Rituals

by Kelley Armstrong

  And for that, she smiled. Smiled and nodded, pride shining again as she conceded the point.

  "You've come to find out what Seanna wanted," she said. "I only wish I knew. She's a tiresome woman. All I could guess was that she was trying to get a better handle on you, Eden. And by you, I mean your financial situation. She wasn't exactly cagey about it, though I'm sure she thought she was."

  "What was she asking?"

  "How did I meet Gabriel? How was my appeal progressing? Her version of small talk, into which she not-so-subtly interjected two primary questions. One, what is the exact nature of your relationship with her son? Two, what are the terms of your trust fund from your adoptive parents?"

  "And you said?"

  "The truth. I know nothing about your trust fund except that you are financially secure, which is all that matters to me. As for Gabriel, that is also primarily a financial matter--a profitable relationship for both of you. He provides employment for you and gets to handle our appeal because of you."

  The last part was bullshit. She just liked to put my relationship with Gabriel in a business perspective. That was how she reconciled things.

  We talked for a few more minutes, but there wasn't any more. Given what Seanna had told Rose, I suspected those questions about Pamela's appeal weren't as pointless as they seemed, but whatever Seanna's angle there, she hadn't tipped her hand to Pamela.

  As we neared the end of our time, I said, "Greg Kirkman."

  No sign of recognition sparked in Pamela's dark eyes. "Who?"

  "Greg Kirkman," I repeated. "Do you know him?"

  "Not that I'm aware of. In what context?"

  "Seanna went to see Todd. He refused."

  "Smart man," she murmured. "Watching paint dry is more interesting than talking to that woman. I hope you told him to continue refusing."

  "I did, and he will."

  "Good. But what does this have to do with...what's the name again?"

  "Kirkman. Before Seanna left, she bribed a guard to pass Todd an envelope. The guard gave it to Gabriel instead. Inside was a slip of paper with that name on it. Nothing more."

  Pamela's brows rose. "What did your father say about it?"

  "We got the envelope after I met with him. I'll ask him next time."

  "Don't, Eden. Please. If I didn't recognize the name, neither will he. But he'll worry that he should know it, and fret over why Seanna gave it to him, and then he'll decide he should speak to her. Which is likely her entire goal. Intriguing him into meeting her."

  She was right. I would investigate Kirkman myself and leave my father out of it.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  "The cabin has wi-fi," Gabriel said as we passed through prison security. When I glanced over, he said, "You're thinking of stopping at a coffee shop to research Greg Kirkman before we go to the cabin."

  "Actually, given that it's an hour drive, I planned to do it on the way. Tether my laptop to my phone. But I'll take you up on that offer of a mocha."

  His lips twitched. "I don't believe I actually offered--"

  "You implied it. Close enough."

  "Your mocha will be on me, Liv," said a voice behind us. "I need to talk to you before you leave."

  The man approaching looked to be in his sixties, handsome, average height, with a build that belonged on a man half his age and a smooth charm that came from decades of experience. Or, in his case, centuries.

  Ioan, leader of the local Cwn Annwn. Also Ricky's grandfather, though the only role he'd played in his son's life was making sure Ricky's father and grandmother never wanted for anything.

  "Did you not get my message?" I said. I'd texted to say we'd changed our minds about speaking to him today and would meet up Monday.

  "He did," Gabriel murmured. "Or he wouldn't be here. I presume you told him where we were?"

  Damn. Yes, I said we had to visit Pamela before we headed out of town for the weekend.

  "I won't take much of your time," Ioan said. "But you said it was about the sluagh, and that's not something I can ignore. We need to speak and--" He looked around. "Where's Lloergan?"

  "With Rose. We were picking her up. Running errands with her in the backseat isn't exactly respectful."

  "She wouldn't mind, and in fact I'd suggest that she would prefer that. Gabriel? Why don't you go fetch her, while I take Liv for coffee?"

  "Fetch her?" I lifted my brows.

  "A poor choice of words. I didn't mean any offense. But the most efficient course of action--"

  "--would not be to have him drive northwest to Cainsville, return to the city, and then drive northeast to our destination. Nice try, though."

