Ever After (16 page)

There was naught else I could do for her besides hold her at this point, let her take from me what little strength was mine to give, what little comfort I could offer.

I lay back with my arm behind my head, staring up at the ceiling, and curled Arabella into me so that her head was resting on my chest. She whimpered a little, but it was faint, the pain seeming to lessen thanks to the effects of my fairy dust.

And as I lay there, a long-forgotten lullaby from my childhood drifted into my thoughts. I remembered it from those nights when I couldn't sleep, when fear and worry for my people and my warrior father kept me from closing my eyes.

My mother would sit beside me, her long red curls falling over her shoulder as she smiled down at me and whispered, “What's the worry, wee'un? Yer father'll come home t'us, sure's the mornin'.” Then she would stretch out beside me on the bed and cuddle me close, her own worry far too easily read by an empathic child.

When I tried to argue against her assurances, I would always get “Hush now, Gideon. What'll happen'll happen. But we've got to be strong for yer
dadaidh
. He needs t'know ye're his wee warrior.” It was then she would sing to me, her gentle voice flowing over me, wrapping me in her love.

It was that song I sang softly now as I held Arabella in my arms, hoping she could feel the love I'd carried with me all these years, the memories that had sustained me in my darkest days. The love that would sustain me in the days to come, which promised to be darker still.

I
didn't realize I'd fallen asleep next to Arabella until a shuffle of movement in the semidarkness of the room jolted me awake. When I didn't feel her in my arms, panic gripped me. I shot to my feet, calling out her name on a gasp. “Arabella?”

As soon as the word crossed my lips, I saw her sitting in a nearby chair, tying her boots. She paused, her eyes trained on me, and I felt her sigh more than heard it. She was running away again, I knew, even before I asked, “Going somewhere?”

She held my gaze for a moment, wavering between truth and lie. “Gideon . . .”

I shook my head. “You've got to be fucking kidding me,” I said on a bitter laugh. “You're still running? After what happened earlier today? After what we
just
went through? For chrissake, Arabella! Do you even realize what's happening to you?”

She turned her head away, unable to look me in the eyes. “You know then.”

“Aye, I do
now
,” I said, raising my arms to my sides, exasperated. “You should've told me!”

Her head whipped around, her anger rolling off her as she leapt to her feet. “Why?” she demanded. “What good would it have done?”

I closed the distance between us in one stride, taking hold of her shoulders. “I can
help
you.”

“Can you?” she shot back. “Really? You have the secret cure for
fading
then? You've found the answer where all the best medical minds among the Tales have failed?”

I closed my eyes for a moment, not willing to admit she was right. I shook my head. “Of course not,” I said. “But there are ways to slow the process. The fairy dust—”

“Is just delaying the inevitable,” she interrupted, her tone more pitying than angry. When I opened my mouth to argue, she took my face in her hands. “You know it as well as I do.”

I shook my head vehemently, not willing to admit defeat. “No, I refuse to believe—”

She pulled me down to her, silencing my protest with a kiss, and another. When the kiss ended, I pressed my forehead to hers, closing my eyes against the blur gathering there.

“I'm dying, Gideon,” she said, putting the horrible truth into words. “We have to face that.”

“Trish thinks she can reverse it if we figure out the reason you're
fading,
” I assured her. “We can beat this.”

She stepped back and turned away from me, wrapping her arms around herself. “There won't be a
we,
Gideon,” she said after a moment. “I'm not staying.”

“Don't be daft, lass,” I reasoned, trying to keep my voice calm even though my heart was racing at the prospect of her running away again. “Of course, you're staying. You need
treatment
, Arabella.”

“I never should've come to you in the first place,” she sighed, running a hand through her hair. “It was selfish of me. I had no right to do this to you.”

I went to her and turned her around to face me. “Do
what
to me?”

She lifted her hand and caressed my cheek, her eyes filling with sorrow. “I won't let you watch me die again, Gideon,” she insisted, her voice breaking. “I
won't
. I refuse to put you through that hell.”

I huffed, exasperated. “Bella—”

“Gideon!” she snapped. “Why do you think I stayed away in the first place? When I came to the Here and Now, it became apparent almost immediately that something was wrong. And when I discovered what was happening, I swore Merlin to secrecy. It was to protect you.”

“Don't you think you should've left it up to me as to whether or not I could go through losing you again?” I demanded. “Don't you think perhaps
I
should've had a say in it?”

