Cainsville: Visions Part 39

"She must have had some reason for disliking him."

"Because Seanna herself was from Cainsville originally."

"So I've heard."

"And you don't know what she'd have against this man, who was obviously not you."

Patrick looked at me, and I waited for him to say he had no idea. Instead, he smiled. "Perhaps he gave her a gift she did not want. It happens, between men and women."

I went quiet for a moment. Then I said, "If I ask you what's going on in Cainsville, will you tell me?"

Again, there was an easy answer: play dumb. What's going on? Do you mean local news? Events? But that was one game Patrick didn't play. He said only, "No."

"Can I earn the answers?"

"By currying favor with me? No. I like my life here, Olivia. It's very comfortable. You need to find your own answers. Or get close enough to them that I can help."

"Will you help?"

"If it's in my best interests. Currying favor goes both ways."

"Let's change the subject, then. Mind control."

"Ah."

"We discussed it right before Gabriel and I solved the mystery of my parents' last crimes. You've never asked if that solution had anything to do with mind control. Because you know it did, don't you?"

"Or I'm simply not interested in knowing. As a possibility, mind control is intriguing. In reality? I have no interest in making people do anything they don't want to. Far too much effort." He paused. "Unless it could compel them to buy my books..."

"Compel. That's an interesting word."

"Is it?"

"You said I need to find my own answers. But what if I was somehow being compelled not to ask the questions? Mentally influenced to avoid even posing those questions?"

"Brainwashed, you mean? Compelled to accept the unbelievable based on faith alone?" He peered at me. "You aren't going to church, are you?"

I gave him a look.

"Religion exists to instill false security and blind faith," he continued. "Yet it is imperfect. To accept the message, you must hear the message. You must 'drink the Kool-Aid,' so to speak. But how would that work on a practical level? Disseminate something in the air or water to keep people from asking questions about Cainsville? That's science. Otherwise, if there is a message-or charm or compulsion-it would need to be delivered in person, repeatedly, to be maintained. Completely impractical."

"So you're saying it couldn't happen."

That maddening curve of his lips. I was clearly frustrated, and that amused him. What did he see when he looked at me? A child. I was sure of that. Like the Huntsman. Like Tristan.

They were one thing and we were another, and to them we were children. Adorable and entertaining toddlers, fumbling in the dark. Like Macy, when she'd gotten angry at the hospital. I bared my teeth and I hissed and I flashed my claws, and Patrick saw not a wildcat but a kitten. Adorable in her infinitely tiny fury.

"For the purposes of transmission, consider it a disease," he said. "A condition. How does it pa.s.s from source to recipient?"

I shifted, not wanting to play his game but not wanting to walk away, either. "Methods of transmission ... Air. Water. Direct contact. Consuming infected material."

"None of the above."

"Heredity?" I said. "Pa.s.sed through the genes?"

"That would be a convenient method for an isolated little town."

I opened my mouth to argue that I wasn't from Cainsville. Neither was Gabriel. Except both of our families came from here.

He pushed to his feet. "And there ends tonight's conversation. When you have more, ask me more. Until then, have a pleasant night, Olivia."

He started to walk away.

"You lied about the hound," I called after him.

He turned, brows arching, and a memory twitched, telling me- I inhaled. I knew what it was telling me. And I pushed it aside. For now.

"The hound. I asked you about big black hounds, and you said the only folklore you knew of was the Black Shuck. You forgot Cn Annwn."

He tensed. I saw a flicker and ... nothing. I saw nothing. But I sensed a reaction.

"The hounds of the Otherworld," I said. "That's what it means, literally. But not necessarily what it is, right? Cn Annwn is the Wild Hunt. The hounds are only part of it. Like the horses. The real Cn Annwn are the hunters."

Patrick's gaze bored into me, and again that look tweaked my memory. Again I knew why, and ignored it for now.

"I met one," I said. "A Huntsman, I think they're called. He gave me this." I opened my hand to show the boar's tusk. "I don't suppose there's any chance you can decipher what it says?"

After a long moment of silence, Patrick said, "I suppose this has to do with the boy."

"Boy?"

"Young Mr. Gallagher."

I fought to hide my confusion. "No. I was at dinner with James. The Huntsman lured me into the back hall."

"James? Ah, yes, the former fiance." The grim intensity fell from Patrick's face, the old amus.e.m.e.nt bouncing back. "So many men hovering about you, Liv. It's hard to keep them straight. Not that there's anything wrong with that. Variety is the spice of life, they say. As for that"-he pointed to the tusk-"it's a pretty bauble. Keep it with you, for now. Just don't get too attached to it. Or to Mr. Gallagher."

He turned to go.

