Текст книги "Visions"

Автор книги: Kelley Armstrong

Соавторы: Kelley Armstrong,Kelley Armstrong
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CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

On the walk to the room, I told Gabriel that Macy knew who I was, and seemed to think I was going to axe-murder her.

He snorted. “Twit.”

“That’s Ricky’s opinion, too, though he’d make it ‘ungrateful twit.’ He snapped at her, and now she’s scared of us both. We should have handled it better, considering what she’s been through.”

“She should have considered what you’ve both been through, coming after her here. Ricky is correct. She’s an ungrateful twit. I’m surprised you didn’t stuff her back in the box.”

“Ricky threatened to.”

“Hmm, well, sadly, that would be considered forcible confinement, so I’d have to advise against it.”

I felt a little sorry for Macy. She really deserved nicer rescuers. More sympathetic ones, at least.

“Well, it’s not boding well for polite conversation,” I said. “Which I need to have with her. That Tristan guy suggested she’s not a random victim. She has answers even if she doesn’t realize it. Maybe you can play good cop.”

He turned his cool gaze on me.

“Or not.” I rapped on the door and called, “It’s us,” then walked in.

Ricky was standing there, waiting. Macy was huddled against the wall. When she saw Gabriel, she pressed against it, her eyes rounding.

“Wh-who’s that?” she asked.

“Our lawyer,” I said.

She tried to glare at me, though it was about as intimidating as a kitten’s snarl. “That’s not funny.”

“Because it isn’t a joke.” Gabriel turned to Ricky. “Have you done anything to her?”

“Besides rescuing her ass?”

“It’s not an unreasonable question, considering you’ve obviously been involved in an altercation.”

Ricky touched his split lip. “Right. Separate incident.”

“It’s been a long and interesting night,” I said.

Gabriel turned to Macy. “You will agree, then, that they have done nothing to you? And that your unfounded fear is simply a by-product of your captivity?”

She stared at him as if he were speaking Greek. “I-I want to go home.”

“We will escort you out.”

Ricky started to protest, but Gabriel said, “We don’t want to detain the young woman against her will,” in a tone that warned that, too, would be forcible confinement.

Ricky nodded.

Gabriel waved her to the door. “Macy, is it?”

“Y-yes.” She skirted wide around him.

“And that would be Ms.…?”

She didn’t answer.

Once we’d descended the ladder, he continued, “I have not yet telephoned the police. I’m presuming you’d like that done now? I would offer to drive you to the station, but I suspect you would prefer a police escort.”

“I can’t call the police. My—my brother. There’s a warrant out for him, and if I report this to the police and they come to our house…”

“Yes, I can see how that could be problematic.”

Gabriel could have pointed out that the police didn’t need to come to her house. But she wasn’t paying him for legal advice. And calling in the police would be problematic. For us.

“You should report it,” he said. “However, you have no legal obligation to do so. Be aware, though, that the chances of being believed if you report it later decrease significantly.”

She nodded. As soon as Gabriel walked outside, Macy bolted past him. I lunged forward. Gabriel’s arm shot out, practically smacking me in the face as he stopped me and stepped into Ricky’s path.

“She’s getting—” Ricky began.

“I know. And as your lawyer, I would suggest you do not pursue her. Even if you manage to catch her, you’d need to hold her, which is a felony.”

“But we haven’t questioned her,” I said. “We don’t know where to find her. All we have is a first name and—”

Gabriel handed me a plastic rectangle. It was Macy’s driver’s license.

“How the hell—?” I began. “That’s why you so kindly helped her down the ladder. I should have known you were up to something.”

“Yes, you should have,” he said, taking no offense.

“You knew she was going to run.”

“We made her nervous. I have no idea why.”

I snorted and shone my flashlight on Macy’s card and squinted at the photo. “Does she look familiar to you?”

“Yes, she bears a striking resemblance to the young woman who just fled.”

Ricky laughed.

I glared at both of them. “I couldn’t see her very well inside. Besides the lack of light, she was filthy and disheveled. This photo, though…” I looked again and shook my head. “Never mind. I’ll figure it out later. So now what?”

“Now we get ourselves looking less filthy and disheveled,” Ricky said. “Whose place is closer? Gabriel?”

Gabriel hesitated. Last month, during another long night, he’d been about to stop at his apartment. Then I suggested I wouldn’t mind using his bathroom and suddenly his place was no longer on our route.

