Omens
Page 78
Gordon pressed, too, and there wasn’t a graceful way to refuse. So I got my lesson. More than my money’s worth, given the time Gordon devoted to me, which had a few of the watching parents grumbling.
Afterward, Rose caught up and walked beside me.
“I’m glad to see you taking my advice on self-defense,” she said. “Particularly now that you’re working alone.”
“I know what it might look like, me showing up at your karate lesson, but I’m not trying to get you to play go-between with Gabriel.”
“I know.”
“You knew what he’d done,” I said as we began our walk to Rowan Street. “That’s why you told me to make him cookies. You thought it might make him feel guilty.”
“It was worth a try. My nephew is a manipulative, scheming, unscrupulous son of a bitch. And those are his good qualities.”
I snorted.
“Oh, I’m quite serious,” she said. “What Gabriel has accomplished in his life is phenomenal, given the circumstances. The problem is that he knows it. Arrogance is blinding, particularly in the young. When he does make a mistake, he’s slow to see it. But he made one with you. He knows that now.”
“Good. Maybe he’ll think twice before setting up paid interviews with other clients.”
Her laugh was so sharp it made me jump.
“Oh, no,” she said. “He won’t. He shouldn’t. He accepts payment for ensuring his clients get a fair shake from the media. There’s nothing wrong with that. His mistake was that you are not a normal client. The balance of power in your relationship skews in your favor. You didn’t want the interview. He should have retreated or, at the very least, apologized.”
“Maybe, but if you expect me to change my mind—”
“I don’t. I’m just offering some friendly advice. If you do decide you want to work with him, don’t wait until you need him.”
“Or he’ll know I’m desperate and the power shifts.”
“Exactly. He wants this case. Badly. He’ll try again and when he does, consider whether you truly mean for this rift to be permanent.” She waved for me to cross Main Street. “Now the subject of Gabriel ends. Come over for tea.”
“I’d rather not—”
“Did you know that my Internet provider recommends changing my wireless access password every month?”
I glowered at her.
“You’ll have tea,” she said.
SIMILITUDE
Veronica watched Rose Walsh walking with the Larsen girl. That was good to see. The tighter the girl was woven into the fabric of Cainsville, the more likely she was to stay.
It was also comforting to see the old families of Cainsville supporting each other. The bonds used to be so much stronger, in the early days, when families found a pleasant hometown and stayed for generations.
When the elders founded Cainsville, they had actively sought to weave themselves into its fabric. That was the goal, of course. A lofty one, founded on the very principles of America itself. The great melting pot. Of course, they were not quite the sort of old-world immigrants the founding fathers had envisioned, but the principle still held. They would make a new life here, and they would eschew the old tradition of separating themselves from the boinne-fala. They would live together in harmony . . . or at least symbiosis.
Part of weaving themselves into that fabric was quite literal. Within the oldest families—the Walshes, the Bowens, and a few others—the old blood was strong enough to produce true powers, as with Rose Walsh and, it seemed, the Larsen girl. Yet it had also had the adverse effect of bringing these gifted individuals to the attention of . . . others.
On thinking that, Veronica instinctively glanced up, but there was no sign of the ravens. They’d retreated. For now. The trick would be keeping them away, convincing the outsiders that the Larsen girl was not her parents—not vulnerable, not unprotected, not weak.
The Walshes would help with that—Rose and Gabriel both—even if they had no idea what exactly they were doing. It came naturally, this recognition of similitude—the instinct to spread wings of protection around one another. And the girl, Veronica feared, would need it.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
When we turned onto Rowan, the moon slid from behind the clouds and illuminated a strangely perfect circle of glowing white mushrooms.
Rose quoted, “And I serve the fairy queen, to dew her orbs upon the green.”
“Midsummer Night’s Dream again?”
“Of course.” She walked over to the mushrooms. “If it’s fairies, it must be Shakespeare. And that”—she pointed—“is a fairy circle.”
“Ah.” I followed, dew dampening my sneakers.
“You have no idea what a fairy circle is, do you?” She sighed. “Which is shocking for a changeling child.”
“What?”
She laughed as she bent beside the mushrooms. “You know what that is, then.”
“Sure. It’s a fairy child left in place of a human one. I stumbled across the Bridget Cleary story in a high school law class.”
Rose recited, “Are you a witch, or are you a fairy, or are you the wife of Michael Cleary?”
“Her husband burned her to death and was found guilty of manslaughter, not murder, because he claimed she was a changeling.”
“And you cannot murder a nonhuman.” Rose smiled. “The much-underutilized fairy defense. One that would impress even my nephew.”
“So now you’re saying that I’m a changeling?”
