Disclaimer: I do not own Olivia, Ricky, Rose, or anybody from Cainsville...and although I wish I owned Gabriel, I cannot take credit for that either. All belong to the great Kelley Armstrong, at whose feet, I worship. I'm just playing with these characters and I promise to put them back where I found them.

Rated: T

Spoilers: This takes place after the latest Cainsville book, Visions, and will probably be completely nullified when Ms. Armstrong releases the next book, so spoilers to Visions.

Title: Buried

Author: Every me Every you


Chapter 3: Fables and Fairy Tales

"Gabriel!" Rose greets me warmly as she pulls the door open, then looks behind me, which makes me feel quite welcome. "Where is Olivia?"

"She's at work." I step past Rose and into her home, past the various bobbles decorating it. If Olivia was here, she would comment on one of them, explaining the fables or fairy tales surrounding one or the other, or some historical significance of which I had previously been unaware. I wonder if either of them realize that Rose's love for faerie lore and Olivia's love for Victorian Era literature appear to be far from a coincidence. I'm about to teasingly ask Rose about the benefits of possessing these trinkets when one has fae blood, but I am stopped dead in my tracks by the man sitting on my aunt's couch.

"Patrick. How are you?" I try to sound respectful, but I am suspicious.

Bocan. Hobgoblin. Boggart.

Alarms go off in the back of my mind, and I can hear Olivia there, warning me away.

Rose strides up beside me. "Have a seat Gabriel. We were just discussing you."

"Oh?" I pointedly do not take a seat.

"Yes," Rose sighs as she settles onto the edge of her chair, not bothering to sit back all the way. "I'm actually somewhat glad that Olivia didn't come here with you. This conversation will go easier without her."

They are not doing anything to ease my suspicions. "Easier how?"

"You are filled with questions today," Rose says.

I frown. "Yes, I have questions. I am an attorney. I always have questions. Especially when someone behaves in a questionable manner." I sigh and cautiously lower myself into a chair. "I came for tea. But this conversation would go easier without Olivia."

"Where is Olivia, anyway?" Patrick asks. "I would think she wouldn't leave your side for a second after what happened."

This story had already spread far wider than I had suspected.

"I did not take any illicit substances." I insist. "Whatever is being sold to the newspapers-"

"False," Patrick says. "Complete fabrications. Have you asked yourself why?" He stares at me, head tilted, eyes unblinking, completely still. "Why would anyone wish to spread lies about you?"

"I came here for tea, Rose." I grumble.

"Which I will go get for you, while Patrick gives you some answers." She pushes herself to her feet and heads for the kitchen.

Patrick waits until she is gone before he speaks. "She wants what's best for you. You know that. She and Olivia may be the only ones who can clearly state that without an ulterior motive."

I do know that. But I am unimpressed with Patrick's presence in my aunt's house, given what I know. So I do not answer.

Patrick rolls his eyes and sucks his teeth like a child. "My, you're a tough nut to crack today. I suppose it makes sense considering. No matter, I wish to discuss your destiny."

That earns a very serious, very mocking nod from me. "Of course you do."

Patrick grins. "Come on, man. Haven't you wondered? Olivia has a vision about Matilda that involves two men. One, the leader of the Cwn Annwn, the Wild Hunt, the other, a Faerie King. She rejects one and goes to the other only to realize she was wrong. And what if there was a chance to do it all again? What if there was a chance to make the correct decision?"

My patience is dwindling, and suddenly, all I can see in my mind's eye is Olivia collapsing after that experience. The hammering of my heart when I couldn't get her to respond. "What do you know about Olivia? What must she do?"

Patrick raises his eyebrows and stares at me. "You are Gwynn."

Not the answer I was expecting. "I am Gabriel. Perhaps you have gotten so old that you're experiencing some confusion."

Patrick laughs. "Okay, let's try that again. As Olivia has some essence of Matilda, you are the Fae King. The one Matilda should have chosen."

I blink. Once. Twice. On the one hand, I know, I KNOW, that Olivia makes her own decisions and is not driven by some predetermined destiny. On the other hand…

"Precisely what am I supposed to do with that information?"

