“Arawn dies at Gwynn’s hands. Something tells me you don’t want peace after all. What a surprise.”

“My, you are cynical. Your darling Matilda bought it quite handily.” Tristan’s voice took on that earnest tone from the lake. “I just want everyone to get along. Give peace a chance.” His voice reverted to normal. “You didn’t believe me for a second. Too bad you didn’t tell her that. So, Mr. Walsh, attorney-at-law, tell me, what’s my real plan? Let’s see that illustrious mind at work.”

“Chaos. That is your plan. Your only plan. You set James against me to separate me from Olivia. When that failed, you decided to remove me from the picture. But you can’t kill me. You don’t dare provoke the Tylwyth Teg like that. So you murdered James and framed me. I did consider the possibility you were working for the Cwn Annwn, since all your plans involved removing me. But the fact that you’re now ordering me to kill Ricky proves the Cwn Annwn are innocent in this scheme. Which means your plan is, as I said, chaos. War, to be precise. The Tylwyth Teg already blame the Cwn Annwn for my arrest. Then the Cwn Annwn would blame them for Ricky’s death. You take both of us away from Olivia, and you set the two local fae factions at war, with their so-called champions both lost.”

Gabriel had been raising his voice for each of his speeches. Nothing obvious, just enough that, if I was still in earshot, I might pick it up. It also helped to muffle my footsteps as I returned, picking up speed as he talked, then slowing when he stopped.

“Would you like to know your next step, too?” Gabriel continued, in that same unhurried way, as if he were indeed in front of a judge, and the case wasn’t really all that important.

“Please.”

“Your attempt to play on my sense of competition failed, so you will now appeal to a stronger motivation: my sense of self-preservation. You’re holding a gun on me. You’ll threaten to pull that trigger unless I reach over and . . . strangle him? Yes, I suppose that would work best, though I’d need to remove the bandages first, so my fingerprints will be on his neck, leaving no doubt that I killed him.”

A short laugh. “If you really expect me to believe you’ll give in that easily, you think me a fool, boy. You would kill him to save yourself, but the prospect of life in jail is going to give you pause. No, you’re stalling, waiting for . . .”

Tristan swung on me, poised at the top of the ladder. He pointed the gun. “You both think you’re clever, but you’re still human. There are limits and—”

Gabriel sprang—his leg obviously not as bad as he’d pretended. He snatched the gun from Tristan’s hand. “No, I don’t believe there are limits. Not to fae arrogance, that is.”

Tristan laughed. “Do you think that will hurt me? Go ahead. Shoot. See what happens.”

“Nothing,” Gabriel said. “My goal was simply to stop you from pointing it at her.”

I lunged and buried my blade between Tristan’s shoulders. We both went down, me on him.

“That won’t kill you, either,” I said. “But it will slow you down. Particularly with this.” I rammed a nail into the hole. He snarled and bucked.

“Iron,” I said. “Again, it won’t kill you. But there is a grain of truth in the lore.” I leaned over to his ear. “I had a little chat with someone about spriggans today. He wouldn’t tell me how to kill fae—probably afraid I’d use it on him—but he did tell me how to incapacitate one. Cold-forged iron. Or regular iron inserted under the skin. Seems to work quite well.”

“You two do love to talk, don’t you?” Tristan snarled under me.

“It’s genetic. So let’s keep talking. Yes, the Tylwyth Teg would suspect the Cwn Annwn killed James and framed Gabriel, but that’s complicated. Having Gabriel kill Ricky is a much better guarantee of chaos. So why start with James?”

“I’m sure I had a reason,” Tristan said. “Or perhaps someone else did. Someone with a slightly different agenda. Someone whose allegiance I could use.”

“Pamela.”

I didn’t think before I said her name. It just came out, and as soon as I heard it, I expected him to laugh. Which he did. But it was not the laugh I wanted to hear.

“Pamela?” He feigned shock. “Your sweet, wrongly accused, deeply devoted mother? Whatever would make you say that?”

Yes, Pamela was the one responsible for the Valentine Killer murders. In my gut, I knew that was true. The pain of that was alleviated by the conviction that she’d done what she thought best. She’d done it for me. But this? This was like a right hook to the gut, leaving me gasping inside, screaming I was wrong, even as I knew I was not.

Pamela hated Gabriel. Even the fact that he represented her best chance of freedom didn’t help. She hated fae, too, and recognized that blood in Gabriel. Moreover, he was their champion. She wanted to hurt the Tylwyth Teg and to wrest me from their clutches. Framing Gabriel would do both.

What had Tristan told me in his message? Check Pamela’s visitor log. Tipping his hand in arrogance, delighting in pointing me in the right direction, knowing I wouldn’t find him there because he’d used an alias.

“Pamela conspired with you to kill James and frame Gabriel,” I said. “I don’t know if you had anything to do with Ricky beating James, but if not, I’m sure it was an added bonus, throwing extra confusion in the mix. Mutilating James to match Pamela’s victims threw a little confusion in there, too.”