The Orange Cat & other Cainsville tales (6 page)

“We can come back tonight?”

“If you insist.”

“Oh, I do. Mysteries to solve, and all that.”

He grinned. “And all that.”

Four - Liv

I hadn’t told Ricky about the castle in the cavern. I would. It wasn’t as if I’d seen this wondrous and impossible thing and then—sex!—promptly forgot it. But sometimes, I need to take the more important things and set them aside until I have time to get them straight in my mind. Sex is the perfect distraction for that, particularly when it comes in the form of such a unique encounter.

The memory of it made me grin as I hugged Ricky’s back, my arms wrapped around him, wind rushing past as we outran the storm. I closed my eyes and luxuriated in the sheer joy of the ride, ripping along those winding mountain roads.

And if there was any other reason why I held off telling him . . . another reason I’d been very grateful for the distraction of the lady of the lake . . . well, I was letting the tantalizing memories of that encounter and the thrill of the motorcycle ride wash away those, too.

The truth? When I’d seen that shimmering gold castle, my first thought had been, “Well, this is a little improbable.” My second? I can’t wait to tell Gabriel.

Gabriel is the one who’s been at my side from the start of this journey. The one who’d been with me when we discovered the secret of Cainsville, refuge for Welsh fae. When we’d discovered our own connection to it, our fae blood. When we’d discovered my role as the embodiment of Mallt-y-Nos, Matilda of the Hunt. And then . . .

And then his role. As Gwynn.

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

He’d later accepted that and apologized for his initial reaction. But I could not forget how it felt, getting that from the one person who’d supported me through all of this, the person who’d helped me accept it when I just wanted to scream, “Y’all are fucking crazy.”

I’d seen that castle in the cavern and instantly wanted to tell Gabriel. We’d debate whether it could be a vision, an omen or something more. Then we’d take it to Rose and see if she could find anything like it in human folklore. To Patrick next, for the fae version. We’d—

We’d do none of that. And it wasn’t just because I was almost two thousand miles away. I could still call Gabriel, talk to him, ask him to investigate. We’d parted on good terms, me just taking off on vacation. No big deal.

Except it hadn’t been the same between us. I feared it never would be. That I’d never take anything like this to him again. Never want to.

Which was fine. I could talk to Ricky. He’d be just as keen to hear it, just as keen to hash it out and solve the mystery. He’s the one I should have been relying on all along. The one I could trust. It’d just taken me far too long to figure that out.

#

It was a little early to stop for the day, but neither of us really had to get back to Chicago on exactly the date we’d planned. Ricky was done school for the term. I had work, but I’d built in a two-day buffer, and Gabriel had already made it clear I could take more, yet another way of apologizing for what had happened.

So despite the fact it was only late afternoon, we’d booked ourselves into an inn for the night, and now we were enjoying the late-day sun on an otherwise-empty tavern back deck. The locals were all inside, the server saying it was “a mite hot” for sitting out. The mercury hadn’t even hit eighty, but apparently, that was a heat wave here. So we had the deck and the gorgeous mountain view to ourselves along with a couple of ice-cold local beers and a heaping basket of steamed mussels.

Ricky was on the phone to his dad. They’d had business to discuss first, and he’d taken the call off the deck for that part. Given that the family business is organized crime, discretion is always wise, especially when I’m the investigator for their legal firm. Even if they won’t be openly discussing business, it’s safer if I can honestly claim full deniability.

Of course I know what they do for a living. Perfectly legit business ventures make up more than half the Satan’s Saints’ revenue, but when Ricky wanted to lay all the cards on the table, that wasn’t the part he talked about. If anything, he downplayed the legitimate side. It’s the rest—the drugs and the gun-running—that matters. And I’m okay with that. My parents are in prison, serving life sentences for murders that my mother
did
commit. My boss is a defense attorney whose ethical code could be written on the back of a postage stamp. I’m okay with all of it. There’s too much fae in my blood to feel differently.

