Betrayals
Page 10
True. While Patrick wouldn’t let me die of fever on his floor, if I fell and banged my head, he’d calmly observe the results and then wander off when that proved dull.
“I think it’s worth the risk.” I paused and added, “And I’d like you to come.”
He set the cat’s dish down and followed me out the door.
CHAPTER FIVE
We found Patrick in the diner. He’s almost always there, writing at a table, playing his role as Cainsville’s resident novelist. He’s been published in several genres, under multiple pen names. Currently, he’s Patricia Rees, writing paranormal romance. I don’t comment on that. I wouldn’t know where to begin.
The other Cainsville elders usually affect the guise of, well, the elderly. There’s a distinct advantage to that. One could grow up in Cainsville and never realize the elders weren’t aging, which is exactly what Gabriel had done. They’d been old when he was a child; they were still old. He had never stopped to consider exactly how old they might be. I remember a teacher I hated in second grade. In my memory, she was ancient, and then I met her a few years ago and discovered she was only now nearing retirement.
Presumably, the Cainsville elders will occasionally abandon their guise to live as younger residents. I suspect it’s tough to seduce the local ladies when you look like you’d need a whole bottle of Viagra. But most times, they’re seniors. The exception is Patrick, who appears somewhere between my age and Gabriel’s. As for why no one notices that he doesn’t age, chalk that up partly to fae compulsion and partly to the human brain’s need to find explanations. Before we knew about the Tylwyth Teg, Gabriel had told me he remembered a man who’d taken an interest in him as a boy. In his memory, it was Patrick, but as an adult, Gabriel had realized that was impossible and decided the man must have been a relative of Patrick’s instead.
Patrick is a hobgoblin. I remember the first time Rose said the word, and I made the mistake of equating it with “goblin.” She’d been quick to correct me. She said I should think of Puck from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Which is exactly who Patrick reminds me of. An arrogant, self-serving trickster who isn’t nearly as clever or as interesting or as charming as he thinks he is. Of course, I may be biased, having discovered a few months ago that Patrick is the father who abandoned Gabriel to his hellish life with Seanna.
We got three steps into the diner before the place went silent, every aging pair of eyes turning our way.
The first to react was Ida Clark, de facto leader of the Cainsville Tylwyth Teg. She rose to greet us, along with her consort, Walter.
“Olivia,” she said. “And Gabriel. We haven’t seen either of you in a while.”
“And we haven’t seen you together in even longer,” said Veronica, beaming at us from her table.
“We’re together plenty,” I said. “I work for him, remember? Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have a case—”
Walter perked up. “You’re working on a case together?”
“We are,” I said. “Ricky’s in trouble, and Gabriel’s helping me fix it.”
Did I take some pleasure in seeing their faces fall as I mentioned that dreaded name? Maybe.
I walked to the counter, and said hi to Larry—the cook and owner. I’d worked here for a few months after I arrived, and contrary to what the elders claimed, I did still stop by quite often. I just didn’t talk to them.
I motioned to the server—Susie—that I was going to take the coffee pot. Then I carried it over to the dark-haired guy banging away on his laptop. Patrick didn’t even let me draw up alongside his table before he lifted his mug.
He smiled as I filled it. “Hello, Liv. Good to see you.”
Gabriel took the pot from me and returned it as Patrick said, “You, too, Gabriel. The old folks are right. You don’t come by nearly often enough these days.”
I took the seat across from Patrick.
“Pleasantries complete, one-sided though they may be,” Patrick said. “Liv wants to get down to business. How may I help you, Olivia? I presume that’s what brings you to my office. You want something.”
“Of course.”
“And in return?”
Quid pro quo. That’s how all fae operate on some level, but it’s more overt with a hobgoblin.
“In return I will tell you what we’re investigating,” I said. “And you can decide how much of it you want to pass on to the other elders.”
The old folks heard that perfectly well, and they were not pleased. Patrick’s eyes glittered as he sipped his coffee.
I glanced around. Other than the elders, there were no other customers. Susie and Larry had gone into the back, like bartenders sensing a brawl brewing.
“Is that a reasonable deal?” I asked Patrick.
“It is.”
“No.” Ida got to her feet again. “It is not.”
She started toward me. Gabriel stepped into her path.
“I want to speak to Liv,” Ida said. “I am allowed that, under the terms—”
“Under the terms of our agreement, you are allowed to speak to her, but not to interfere. She wishes to consult with Patrick. You are attempting to interfere.”
“Patrick isn’t the one she should speak to.”
