The Orange Cat & other Cainsville tales (12 page)

“You stole—” I began.

“They did not want it,” she said. “I did.”

“Yes, actually, they wanted it very much, and it’s not for you to decide otherwise. We need her back.”

“No. She is mine.”

Ricky lunged. His hand went around the fae’s neck, pushing her face into the rock hard enough to make me wince. She let out a shriek, flailing, her glamour slipping, hands turning claw-like as they scrabbled against the stone. The shadows whispered and swirled but stayed back. Stayed well back.

“You want us gone,” Ricky said. “We want to
be
gone. But we are not leaving without getting what we came for, and if you don’t take us to her, we’ll bring a shitload of trouble down on your little hideaway here. You think you’ve scared off the humans? People
like
curses. They like stories of haunted places. They like to whisper of the place no one dares go. But that’s a game they play to amuse themselves. If we tell them their lost baby is here, they will descend with torches and fury.”

He leaned into her ear. “You know what I’m talking about, don’t you? You’re old enough to know. You’ve had them come before, in the old world. That’s why you fled here. That’s why you’re very careful about how you keep them away. Give them ghost stories, but do not actually make them afraid, or they’ll drive you out and kill you.”

The fae whimpered. “They did not want her. I did. I am good to her.”

Ricky eased up. “I get that, but you misunderstood, and she’s not yours to keep. Now take us to her.”

#

The fae led us from the cave. Once we got out, she said, “You will want to dress first. It is cold.”

“We’re good,” Ricky said. “And we’re not giving you a chance to run.”

“I cannot keep her underground,” the fae said as she led us into the forest. “She is not big enough. It would be dangerous taking her under the water.”

“It would.”

“You will find out if they want her, yes?” she said. “I think
you
are mistaken. I heard them say they did not.”

“We’ll make sure of that,” I said. I could only hope that what the fae overheard was a couple of young parents, temporarily frustrated. Parenting can’t be easy, especially at that age, and there must be moments of exhaustion and frustration and even regret.

“If they do not want her, you will bring her back?”

I murmured something noncommittal.

“I am good to her,” the fae said, as if sensing my doubt. “I took care of her. I kept her warm and fed, and I played with her, and she hardly even whimpers.”

“I’m sure you were an excellent caregiver,” I said.

The fae climbed over a pile of rock, scaling down a hillside as nimble as a mountain goat. We followed as best we could until we found her at the mouth of a cave.

“She is in there,” she said. “Go and get her.”

“Uh, no,” Ricky said. “I don’t know
what’s
in there, but I have a feeling”—he inhaled and then backed up fast—“it runs on four legs.”

Deep inside the cave, something stirred. I scrambled up the hillside, Ricky following. The fae bolted. Ricky swore and charged after her. I stayed where I was, listening to those noises in the cave, no idea what was in there, but making sure it didn’t come out to investigate.

As the fae raced down the hillside, Ricky crossed above her, coming down onto an overhanging rock and then—

He jumped, landing on top of her, both of them rolling down the hill. I reached them just as Ricky got the fae pinned.

When I heard a whimper, Ricky did, too, his head jerking up. I kept going down the hillside, picking up speed, straining for those noises, almost lost in the calls and cries of the night.

Behind me, Ricky hissed in sudden pain. I turned to see the fae running my way, Ricky in pursuit, blood dripping, claw marks scored down his side.

I could see what looked like another thicket ahead. A cry came from inside. I spotted something pale. Pale yellow. Like the threads I’d found.

The fae was right on my heels. I dove, hit the edge of the thicket, and realized there were reasons other than “cold” for wearing clothing. Thorns clawed my torso. But there it was, a bundle wrapped in a soft yellow blanket covered in cartoon lions. I snatched it up in both arms, like a football.

The fae landed on my back. Teeth or claws dug into my shoulder. A snarl from Ricky, and the weight on my back disappeared.

My arms closed around the bundle as I whispered, “Sorry, sorry. You’re okay. You’re okay,” and really hoped she was, because my football grab probably hadn’t been the most baby-friendly move.

I held the bundle tight as she whimpered and whined. Then . . .

