We continued through the old house into the largest room, where Patrick had knocked down a wall to make an area that was half old-fashioned library and half modern entertainment center. An odd mix, one that embraced the different sides of the bòcan himself: the scholar, the novelist, and the fae who refused to act—or look—his age.

I settled in on the couch. Gabriel sat at my side.

“We know you paid for Seanna’s hotel. But she’s gone. And she left a hell of a mess.”

He sighed. “Figuratively or literally? No, wait. Both. Stripped the hotel room of everything of value, and management is threatening a lawsuit. Just give me the bill.”

“Is that how you intend to handle Seanna’s return? A trail of money leading her away?”

“It’s worked before,” he murmured, low enough that I suspected I wasn’t supposed to hear.

Gabriel cut in. “You are correct that she left both a literal and a figurative mess. You are incorrect as to the nature of both. She appears to have feigned her murder…after conveniently telling another guest that she was my mother.”

“Cach,” Patrick spat. “Trashing the room just wasn’t good enough, was it, Seanna?” He looked over at Gabriel and when he spoke, his voice was tight. “I presume the point of that stunt was to frame you and then magically reappear after you paid her off?”

“We expect so, but I was lakeside, with an ironclad alibi. Yet it doesn’t appear that the police will be quick to drop the investigation, and you were the one who checked her into that hotel. Also, someone in a red Maserati parked outside the hotel shortly before Seanna disappeared.”

Patrick’s gaze shot to me.

“Olivia was with me,” Gabriel said. “We exchanged cars with Rose so we could take Lloergan.”

“Cach.”

“That woman is Seanna, isn’t she?” I said. “There’s no way she’s an impostor? Maybe a fae using her face as a glamour?”

“Glamours don’t work like that. It’s her. I know you’d love to hear otherwise, but going down that path is dangerous. That is Seanna Walsh.”

“Because she said something that proved it?”

“No,” Gabriel said. “Because Patrick already knew she was alive.”

I could swear Patrick flinched.

“You paid her off,” I said, remembering his earlier words. “She came back before, and you paid her to go away.”

“Any business between myself and Seanna Walsh is personal and private—”

“Uh, no,” I said. “Given that the ‘business’ between you resulted in the man sitting across from you, I think there’s a third party involved.”

“Thank you for the clarification, Olivia.” Patrick’s tone cooled, and he used my full name the way my adoptive father used it on those rare occasions when he was displeased, and I went from Livy to O-liv-i-a, each syllable pronounced in full.