Ricky pulled on his helmet, climbed on his bike, and drove off without a backward glance.

Gabriel got as far as the front door before Rose made a noise behind him.

“I’m just going over—” he began.

“I heard the motorcycle.”

“Yes, Ricky has left, which means Olivia is free. We have work to do.”

Rose shook her head, looking very tired. “If there is anything worse than racing over because you’re hoping she’s been dumped, it’s racing over to tell her to get back to work right after she got dumped. How about this: you’re going over there to support her because she’ll be upset, and she should have someone to talk to about it?”

Gabriel paused. Then he said, “Exactly.”

Rose shook her head again. “Go on.”

—

Gabriel tried to check his pace as he crossed the road. When he reached the apartment building, Grace called from the stoop, “Barely even waited until he got around the corner, did you?”

Gabriel ignored her. When he reached for the door, she said, “Presuming you want the girl, you’re going the wrong way.”

Gabriel followed her finger to see Olivia heading up Rowan. He calculated time and distance, trying to determine whether she might have left first—walking out after a fight. No, Ricky had, leaving Olivia upset, wanting to walk it off and . . .

And she was heading in the direction of the Carew house.

Gabriel took off at a slow lope, with Grace calling, “You’re welcome!” behind him.

Ricky must not have believed what Olivia had told him about the omens and visions, and that had set her own doubts swirling again. She was wondering if she was imagining things. Heading to the Carew house for proof that she wasn’t.

Olivia didn’t need this. Ricky hadn’t been there, not for any of it. He had no right to judge, goddamn him.

At the corner, Olivia stopped. Her head swiveled in the direction of the Carew house. Then she turned around and started heading back. It took a few steps for her to notice him. When she did, he tried to read her expression, but the sun was just beginning to drop, and long oak-tree shadows hid her face.

As she came close, he saw a tired, almost wry smile on her lips.

“Hey,” she said. Before he could speak, she lifted a hand to stop him. “Yes, I was going to the house. Now I’m not.”

“What happened?”

“I realized it was a very stupid idea.”

He fell in step beside her. “Telling Ricky?”

“Hmm?” She looked over. “Oh, right. No. That’s fine.”

“You’re all right with him taking off?”

Another vague look, as if her mind was elsewhere.

“I saw him leave,” Gabriel said. “Clearly, he didn’t take the news well and—”

“Oh, that. No. He’s fine. He just went to grab dinner.”

“Dinner?”

“Pizza, I think. Can’t find that in Cainsville. I’m sure he’ll bring plenty, so you’re welcome to join us if you want some.”

There were many things Gabriel wanted. Pizza was not one of them.

He cleared his throat. “So you told him everything and . . .”

“Not everything. Just about the omens and Cainsville. The omens part was fine. He’s struggling a little more with the fae. As one would. I think he offered to go get pizza to take time to process everything. But he’s not questioning it. He’s more like you that way. I may have grown up with those superstitions in my head, but that was my only exposure to anything preternatural. You have Rose and her second sight. Ricky grew up with the stories, including the Wild Hunt.”

“What?”

Olivia slowed as they neared her apartment. “When I was out at his cabin, we went . . . for a walk at night. We heard the Hunt. The Cwn Annwn. He joked about it being the Wild Hunt—he knew the stories from his grandmother. Of course, he rationalized it away—just nighttime hunters—but I think he said that for my benefit, that deep down he suspected what it really was.”

Of course he did.

He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing the voice to be quiet.

“Gabriel?” Olivia said.

“A slight headache,” he said.

“I’m not surprised, given the last forty-eight hours. If you want to rest, I promise I won’t go to the Carew house. I might go for a run, though. Or we could walk, if you need fresh air more than a rest.” She grinned at him. “I know better than to suggest you join me in a run.”

“I would, but my sweats are at home.”

Her grin grew, as if she thought he was joking. Then she saw that he wasn’t.

“You run?”

He shrugged. “Not much lately.”

“And you never mentioned it?” A short pause, then a wry smile. “You were afraid I might ask to join you, right?”

He didn’t know how to answer that. He would happily run with her. He just never wanted to presume. There was, too, always the possibility that he overthought these things. It was foreign ground to him. He did recall a couple of tentative childhood friendships. There’d been a girl before he was old enough for school. She lived down the hall. That lasted until his mother took advantage of his access to their apartment to steal everything that wasn’t nailed down. Then there’d been a boy in first grade. That ended when his mother slept with the boy’s father.

Thus began the slow process of learning to avoid anything that could be taken as an overture to friendship. It hadn’t bothered him, really. He wasn’t sociable by nature, and to be honest, his “friendships” had been more “playing in the same room as an equally unsociable child.” Learning what might constitute an overture had been profitable later in life, as a way to manipulate marks into thinking they’d earned his friendship. The result, though, was that he was, perhaps, a little hyperaware of his interactions with others. Even Olivia. No, especially Olivia.