  "I wasn't..." Ioan didn't finish. Unlike normal fae, the Huntsmen aren't fond of lies and subterfuge, preferring old-fashioned charm and manipulation.

  "We can spare an hour," I said. "Then we're taking the weekend off."

  "I'm not sure it will be that simple."

  "Talk fast."

  "I don't mean the conversation, but rather the seriousness of--"

  "These days, everything is serious. Everything is critically important and demands our immediate and complete attention. You know what's critically important right now? Taking some time off."

  Ioan opened his mouth and then wisely shut it. We walked outside...to see Patrick crossing the parking lot toward us.

  "Pamela's had her quota of visitors for the day," I said. "Come back tomorrow."

  "It's not Pamela I'm here to see."

  "Jailbird romance?"

  His voice cooled, not unlike his son's, as he said, "Given how we parted last night, Olivia, I think a little less sarcasm might be in order. I came here to help you. While I know better than to expect gratitude, you can at least do me the courtesy of being polite."

  I snorted.

  Patrick looked at Ioan. "I need to speak to them. Go curry your horse."

  "Speaking of polite..." I turned to Ioan. "Yep, Patrick's pissy. Not a side of him you've probably seen, but you may like it better than the snide comments and subtle mockery. I know I do."

  "I do not mock you, Olivia," Patrick said. "Nor do I make snide comments. Please take a moment, unleash your worst, and get it over with. We have important matters to discuss."

  "See? No snide comments at all. Whatever you have to discuss with us, Patrick, it can wait. We need to speak to Ioan about something."

  "The folklore issue you took to Rose this morning? In trying to find you, I spoke to Rose. She asked me..." He glanced at Ioan.

  "Ioan knows about sluagh," I said.

  Patrick's lips tightened. "A waste of time. The Cwn Annwn don't have my resources. Moreover, you can't trust him."

  Ioan's brows rose. "And they can trust you, bocan?"

  "No, they can trust my books."

  "And since I cannot enter Cainsville, sadly, you must take Liv back with you, while I go 'curry my horse.' I actually have a business to run, Patrick. Unlike the Tylwyth Teg, we work for a living. And not by jotting down fanciful tales and calling it gainful employment."

  Patrick looked at me. "And you accuse me of snide comments?" He turned to Ioan. "If my job is so easy, I'd suggest you give it a shot. I bet it pays at least as well as yours. And it's fun. Which is more than I can say for any 'gainful'--and tedious--job you do, chained to your desk like a common office grunt."

  "Did I mention I run--?"

  "Enough," I said. "Let's all find someplace to discuss this."

  --

  "You said you had a vision, Liv." Ioan sat with his coffee and pastry. "Where exactly did you have it?"

  "Unimportant," Patrick said.

  Ioan bristled. "I understand that you delight in being contrary, bocan. Even for a fae, you're difficult, argumentative, and whimsical."

  "Whimsical? You take that back."

  "You are prone to following your whims, wherever they may lead. That is the definition of whimsical. Also the definition of a bocan."

  "If I soured the cream in that coffee, as bocan are wont to
do, it is not on a whim, but because you would have, to use Liv's colorful vernacular, pissed me off. I am not disagreeing about the importance of her vision. But she did not stumble over sluagh in the real world, so where her vision occurred is unimportant."

  "I beg to differ and don't see why I can't ask the question."

  Because it happened in Cainsville, and Patrick didn't want Ioan to know that.

  "The vision took me into an old house," I said.

  Ioan's mouth opened as if to say that wasn't what he meant, but I pushed on, leading him through the vision and ending with, "It was getting dark and Gabriel said we had to turn on the lights and close the shutters, starting from the west. I think that's significant."

  "It is," Ioan said. "That's the traditional way to fight the sluagh."

  "Good call," Patrick said to Gabriel.

  "It's just hereditary memory," Ioan said.

  "Moving right along," I said. "We shut the windows. One was glass, so we could see out. A swarm of birds started flying around the cottage. Dark red birds, the size of sparrows, with white eyes and teeth. Gabriel managed to banish them. Then something else came and the cottage exploded. That's when we snapped out of the vision."

  "How did you banish the harbingers?" Patrick asked.

  "He didn't," Ioan said. "The melltithiwyd withdrew in advance of the sluagh."