What matters to me is that Ricky was happily chatting to his dad, and their relationship is one of the best I’ve ever seen. What matters to me is that when the server came out, he would put the phone aside, and he’d be friendly and polite and generous with the tip. What matters to me is that even as he talked to his father, he would find ways to include me in the conversation, comments and asides. What matters to me, then, is him: the guy, not the member of the biker gang.

I’m especially happy that Ricky and his dad have gotten over their own rough patch, one I’d inadvertently caused. Don Gallagher knows nothing of the fae world beyond the stories his mother told him, both of them unaware they were more than stories. But something in his Cŵn Annwn blood senses it, told him Ricky should stay away from me, leave me for Gabriel. That was safe. For all of us, but mostly for Ricky.

I wouldn’t say Don has changed his mind. He likes me well enough, just not necessarily as Ricky’s girlfriend. But he has accepted me and any tension between them has eased.

Now, as they talked, Ricky pulled the phone away and said, “Dad’s wondering if you can send him some photos. He wants to see them, maybe pass on a few to my mom.”

“Sure.”

He scooted his chair over as I flipped through photos on my phone. There were some pure scenery shots, but most were of one of us in front of that scenery. Otherwise, five years from now, I’d be going through them, saying, “Forest, ocean, mountain, more ocean, more . . .” Put Ricky in the shot, and it would trigger a memory instead—“Oh, yes, that was the amazing stretch of winding road where we saw a whale breach out in the water.”

As I went through the photos, Ricky said, “That one and that one,” and each of those photos sparked a memory, every one making me smile. I was on yesterday’s batch when he said, “Oh, definitely that one.”

It
was
a good shot. The two of us in the mouth of a cave, the ocean behind us, white-crested waves crashing. It was a rare selfie—well, a dual selfie, neither of us being much into taking pics of ourselves. I’d been holding the phone up, and he was grinning at the camera, his hair flying back in the wind, hazel eyes bright, arm around my shoulders. At the last second, I’d planted a kiss on his cheek and snapped it as my lips made contact.

“Send it to me, too,” he said. “New background for my phone.”

I e-mailed it, and as he talked to his dad, I glanced at the photo again. I looked so happy. We both did. Ecstatically and unabashedly happy. Just one such moment in a week filled with them. Giddy and carefree and in love. To think that only a couple of weeks ago I’d considered ending it, just to open the door for—

My phone rang. The second I heard the ringtone, my fingers flew to the Ignore button, guilt stabbing through me, as if I’d somehow conjured up this call just thinking of him.

Ricky covered his phone and said, “You should take that.”

“It’s just—”

“It’s Gabriel. I know. And I also noticed you have two unanswered calls from him this afternoon. He’s trying to get in touch with you.”

Then he can text me.

That wasn’t fair, of course. Gabriel was my boss. Even on vacation, ignoring his calls was irresponsible.

Ricky motioned that he’d move his call elsewhere, but I told him to stay and took mine down the steps, off the deck. I phoned Gabriel back.

“Hey,” I said when he answered. “What’s up?”

His deep voice resonated down the line. “You were working on the Fisher case before you left, correct?”

“I was.”

“I need to check something in the file.”

“Okay, well, it’s in that place that the files go. The filing cabinet.”

“I didn’t see it,” he said, but I heard the sound of his footsteps and then the click of the filing cabinet drawer, the whoosh of it opening. “Oh, yes. It’s here.”

“It’s also scanned and entered in the handy new digital repository, which someone needs to start using, considering he’s the one who suggested I set it up.”

My tone was light, just giving him a hard time, same old Olivia. Maybe I overdid it. Or he just wasn’t in the mood. Either way, he didn’t respond, and I listened to him flipping through the pages.

“Any questions?” I asked.

“No.”

“All right, then. Well, you have the file, so I’ll let you—”

“How is the trip?”

