Gwynn rolled his eyes. Arawn stepped toward me. “Ignore them, Mati. Ignore the lamiae. As cruel as that might sound. They are but a symptom of the disease. Cure the disease, and you help them. Decide your future, and you help them.”

“Choose, you mean.” I glanced from Arawn to Gwynn. Arawn gave me that same tired but affectionate smile. “Not that choice. That one is decided. It always has been. We were just too selfish to see it. Too selfish and afraid.”

“I meant choose Tylwyth Teg or Cŵn Annwn.”

“Ah, did you now?” Arawn’s lips twitched. “Yes, there is that choice, but it isn’t so simple, as I think you’ve begun to realize, which is why you’re avoiding the issue altogether. You tell them you’re taking a bit of time to get your thoughts straight. Really, you’re postponing and procrastinating.”

“Nothing will change by waiting,” Gwynn said. “The answer will not come in a dream or a vision. The longer you delay, more problems will arise.” He waved at the lamia, frozen as if she was a statue. “To solve those problems, address the core issue.”

“Not while girls are dying,” I said.

“They aren’t girls.”

When I tensed, Arawn said, “He doesn’t mean it like that.”

“Yes, I do,” Gwynn said. “They are not girls. It doesn’t mean they deserve to die, but they aren’t innocent children in need of protection.”

“No?” I said, meeting his gaze.

“No, Matilda. They’re not. The sooner you remember that, the easier this will be.”

“I’m not Matilda.”

His lips curved, the smile so faint that I couldn’t help but see Gabriel in it. “You are our Matilda, as much as we are the men you know now and as much as we are the boys you remember.”

“That makes no sense,” I snapped.

He met my gaze. “Doesn’t it? I am the Gwynn in Matilda’s memories. Your memories. Whatever is left of me is there, in your world, in your Gabriel, just as whatever is left of our Mati stands before us. As much as you don’t want to hear that.”

“I—”

“You don’t want to hear it because you want to be your own person. You want Gabriel and Ricky to be their own persons. Which you are. Which they are.”

“You’re only confusing her,” Arawn said. “You do realize that, don’t you?” His hand went to my arm. “He’s right in this, though, Liv. We want you to forget the lamiae. Yet we know you will not. Matilda would not, and so you would not. Just take care. Please.” He leaned and kissed my forehead again. “Now it’s time for you to wake up.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

I bolted upright in bed and looked around. Ricky rose beside me.

“Liv?” he croaked.

“I …” I peered around the dark and silent room. “I was having a dream. I think it was …” I rubbed my eyes and shook my head.

He reached up and tugged the blind, letting moonlight slide across the bed.

“A vision?” he asked.

“I … I don’t know. Arawn was there.”

A twist of a smile, one that mirrored Arawn’s so well I shivered. “Was he being a jerk?”

No. Arawn was never a jerk in my visions. Not Arawn nor Gwynn. Not even in that terrible last one, when they’d forced Matilda to choose. Not jerks. Just young men, a little arrogant, a little frightened, a little angry, both struggling to hold on to her, only to both lose her.

“We were riding and …” I shook my head. “Never mind. Details aren’t important.”

He tugged me down as he stretched out on his back. “I’d like to hear them.”

I hesitated. Then I told him everything I remembered, from the thunder of the horse’s hooves to the baying of the hounds. This is the dilemma, the contradiction we cannot resolve. We do not want to be them. Yet we are fascinated by them, because every detail tugs at a buried memory. It’s like smelling balloons and getting a flash of a forgotten birthday party, and as I talked, Ricky pulled me against him, both of us sharing those tugs of memory.

I told him the rest, too, about the lamiae and the older Arawn and Gwynn.

“Well, that’s bullshit,” he said.

“Telling me to ignore the lamiae?”

“No, that’s just pointless, which they seemed to realize. The bullshit is that lamia saying you aren’t paying attention to their deaths. You almost died working their case.”

“Maybe it’s my subconscious then? Making me feel like I’m not working hard enough?”

“I’d buy that. I also get where Arawn and Gwynn are coming from—whether they were visions or subconscious manifestations. The lamiae aren’t your responsibility. And, no, I’m not telling you to stop investigating. But maybe …”

“Holding the Tylwyth Teg and the Cŵn Annwn to my timetable isn’t helping anyone. I’m pushing them off because I don’t want to deal with it.”

“You were giving yourself mental space. Which you needed. If two more months helps, then screw the dreams. They might very well just be your subconscious, expecting too much of yourself. As usual.”

“Hmm.”

He slid his hands under my arms and pulled me onto him.

“You do,” he said. “You have a very high set of personal expectations. It’s not necessarily a bad thing … except when you beat yourself up for not meeting them.”