I was sure he had an apartment. A very nice one, given that he’d had no qualms about taking me as far as the building. I now suspected it was a matter of privacy. That was his home. Private and off-limits.

“Your place is closer,” I said to Ricky.

Gabriel acknowledged my save with a nod of thanks.

“I’m parked over there,” Gabriel said. “I presume you’re elsewhere?”

“At the golf course,” I said. “Can you give us a lift?”

He waved us to his car.

“Well, I guess we didn’t hide it as well as we thought,” I said, standing beside my car, looking down at the slashed tire.

“Got a spare?” Ricky asked. “I can change it.”

“So can I. Unfortunately, I noticed last week that the tire isn’t in the trunk. It must be at my parents’ house.”

“No problem. A couple of our garages have twenty-four-hour service. I’ll get one to fix it.” He looked at Gabriel, still in his Jag, window down. “That okay? You can give us a lift?”

“Of course.”

We decided to wash up at Ricky’s and then discuss the situation over breakfast. “I’ve got class at nine,” Ricky said as we headed down the hall to his apartment. “You two?”

“I don’t have any appointments,” Gabriel said. “But yes, I should be at the office by nine. Olivia can join me.”

“Thanks,” I said.

He nodded, missing the sarcasm.

“Liv?” Ricky said as he unlocked his door. “You take the shower first. I’ll—” He stopped. “Hey.”

I glanced past Ricky to see Don rising from the couch, blinking, as if he’d been dozing there.

“I came over after you took off,” Don said. “I tried calling, but you weren’t…” He noticed me. “Oh, Olivia. I didn’t see you– Gabriel?” He rubbed his eyes and double-checked, then frowned. “You’re covered in…”

“Dust. And cobwebs. It’s a long story.” I turned to Ricky. “Gabriel and I will go for breakfast at the diner up the road. We’ll hold a seat if you can make it, but it’s fine if you can’t. Just give me two minutes in the bathroom first.”

“I’ll also need—” Gabriel began.

“You look fine. We cleared the cobwebs for you.” I nodded at Don and managed what I hoped was a friendly smile. “Sorry about all this. We’ll be gone in two minutes.”

“You don’t have to—” Ricky began.

I caught his gaze and he nodded, mouthing, “Thanks,” then saying, “I’ll catch up. Go ahead and order.”

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

Gabriel and I didn’t get five steps out of the apartment before he started.

“They argued last night, I presume? After Ricky told him about you?”

I nodded.

“And Ricky took off? Didn’t answer Don’s calls?”

“I guess so. He was pretty shaken up.” I turned onto the sidewalk. “He’ll work it out.”

“I’ve known the Gallaghers for almost four years, Olivia. I have never seen them argue. They simply don’t.”

“I’m not trying to cause problems.”

“But you obviously are.”

I stiffened. “Yes, obviously, because I chased poor innocent Ricky down and seduced him.”

“I am well aware of who did the chasing. For whatever reason, he wanted you, and—”

“For whatever reason?”

A pause. I didn’t look up, but I swore I could sense him searching for a path out of the quagmire.

“I meant that he found you attractive, for whatever—”

He managed to stop himself. I still scowled at him.

“The point I’m making is that he pursued you,” Gabriel said. “I realize that. But he’s made a mistake. You both have. It may seem unfair to put the onus on you for recognizing that, but he’s young—”

“He’s twenty-two, not twelve. There’s no mistake here. We’re involved in a perfectly functional relationship—”

“Functional?” His brows arched. “That sounds romantic.”

“I’m putting it in language you’ll understand, because if I did make it sound romantic, you’d mock me. I know your opinion on the subject.”

“If you think you’re in love, you’re suffering the emotional fallout from your breakup with James. I can understand that you’d be looking for that sort of thing again—”

“Umm, no. I’m not looking for that.”

He looked relieved. “Good. Then you will have no problem breaking it off—”

“I mean I’m not wildly and blindly infatuated, not that I don’t care about him. I know you’re concerned, but Ricky doesn’t discuss club business with me and I wouldn’t discuss your legal business with him. You can keep me off any Saints cases, if that helps.”

Gabriel grabbed the diner door and held it for me. “That’s not the problem.”

“Then what is?”

He didn’t reply until we were seated at the table. He opened his mouth, and the server appeared, coffeepot in hand.

