Gabriel cleared his throat. “The point is that this house was owned by someone with the same ability as Olivia. That is worth looking into, as someone using that house is threatening Olivia. Show Rose the triskelion.”

I did, and I told her about the vision.

“Bean nighe,” she said as she rose. “The washerwoman.”

“So not a banshee?”

Rose took a book from her shelf, flipped through it, and laid it open for me at a folklore encyclopedia entry on bean sidhe.

“Banshees,” she said. “Bean sidhe is the Irish Gaelic spelling of the word. It’s been anglicized as banshee.”

“And a bean nighe is a form of bean sidhe,” I said as I read. “It’s an old woman who washes the clothing of the dead. Which isn’t quite what I saw— No, here it is. Gwrach y Rhibyn. Is that how it’s spelled? That’s worse than bean sidhe. It’s the word from the vision, though, and the description matches. Ugly old woman washing in a stream while wailing death warnings. A Welsh cross between the bean nighe and the traditional bean sidhe. It’s not a fetch, though. She’s warning me of death in general. I’m guessing it was an omen telling me Ciara’s body was upstairs. As for why I saw it when I stepped onto the triskelion…”

“I’m presuming it has something to do with the original owner,” Rose said. “It seems to be some sort of conduit, possibly activated by those three lights. I’ll look into it. Now, tea?”

“Olivia was hoping for—” Gabriel began.

“I’m fine. I should get back home.”

“Not tonight, after what happened,” Rose said. “You’ll go back with Gabriel and pack an overnight bag while I make tea.”

I argued. It didn’t help. So I shut up and got my bag.

Gabriel left at midnight. I stood in the front room window as the taillights of his Jag vanished into the darkness. When I turned, Rose was there, watching me.

“He should have left when I got my bag,” I said. “He really didn’t need another late night like this. He’s tired. Overworked.”

“You’ll be helping with that.”

“With his workload, yes. But I’m the reason he’ll be getting home at one this morning when he has a court appearance at nine.”

“He’ll be fine. I don’t think he sleeps more than five hours under the best of circumstances. What you’re seeing isn’t exhaustion. It’s strain. The situation with you is part of it. Gabriel isn’t accustomed to personal drama. It’s untidy and it confuses him.”

“Uh-huh.” I turned back to the window.

“I’m serious, Olivia. He is accustomed to clients being angry with him. Furious, even. It’s part of the process—they’re fighting for their freedom and they never think their lawyer is doing enough. Gabriel knows he will be vindicated at trial, when they see him perform miracles. If they do remain angry—and I’m sure some do—he doesn’t care. It’s a business relationship. Yours is more than business. Your opinion of him—and your continuing relationship with him—matters. My nephew is not accustomed to that, and he’s struggling with it.”

Be patient with him. That’s what she meant. Except that, with Gabriel, excuses felt dangerous. Cut him slack and he’d haul in as much rope as he could, then think you a fool for letting him.

I thought of another reason he might be exhausted, another source of stress. One I was much more comfortable with, because it had nothing to do with me.

I turned from the window. “Has he identified the photos of his mother yet?”

“Photos of his mother?”

“At the police station.”

As a crease furrowed between her eyes, I realized he’d never told her.

“Sorry,” I said quickly. “I thought— You should ask him about it.”

I started for the stairs, mumbling about my morning shift. She stepped into my path.

“Olivia. What are you talking about?”

“I shouldn’t—”

“Yes, you should. And you will. What is this about Gabriel’s mother?”

I hesitated, but I could tell by her expression it would be cruel to walk away without explaining. So I told her.

“It might not have even been a photo of Seanna,” I said as I finished. “Will Evans was clearly trying to separate me from Gabriel and—”

She walked to her desk and opened a drawer.

I continued, “—Gabriel might have already established it wasn’t Seanna, which is why he never mentioned it to you, and—”

She handed me a small photo album, opened to photos of Gabriel. He couldn’t have been more than thirteen. He had his wavy black hair, pale blue eyes, and strong features—too intense for a gangly, acne-pocked adolescent. What I recognized most, though, was his expression. Wary, as if he was ready to bolt at the slightest provocation. But there was challenge there, too, a hardness already. As if he was hoping for provocation. An excuse to run. To escape.

The photo Rose wanted me to see, though, was in the top corner.

“Seanna,” I whispered.

“Is that who you saw?”

I nodded. Rose lowered herself into a chair.

“Dead,” she whispered. “All this time, she was dead.” Grief crossed her face, but she blinked it back. “This would explain some of the strain.”

“Maybe a lot of it.”

She shook her head. “It’s not as if this means he’ll now realize his mother was a good woman who didn’t abandon him. How much do you know about the situation?”

I told her.

“I suppose you’re wondering how I let it happen,” she said.

“No, Evans told me Gabriel didn’t let on Seanna had disappeared, and when you found out, he ran. He kept going until he was over eighteen. Too old for anyone to put him in foster care. Presumably you wouldn’t have gotten custody. That’s what Evans said.”

“I wouldn’t. I have a criminal record.” She glanced over, as if gauging my reaction. When I gave none, she continued, “I was also living with a woman at the time. I’d have given her up in a heartbeat for Gabriel, but the fact remains that I would not have been deemed a suitable parent. As for Seanna, I knew she wasn’t making an honest living, but for a Walsh, I’d have been more shocked if she was. There’d been drugs in her youth, but she told me she gave that up when Gabriel was born, and she hid the signs from me. I only knew she was not a good mother. She neglected him. Yet even there, I couldn’t prove anything. There was no obvious physical abuse or anything like that. She was just a lousy parent, and there are plenty of those.”

She fussed with the blinds before continuing. “Gabriel certainly wouldn’t give me more ammunition. He was as stubborn as a child as he is now. If I interfered, Seanna would refuse me access to him. So I told myself that being a good aunt was enough, that taking him when I could was enough. After she disappeared, I learned the rest, from the police. The addictions—to drugs, to alcohol, to men. And the disappearances. By the time she left, she’d been taking off for weeks at a time. Even now, Gabriel won’t confirm that. He doesn’t talk about it. Refuses. Push and I’ll stop hearing from him for a while.”

“So about this … confirming her death. I shouldn’t push?”

“No, he has to do it, which means he’ll need a push. You might be the only person who can get away with it.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

I expected my diner shift to be stressful, given that I’d found the body of a former resident the night before. The elders did speak to me about it, expressing their horror and grief in whispers, along with sympathy that I’d had to go through that. The others didn’t mention it. I supposed that wasn’t so shocking. Chief Burton had said Ciara’s body would be transferred to the city for the autopsy. That meant the news wouldn’t hit the Chicago papers until tomorrow. Apparently, the elders weren’t breaking the news until the city did.

Gabriel presumed the CPD would want more than the statement I gave Burton, but he was their contact, and he was in court all day, so I heard nothing.