"You are supposed to use it as a guide," Patrick says. "To show you that you're on the right track, but you can't wait forever. Eventually, you must make a move and take your place in this story. I'm here to give you a choice. Do you choose to be a winner this time? Or do you choose to be a loser?"

My stomach clenches. "I choose not to be a pawn." I push myself back up to my feet. Rose's chair creaks under my weight. I stomp my way back towards the door. I do not like what Patrick was digging for. The idea that my feelings for Olivia are that transparent. The idea that I am so transparent.

Rose steps into my path just as I am about to leave. A hot cup of tea balances on a saucer in one hand, and a canister of tea leaves for me to take with me is in the other. Her eyes plead with me to stay and listen.

"Thank you." I take the canister with a slight bow of my head in apology. "You drink that. Or give it to your friend."

I try to dodge around her, but there she is again. "Gabriel, he's telling the truth. I've seen the signs. You need to hear him out."

"No, Rose. I am not filling whatever role he wants me to play in the Tylwyth Teg."

"You may not have a choice, Gabriel." She sighs. "Olivia should not return to work. She's needed. You need to protect each other."

"I am fairly certain I can protect myself."

"Can you?" She asks. "Do you have any idea what is coming, Gabriel? Because I don't. But he does." She inclines her head in Patrick's direction and when my eyes follow, he is standing in the doorway, doing little more than blinking eerily.

I should not ask. But my feet are rooted to the floor and I will not leave without the answer. "If I play my part, what happens? Will she be safe?"

"There truly is no guarantee," Patrick says. "But you are the better choice than the alternative."

"The alternative?" My eyes narrow.

"Handsome young excitable thing. Rides his horse around your city. Goes by the name of-"

"Ricky." The word is out of my mouth before I even realize I'm saying it.

"Well, much like you and Olivia, it was Arawn then."

I shake my head, because I truly can't wrap my head around this. In the pursuit of a job, a paycheck, I have somehow managed to become entangled in the retelling of a medieval love triangle? This goes beyond absurd.

"And if I refuse to play along? If Ricky wins? Then what? Is Olivia's safety endangered? Or is it your safety you're worried about."

He does not answer. He does not even move.

"Just as I believed. You are only providing this information because it serves you." I smile, but I infuse it with a threat. I cannot imagine ever allowing harm to befall Patrick. The instinct to respect him runs too deep. Still, the urge to shake him until he rattles and the pieces of this puzzle scatter along the floor so I can reassemble it gets stronger by the day.

And then he says this.

"Not at all. Olivia made me feel guilty about what I did to you and now I feel like the balances have tipped. I don't like things out of balance. So I'm doing my part to right it. I do not wish to be in your debt, Gabriel."

I wish I could think of something, anything, more eloquent than "What?!" I blink. I swallow. I force out, "What...you...did...to...me?" Because what could he have done to me? I have known him all my life and never had an ill thought until recently, and even that wasn't based on who he was, just on the secrets he was keeping from Olivia.

Patrick's eyes widen and he pales. And I realize that whatever he has just told me was something he assumed I already knew. Assumed Olivia had told me. And it is bad.

Whatever it is, it is bad.

"Rose?"

The cup of tea she is holding shakes and tea sloshes over the side of the cup. She curses when it burns her fingers.

"Rose." Not a question, but a demand. The only two people I have allowed myself to trust are lying to me, and the fact of it is a rock in my throat.

She looks up, looks me dead in the eye. Her face is stern, her mouth is a line. "Knowing would only make things worse. That's why Olivia-"

"I am not asking why Olivia, or you, for that matter, chose to withhold information from me. I am asking what that information was." My words are clipped and cold, like I'm interrogating the witness for the opposition. All my life, everyone has always been on the opposing side. What a fool I had been to forget.

Rose shakes her head and clenches her jaw, but through gritted teeth, she answers. "Patrick is your father."

For a moment, the words are nonsense. And then, suddenly, they come through with blaring clarity.

I remember punching James Morgan in the stomach, how he needed to be checked for internal injuries, and I wonder if it felt something like this.

Bocan. Hobgoblin. Boggart.

Father.

All that time that I was living with my mother in a rundown apartment, hiding from the men who cycled in and out of that shack, watching as she debated over which was a more valuable use of her money - heroin or a coat for me in the winter, stealing to keep myself from going hungry, I would pop in and out of Cainsville and the person who could have helped, who could have stopped all of it before it even happened, came to visit, greeted me, acted like he didn't know a thing, and did absolutely nothing.