  "Mellti--"

  "It means the cursed, the damned. It's our name for the harbinger birds."

  "Is that what they usually do?" I asked. "Withdraw when the sluagh come?"

  "Well, no, but--"

  "Gabriel put his hand on the window. He told them--in Welsh--to go away. When he demanded it, they left."

  Patrick nodded. "Given who you are, Gabriel, that would work. With the melltithiwyd, though. Not the actual sluagh."

  "Because the melltithiwyd are harbingers," I said. "They foretell the coming of the sluagh."

  "Exactly," Patrick said. "They are, in their way, the parallel to the Tylwyth Teg's owls and Cwn Annwn's ravens. Avian spies. However, our owls and ravens are relatively harmless. They will attack each other, as you saw when one of Ioan's black scavengers came snooping around Cainsville."

  "That was shortly after Liv's arrival," Ioan said. "Under the circumstances, you can't blame us. And may I point out that owls are as likely to scavenge as ravens?"

  "But the melltithiwyd are not harmless?" Gabriel cut in.

  "Definitely not." Ioan turned to me. "If you ever see them, even in a vision, do what Gabriel did. Hopefully, it will frighten them off."

  "Otherwise...?" I said.

  "You mentioned the teeth," Patrick said. "Did they remind you of anything? Another beast that normally lacks dentition?"

  "Piranha," I said.

  "Exactly. A single one won't do more than nip. But in a swarm?"

  I shivered. "Feeding frenzy."

  "They're like the Cwn Annwn's hounds," Patrick said.

  "Our hounds do not eat--" Ioan began.

  "I mean the killing part. The sluagh take souls. But to take a soul, you need to kill the host. Cwn kill. Melltithiwyd devour."

  "Lovely." I looked at Ioan. "And to take that comparison further...Rose's folklore says the sluagh are a form of the Irish Wild Hunt. True?"

  "That is a complete misunderstanding and misinterpretation."

  Patrick cleared his throat.

  Ioan glared at him. "If you suggest that those things are the same as Cwn Annwn--"

  "No, but the misunderstanding is understandable. You both serve a similar purpose."

  "We do not--"

  Patrick raised his hand and turned to me. "Let's back up a step, and tackle the basic question. What are the sluagh? The word is Irish Celtic, but they exist in our lore as well, the same as the fae or the Hunt exist in other cultures. Think of it as the difference between the Welsh, the Irish, the Scottish, the French, the Germans...They're all humans, but with their own cultural identity, heritage, language, regional variations, and so on. Historically, our term for the sluagh is heb edifeirwch, which roughly translates to 'remorseless.' But we avoid saying it. Even fae can be superstitious, and some believe that to name them is to summon them. So we use the Celtic term instead."

  "But what are the sluagh?"

  "It's been said they're the third major branch of the fae. I say they're not, but for the sake of argument I'll admit they exist in the same basic realm. We are three types of supernatural beings, then. The first, which the Welsh call the Tylwyth Teg, encompasses all ordinary fae. The Cwn Annwn is one of the variations on the Wild Hunt. And finally, the heb edifeirwch, known as the sluagh."

  "So why haven't I met a sluagh? Or have I, and just didn't realize it?"

  Ioan shook his head. "You wouldn't have. While the Tylwyth Teg and Cwn Annwn use glamours to fit in with humans, you've seen their true forms, yes?"

  I tried not to glance at Patrick. I'd seen his true form, but I knew better than to bring that up, so I just said, "They're humanoid."

  "Exactly. The sluagh are different. They can appear human, but it's a manifestation, not a glamour."

  Patrick said, "What you saw in your vision? That thing that looked like smoke or fog? That's the sluagh. The darkness. Which is why I don't consider them fae. Only the most powerful of the sluagh can manifest, so no, they just won't come around to chat you up."

  "Would they have any reason to chat me up?" I said.

  Gabriel added, "What is Matilda to them?"

  Ioan looked at Patrick.

  "I don't know if she's anything to them," Patrick said after a moment of silence. "But the fact you've had the vision must be significant."

  "And the nature of the sluagh?" I said. "Are they confused with the Cwn Annwn because they also take souls?"

