Part 49 (2/2)
”Don't leave.”
I caught the words as I walked out, his voice low, as if he hoped I wouldn't hear them. I glanced back. The apartment door was open and empty, only darkness and silence beyond. I ran back, heart pounding as I raced over the threshold into- Into a morgue. A single light illuminated a table. A corpse lay on it. My corpse. Someone was working on it, a slight figure in hospital scrubs and a face mask.
”You're supposed to be standing watch,” the figure said. It was a woman's voice. Vaguely familiar, but too m.u.f.fled by the mask to be identifiable.
”I am,” said a man.
I turned to see Tristan sitting on a counter, his legs dangling. He looked amused.
”If anyone catches me here...” the woman began.
”They won't. Now finish.”
At first I thought it was an autopsy, but after a moment I realized she was embalming my corpse, naked on the table. There was a book on a cart. A text. Thanatochemistry. Where had I seen that before?
I remembered where I'd seen the book, and as soon as I did, the woman pulled down her mask.
Macy Shaw.
She turned to Tristan. ”If you want the head, you have to do that yourself.”
He sighed and lifted a bone saw. The floor vanished under my feet, sucking me down and spitting me out- I was lying on the mortuary table. I tried to leap up, but I couldn't move. Fire rushed through my veins. Fire and poison, and I gasped, but it made no sound. I saw Tristan approaching, the light above the table glinting off the saw blade, and I tried to scream- He kissed me. I was standing on a balcony again, feeling arms wrapped around me, but it wasn't the same kiss as in the vision. It was one I knew, one that sparked feelings of grief and nostalgia and anger.
”James,” I whispered as I pushed away.
An engine sounded below. Not the rev of a motorcycle. The purr of a high-performance car. I twisted out of James's arms. I was at his mother's house, on the tiny balcony overlooking the driveway. Gabriel was below, standing beside his Jag. It was daytime and he had his shades on. He tugged them off and cast an impatient look up at me.
”Olivia,” he called. ”We need to go.”
”I'll be right-” I began, but James yanked me back.
”He's dangerous,” he said.
I sighed. ”Yes, I know. I got the file and your message. It doesn't matter. I-”
”No, Liv. You don't understand. Walsh has a plan. An agenda. He's going to use you, and he's going to hurt you. He's a psychopath. You know that, don't you? Will Evans tried to warn you.”
”Will Evans helped cover up the murder of his own son. He lied about Gabriel to cover-”
”Evans didn't kill anyone. He got caught up in-” James shook his head. ”It doesn't matter. You need to believe me. I've been warned about Walsh, what he'll do to you.”
”By who?”
”Men who know what they're talking about. Men who can give us what we want, you and me, the kind of life we want.”
I tugged from his grip. ”Are they Cn Annwn or Tylwyth Teg?”
”What?” His face screwed up.
”They're lying. That's what they do. Tell lies and sell dreams. You need-”
”Olivia?”
I glanced over the balcony. Gabriel tapped his watch.
”We have work to do,” he called.
”Coming,” I called back.
I started for the door. James grabbed my arm. I yanked, but he yanked back, pulling me off my feet. I hit the wall, the wind knocked out of me, and I struggled to my feet, staring at him.
”What the h.e.l.l are you doing?” I said.
”Protecting you,” he said, advancing.
He caught my arm as it swung to ward him off. He dragged me to the balcony railing, and then there was no railing and I was standing on a ledge outside Gabriel's apartment, fifty-five stories over the street. Below, I could just barely make out the Jag, under a streetlight, and Gabriel beside it, his arms waving.
”Olivia!” His shout reached me. ”No!”
James gave me a tremendous shove, and I went over the edge.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR.
I jolted upright in bed, shouting, ”No!”
Beside me, I heard a gasp as Gabriel leapt from his chair, eyes wide, fists raised.
We stared at each other for a second, both yanked from sleep.
I recovered first and laughed softly. ”Well, I'm glad I was out of punching range when I woke you this time.” I'd made the mistake of waking him once, when he'd slept on my couch.
He rubbed his face and fell back into the chair. ”Did you cry out?” he said.
”Hmm, I think so. Bad dreams.”
”What about?”
I stifled a yawn as I stretched. ”I was arguing with James about you, something about what he said yesterday, and...” I shook my head. ”That's all I remember.”
”How do you feel?”
”Like a train ran me over, followed by a steamroller and then a herd of wild horses.”
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