“She’ll have some,” Gabriel said.

I smiled and exchanged pleasantries with the server as she filled our mugs while Gabriel looked increasingly impatient at the entire ten seconds the process took.

“It’s the commingling of professional and personal relationships that makes both Don and me uncomfortable,” Gabriel said after she left. “The Saints are my primary clients, Olivia, and many of my other clients come through them directly or through my association with them. I cannot afford to muddy these waters.”

“Then fire me.”

He pulled back. “Is that what you want?”

“No. If I did, I’d quit. The issue is not that you or Don see an actual problem. You see the potential for problems. But this isn’t about either of you. If you’re going to threaten me with dismissal, get it over with.”

“I’m not the one who mentioned it.”

“Because I beat you to it.”

The server approached with her order pad. Gabriel waved her off. I gave her a five-minute sign.

He shifted forward. “You say it’s not serious, but you’re willing to risk a good job for him. A lucrative job that you enjoy. You’ll give that up for a man you have no future with. You realize that, don’t you? Ricky isn’t James. You won’t get that life from him.”

“I don’t want another James. That’s the point.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You’re comfortable with who you are, right?”

A slight frown, confused. “Of course.”

“I’ve spent my life feeling like a cuckoo raised by robins. I grew up pretending to fit into my mother’s world, and the whole time I felt suffocated. Then I went to Cainsville, and everything changed. I met people who know who I am and don’t give a shit. Who don’t expect me to be anything other than what I am. For me, that’s huge. Being with Ricky is part of that. I have my own life. I have my own secrets. He doesn’t care. He takes what I can give, and he’s happy with it, and I’m happy with him. He’s exactly what I need right now.”

Gabriel sat there, saying nothing. I could tell myself he was processing, but in his eyes I saw anxiety and discomfort, as if he’d spent the entire monologue wishing I’d just shut up.

Damn it. I’d only wanted him to understand. It was so hard to figure out where the boundaries lay. Mostly because he set them, quietly and secretly, in places I could never quite discern. Interfering with my personal relationships? That was fine. Listening to me talk about how I felt? Hell, no. Keep that shit to yourself. Please.

“I’m sorry,” I said after thirty more seconds of silence. “I only wanted to explain—”

“No, that’s fine.” His gaze traveled to the door as if measuring the distance to the escape hatch. He shifted. Adjusted his cuffs. Glanced around again. “All right. I think you’re making a mistake, and I fear it will be a problem, but if it’s what you want…” He seemed to choke on the words before saying, “I won’t interfere.”

“If it does become a problem—a real one—tell me,” I said. “I want to keep my job, and I don’t want to make trouble for you.”

He nodded and waved the server over. As he was ordering, I got a text from Ricky, saying he was on his way and Don was coming with him. They’d worked it out. As I put down my phone, I was thinking of what had happened tonight and my cuckoo analogy, the two rubbing together until … click.

“Can I see Macy’s license?” I said as I typed in a search on my phone’s browser.

Gabriel passed it over. I took another look at it, then zoomed in on a photo on my screen. I passed both over.

“See a resemblance?”

“Yes, but if you’re saying they’re the same person—”

“Obviously not. There’s at least twenty years between them. But could this woman—Mrs. Conway—be Macy’s mother?” I didn’t wait for an answer, instead flipping to Ciara’s photo. “More than it could be her mother.”

“You think they were…” He hesitated. “Switched?”

“The guy who took Macy told me she was connected to Ciara. That she was ‘more wronged’ than Ciara by that connection. That what happened to them is connected to Cainsville. And to me. Somehow, it’s all connected to me.”

“We’ll look into it. What else—”

He looked up as a hand squeezed my shoulder, and Ricky said, “Hey.”

I pushed back the chair beside mine. He took it. I smiled at Don. I won’t say he exactly beamed back, but his smile seemed genuine enough.

As we ate, I could feel Don’s gaze on me, especially whenever Ricky and I were talking or teasing. He was taking the measure of our relationship, but even more, he was taking my measure. Would I treat Ricky well? Was I good enough for him? If the answer to either was no … well, then I suspected I’d see the real leader of the Saints.

CHAPTER FIFTY

When we walked into the office, Lydia stared at us. It took me a moment to realize why. I’d become so accustomed to having Gabriel around at any hour that I’d forgotten how it looked if his car stayed outside my apartment all night or we walked into the office, already deep in conversation, at seven thirty in the morning.

