“Biker boy?” he said.

“Richard Gallagher.”

“You’re saying Ricky is Arawn? And I’m . . .”

“Gwynn, of course. Gwynn ap Nudd. King of the Tylwyth Teg.”

Gabriel pivoted on his heel, so slowly I swear it took ten seconds before he was facing me, and still it wasn’t enough time to plaster on a look of confusion.

“Olivia,” he said. “You knew . . . ?”

“We aren’t them,” I blurted. “Not reincarnations. It’s a role. You have Tylwyth Teg blood and Ricky has Cwn Annwn, and I have both, and we know one another, so we’ve been thrust into these roles—”

“Not exactly,” Tristan said. “True, it isn’t reincarnation, but it’s not happenstance. There couldn’t be another Gwynn to your Matilda. It’s all preordained. He is the Gwynn—”

“Enough.” Gabriel’s voice was so low we both turned, as if uncertain we’d heard it. “That’s enough,” he said, articulating each syllable. “We are going to leave now. If you wish to speak to us, you know where we are.”

Tristan thrust business cards at both of us. “Or you can call me. Anytime. I really do think we can solve—”

Gabriel had already walked away, leaving the card in Tristan’s outstretched hand. Tristan tucked mine into my pocket.

“It’s not the Cwn Annwn,” I said to Tristan. “Unless James has murdered someone with fae blood, they can’t kill him.”

“That’s the general idea, but I’m not convinced it’s a rule.”

“It is,” I said.

“That makes it more complicated,” he said, sighing. “Why don’t we—?”

Now I was the one walking away—jogging, actually—to catch up with Gabriel.

“I can help you,” Tristan called after us.

“That’s what everybody says,” I muttered, and raced after Gabriel.

—

I’ve had quiet drives with Gabriel. Sometimes it’s a comfortable, worn-in kind of silence, both of us relaxed and burrowed deep in our thoughts. Sometimes it’s like being stuck in an empty chamber, painfully and uncomfortably aware of the lack of communication. That night, the silence was a living thing, a rat gnawing at me as I sat bound to my chair, unable to throw the beast off and escape. Gabriel’s silence forbade discussion and told me that if I opened my mouth, said a single word, it would only make the situation worse.

We were nearly at the city before he spoke.

“It isn’t true,” he said. “I’m not Gwynn.”

“I know. It’s just a role—”

“No, Olivia. I’m sorry. You seem to believe this, but it isn’t true. In fact, I’m beginning to suspect none of it is true. I understand that you’ve been in a difficult place, your world turned upside down, and it’s easy to get confused—”

“Are you suggesting I’m imagining the visions?”