"What does Ricky have to do with this?" I said, walking after him.

Again, he turned. "Nothing. Everything. It depends on the perspective. From his? Nothing, I'm sure. He knows nothing."

"Like me," I said, remembering Tristan's words. "Like Gabriel. We're p.a.w.ns."

"Only if you allow yourselves to be," he said, and walked into the night.

I had the next day off at the diner, which meant a full day working for Gabriel. I was expected in by nine. Before I left, I got an e-mail from Howard asking me to call.

He had two items of business.

"Your mother is coming home," he said.

"Great. Have her call me when she gets settled."

"She'd like you to pick her up at the airport."

"No."

Silence. Apparently not the response he'd expected. "Your mother is looking forward to seeing you, Olivia, and you should make an effort to mend fences-"

"I didn't break any fences. This isn't me being petty, Howard. She doesn't want me to meet her. She wants a chauffeur."

"She could well afford to hire a car. She'd like you to pick her up. And she'd like you to stay at the house."

"Until she finds a live-in housekeeper and chauffeur? Again, no."

"If she wished that, I could hire them before she returns. What she wants is a reunion with her daughter. She'd like you to come home."

Come home. There'd been a time when I longed for that. Now I couldn't imagine it.

"If she wants me to meet her at the airport, she needs to call me. Herself. What else is there?"

"I have a package for you. From James. He doesn't know your address, so he's asked me to send it along."

I stifled a sigh. Probably clothing I'd left at his place. At least he was accepting that it was over.

"Send it to Gabriel Walsh's office," I said.

A pause. "You're still involved with Mr. Walsh?"

"I was never involved with Mr. Walsh. He's representing Pamela. I'll be at his office today. You can have someone run the parcel over."

"Your mother will not be pleased when she hears of this continuing a.s.sociation."

"I'll be at his office for most of the day, and I'd appreciate receiving that package. Thank you for your time, Howard."

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO.

I arrived at the office by eight thirty, with my drive-thru beverage tray. The boss was leaning over Lydia's desk, palms on the top, his shadow engulfing her as she typed. For most people, this would be as discomforting as having a panther poised on the rock overhead as you cooked lunch. Lydia just typed away, talking as she did.

When I came in, Gabriel looked up and waved me to his office. I left Lydia's tea behind and followed.

As Gabriel took his coffee, I studied his posture and expression, both relaxed. I'm sure he'd been up late working, but there was no sign of it, no hint of that haggardness from a week ago. I was glad to see it. With Gabriel, a good mood was like finding a rare sunny patch by the window.

"I have a few things to do this morning," he said. "But you can use my office. We'll pay Macy a visit after lunch. First, though, how did it go with Patrick?"

"My plan to get him talking worked. As for how useful it was ... that's debatable. He won't answer direct questions, so-"

A tap at the door. Lydia poked her head in. "Sorry to interrupt. I have a package from Olivia's family lawyer. It's apparently important."

"Not really," I said. "It's from James. Something I left at his place, I'm guessing."

She lifted the parcel. "It doesn't seem like clothing."

It was a flat, legal-size envelope about an inch thick.

"Legal doc.u.ments?" I said. "What's he doing? Suing me for breach of contract because I ended the engagement?"

"That law was abolished in the thirties," Gabriel said.

"I was kidding." I took the envelope and thanked Lydia, and she retreated. Gabriel watched as I stuffed the envelope in my bag.

"You aren't going to open that?" he said.

"It's been a good day so far. I'd rather not ruin it before nine."

He settled back into his chair but kept glancing toward my bag.

I sighed. "It's going to bug you until I open it, isn't it?"

"It does look like a legal doc.u.ment. Do you share any property or goods in common?"

"Nope. I even gave the ring back."

"Have you borrowed anything from him? Money perhaps?"

"If I didn't take a handout from my mother, I sure as h.e.l.l wouldn't take it from my ex."

His gaze slid to my bag again, as if magnetized. I sighed again, reached down, and opened it. Only as I was pulling out the papers did he say, "If you'd rather not..." because he knew it was too late. I tugged out two file folders and opened the thinner one.

"What the h.e.l.l?" I muttered.

Gabriel moved behind me to read over my shoulder.

"I don't know how he got this," I said. "But I don't think he should have it."

Gabriel bent and flipped through. "No, it's a matter of public record. Charges laid against members of the Satan's Saints since Don Gallagher took over in the late nineties."

"And let me guess where you took over as counsel of record..." I ran my finger down the pages. The first two were a mix of sentences, acquittals, and a dozen plea bargains. Then the mix changed to charges dropped, acquittals, and two plea bargains. "Right about there," I said, pointing.