Omens (45 page)

Rose nodded. Something was bothering her—I didn’t need an omen to see that—but Gabriel only apologized for the intrusion as he held the door. Patrick waved me in. Then he paused, hand on the door frame.

“May I?” he asked Rose. “It
is
very early.”

“Yes, of course,” she said, her tone distracted. “You’re always welcome, Patrick. You know that.”

He smiled and crossed the threshold.

Rose murmured that she’d make tea. I said that wasn’t necessary, but she insisted and asked Gabriel to help her. They left as Patrick and I headed into Rose’s parlor.

“She’s seen something,” Patrick murmured. “That’s what has her up so early, worried about Gabriel. Whatever you two planned for today, you may want to reconsider.”

“You believe in it, then?” I said.

“The sight?” His brows shot up. “You might as well ask if I believe in oxygen. I can’t see it, but I’m quite certain it’s there.”

I glanced at him, expecting to see a knowing smile. He was watching me with a very different sort of amusement, the sort reserved for the child who insists there is no such thing as oxygen.

He waved me to a chair. “The sight is one of the manifestations of the old blood.
Bendith y Mamau
.”

The hair on the back of my neck rose. “That’s Welsh, right?”

He smiled. “Very good. It means ‘the mother’s blessing’ and is one Welsh name for the fae. The more common one is
Tylwyth Teg
, which translates to the fair folk. In the context of the current conversation,
Bendith y Mamau
seems more appropriate.”

I tried to follow what he was saying, but my mind stayed stuck on my first question. “So you know Welsh?”

“Some. It’s common enough in Cainsville. It was founded by exiles from the British Isles and hasn’t come very far since. You may have noticed that.” He lowered his voice to a mock whisper. “Not exactly the most racially diverse town in Illinois.”

I looked at Patrick, sitting there, smiling slightly.

He’s playing with me.

No, he’s not. Look at him, Olivia. Really look. You know there’s something—

A noise in the hall. Gabriel and Rose, talking as they approached. The door swung open, Rose holding it as Gabriel carried the tray.

“I remember MKULTRA,” Rose was saying, looking relaxed now. “Mind control.” She rolled her eyes. “What rubbish.”

“Says the woman with second sight,” I murmured.

Gabriel’s lips quirked in a smile.

“Apples and oranges.” Rose took the teacups and began filling them. “I cannot inflict my sight on anyone. No more than a person who sees omens can force another to see them, too.”

I tensed, but Patrick was adding sugar to his tea, and he didn’t notice.

“What about hypnosis?” I said to Rose. “You do that.”

“Hypnosis merely taps into something already present in the subconscious. At most, it plants an idea. I can use it to help someone who wants to quit smoking; I cannot use it to force someone to quit against her will. That is mind control, and it is beyond the realm of possibility.”

“Mmm,” Patrick said, stirring his tea. “Beyond the realm of science, I would agree. But the idea of controlling another person is very common in folklore and the occult, everything from fully possessing another person to controlling the risen dead. Even simple spell-craft—incantations, potions, and the like—aims to control behavior. Now, if the CIA’s scientists had been more open to
those
explorations, I’d wager they’d have had better luck finding their elixir.”

“Sadly, it seems the people we’re hunting only practiced the simplest version of behavioral control,” I said. “Shutting someone up by putting a bullet through him.”

Patrick’s lip curled slightly. “How pedestrian. If that’s the angle you’re pursuing, then I’m not sure my research helps, but if you still want it…”

“I do. Please.”

Patrick was right. As much as I appreciated his research, I wasn’t sure it got us anywhere now.

What he’d found was another Druidic link. Each stone left in the victim’s mouths had a small hole through it. At first, they’d been mistaken for amulets, the presumption being that the holes had been carved. Later, they were discovered to be naturally occurring perforation.

Adder stones, Patrick called them. They often had a glassy center, usually flint. Ancient Celts believed that center was the hardened spittle of snakes—or even dragons. Adder stones were particularly prized by Druids. They were known as
Gloine nan Druidh,
or Druid’s Glass, in Scottish Gaelic, and were said to aid in spirit travel.

