He pulled back then, cupping her face and holding it away from his own.

Her eyes opened.

“Gabriel,” she said, and smiled.

There. See? See?

The child in him pointed in glee. That “proof” was enough, wasn’t it? He wished it was. But the adult in him looked into her eyes and saw that they weren’t quite focused, felt the awareness, in the pit of his stomach, that she wasn’t quite there.

“Olivia?”

She closed her eyes and pushed her hands into his hair, trying to pull him back to her.

“Olivia? I need to ask you something.”

She wriggled in his grip, frustrated that she couldn’t get back to him.

“Olivia? Can you open your eyes?”

She did not.

“Olivia? Do you know where you are? Do you know what’s happened?”

No answer. She started shivering and whispered, “Cold, so cold.” Her hands fell from his hair, and she pulled them between their bodies, shivering against him, and when he released her face, she pushed her head under his chin, finding warmth there and snuggling back into his arms.

“Cold,” she said.

“I know.”

“Gabriel,” she sighed, and nuzzled against him.

“I know,” he said. And that he did have—the knowledge that wherever Olivia was, whatever she was imagining, it was with him. Not mistaking him for Ricky. Not mistaking him for Gwynn. She might not realize where she was or what had happened, but she knew she was with him, contentedly curled up in his arms, and that was, for now, enough.

“Ma-til-da!”

A voice shouted, somewhere deep in Gabriel’s brain. No, not just a voice. Arawn. Gwynn stirred, annoyed, and felt Matilda curled up against him, his face buried in her hair, the summer sun beating down on them, lying in the meadow’s long grass.

“Ma-til-da! Gwynn!”

Go away. Just go away.

You have to get up now. Before he finds you. Before he sees you like this.

Gwynn tossed in half sleep, knowing the voice was right, that they had to get up, couldn’t let Arawn see them together.

And there was more, too. Something else … Something had happened … Water? Why was he thinking of—

“O-liv-i-a! Ga-bri-el!”

Gabriel started awake, and pushed up on one forearm, blinking against the darkness. Why was it dark? There’d been sunshine only a moment …

He squeezed his eyes shut, and the thought evaporated, leaving him even more confused. He was lying on cold concrete, but warmth pressed against him, so familiar and …

He looked down to see Olivia in his arms. A bridge. A fall. Olivia, not breathing. Olivia, breathing. Olivia, shivering. Olivia, kissing …

Oh.

He didn’t move away then. Didn’t feel any inclination to move away, just pulled her tighter to him, telling himself it was still cold, which it was. He shook off the last threads of sleep. He hadn’t meant to doze off. He shouldn’t have dozed off. Olivia might be breathing and warm, but she was still unconscious, and to simply drift off to sleep while she needed help was unconscionable. He pushed up again.

I need to …

Thought was still slow in coming. Damnably slow, like swimming through molasses.

“Ga-bri-el! O-liv-i-a!”

Ricky? That did have him pushing away from Olivia, the guilt that had failed to come earlier now surging. Well, if not quite surging, at least prickling enough for him to move back an inch or so.

Focus, damn it. Focus.

Ricky. He’d heard Ricky. Why would he …?

Because Gabriel had texted Ricky, before he went to meet Olivia. Just a quick note to say where they were, and Olivia should be done in an hour and would call him then. What Gabriel had really been doing was covering their backs, just in case.

“In here!” Gabriel shouted, as loud as he could, and while Olivia started, she still didn’t wake. Goddamn it, why didn’t she wake?

“Ricky! We’re in here!”

His voice echoed through the tunnel. Echoed … and stayed trapped there.

He set Olivia down and moved her against the wall, as far from the edge as possible. Then he slid off the side and swam, stopping every dozen strokes to shout. He was about ten feet from the entrance when he heard, “Gabriel?”

“Here! The tunnel!” He covered the last part of the distance, dove, and came up to see figures on the shore, about fifty feet down, shining searchlights on the water.

“Here!” he shouted, waving one arm, and a figure turned and the light hit him, and Gabriel exhaled in relief.

GRACE AND UNDERSTANDING

Ricky rode in the back of the ambulance. Gabriel needed to be treated for hypothermia, and the paramedics had quickly realized it would be easier to do so if Ricky was there. He’d distracted Gabriel by explaining how he’d found them.

How much of the story did Gabriel process? Not much, Ricky suspected, but he didn’t tell him to shut the fuck up—or, in Gabriel-speak, give a curt “That’s enough.” Which proved that the paramedics were right: hypothermia slowed mental processes.

As Ricky talked, the paramedics worked on Olivia. Every few minutes Gabriel would rouse from his stupor and demand to know why she wasn’t regaining consciousness, and that was when Ricky would have liked to tell him to shut up, because he didn’t need the reminder.

All that ended when, in the course of treating Liv, the paramedic discovered a thin knife wound, like a stiletto stab, on her right side, between her ribs. The ambulance ride wasn’t nearly as calm after that.