I am a survivor. I found my way. I did not need his help.

But it would have been damned nice if I had never required help to begin with.

I do not remember leaving Rose's. I do not remember getting in my car. All I remember is pulling up in front of The Corner Diner.

I fumble with the door lock for a solid minute before I finally get the door open. When I look down, my hands are shaking.

Who am I? I am certainly not myself. Not cool. Not calm. Not in control.

Perhaps that is because I am suddenly a possible Faery King with hobgoblin blood whose destiny is to woo a banshee away from the underworld. Or something along those lines.

When I put it in those terms, I have to fight to hold off hysterics.

I am not going inside of that diner. I will not bear all eyes on me while I confront her about this. Or...maybe...that is precisely how this should be handled. And then everyone who assisted in keeping this secret could see the result.

When I enter the diner, my eyes are like magnets, zeroing in on Olivia in seconds. She lights up when she sees me, green eyes flashing, a slow smile spreading across her face. She has very clearly been bored. She is still leaning her cheek on her fist, her elbow propped on the counter. She waits a beat, then straightens to her full height and walks around the counter to greet me.

For a moment, we are the only people in the room. For a moment, I almost forgive her.

She looks at me for a second, just a second, and her eyes sharpen, her entire body tightens. She is on alert. "What? Did something happen?"

"Yes," I say, evenly. "Something happened."

"Are you okay?"

"Decidedly not."

"Why? Gabriel, what happened?"

There are patrons in the diner. The usual crew, minus, of course, Patrick. But the elders are there, and Larry, and the room has gone completely and unnaturally still.

"I visited Rose." I say simply, lightly, like it holds no meaning. It doesn't yet. My nerves have been torn and shredded and there is nowhere to register the betrayal. "Patrick was there."

I watch the words seep into her and they weigh her down, they morph her face into a panic, and though I think I'm coming off as casual and unaffected, I know just from her face that I am not. I look as unfocused as I feel and she knows what is coming.

"I want you to listen to me very carefully. I will return to my car and drive back to Chicago. I will pack up a box of your things and I will overnight them to you. After that point, I no longer wish to hear anything about you, the Larsens, their case, Cainsville, the Cwn Annwn or the Tylwyth Teg. I will erase this entire misstep from my mind and return to my normal life. Do not attempt to contact me." I curse myself for the way my voice begins to sound strangled. I curse myself for the way I am willing to give up a potential career advancement to evade the pain of having her and the complications she brings in my life for one more minute.

"Gabriel," she says through gritted teeth. "What did Patrick tell you?"

There it is. There is the emotion I do not want. It nearly doubles me over. "The truth. Which is more than I have been getting from anyone else."

She glances at the door, and I know she wants to take this conversation outside, but she won't ask me to. Not now. "I just thought knowing would...hurt you." She regrets the words the minute they leave her lips. Her wince makes it clear.

I bark out a laugh. "Hurt me?"

Her jaw sets, her head tilts, her lips screw up in that defiant pout. I love her and hate her all at once. I think I just realized how deep this runs and the understanding is almost crippling in its intensity.

"No. I suppose I shouldn't have presumed you had emotions."

Good. Anger is what I want. Anything else makes things...uncomfortable. I nod. "You will receive a box of your things tomorrow." I head for the door.

"Where?" She shouts after me. "I don't have an apartment anymore."

"I will send it to Rose." The words are cold. I stare through the glass door at my car, which feels like an oasis mirage miles away in the desert.

"Of course. An answer for everything. You must have been waiting for an excuse."

I whirl on her, my anger taking control. My anger has not controlled me as much in all my life as it has since I met Olivia. Yet another reason to cut my losses and escape this madness. "I trusted you. It was a foolish error."

She flinches and I don't have to wonder if she has any idea what that means. Me trusting her. She knows.

"Gabriel." It is a whisper, but it holds the winning point of a game I am no longer willing to play. For so many reasons.

The door barely seals shut before I start my car and skid down the road at speeds the elders specifically asked me to avoid.

I speed that way until I am out of Cainsville.

Permanently.