“Hey,” I said with a wry smile. “I’m causing trouble early today. I got a flat tire, and Gabriel had to give me a ride—”

Gabriel cut me off with an impatient wave toward his office and a look that asked Why the hell are you telling her that?

I rolled my eyes for Lydia and followed him into his office. He closed the door behind me.

“We need to talk about Cainsville,” he said. “I was thinking that the other day, when you discovered the history of that house. First, Chandler said there was a connection. And now this Tristan fellow says the same. Ciara Conway and your mother are both linked to the town. I don’t see a connection between Ms. Conway and your parents’ alleged crimes, but…”

“It does seem overly coincidental. All roads lead to Cainsville, yet I somehow refuse to follow them.” I pulled over the extra chair. “I think that’s what those messages meant tonight. We are imprisoned by the truth we dare not see. We are imprisoned by the questions we dare not ask. For weeks now, I’ve been seeing visions of corpses without eyes, and I keep presuming it’s some ritualistic thing connected to my parents’ crimes. But I think it’s another type of omen. A message I refuse to see. Now I’m hallucinating a woman without a tongue. Which means even when I admit that I do see, I won’t go to Cainsville and ask questions about the connections.”

Gabriel leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming the desk, and there was a moment where I thought I’d lost him, as if he’d gotten bored with my speech and was mentally compiling the day’s to-do list. But after a few seconds he said, “You aren’t the only one who’s seen those roads and refuses to follow them. As for why…”

More drumming, before he pulled his hand away, forcibly stopping himself and looking up, expression resolute, as if having decided to share something difficult. I braced myself.

“There are gargoyles in Cainsville,” he said.

“Um, yes. I’ve noticed.”

“There’s a game children play…”

“The May Day contest. I’ve heard of it.”

From the wary look he gave me, you would have thought I’d just announced having uncovered a dark secret through very underhanded means.

“Some of them are … hidden,” he said finally.

“I know. There are those you can’t see at first, but I found one—on the bank—that I can’t see at all during the day. It’s not there. Veronica called it a night gargoyle.”

“There are others. Ones you can only see from certain angles. Or if the moon or the sun strikes it. There’s one that appears in rain. One in fog. One only under the winter solstice moon. There’s no rational explanation for that. There just isn’t.”

“I know. But I tell myself there is—there must be. I don’t question. I … I don’t want to.”

“Exactly. That is the contradiction that I cannot wrap my head around. I have no hesitation seeking answers. I make my living doing that. Except when it comes to Cainsville.” He straightened. “I was a boy when I learned about the hidden gargoyles. I went to Rose for answers. She told me it was magic. I was angry. It felt as if she was treating me like a child. So I wanted to ask others. But I couldn’t. The more I thought about it, the more I simply wanted to accept it.”

“Maybe if we talk to Rose again? You’re not a kid anymore. If we ask her—seriously ask her—”

“When it comes to Cainsville, she refuses to question or to answer. She has a good life there. The town is safe and welcoming, and it’s as if…” He seemed unable to find the right words. “I remember when I was eleven or so, I was talking to … I can’t remember exactly. I always want to say it was Patrick, but it couldn’t have been—he’s not old enough. Perhaps a brother or relative? I’d spoken to this man before. He even gave me a hint on the last hidden gargoyle. We were talking that day and Seanna caught us. She didn’t usually come to Cainsville—Rose would pick me up in the city. This time, Seanna brought me in a friend’s car and stayed to visit. I’m guessing she needed money. She must have gotten it from Rose and wanted to leave quickly to buy her fix. When she found me with this man, she was furious. Dragged me away. She asked me if I’d ever spoken to him before. I lied and said no. She said I was never to talk to him. I asked why not, and she hit me.”

I must have winced, because he said, “That was unusual. She’d cuff me when I was younger, but by that age I was big enough that she’d likely started to worry I might hit back. So when she struck me, I knew it was serious. She made me swear never to speak to him again. I asked Rose, later, why Seanna was so upset. She said she didn’t know, but she told me I could speak to him. In fact, if he talked to me, I should never refuse to answer. I was to be polite and respectful to all the adults in Cainsville. And not ask questions. Above all, don’t ask questions.”

“So you still don’t,” I said. “I don’t, either. That means something. It has to.” I paused. “Chandler was the first to mention a Cainsville connection. Do you remember what Patrick said about mind control? That it was beyond the realm of science, but prevalent in folklore and magic.”