I could wax on about the scenery. Tell some quirky little story about fellow travelers. Even relay an interesting tidbit of local history. All of which he’d listen to with an impatience that would fairly strum over the phone line.

“Good,” I said simply.

A pause, as if he might actually be hoping for more. I cleared my throat. “Yesterday we saw a—”

“Is everything all right?”

“Um, yes . . . Why?”

“Nothing happened today?” He blurted. Then he cleared his throat. “I mean . . . the motorcycle. I’m not certain it’s safe to be riding a motorcycle through mountains. That’s where you are, yes? Mountains?”

“The Cape Breton Highlands. They’re an extension of the Appalachians, relatively low.”

“Yes, yes, but it seems dangerous on a motorcycle. You haven’t had any incidents, have you? Today, perhaps? I thought I heard thunder over the line.”

I looked up at the perfectly clear sky. “Well, there was a storm earlier, but we outran it.”

“Then you’re fine? Safely out of the storm’s path?”

I could be touched by his concern. Except he wasn’t actually worried about storms and dangerous roads. I remembered the timing of his first call. It would have coincided almost exactly with the water fae dragging me out of that cavern.

He knew something had happened. Gabriel has a sixth sense for danger. It’s mostly tuned to threats against him, but there’s one exception. Me, presumably because of the Matilda-Gwynn connection.

Now that you mention it, something weird did happen. I found this underwater cavern, and inside, there was a castle. A fae castle. Totally weird, I know, and I’m presuming it was a vision, but it might mean something. Think you can ask Rose if there’s any folklore on that? Water fae, caverns, castles . . .

Then I heard his voice again,
You dream of some fairy prince and say I’m him?
and any urge to tell him evaporated.

“Everything’s fine,” I said. “We’re just sitting on a patio, having a couple of beers and enjoying the sunshine.”

“Ricky’s drinking? On those roads—”

“We left the bike at the inn and walked.”

“Yes, of course. I’m just . . .” A soft sound, like a growl. Worrying really wasn’t Gabriel’s style. That was Gwynn, fretting something had happened to me, made worse by the fact that Gabriel didn’t really understand why. All he knew was that something was bugging him, something about me in danger, and until he solved the mystery, it’d keep chafing.

If I were petty, I’d let it chafe. But whatever happened between us, I still care about him. I don’t want him distracted while he’s trying to work.

“We had a fae encounter,” I said.

“Fae?”

Normally I’d make a quip.
Yep, sadly, even Canada has them.
But I couldn’t work up the energy. I just wanted to calm his anxiety and end this call.

“A water fae of some kind,” I said. “Nothing dangerous. Just your typical capricious fae. I should let you get back—”

“Of the fae we’ve encountered, Olivia, I believe
dangerous
is more typical than
capricious
. Did it realize you knew it was fae?”

“No, it really was just a brief—”

“Tell me what you can, and I’ll speak to Patrick.”

I was about to say I’d rather he didn’t contact Patrick without me there. The last thing I wanted was for Gabriel to learn that Patrick is his father so soon after the Gwynn reveal, and when I wasn’t there to help Gabriel deal—

Deep breath.

Gabriel didn’t need me to help him deal with anything.

“You have quite enough on your plate,” I said. “You don’t need this.”

“If I were unwilling to investigate, Olivia, I would not offer.” His voice cooled, and I pictured him, icy blue eyes cooling too, withdrawing behind that impenetrable wall. He’d made an overture, and I’d rejected it, so he would retreat.

Screw that. Let him retreat. I wasn’t—

Deep breath.

“I would like to do this for you, Olivia.” His voice had softened, tone almost apologetic. “If you had a fae encounter, I would feel better knowing it is indeed some harmless variety, unlikely to come after either of you.”

Damn. Gabriel was so much easier to deal with when he acted like he didn’t give a shit.

“Can I e-mail you the details later?” I said. “I still haven’t told Ricky everything, and I really should.”