  "We'd better leave that answer to my books," Patrick said. "On this case the truth comes best from the source. So you can be sure neither of us is misleading you."

  "I would never--" Ioan began.

  "Which includes unintentionally misleading you, through our own misunderstandings. Finish your mocha, Liv. You can read my books when you pick up the hound. I know you're both eager to get on the road for your vacation."

  "They can't go on vacation," Ioan said. "If the sluagh have made contact--"

  "Through a vision," Patrick said.

  "Which is the realm of the sluagh. To them, it's no different from making contact in this plane. And it's just as dangerous. If they'd attacked Liv and Gabriel there..."

  "We'd be a pile of bird-gnawed bones?" I said.

  "Unfortunately, yes, which means as much as you want this vacation, you cannot leave until we've figured out why the sluagh made contact. And no, I'm not saying that because I want to stop the two of you from spending time together, though I suspect that's why Patrick is being a little less cautious than he ought to be."

  I glanced at Gabriel. His lips pressed in a thin line, but he said nothing.

  Patrick stayed silent for a moment and then said, with obvious reluctance, "Ioan's right. You should stay close until we figure out what's going on."

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  I dropped Gabriel off at the dealership. His car was fixed, so he was driving that back to Cainsville. He would pick up Lloergan at Rose's, giving me time with Patrick.

  As Patrick led me into his living room, I said, "I didn't try to tap into your personal memories. But, yes, I knew there was a chance I might. Had I known what I'd access, I wouldn't have done it."

  "Is that an apology?"

  "It's a Gabriel-apology. Which means that I'm acknowledging having done something that upset you and regretting that outcome, while not completely agreeing that I did something wrong or that I won't do it again."

  "That's sort of like an apology."

  "Which is what I always say to Gabriel." I sat. "We needed that information. Gabriel asked for it, and we both know how hard that was for him to do. You owed him an answer. Not necessarily the full story, but some form of an answer."

  "Is that w
hy he isn't here? He's upset with me?"

  "No, he's coming. He's disappointed that he put himself out there and you rejected him, but that's what he's used to, parentally."

  "Can't resist the low blows, can you."

  "It's the truth. Gabriel doesn't need a daddy, Patrick. In fact, I'd strongly suggest you don't try to be one, or he will find reasons to not come by. But understand that he has zero expectations of you, and maybe try to do more than exceed them."

  "In anything else, I would have."

  "Not good enough. He asked you for that."

  --

  When Gabriel arrived, I stepped out to pet Lloergan, giving Patrick a minute with his son. It really was no more than sixty seconds. Just long enough, I'm sure, for Patrick to apologize and Gabriel to brush it off as "hardly necessary," and then escape the awkward conversation by bringing me inside.

  Patrick had the book ready. When I started to open it, Gabriel said, "One moment, please. Patrick, Ioan said that visions are the same as reality with the sluagh. If you're about to send Olivia into a vision of them, you need to clarify exactly what that means."

  "This isn't a vision. It's a replay, which doesn't count."

  "You're certain of that?"

  "I wouldn't send her in if I wasn't, Gabriel. When Ioan said visions are the same as reality for sluagh, he means visions that are the equivalent of human dreams. What do you see when you dream?"

  Gabriel's expression closed. "I don't."

  "I'm not asking for specifics. In general, when you dream--"

  "I know what a dream is; I do not have them. I experience replays of memories, not unlike what I see with Gwynn. It's all factual, though. I do not imagine things that haven't happened to me." He snuck a look my way, his eyes wary. "I do not and have never dreamed."

  "Is that his fae blood?" I asked.

  Patrick didn't seem to hear me. He was frowning at Gabriel.

  "Would his fae blood repress dreaming?" I prodded. "You called them human dreams."

  Patrick tore his gaze from Gabriel. "Yes. Fae don't dream. Some of us have visions, like yours, but our 'dreams' are the replay of memories. I've never heard of it extending to our offspring, though." He looked at Gabriel. "I'm sorry."

  "I can't miss something I've never had," Gabriel said. "Do you regret the lack of them?"

  "I'm not sure I'd say regret. I envy the ability. That sense of the fanciful. I've often wondered if it's why I write. I'm creating my own dreams."