“If you’re saying that we’re magically blocked from asking questions…”

He trailed off. I knew he wanted to finish the sentence with that’s preposterous. So did I. But neither of us did.

“Let’s call it preternatural,” I said. “If you say magic, I think of Disney witches and fairies and pixie dust, and my brain won’t go there. But I see omens, and that’s definitely not natural. Same with giant hounds and the Wild Hunt and hallucinations and visions and second sight.”

Gabriel shook his head. “But to say that I’m being prevented from asking questions by powers beyond my control feels like an excuse.”

“Now you know why I kept denying I could see omens. It feels like hearing voices and thinking, ‘I don’t have schizophrenia; I can speak to the dead.’ There’s something preternatural happening, and we know it. So let’s make a list of everything we want answers on, especially connected to Cainsville. We’ll put it in writing so we can’t shove it under the rug.”

As I pulled over a legal pad and pen, he pushed back from the desk and shook his head. “I don’t think that’s necessary. We certainly will look into this, but there’s hardly any need for a list. We have things to do—”

“So urgent that we don’t have ten minutes for this?”

He checked his watch.

“You don’t have any appointments, Gabriel. You already said that.”

“Yes, but I have work—”

“You came in early. It’s barely eight.” I looked at him. “Fine. Go on. I’ll make this list and—”

“You don’t need to—” He paused. “This is it. This is exactly it. There’s no good reason for me to stop you from making that list. So why am I arguing?”

“It’s magic.”

He glowered at me then rolled his shoulders, scowling as he did, as if he could frighten the compulsion away. That’s what it felt like: something compelling us not to ask questions.

“Write it,” he said.

Ten minutes later, Gabriel got a call. A client in trouble. Urgent “I’m sitting in the precinct awaiting interrogation” trouble. He left. I stayed behind to investigate any link between Macy and Ciara, and spent two hours delving into Macy’s life and Ciara’s life, trying to fit the two together in a puzzle that wouldn’t quite work.

Macy could have been the Conways’ daughter, in both her coloring and her features. As for Macy’s family, that was harder to trace. No family pics on Facebook for them. I did get an older sister, though. When I pulled up the photo, it could have been Ciara in ten years … except she was only four years older. Prematurely hard and old. I’d seen that same look in the photos of Seanna Walsh. Macy’s sister was an addict.

With help from Lydia, I tracked down the brother, too—or his record, at least. At twenty-seven, he already had almost a dozen arrests for drugs, assault, and petty larceny. Macy, though? She was clean. A nursing school student with no arrest record.

I thought of Ciara. Of her home in the suburbs. Of her parents, so confused over the path their daughter had stumbled on, how far she’d fallen, how little they’d been able to help. There’s a genetic component to addiction. I knew that from my volunteer work at a women’s shelter. Gabriel obviously knew it, too—I had only to glance across his office and see the expensive bottles on his fireplace mantel, unopened gifts coated in a fine layer of dust.

I looked at the photos and the evidence of addiction. Circumstantial evidence. It wasn’t enough.

The girls had been born nine days apart. But at different hospitals. So how could they have been swapped? At the doctor’s office? You take your newborn in and put her down and—whoops—pick up the wrong one? Wouldn’t you know what your child was wearing? By nine days, wouldn’t you know what she looked like?

Crimbils.

The word sprang to mind, unbidden, and scratched there, at the front of consciousness. When I started to ignore it, my gaze moved to that list on Gabriel’s desk.

Tristan said I had some kind of hereditary memory. That was what kept prompting me with words and visions. With answers. Yet I pushed them aside.

I looked up crimbils. I wasn’t sure of the spelling, but I figured it was Welsh, so I added that to the search and ran through a few possibilities before I hit the one I knew was right.

Crimbils. The Welsh word for changelings. As in the usual folklore, fairies would put their own child in the cradle of a human baby, to be foster raised. Through magic, the child would initially resemble the missing infant, but over time would revert to his or her own appearance, so it would seem that the child’s looks were just changing naturally.

Clearly, either Ciara or Macy was a fairy child who’d been secreted into a human family. Which would make perfect sense … if you lived in the Middle Ages and believed in fairies.

I kept digging, but it soon became apparent there was only one way to prove my switched-at-birth theory: get Macy’s DNA.