A hundred-and-four-degree fever? No wonder he worried every time my temperature rose.

“I’m sorry—” Ida began.

“No, you’re not.”

Her lips tightened and a warning flashed in her eyes. “Yes, Gabriel, I am. You’re upset, so I’m tolerating your disrespect—”

“You will tolerate my disrespect even when I’m not upset, Ida. Or you can ask me to leave Cainsville. If I was respectful in the past, it was due to compulsion. I don’t give a damn what your plans are. I care that Olivia is being forced to watch visions of people and fae dying, horribly, for no apparent purpose—”

“There is a purpose, Gabriel. Anything she’s seeing is for a reason.”

“She’s having dangerous fevers and falling into visions in the street, ones that could have her stumbling into the path of a car. If anything happens to her, Ida, I will hold you responsible.”

“We would never hurt—” Ida began.

“Then fix this.”

Ida locked glares with Gabriel. “If Olivia is seeing visions, Gabriel, it’s because she needs to see them. We can’t stop them. As angry as you are right now, I know you understand how important Olivia is to us and that we’d do nothing to harm her.”

“Can I control them?” I asked. All three looked at me as if one of the statues had begun speaking. “Is there some way of letting them play out, fully and safely, and getting it over with?”

The silence that followed told me the answer was no, but after a moment Ida said, “If you tell us exactly what you’re seeing—all of it—we might be able to figure out some—”

“Nice try,” I said. “Let’s do it the other way. Tell me when you figure out how I can have these visions safely, and if it works, I’ll share what I see. Deal?”

Gabriel nodded, agreeing with my suggestion. Then he put his hand to my back and steered me past them to the gate.

“We’d still like to speak to you, Olivia,” Walter said. “Not about this. About other things. We’re glad you’re back.”

“Temporarily.”

“Still, we’re glad you’re back.”

“Even if you didn’t come alone,” Ida added. “But we’re pleased you sent him away.”

“Olivia didn’t send Ricky away,” Gabriel said. “He will return tonight. I trust that won’t be a problem.”

“We would rather—” Walter began.

“I trust that won’t be a problem,” Gabriel said, enunciating slowly.

The Clarks looked at each other, undoubtedly seeing their fae-baby dreams pop like soap bubbles.

When they didn’t respond, Gabriel continued. “If Olivia chooses to come to Cainsville, she may bring whomever she likes. If she cannot invite whomever she likes, then she’ll need to find a home where she can, and I will help her do that. Is that clear?”

After a long pause, Ida spoke, so grudgingly the words seemed to be dragged out with an industrial winch. “Yes, that’s clear, Gabriel. We’ll respect your wishes.”

“They’re Olivia’s wishes.”

A glimmer lit her eyes. “That’s why you’re insisting, then. Not because you agree about him, but because it pleases Olivia—”

“They’re our wishes,” he said. “Ricky Gallagher is an associate of mine and I do not appreciate hearing him maligned.”

Something like alarm passed behind Ida’s gaze. “Because he’s your client? Or your friend?”

Gabriel rocked back, as if flinching from the word.

I cut in. “This isn’t about friendship or a lack of it.”

“Actually, yes, it is.” Ida looked at Gabriel. “Do you consider Richard Gallagher a friend?”

“I don’t see how that’s important,” I said.

“It’s very important.”

I shook my head, said, “We’re done here,” and let Gabriel steer me past them and out the garden gate.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Are we okay?” I asked Gabriel as we walked back to Rose’s.

Dusk was deepening to night, but he still had his shades on. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“We’ve had a rough couple of days,” I said. “The visions, Macy, Todd, James. It’s been a roller coaster. Between us, too. We’re fine and then . . . we’re not. I know that’s because of everything that’s happening. Stress and tension. But I feel as if I’m the one instigating it—”

He removed his sunglasses and tucked them into his pocket. “You aren’t. It is, as you said, fallout from the situation. For both of us.”

“Then what I’m trying to say is that I understand if you need a break. From the strain. From the angst. From me.”

That wall behind his eyes shot up. “If you mean that you need a break—”

“If I needed one, I’d say so.”

“If I want one, I will take one.”

“Sorry. I’m just feeling a little frazzled.”

“And I’m not helping.”

“Sometimes . . . ?” I shrugged. “But ninety-five percent of the time? I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’d manage,” he said.

“Maybe,” I said. “But I wouldn’t want to.”

“You won’t need to,” he said, and we finished the walk in silence.