As Ricky returned texts from his dad, I made a call. Gabriel didn’t answer until the fourth ring. That gave me pause, but we’d parted on good terms, no need for concern. That’s what it’s like with Gabriel—even a moment’s delay and I’m racking my brain, worrying that I’ve annoyed him in some way.

“Hey,” I said. “Just calling with the post-Ioan update.”

More silence, and when he replied, it seemed grudging. “Did it go smoothly?”

“As smoothly as can be expected with the Cŵn Annwn,” I said, adding an extra note of brightness, as if that could even the balance. “I was going to suggest we pop by and update you, but you sound busy.”

“I am.”

I started to ask, Is everything okay? then bit my tongue. I could tell it wasn’t, as easily as I could tell with Ricky earlier, but with Gabriel, asking even once makes me feel like a court-ordered therapist nagging him to share his feelings.

“We haven’t heard anything from the police, have we? About Ricky?”

“I would tell you both immediately if I did.”

“Okay, then,” I said. “Do you want to wait until Monday?”

“Yes. Monday will be fine.”

“All right. I’ll see you at the office—”

“No,” he said abruptly. “We should talk tomorrow. Will you be in the city?”

“We planned to spend the night in Cainsville.”

“There, then. Ten tomorrow morning?”

“Is everything okay?” The words came before I could stop them, and I winced as they left my mouth, but even then I scolded myself for being so dramatic, always expecting the worst with Gabriel. There was nothing wrong with asking—

“Yes, of course,” he said, his words clipped and cool.

“Right, well … I’ll see you at ten.”

He said something that was probably a goodbye but sounded more like a grunt before he hung up.

ARAWN’S MISTAKE

Ricky woke sharply. He lay there, in the darkness, listening hard, hearing only the sound of Liv’s breathing. She slept with her back to him, his hand resting on her hip, her body close enough for him to feel the heat of it against the night breeze fluttering in through the open apartment window.

He’d close the window in a moment, but for now he snuggled against her back, settling whatever unease had woken him.

Ricky did not consider himself a troubled guy. His path might be unusual, but it was the only one that led anyplace he wanted to go. Sure, there’d always been the vague sense he was missing something important, but he wasn’t the type to dwell on it. He’d set his course, and he’d hit the gas, and he’d roared headlong toward the goal. Then he met Liv. And he’d stopped for her. He couldn’t help it. Stopped and circled back, and found something he hadn’t been expecting. Clarity. A strange word to use, but when he was with her, the ride stopped in a freeze-frame, the world snapping into perfect focus.

He didn’t understand how it worked with Arawn and Matilda and Gwynn. Were they destined to find one another? Or was it pure happenstance? Either way, he had been looking, even if he’d never realized it. Looking for something he needed. She was it, and Arawn was it. The answers to his unasked questions.

Liv often said that theirs was the most comfortable relationship she’d ever had. Again, maybe an odd choice of words, seemingly underwhelming. But there was no overestimating the importance of being completely comfortable with another person. No stress. No expectations. No sense that the other person would like you even better if you changed this or that.

There were, of course, stronger words he could use to describe their relationship. A crazy-giddy, mad-about-you, can’t-wait-to-see-you romance that hadn’t gotten any less crazy-giddy, mad-about-you, can’t-wait-to-see-you after six months.

There was also the sex. There was absolutely no overestimating the sex. Liv was very sure of what she wanted and not afraid to ask for it, and also very eager to reciprocate. Confident and uninhibited, with an appetite to match his own. No, he couldn’t overestimate the sex, and the thought of it had him kissing the back of her neck, his fingers sliding to her thighs.

The trick to waking a girl for sex was consideration. Kissing and touching, stroking her thighs, fingers moving up, waiting for a response. Too deeply asleep, and there’d be no reaction, which was a red light. But as he teased Liv’s inner thighs, she sighed in sleep, her legs parting, and that was a green. Well, a yellow. Proceed with caution, because if she didn’t wake, it meant she needed sleep more than sex. He eased his fingers up, stroking until she shifted more, and he slid his fingers into her and she sighed again, deeper now, snuggling back against him. Still asleep, but having very pleasant dreams and—

A yowl cut through the night.

Ricky stopped, and Liv made a noise in her sleep, clearly not pleased at the interruption to her dream. He pushed upright, peering around the dim room, his eyes adjusted enough to make out everything.

“TC?” he whispered.

The cat usually slept on the foot of Liv’s bed. Even if things got raucous, he’d only glower at them and move farther from the epicenter of the disruption. The yowl came again, through the open window, distant, with a plaintive note.

TC had been inside when they went to bed. Ricky always got the impression he liked to stick close to Liv while she slept, watching over her.

The yowl came again.

“Lousy timing, cat,” Ricky muttered. He leaned over and planted a kiss on Liv’s shoulder, and then carefully slid from bed.