“She’s not mine.” Another man. His voice raw and bitter. “She looks nothing like me.”

I pushed up and walked to the door. Three people stood around a wooden cradle. The woman wasn’t much more than a child herself, maybe seventeen. The younger man was at least a decade older, dressed in rough-spun cloth streaked with dirt, his boots and calloused hands caked with it. The older man was clean and more finely dressed, in a dark gown with a beaded chain around his neck. A wooden crucifix hung from the chain.

“Have you had any contact with the fair folk?” the clergyman asked.

“No, none.”

“Are you certain?” he said. “I have heard reports that you were seen dancing in the forest on Midsummer’s Eve, shortly before you realized you were with child.”

“What?” the young woman said. “Dancing—? I can barely dance at all with my twisted foot. I walk in the forest when I can, gathering herbs for my grandmother, and if the summer’s day is hot, I’ll go out in the evening instead, but . . .”

She trailed off as the clergyman shook his head.

“No,” the young woman said. “No, it’s not true. William, tell him. Please, tell him.”

Her husband looked away. The baby let out a wail, and the floor opened up beneath me again.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

I crashed back into my body. I felt the smack of it, like a belly flop, pain slamming through me. Yet I didn’t make a sound, didn’t move a muscle. My eyes were closed, and I was lying on Patrick’s couch. I could hear Gabriel’s voice, feel his iron grip on my arm, and I tried to open my eyes, but I could only lie there, limp and still.

“She’s snapped out of it.” Patrick’s voice.

“Then she should wake up. She always wakes up.”

A cool hand resting gently on my forehead. Not Gabriel’s. Patrick’s, then.

“She’s feverish, but not dangerously so. The vision exhausted her. She’s learning to cope with them.”

“Cope with them?” Gabriel’s grip on my arm vanished, and his knees cracked as he stood. “I don’t want her to cope with them. I want them gone.”

“She’s fine—”

“No, she’s not. Goddamn it, how many times do I need to say this? Ida, Walter, you . . . all of you tell me how important she is, how you’d never hurt her, but this is hurting her. The fevers and the visions. They’re dangerous, and the fact that none of you give a damn—”

“We give a damn, Gabriel. But there’s nothing we can do except assure you that this is a normal part of the process.”

“Then stop the process. Stop whatever the hell is happening to her.”

“We can’t.”

Gabriel’s voice moved, as if he’d stepped closer to Patrick. “You don’t mean can’t. You mean won’t. Whatever is happening to her, you need it to happen, and you won’t do anything to interfere with it. You like bargains, Patrick. How about this one: find a way to stop the visions or I will make sure Olivia leaves Cainsville and never comes back.”

“Mmm, I don’t think she’d appreciate that.”

“I don’t care.”

“If you tricked her into leaving Cainsville and she found out what you’d done, I think you’d care very much.”

“Then you’d be mistaken. The visions are tied to Cainsville. If you can’t cure her, maybe taking her away will.”

“I don’t think Olivia is the sort of woman who’d stand for that. If you think she is—”

“Then I’d be a fool. I make my choices, and I accept the consequences. Now, can you cure her?”

“What if I offered you an alternative? If I could tell you something that would force the police to drop the charges against you? All charges.”

“Then I would appreciate that. Later. Right now, my concern—”

“It isn’t two separate deals, Gabriel. It’s one. A choice.”

No. Goddamn him, no. Patrick and his games. His endless games. I struggled to leap up, open my eyes, but I was still trapped there, as if asleep.

Patrick continued, “So what will it be? Free yourself from the prospect of a life in prison or Olivia from the fevers and the visions?”

Did Patrick know I was awake and listening? Was that the game? Force Gabriel to choose himself over me, after I’d proven I’d do the opposite? I knew which Gabriel would pick. I didn’t care. I could live with the visions. I could not live with myself if he went to jail because he got mixed up with me.

“Exoneration or a cure,” Gabriel said. “That is my choice?”

“It is.”

“And my decision will remain between us?”

“Of course.”

“I mean that, Patrick. I will demand your word on it. Whatever I choose, Olivia will never know that I had a choice. Correct?”

“You have my word.”

“Then cure her.”

No! The word echoed in my head, but I couldn’t move, no matter how hard I struggled, fighting against the prison of my body.

You son of a bitch, Patrick. You goddamned—

“I wish I could,” Patrick said. “Sadly, I cannot. Nor do I know anything that would set you free. It was a hypothetical.”

A thud. A gasp and a hard thump, and then Patrick, wheezing as if struggling for breath. “While I applaud your reflexes, Gabriel, I might suggest that it’s unwise to target me with them.”