arawn said. “If you look hard enough.”
“I’d not hurt you, Matilda,” the kelpie said. “You are one of us. Come. I’ll show you magic.”
She closed her eyes and transformed into a roan horse with a dark red mane. Arawn climbed on her back and held out a hand for me. I looked at Gwynn. He sighed, put his leg over the horse’s back, and patted the spot between them. I got on and the kelpie dove through the clear water, impossibly deep, then through a dark hole, and we came up again in a cave glistening with crystals.
The scene faded and I felt a blast of cold only to wake again in the cave, lying on a ledge at the side, curled up with Gwynn, both of us almost a decade older. It was the same cavern, though. Our secret place, and he was pulling me against him, his lips going to mine, and then—
“Olivia!”
I blinked, and I was cold, so cold. I was out of the pond, lying on stone, hearing the echo of water sloshing against rock. There was warmth here, too, like a blazing fire on a winter’s day, and I squirmed to get closer to it, and then the warmth became hands, hot against my icy skin, and that felt so amazingly good. My eyes opened and I looked up into pale blue eyes, and I smiled as I said, “Gabriel.”
That fae cavern had turned dark and cold, but we were out of the water and safe, and snuggled up together. A small part of me snorted and said, “Seriously? Um, no. Not happening.” But that’s what dreams are for—to weave reality and fantasy and memory and stitch together something you can’t hope for in waking life. To fulfill that little part of you that wants something so bad.
As long as I was stitching together a perfect fantasy scene with Gabriel, I figured I might as well make it worthwhile. So I kissed him.
I remembered my first vision of Gwynn and Matilda. And that kiss … Damn, that kiss. Magical and perfect, in a way one would only ever imagine a kiss from a fairy prince to be, even someone who had never, in her entire life, entertained such a frivolous fantasy. But it had been a kiss to remember, a kiss I couldn’t pry out of my mind, as hard as I tried. Now, this kiss, with Gabriel? It knocked that one—and every other one I’d ever had—clear out of my memory, as if this was the only one that counted. And it was.
I began falling through endless memories, not of Gwynn or Gabriel, but of kelpies and lamiae and other fae, unrecognizable, the visions starting pleasant and turning dark, until I had no idea what I was seeing. Something was chasing me, and I ran as fast as I could, as if from Death itself. Then in the distance I heard a soft laugh, followed by a grunt, both as familiar as actual voices: Ricky and Gabriel. I stopped running and turned toward the sounds. Ricky’s voice floated over.
“Sit. Scowl. Just try to be in a slightly better mood when she wakes up.”
There! I changed direction, and it was like running downhill through a tunnel, the end blazing a lighted welcome, voices still flitting out, guiding me until …
“I …” Ricky swallowed. Grace and understanding, remember? “Shit, you know what I forgot? I was going to grab something for Liv. I’ll be back. You need anything?”
Gabriel shook his head. Ricky started for the door. At a noise from Gabriel, he turned. Gabriel gestured at the juice.
“Thank you.”
Ricky’s gaze went to Liv, her fingers twitching again, and he forced a smile. “No problem,” he said, and hurried from the room.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I fell from the bridge, landed in the river, and heard laughter ringing out above me. I pushed through the surface into a sun-dappled day, trees casting shadows on the crystal water. I looked around to see more trees and a distant meadow.
“If you stay there, don’t expect to stay afloat, Mati,” a voice called from far above, and I craned my neck to see a dark-haired boy crouched on a tree branch. A blond boy sat beside him, legs dangling, both of them grinning down at me.
“You have been warned,” the blond boy—Gwynn—called, just as Arawn jumped. He hit the water beside me, the force of his cannonball dragging me back under, sputtering, as they laughed. Another splash, before I could surface, and hands grabbed my arm, pulling me up.
“Not going to let me drown?” I said.
Gwynn smiled. “Never.”
“Olivia!” The voice seemed to come from far away, and as I turned, the sky darkened, the trees on the shore morphing into fog-shrouded buildings. I saw a face in front of mine, blurred through the murky water. A woman’s face, her long blond hair fanning around her, blue eyes wide with horror. She reached for me and I saw, not a hand, but a hoof, the feathered hair like seaweed.
I yanked back with a scream, water filling my mouth. Hands grabbed me again and pulled me up to the surface, and I saw sunlight and smelled trees and heard birds chirping. I looked to see Arawn and Gwynn, each holding me by one arm, their faces drawn with worry.
“I—I saw—” I began.
Then the kelpie surfaced, but this one had long, flowing red hair, like a mane. She rose, frowning, and the boys laughed.
“Did you scare Mati?” Arawn said.
“I did not mean to,” the kelpie said. She put out her hands, fingers now. “Come and swim, Matilda. I will show you wonders below.”
I froze, remembering the kelpies from my vision at Villa Tuscana, dragging a young woman to her death. When the kelpie tried to take my hand, I jerked back.
Arawn laughed. “Someone’s been listening to stories again.”
“They aren’t stories if they’re true,” Gwynn said.
“All stories have truth,” Arawn said. “If you look hard enough.”
“I’d not hurt you, Matilda,” the kelpie said. “You are one of us. Come. I’ll show you magic.”
She closed her eyes and transformed into a roan horse with a dark red mane. Arawn climbed on her back and held out a hand for me. I looked at Gwynn. He sighed, put his leg over the horse’s back, and patted the spot between them. I got on and the kelpie dove through the clear water, impossibly deep, then through a dark hole, and we came up again in a cave glistening with crystals.
The scene faded and I felt a blast of cold only to wake again in the cave, lying on a ledge at the side, curled up with Gwynn, both of us almost a decade older. It was the same cavern, though. Our secret place, and he was pulling me against him, his lips going to mine, and then—
“Olivia!”
I blinked, and I was cold, so cold. I was out of the pond, lying on stone, hearing the echo of water sloshing against rock. There was warmth here, too, like a blazing fire on a winter’s day, and I squirmed to get closer to it, and then the warmth became hands, hot against my icy skin, and that felt so amazingly good. My eyes opened and I looked up into pale blue eyes, and I smiled as I said, “Gabriel.”
That fae cavern had turned dark and cold, but we were out of the water and safe, and snuggled up together. A small part of me snorted and said, “Seriously? Um, no. Not happening.” But that’s what dreams are for—to weave reality and fantasy and memory and stitch together something you can’t hope for in waking life. To fulfill that little part of you that wants something so bad.
As long as I was stitching together a perfect fantasy scene with Gabriel, I figured I might as well make it worthwhile. So I kissed him.
I remembered my first vision of Gwynn and Matilda. And that kiss … Damn, that kiss. Magical and perfect, in a way one would only ever imagine a kiss from a fairy prince to be, even someone who had never, in her entire life, entertained such a frivolous fantasy. But it had been a kiss to remember, a kiss I couldn’t pry out of my mind, as hard as I tried. Now, this kiss, with Gabriel? It knocked that one—and every other one I’d ever had—clear out of my memory, as if this was the only one that counted. And it was.
I began falling through endless memories, not of Gwynn or Gabriel, but of kelpies and lamiae and other fae, unrecognizable, the visions starting pleasant and turning dark, until I had no idea what I was seeing. Something was chasing me, and I ran as fast as I could, as if from Death itself. Then in the distance I heard a soft laugh, followed by a grunt, both as familiar as actual voices: Ricky and Gabriel. I stopped running and turned toward the sounds. Ricky’s voice floated over.
“Sit. Scowl. Just try to be in a slightly better mood when she wakes up.”
There! I changed direction, and it was like running downhill through a tunnel, the end blazing a lighted welcome, voices still flitting out, guiding me until …