The whine sounded odd. High pitched. And the head rubbing against my bare chest . . . It was coarse hair. I might not know much about babies, but I have held enough to remember admiring that silky fine hair.

When a claw scratched my stomach, I let out a yelp and nearly threw the bundle aside. Luckily, I’m not quite that easily spooked and just thrust it away, holding it at arm’s length to see . . .

“A puppy?” Ricky said.

I held a puppy. Wrapped in a baby blanket. A small brown-and-white dog, like a terrier mix. The puppy wriggled and whined.

“Mine!” the fae shrieked as she charged at me.

Ricky grabbed her and held her back as she fought.

“Mine. She’s mine! They did not want her. I heard them talking. The other babies found homes, but she did not, and they were deciding what to do with her. They could not keep her, and they were talking about how they would rid themselves of her.
Kill
her. You will not take her back. You will not. She is mine.”

I sighed and looked at the puppy, wriggling hopefully in my hands. Then I gave it a quick pat and held it out to the fae.

“Yours,” I said.

Eleven - Liv

We were quiet as we walked back to the bike. Ricky had hold of my hand, gripping so tight it hurt, his gaze fixed straight ahead. I bided my time, waiting for his mood to settle a little, us getting distance from the swimming hole, before I said, “Arawn?”

He jumped and said, “What?” like I’d been calling him by that name.

“You were hearing from him in there?” I said. “That can be . . . discomfiting.”

He loosened his death grip on my hand. “Yeah. It’s weird, because he must have always been there. Memories of him or his actual consciousness, I don’t know which, but it’s like finding out my connection to him triggered it. Gave him permission to talk.”

“And you’d rather he shut up?”

A faint smile. “Yeah. Do you hear Matilda?”

“I don’t think so. I just get visions of her. Of being her, usually. Maybe she just doesn’t have anything to say.”

“Or maybe, with you, she’s better integrated.”

I shrugged. “Maybe. I do wonder sometimes if I’ve always just heard her and thought of that as my inner voice.”

“I’ve wondered that, too, with Arawn. Whether he’s always been the voice in my head, and whether knowing he is—well,
was
—an actual person just means I think of him differently.”

“So you think I was right?” I asked. “About that cavern being a portal to the afterlife?”

“The shadows definitely felt like spirits. They recognized me—recognized Arawn. It wasn’t even like they were actually threatening you. Just . . . curious. It was Arawn’s memories making me freak out. Remembering you going into the fire—” He shoved his hair back and gave a soft growl. “Not you.
Matilda
. See what I mean? Most times, I can separate me from him, you from her. Recognize the connection, while separating the people. But in there? The problem wasn’t here.” He tapped his head. “It was in my gut. Logic be damned. I
felt
like you were two seconds from being consumed by shadows and dragged into the afterlife.
Again
.”

He took a deep breath. “So, we got some clues.”

I smiled at him. “Steer away from the weird shit and focus on the mystery?”

“Even the mystery is weird shit.”

“The one about the cave, yes. The baby mystery seems to be squarely back in the realm of the human, and I have no clues for that and a teenage girl counting on me—”

“So, we got some clues.”

I smiled and leaned against him as we walked. “You need to steer away from the weird shit. I need to steer away from the normal shit. Clues then. We found what appears to be an underground hole into the afterlife. The
Otherworld
, specifically. The Welsh version of the afterlife.”

“Because the spirits and the fae knew Arawn.”

“And spoke Welsh. She called you
fy arglwydd
. Welsh for ‘my lord.’”

“Which raises a question. Arawn is Lord of the Otherworld, and Matilda spent half her time in his realm when she was alive, and she was half Cŵn Annwn herself. Yet the Otherworld isn’t where she went when she died, or he’d have been fine with that.”

“I’ve never gotten the sense Arawn’s like Hades or Osiris, an actual ruler of the afterlife, living among the shades and spirits. That’s another answer I won’t get until I choose a side. My guess, though, would be that his realm is not the afterlife itself but more like the gates to it.”

“The castle you saw.”

“The first time, yes. Not this time.”

“But I did see something in there, and I heard laughter, voices, music. It didn’t sound like any version of hell. Which the Otherworld isn’t. It’s just a generic afterlife, not for good people or bad.”