Her chin trembled as she met and held my gaze, her eyes filling with tears. “Then perhaps I was the one who couldn't handle it,” she said, her voice catching on a choked sob. “That day at the falls, Gideon, I saw the pain and sorrow in your eyes just before I fell. I could see your heart breaking, and it tore me apart.”

A single tear slid down her cheek. I bent forward and kissed it away, then brushed a kiss to her mouth. “My sweet little love,” I murmured against her lips, “I would never be parted from you—in life or in death. My heart is yours. Do y'not
see
that, lass?”

A sob shook her, and her voice was thick with tears when she said, “I see it all too clearly, love. That's why I would rather have suffered a thousand heartbreaks before letting you know I was here.” When I opened my mouth to protest, she placed her finger on my lips. “I love you, Gideon. I love you with all my heart. And when I fade away, it will be that love alone that brings me comfort. Call me a coward, if you like, but I can't bear to see that pain in your eyes again.”

“You're anything but a coward,” I protested. “But it's time to stop runnin', lass. You've been runnin' yer entire life. Y'don't have to run anymore. Not unless you're runnin' to me.”

She shook her head slowly, her eyes so filled with sorrow it was almost more than I could bear. “When I swore to you earlier today that I'd never put you through hell again, I meant it.”

I pulled her to me and wrapped my arms around her, holding her close as I rested my cheek upon her hair. “The only hell is life without you, lass,” I whispered. “And I am not about to let you go.”

She heaved a sorrowful sigh. “Gideon—”

“We'll find the rest of the relics,” I promised her, smoothing her hair. “That's why you were hunting them, wasn't it? To try to save yourself? It wasn't just sentimental value.”

She nodded against my chest. “But it's just a hunch. There's no guarantee.”

“A hunch is enough for me,” I said, setting my jaw. “We were robbed of our happily ever after in Make Believe. I will make sure we have it now.”

She gave me a pained look. “Gideon—”

“Do y'doubt I could make you happy?”

She shook her head. “It's not the ‘happily' part that's the problem. It's the ‘ever after' bit, love.”

“Fate wouldn't have brought us together again just to tear us apart,” I argued. “I'll save you, Arabella. I swear it.”

She laid her hand upon my cheek, her lips curving with a hint of a smile. “Ah, love ... When you say it, I almost believe it.”

 

After extracting a promise from Arabella that she would rest a while longer, I left her to find Trish and thank her and Nicky for their hospitality. But as I made my way downstairs, I heard several voices in the kitchen, one of which was singing the latest annoyingly trite ditty from
The Pinocchio Show,
the most popular children's television program on the Tale TV network, and what I imagined was the source of endless irritation for the long-suffering parents who got to hear their tots sing the simple songs over and over and over again.

I cringed when I realized who must be visiting the Blues and had just pivoted to go back upstairs when I heard a curt “Get your ass in here, Gideon. We need to chat.”

I heaved a sigh, knowing well the hell I'd catch if I took off. Sometimes it was just better to go along with Red's will than to fight it. Slipping on my shades, I strode into the kitchen, offering a slight bow to Nicky Blue, who stood at the island in the center of room, chopping vegetables. “Good afternoon.”

He jerked his chin at me in greeting. “Hey there, Tiny. Come on in.”

I glanced toward the dinette, where Trish and Red sat with Red's young son Max. The boy lifted his dark eyes from his coloring book and smiled, waving his hand in cheery greeting.

“Hi, Uncle Gideon,” he chirped. “Look what I can do.” Suddenly his adorable, cherubic face became a horrifying skeleton amid swirling smoke and shadow.

When I jerked in surprise, the smoke faded and he threw his head back, laughing so hard in delight at the effect of his newfound skill that his entire body shook with mirth. The boy's laughter was so uninhibited and contagious, I couldn't help chuckling.

“Yeah, that's new,” Tess told me.

“Max,” his father, Nate Grimm, scolded mildly from his place at the stove, “don't make faces.”

Max was still giggling, his eyes still twinkling with mischief, when he turned his attention back to coloring and to his Pinocchio song.

Red rose from the table and strode toward me, her irritation unmistakable even without my ability to read her anger. “Okay, you have thirty seconds to spill it,” she announced, slapping one hand on her hip, the other hip already occupied by her infant son, Rowan, who was busy gumming a chubby fist and blinking at me with wide, robin's egg blue eyes as if he knew I was about to catch hell and couldn't wait to see what was going to happen next.

“I beg your pardon, Red,” I replied, feigning ignorance. “But I've no idea of what you speak.”

“The hell you don't!” she charged.