What did that mean? We had no idea, only that it was a second Druidic link. Patrick said he’d keep digging for more. I told him he didn’t need to, but apparently he was having fun chasing this particular mystery.

M
ind control. That was an interesting possibility. It couldn’t be done by natural means; Patrick was sure of that. Even by unnatural means, it was difficult. One could certainly influence behavior. There were also charms and trances. But their effect was sadly limited. Yet if there was a way to mingle the scientific and the mystical … Very intriguing.

Equally intriguing was the fact that Olivia and Gabriel seemed to actually be making headway in their efforts to prove the Larsens innocent. That was unexpected. It was presumed among the
Tylwyth Teg
of Cainsville that the Larsens were in fact guilty, that the ritualistic aspects of the crimes proved they were responsible even if no one quite knew what the ritual was supposed to accomplish.

Was it possible they had been, as the
boinne-fala
would say,
framed
?

Definitely intriguing.

P
atrick stayed to visit longer with Rose. As we left, I commented to Gabriel that they seemed to know each other well.

Gabriel shrugged. “Well enough. They have similar interests, as you noticed.”

“What do you make of him?”

Gabriel looked over, frowning, as we reached the bottom of the steps.

“It’s just…” I began. “Cainsville seems very old-fashioned in some ways. Respect for elders and all that. But Patrick appears to be exempt. If anything, he seems to be as respected as the elders. Which seems odd for a guy younger than me.”

Another frown, deeper now. “Patrick? He’s older than I am, Olivia.”

“What?”

“Not by much, I presume. But I recall him as a young man when I wasn’t more than a teenager. He’s definitely older than I am.”

I remembered what Patrick said when I commented that he’d seemed young to be published.
I’m older than I look.
Apparently so. That explained a few things.

As we crossed the road, Gabriel said, “Catch,” and I turned just in time to see silver flashing toward me.

“I’m driving?” I said as I caught his keys.

“Yes, though those were just for dramatic flourish. Technically, you don’t need the keys. As long as they’re in the car, you can drive it.” He paused. “I probably shouldn’t have told you that.”

I grinned. “In other words, from now on, whoever gets to the driver’s seat first takes the wheel?”

“Unless I refuse to get in the passenger seat.”

“Spoilsport.” I walked around the Jag and opened the driver’s door. “You’re serious, though. I get to drive?”

He waggled his cell phone. “I need to check e-mail.”

“So I’m actually chauffeuring you.”

“Are you arguing?”

I slid in. “Nope. Are we still heading out to interview that MKULTRA subject? Patrick seemed to think Rose had a vision that we shouldn’t.”

“She did receive a warning. Typically vague, something to do with me, terrible danger, and all that.” He climbed into the passenger seat. Then he paused before closing the door. “On second thought, perhaps we should switch places…”

“Too late.”

I started the engine. He only smiled as if he’d been teasing.

“You don’t take the warning seriously, I presume?” I said.

“I do, but a warning only means that I should be alert, and that was all Rose wanted to tell me. Be careful. Danger is in the cards today.” He fastened his seat belt and made a show of double-checking.

I made a face at him.

“Go on,” he said. “Just keep your foot light until you hit the town limits. Or I’ll get blamed, no matter who’s driving.”

——

There are no stoplights in Cainsville. There are, however, a lot of crosswalks, and you’re expected to slow at each. It was still early Sunday morning, but kids were already out, heading to something at the community center.

As I idled waiting for the children to pass, I noticed another gargoyle I hadn’t seen before. It was a monkey tucked under a roofline, which would make it completely useless for its original purpose. It was cute, though, peeking out from the shadow as its hands gripped the overhang. Another one to add to my list.

I glanced at Gabriel. He had his head bent as he read his e-mail. He must normally use something to discipline his wavy hair and he obviously hadn’t found a substitute in my bathroom, because a chunk of it had fallen forward. He’d taken his sunglasses off to read, blue eyes fixed on his phone. His expression was as intent and serious as ever, but the hair in his face spoiled the effect, and when I looked from him to the monkey, I thought of a boy hunting gargoyles.