“Right,” I said. “So, yes, whether the castle and the music came from the afterlife or Arawn’s actual realm, I have no idea. Presumably, on her death, Matilda went into the afterlife, as a spirit, and there was nothing he could do, no way to bring her back or visit her there or . . . My head hurts now.”

“So we have some clues.”

“Exactly. We also have cell service, so I’m calling on the almighty power of the internet. See if folklore can give us a head start.”

I typed in my keywords and was reading a website when my cellular provider finally realized I was back in the land of the connected and released my texts and voice mail messages. I had both. All from the same person.

“Uh . . . well . . .” I said, reading one of Gabriel’s texts. I showed it to Ricky.

Please call immediately. Found information. Do not investigate before calling.

“Little late for that, huh?” I checked the other messages, which were iterations of the same theme.

It was nearly midnight, Atlantic time. Two hours earlier in Chicago, but I still sent a query to be sure Gabriel wasn’t busy.

The phone rang thirty seconds after my text whizzed off.

“So, not busy?” I said.

He made a noise that I interpreted to mean it was a ridiculous question. It wasn’t even ten at night. He’d hardly be sleeping. As for the possibility he was out enjoying his evening . . . Yeah, Gabriel’s idea of an evening “out” would just mean he hadn’t made it back from the office yet.

“Patrick believes he knows what you may be dealing with there,” Gabriel said. “I’m not convinced he’s correct, but on the possibility he is, I wanted to speak to you immediately.”

“
Gwragedd Annwn.
”

Silence. I continued, “Literal translation, dames of the Otherworld. Welsh guardians of the passages between the worlds. Water fae. Sometimes considered Welsh mermaids because lore has them luring human husbands, but otherwise, there’s little resemblance. The Gwragedd Annwn aren’t fish-like in any way, and they live in lakes rather than the ocean. Am I close?”

“Your identification matches Patrick’s, yes, though the lore, as always, is slightly off. They’re known to tease human men, but the concept of seducing them as husbands is, of course, ridiculous.”

“Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?”

Ricky, who was listening in, chuckled. From Gabriel, I got dead silence. Then, “There’s nothing in the lore to suggest any connection to cows . . .”

I bit my lip. Ricky managed to turn a laugh into a snort that had Gabriel saying, “Is that Ricky?” and “Is he all right?”

“He’s fine. It was just a cough. Forget the cows. The point is that I’m correct with the basics, right? This is a water-based Welsh fae who guards a passage to the Otherworld. And what I saw—the cavern and the castle and even hearing bells—I found in the human lore, too.”

“Yes, from what Patrick told me, you’re dealing with an actual passage between the worlds. One you absolutely do not want to go near.”

“This way to certain death?”

“That would be the theory, which I strongly urge—in fact, insist—you do not test.”

“I wasn’t planning to. That’s why you warned us off, then?”

“That and the association with . . .” He faltered. “With Arawn. Which would connect it to . . .”

He didn’t finish. Couldn’t, being unable to make that connection himself. To put it into words.

“To Ricky, right?” I said. “Is Arawn connected to the gwragedd? The human lore actually mentions that they’re associated with . . .”

Now I was the one trailing off as I realized where I was headed.

“Gwynn ap Nudd, yes.” The words came clipped, giving Gwynn his full folklore name, to separate it from Gabriel himself. I didn’t fail to catch the snap in his voice, almost accusatory, as if I were purposely bringing this up to throw it in his face.

You dream of some fairy prince and say I’m him?

My hand tightened on the phone. “I think I’m losing the connection, Gabriel. Why don’t I call you in the morning? Or I can speak directly to Patrick—?”

“No.”

“My cell service is wavering here—”

“If you are disconnected, I would ask you to call me back. If, however, you are attempting to end this conversation because of the direction it has taken, I would ask you not to.”

“I wasn’t taking it in that direction.”

“Yes, I know. I . . .” A pause, and the next words came as if pulled out with vice grips. “I apologize.” A deep breath that echoed down the line. “Now, as you were saying, yes, the lore does associate the gwragedd with Gwynn rather than Arawn, but that appears to be simply another manifestation of the folklore confusion between the two. Arawn controls the afterlife, and these fae guard the entrances to it. They serve him.”