“Perhaps, but he is the one she chooses to speak to.”
“He cannot be trusted—”
“None of you can.”
“I think it’s worth the risk.” I paused and added, “And I’d like you to come.”
He set the cat’s dish down and followed me out the door.
CHAPTER FIVE
We found Patrick in the diner. He’s almost always there, writing at a table, playing his role as Cainsville’s resident novelist. He’s been published in several genres, under multiple pen names. Currently, he’s Patricia Rees, writing paranormal romance. I don’t comment on that. I wouldn’t know where to begin.
The other Cainsville elders usually affect the guise of, well, the elderly. There’s a distinct advantage to that. One could grow up in Cainsville and never realize the elders weren’t aging, which is exactly what Gabriel had done. They’d been old when he was a child; they were still old. He had never stopped to consider exactly how old they might be. I remember a teacher I hated in second grade. In my memory, she was ancient, and then I met her a few years ago and discovered she was only now nearing retirement.
Presumably, the Cainsville elders will occasionally abandon their guise to live as younger residents. I suspect it’s tough to seduce the local ladies when you look like you’d need a whole bottle of Viagra. But most times, they’re seniors. The exception is Patrick, who appears somewhere between my age and Gabriel’s. As for why no one notices that he doesn’t age, chalk that up partly to fae compulsion and partly to the human brain’s need to find explanations. Before we knew about the Tylwyth Teg, Gabriel had told me he remembered a man who’d taken an interest in him as a boy. In his memory, it was Patrick, but as an adult, Gabriel had realized that was impossible and decided the man must have been a relative of Patrick’s instead.
Patrick is a hobgoblin. I remember the first time Rose said the word, and I made the mistake of equating it with “goblin.” She’d been quick to correct me. She said I should think of Puck from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Which is exactly who Patrick reminds me of. An arrogant, self-serving trickster who isn’t nearly as clever or as interesting or as charming as he thinks he is. Of course, I may be biased, having discovered a few months ago that Patrick is the father who abandoned Gabriel to his hellish life with Seanna.
We got three steps into the diner before the place went silent, every aging pair of eyes turning our way.
The first to react was Ida Clark, de facto leader of the Cainsville Tylwyth Teg. She rose to greet us, along with her consort, Walter.
“Olivia,” she said. “And Gabriel. We haven’t seen either of you in a while.”
“And we haven’t seen you together in even longer,” said Veronica, beaming at us from her table.
“We’re together plenty,” I said. “I work for him, remember? Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have a case—”
Walter perked up. “You’re working on a case together?”
“We are,” I said. “Ricky’s in trouble, and Gabriel’s helping me fix it.”
Did I take some pleasure in seeing their faces fall as I mentioned that dreaded name? Maybe.
I walked to the counter, and said hi to Larry—the cook and owner. I’d worked here for a few months after I arrived, and contrary to what the elders claimed, I did still stop by quite often. I just didn’t talk to them.
I motioned to the server—Susie—that I was going to take the coffee pot. Then I carried it over to the dark-haired guy banging away on his laptop. Patrick didn’t even let me draw up alongside his table before he lifted his mug.
He smiled as I filled it. “Hello, Liv. Good to see you.”
Gabriel took the pot from me and returned it as Patrick said, “You, too, Gabriel. The old folks are right. You don’t come by nearly often enough these days.”
I took the seat across from Patrick.
“Pleasantries complete, one-sided though they may be,” Patrick said. “Liv wants to get down to business. How may I help you, Olivia? I presume that’s what brings you to my office. You want something.”
“Of course.”
“And in return?”
Quid pro quo. That’s how all fae operate on some level, but it’s more overt with a hobgoblin.
“In return I will tell you what we’re investigating,” I said. “And you can decide how much of it you want to pass on to the other elders.”
The old folks heard that perfectly well, and they were not pleased. Patrick’s eyes glittered as he sipped his coffee.
I glanced around. Other than the elders, there were no other customers. Susie and Larry had gone into the back, like bartenders sensing a brawl brewing.
“Is that a reasonable deal?” I asked Patrick.
“It is.”
“No.” Ida got to her feet again. “It is not.”
She started toward me. Gabriel stepped into her path.
“I want to speak to Liv,” Ida said. “I am allowed that, under the terms—”
“Under the terms of our agreement, you are allowed to speak to her, but not to interfere. She wishes to consult with Patrick. You are attempting to interfere.”
“Patrick isn’t the one she should speak to.”
“Perhaps, but he is the one she chooses to speak to.”
“He cannot be trusted—”
“None of you can.”