Nate was busy preparing something that smelled delicious, but managed to send an apologetic look at me over his shoulder. “Nicky and Trish told us your friend isn't well, Gideon. I'm sorry.”

I gave him a nod, unable to speak for the sudden knot in my throat.

“They also told us that Arabella's the fairy dust thief,” Red continued. “Is she the one you were protecting after the cluster fuck at Guinevere's? What the hell is going on with you, Gideon? Are you trying to get yourself thrown in prison—or worse?”

I glanced at Trish, who grimaced in apology. Ah, well. Trish was a bad liar even on a good day, bless her. And Red had a way of getting what she wanted from even the toughest Tales, which was why she'd been made Assistant Director of the Fairytale Management Authority. Hardly surprising that Red had an axe to grind with me if Trish had filled her in on the situation with Arabella.

“It's a little more complicated than that,” I told her, keeping my voice level.

She lifted her brows, waiting. When I remained silent, she took another step forward, going toe-to-toe with me. “Okay, so let me put it this way. You have thirty seconds to convince me why I shouldn't arrest your girlfriend for crimes that Trish assures me are considerable.” Here her voice softened and she said gently, “She's looking at fifty years in the FMA prison at least, Gid. And God knows what kind of sentence you'd get, all things considered.”

I shared a glance with Trish again. It seemed the head of forensics hadn't shared
all
of the facts about Arabella's condition, the big one being that she didn't have fifty years. I gestured toward the dinette. “Please, have a seat.”

I quickly brought them all up to speed on my relationship with Arabella in Make Believe, how she'd resurfaced to me just the other day, how we'd seemingly picked up right where we'd left off. When I explained that Arabella was
fading,
Red cursed under her breath, but I barreled on, not able to dwell on the truth of her condition for fear I wouldn't be able to finish my tale.

When I stopped talking, they all gaped at me in silence, Trish dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. “I'm sorry,” she murmured. “It's the pregnancy hormones.”

“Bullshit it is,” Red replied, making a covert swipe at her own eyes. “That fucking sucks, Gideon.”

“What can we do to help?” Nate asked, cradling his and Red's youngest in his arms, the boy's tufts of black hair tickling his chin. I could tell by Nate's expression that he was the one taking my news the hardest. As Reaper to us Tales, he'd be the one to have to gather Arabella's soul when she died, and that weighed heavily on him. Nate did his job efficiently and effectively from everything I'd seen, but he didn't enjoy it.

“I guess the first thing you can do is not take Arabella in,” I told him. “The king has demanded I bring her to him.”

“Screw that,” Red scoffed. “He has no jurisdiction on this.”

I grinned at her naïveté. “Jurisdiction or no, he has commanded it, and I must obey.”

“Is there anyone capable of breaking the king's spell on you to buy us more time?” Nicky asked. “Anyone whose magic is strong enough?”

I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. There was only person I could think of, but it was out of the question. “No.”

“Gideon,” Trish chastised, knowing better. “You need to think of Arabella . . .”

“I
am
thinking of Arabella!” I shot back, my temper flaring. When Nicky straightened defensively, ready to defend his wife, I held my hands up before me. “Forgive me. I know you mean well, Trish, but calling in Lavender would be a bad idea for many reasons, not the least of which would be that I'd be asking her to defy the father she adores and who has forbidden all contact with me.”

But even as we spoke, I could feel the pain from the magic in my bindings growing more intense, my continued denial of my duty causing the bindings to become more insistent that I follow my orders.

“And there's more,” I told them, having saved the worst of it for last. “We're not the only ones searching for the relics. There's another who's been hired to retrieve them. The Huntsman.”

“Son of a bitch,” Nicky muttered, glancing between Red and Nate. “Who the hell hired that bastard?”

Red shook her head, worry creasing her brow. “No clue. Haven't heard his name in quite a while.”

“He's the one who murdered Georgie Porgie and Guinevere's maid,” I explained. “That's what I was keeping from you last night, Red, what I'd hope to handle on my own. I didn't want to put any of you in his crosshairs.”

“I wish I'd received the call about the killings sooner,” Nate said. “Maybe it would've made a difference.”

“He's fast,” I told him. “And I have my doubts that he committed the murders alone. We ran into someone else yesterday down in Texas while trying to acquire one of the relics. This guy was too good, too seasoned a fighter to have been the Huntsman. For all I know, he could've been at Guinevere's, too. Maybe he was taking out the people in the house while the Huntsman was bringing down Georgie.”