Somewhere in Cainsville was a gargoyle with the face of that ten-year-old Gabriel and I wanted to see it. But even as I imagined asking—lightly, teasingly—where it was, I couldn’t. Would he want me knowing he’d hunted gargoyles? That he had one modeled after him? No. I didn’t think he would. So I waited until the children passed and continued down Main Street. I put my foot down the second we passed the town sign. Gabriel didn’t look up from his e-mail, only chuckled and shook his head. I was playing with the acceleration, wishing I had a road more exciting than this flat stretch, when something made my foot pop off the pedal.

Gabriel kept his gaze on his e-mail. “If you thought you saw a cruiser, it’s only Marg Wilson’s black sedan.”

“That’s … not it.”

He looked over, frowning at my tone.

“That billboard there,” I said. “What do you see on it?”

He looked from the billboard to me.

“What do
you
see on it?” he asked.

“I asked—”

“Olivia…”

I swallowed and adjusted my grip on the wheel. My fingers stuck to the leather, making popping sounds as I pulled them off.

“Poppies,” I said. “A bouquet of poppies.”

“They’re roses,” he said quietly.

I tried to see roses, but we were less than a hundred feet from the billboard, the car creeping along, and the flowers were at least ten feet tall. I couldn’t mistake them for anything but poppies.

“Pull over,” he said.

I shook my head and adjusted my sweaty hands again. “I’m fine. Just…” I tried for a laugh. “It’s an omen about my driving. Keep going that speed and we’ll know what Rose’s warning meant.”

Gabriel didn’t crack a smile. “Pull over, Olivia.”

I started to shake my head. Then I saw something else, just past the billboard. I rolled the car onto the shoulder and kept going until I was close enough to be sure.

“Olivia?”

“Do you see the fence there? The wire one with wooden posts?”

“Yes.”

“Do you see the bird on the corner post?” I asked.

“Of course.”

“What is it?”

“A crow?” He put on his sunglasses and looked again. “No, it seems large for a crow. A raven?”

“Is the tail wedge-shaped or rounded?”

“Wedge. A raven then. Does that mean something?”

“Just that … they’re practically unheard of around here. And I keep seeing them.”

“Maybe it’s the same one?”

I thought of the raven outside Niles Gunderson’s apartment. I shivered before I could stop myself. Then I started to put the car into drive again. Gabriel pushed the button to turn off the engine.

“I think we should speak to Rose,” he said.

“Of course not. I’m just—”

My gaze caught the raven’s. It hunched its head down between its shoulders and looked right at me. The words dried up in my throat.

Gabriel opened the door. “Wait here.”

I leaned over to stop him, but he was already out of the car, slamming the door behind him. The sound was loud enough that it should have sent the bird flying, but the raven just sat there, staring at me.

My heart pounded so hard my breath caught. I clenched my fists, told myself I was being silly. It was a bird. Just a bird.

“Ewch i ffwrdd, bran.”

I whispered the words without thinking. My gaze stayed fixed on Gabriel as he bore down on the raven. I wanted to leap from the car. Tell him to come back. Tell him to forget the bird. Just come back. Please come back.

Don’t make a fool of yourself, Olivia.

The raven fixed its beady eyes on Gabriel. It lifted its wings. Not preparing for flight. Flexing. Crouching. Ready to attack.

I grabbed the door handle. The lock was still engaged, and I had to yank twice. I pushed, ready to call a warning. But Gabriel was already shouting. Telling the bird to scram, waving his arms, and for a second, I saw the little girl in the ruined garden.

“Ewch i ffwrdd, bran,”
I whispered. “You don’t belong here.”

The bird lifted off. It didn’t make a sound, just flapped its wings and started to rise. As it did, something dropped from its talons. Something red. Floating to the ground.

Gabriel bent as I walked over. He picked up what the raven dropped.

“What is it?” I asked. But I already knew. And when I got there and he put out his hand, I saw what I expected—crushed poppy petals.

“We should speak to Rose,” he said.

“About what?” I said, harsher than I intended. “What is she going to tell us?”

He let the petals flutter down. “I don’t know.” He shook it off, shoulders straightening as he drew himself up. “You said the poppy is a death omen. I might know what it means.” He took out his phone and showed it to me. “This is what I was reading when you saw the billboard. It came from a search alert.”