The owl ruffled its feathers and continued staring at me.

“Owls in daytime. Creepy and unnatural,” Ricky said. “Which, as I mentioned, I believe applies to owls in general.”

He’d said that when we’d spotted one in the woods near the abandoned psych hospital. He didn’t like the birds—too many stories from his youth. I’d thought it was cute, my biker boyfriend casting nervous glances at an owl.

I thought of the cabin, and when we’d seen the hounds and horses. The Cwn Annwn—I was certain of it. Ricky had brushed it off as a regular hunt, but I’d seen the way his eyes glittered when he heard it. I remembered what he’d told me, about going out at night searching for something in those woods.

“I’d wake up, and I couldn’t sleep. I’d go out and spend the whole night out here, looking.”

“Looking for what?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

After we’d heard the Hunt, he’d tried to explain the phenomenon.

“It was riders from the stable. A midnight hunt. Logically, I know that. But when I was a kid, sometimes I’d hear the horses and the hounds, and I’d tell myself it was the Hunt.”

“The Hunt?”

“My nana used to tell me stories. She’s Irish, and she grew up with all that. I liked her stories of fairy traps and enchantments. And the Wild Hunt. Have you heard of it?”

Then I’d seen the Huntsman, another time, watching Ricky sleep.

There are two things you’d best keep close, for protection: the boar’s tusk and the boy there. They’ll look after you.

Walter and Ida, at Gabriel’s office the other day.

End your association with the boy.

The little girl just an hour or so ago, speaking of Gabriel and . . . someone else.

“You protect him as he protects you. And the other, too. The three of you.”

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

“You know exactly who I mean.”

My gut clenched.

It’s not true. I won’t let it be. Take the rest of my life and twist it into madness, but leave me this one normal, perfect thing.

“Liv?”

Ricky looked concerned, and I wanted to kiss that worry away. But I could see Gabriel approaching, with the detectives in tow, and I wasn’t going to be caught making out with my boyfriend at the scene of my ex-fiancé’s murder.

I nudged Ricky aside and hopped off the car.

“The detectives need to speak with both of you,” Gabriel said. “I’ve asked them to begin with Ricky, as his should be a very short interview.”

—

My interview wasn’t nearly as brief as Ricky’s. I got the impression that they thought Gabriel and I had sent each other the messages as some kind of alibi. As for why we’d want to be the ones to discover James’s body if we’d killed him, well, maybe that was part of our defense strategy. Which was preposterous. At last Gabriel suggested that a proper interview should be conducted later, at the station, and the detectives agreed.

As Gabriel led me back to the car, Ricky came over.

“I’d like to get Liv out of here.”

Gabriel nodded. “If you could take her to my office, I would appreciate that.”

“I’d rather—” Ricky began.

“We have things to go over, and it’s best done there. It won’t take long.”

“That’s fine,” I said. “I’ll pick up some work, since it looks like no cabin for us—I’ll be stuck in Chicago.”

“That doesn’t mean you need to work—”

“It’ll help. I’ll see you there.”

—

As we neared the office, Ricky hit the brakes, his free hand going to my knee, bracing and warning me. A TV van rounded the corner ahead.

Ricky continued to the next intersection and took the back route. There were three cars and two news vans outside the office. Seeing that, Ricky pulled a U-turn and idled at the curb. We both checked our phones. Ricky lifted his to show me a call and a text from Gabriel. I had three of the first and two of the second, plus one of each from Lydia. The upshot was the same: don’t go back to the office.

I texted Gabriel and Lydia both a quick Got it. Thanks! Then I typed in another message and held the phone up for Ricky to read.

How the hell did the media hear about it already?

“Scanner,” he said, raising his helmet shield. “We’ll go—” When he stopped, I followed his gaze to a car turning the corner. He lowered his shield.

The car reached us and then veered, a guy in the passenger seat jumping out even before it stopped. A camera flew up, snapping shots.

“Eden!” I saw the cameraman mouth. “Rick!”

We were already tearing away from the curb, but the fool tried to jump in front of us. Ricky steered around the reporter and roared off, one hand raised in a middle-finger salute.

When he kept his hand raised, I figured out what he was really doing—making it impossible for them to get a photo they could use.

We rode to Ricky’s place. He detoured around the back of the student-housing complex. Sure enough, the car we’d dodged was arriving from the other direction, and there was already a TV van waiting.

As we pulled over, Ricky took out his phone and typed a message for me: They won’t dare come to the clubhouse. And I suspect they can’t easily find Gabriel’s home address.