“Nothing so drastic. You cleanse the land of Cainsville by living on it. You would cleanse the lands of the Cwn Annwn by riding with them.”

“How about the Persephone solution? Not that I’m volunteering . . .”

“Neither will accept that, because it dilutes your power and they both want it all. They will insist you choose.”

“Framing Gabriel for James’s murder is part of this, isn’t it?”

“Presumably, yes, but do not ask me to name the murderer or the motive. I know only what you do.”

“I’m guessing it was the Cwn Annwn. Moving the Tylwyth Teg’s champion off the field to make room for their own. To ensure I meet Arawn—his representative, right?”

A giggle rocked her whole body. “That is a silly question, and you know it. The cycle is already repeating, and the longer you pretend you don’t know who Arawn is . . .”

“Ricky.” I forced his name out on a sudden exhalation of breath, as if I might not let it escape otherwise. “It’s Ricky, isn’t it? The Hunt. That’s why he hears it. Why he’s drawn to it. He’s . . .”

“Cwn Annwn. Motorcycles instead of steeds. The joy of the ride, of the hunt. You feel it, too.”

Fast cars. Fast bikes. The way I craved speed, that unbelievable adrenaline rush.

I always had.

“He doesn’t know,” I said. “He can’t know. And his father . . . his father isn’t a Huntsman. Is it his mother? Is that possible? No.” The answer came quickly. “It’s Don Gallagher’s father. He was never in the picture, and that’s why. Don is the son of a Huntsman. Ricky is a grandson.”

I took shallow breaths, struggling to orient myself. The girl stayed silent, watching me with a look between sympathy and pity.

I’d known. Somehow, deep inside, I’d known.

Known and feared.

I don’t want this. I don’t want him touched by this. It’s not fair.

Not fair to him, to be sure. But also, if I admitted it, not fair to me. Ricky was my one good and pure thing right now. Even telling him about Cainsville and the omens had been difficult, as if it tainted what we had with the madness that was my life these days.

Matilda. Gwynn. Arawn. The cycle repeating.

“Is it fated, then?” I asked. “Us?”

“You mean does Ricky love you because he has to? No. It’s not fated that you’ll meet. It’s not fated that you’ll feel the same. You aren’t truly Matilda. They aren’t truly Arawn and Gwynn. The cycle isn’t set. It shifts and it changes. You could choose Arawn this time. You could choose Gwynn again. You could choose . . . and they might not reciprocate. Nothing is decided.”

“And which is the best solution?”

She lifted her thin shoulders. “Who knows? It’s never happened. Now, you need to go.”