“Before the construction, they trapped the fae in a circle of iron and lit the field with some kind of blue fire. I don’t know what it was, but it was . . .” I shivered. “Awful. The smell and the sound and the screaming. They died. They all died, horribly.”

Still gripping my arm, Gabriel turned. I glanced back to see the girl there. He yanked off his shades with his free hand, staring in her direction.

“Is this really necessary?” he said. Then he shook his head sharply. “No, let me rephrase that. This is not necessary. There is no possible reason she needs to see a hundred-year-old massacre.”

I expected her to smile and answer with some riddle. Or perhaps to solemnly say that it was necessary. Instead, she walked to him and reached out to touch the hand hovering there, holding his sunglasses. The moment her fingers made contact, he yanked his hand back and then covered the reaction with a scowl.

“What have they done to you, Gwynn ap Nudd?” she said.

“Leave Gabriel out of this,” I said.

She smiled at me, wistful. “You protect him as he protects you. And the other, too. The three of you, in a circle of support, as it should be, as it was once, before the circle was torn asunder and the darkness came.”

“The other. What other? I have no idea what—or who—you mean.”

“You know exactly who I mean. Matilda, Gwynn, Arawn. Over and over, until the damage is fixed. Until the two sides”— she held up her hand, a black and a white stone on her palm; she closed her fist, and when she opened it again, there was one stone, two colors swirling through it—“are one again.”

“You realize I have no idea what you’re talking—”

“You will.”

“But this Matilda . . . am I her? Reincarnated or something?”

“Or something.” She pursed her lips as if in thought. “Reimagined. Not reborn, but born anew. As he”—she motioned at Gabriel—“is not Gwynn ap Nudd, nor the other Arawn. You are, and you are not. You are destined to play the roles again. To give us another chance. But when two sides have been at war so long, neither cares for peace. Only victory.”

“Two sides,” I said. “You mean the Tylwyth Teg and the Cwn Annwn, right?”

“There’s more to this story,” she said. “Follow me.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The girl tore off. When I started after her, Gabriel caught my shoulder.

“We’re done here,” he said.

He still had his shades off and was looking toward the house, his gaze distant.

“Gabriel?”

“We want answers, but not at the expense of showing you horrors you can do nothing to stop. It’s pointless and cruel.”

“It’s data.”

His eyes narrowed as if I were mocking him. I took his hand from my shoulder. When I touched it, I expected him to pull back. He gave no sign he even noticed, still watching me with that wary look. I lowered his hand but didn’t release it.

“It’s information,” I said softly. “You need it. I need it. And this is the only trustworthy source.”

I thought he’d say there were no trustworthy sources. He only gazed in the direction the girl had run, that cautious look easing but not evaporating.

I squeezed his hand. He still didn’t pull away. He looked as if he wanted to retreat behind his wall, snap at me not to be foolish, to leave this place. Yet he couldn’t. He looked at me, and I felt so much. Too much.

I dropped his hand and turned in the girl’s direction. She was long gone.

“I need to see this through,” I said, and took off.

Gabriel ran after me. I heard a grunt and turned to see him pulling off his suit coat. He caught me looking and scowled as he laid the jacket over his arm.

“Next time you plan to take us climbing through ruins, I would appreciate advance notice, so I may dress appropriately.”

“Do you even own anything appropriate?”

Another scowl, as if this wasn’t the point.

“Tell you what, the next time you get a fake message telling you to meet me at some remote location, just hit a Target on your way.”

I took off again, hearing him growl in annoyance as he came after me. As his mood darkened, it lightened mine. This wasn’t Gabriel truly angry—it was pique and ego and mild discomfort. It was a Gabriel I knew well, and it chased off the last shadows of my vision.

We came around the side terrace, picking through rubble and brambles until . . .

“This,” I said, waving my arm toward the lake. “This is what I want.”

He didn’t even look. He was too busy loosening his tie and undoing the top button of his shirt. But when I walked across the ruined patio and climbed onto the railing, he noticed. “Get down from there.”

“I’m looking for the little girl. Also, it’s an amazing view.” I stepped to the side and motioned at the railing. “Hop on up.”

He didn’t dignify that with a response, just gingerly laid his jacket over the railing after inspecting the level of filth.

“You obviously don’t see her, so get down from there, Olivia. It’s not safe and if you fall, let’s hope you’re still able to dial 911, because I won’t do it for you.”

“Grumpy.”

“No, cautious. One of us has to be. Down. Now.”

“Yes, sir.”

I hopped down—the other way. I heard a sharp intake of breath, and then he scrambled down the steps . . . to see me standing on an intact planter below, grinning at him.