“Metaphorically speaking, of course. A child stolen from her parents and snuck off to others, who raise her unaware of her true heritage.”
Tricked by malicious fairy folk. I wondered what my mother—Lena—would think of that. Was it how she felt?
“Olivia?”
“Sorry.” I snapped out of it and nodded at the mushrooms. “What’s the story with these?”
“They’re considered the dancing place of the fair folk. If you see them, you must hurry on. Do them any harm and you are doomed to misfortune and early death. Dance with them and you’ll dance forever, trapped in their circle.”
I crouched to look more closely. “There must be a natural explanation for the growth formations.”
“Don’t be dull, Olivia. There is no graver sin.” She began walking again. “Now come. We’re having tea, and you’re going to tell me what you found in your room.”
Afterward, Rose caught up and walked beside me.
“I’m glad to see you taking my advice on self-defense,” she said. “Particularly now that you’re working alone.”
“I know what it might look like, me showing up at your karate lesson, but I’m not trying to get you to play go-between with Gabriel.”
“I know.”
“You knew what he’d done,” I said as we began our walk to Rowan Street. “That’s why you told me to make him cookies. You thought it might make him feel guilty.”
“It was worth a try. My nephew is a manipulative, scheming, unscrupulous son of a bitch. And those are his good qualities.”
I snorted.
“Oh, I’m quite serious,” she said. “What Gabriel has accomplished in his life is phenomenal, given the circumstances. The problem is that he knows it. Arrogance is blinding, particularly in the young. When he does make a mistake, he’s slow to see it. But he made one with you. He knows that now.”
“Good. Maybe he’ll think twice before setting up paid interviews with other clients.”
Her laugh was so sharp it made me jump.
“Oh, no,” she said. “He won’t. He shouldn’t. He accepts payment for ensuring his clients get a fair shake from the media. There’s nothing wrong with that. His mistake was that you are not a normal client. The balance of power in your relationship skews in your favor. You didn’t want the interview. He should have retreated or, at the very least, apologized.”
“Maybe, but if you expect me to change my mind—”
“I don’t. I’m just offering some friendly advice. If you do decide you want to work with him, don’t wait until you need him.”
“Or he’ll know I’m desperate and the power shifts.”
“Exactly. He wants this case. Badly. He’ll try again and when he does, consider whether you truly mean for this rift to be permanent.” She waved for me to cross Main Street. “Now the subject of Gabriel ends. Come over for tea.”
“I’d rather not—”
“Did you know that my Internet provider recommends changing my wireless access password every month?”
I glowered at her.
“You’ll have tea,” she said.
SIMILITUDE
Veronica watched Rose Walsh walking with the Larsen girl. That was good to see. The tighter the girl was woven into the fabric of Cainsville, the more likely she was to stay.
It was also comforting to see the old families of Cainsville supporting each other. The bonds used to be so much stronger, in the early days, when families found a pleasant hometown and stayed for generations.
When the elders founded Cainsville, they had actively sought to weave themselves into its fabric. That was the goal, of course. A lofty one, founded on the very principles of America itself. The great melting pot. Of course, they were not quite the sort of old-world immigrants the founding fathers had envisioned, but the principle still held. They would make a new life here, and they would eschew the old tradition of separating themselves from the boinne-fala. They would live together in harmony . . . or at least symbiosis.
Part of weaving themselves into that fabric was quite literal. Within the oldest families—the Walshes, the Bowens, and a few others—the old blood was strong enough to produce true powers, as with Rose Walsh and, it seemed, the Larsen girl. Yet it had also had the adverse effect of bringing these gifted individuals to the attention of . . . others.
On thinking that, Veronica instinctively glanced up, but there was no sign of the ravens. They’d retreated. For now. The trick would be keeping them away, convincing the outsiders that the Larsen girl was not her parents—not vulnerable, not unprotected, not weak.
The Walshes would help with that—Rose and Gabriel both—even if they had no idea what exactly they were doing. It came naturally, this recognition of similitude—the instinct to spread wings of protection around one another. And the girl, Veronica feared, would need it.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
When we turned onto Rowan, the moon slid from behind the clouds and illuminated a strangely perfect circle of glowing white mushrooms.
Rose quoted, “And I serve the fairy queen, to dew her orbs upon the green.”
“Midsummer Night’s Dream again?”
“Of course.” She walked over to the mushrooms. “If it’s fairies, it must be Shakespeare. And that”—she pointed—“is a fairy circle.”
“Ah.” I followed, dew dampening my sneakers.
“You have no idea what a fairy circle is, do you?” She sighed. “Which is shocking for a changeling child.”
“What?”
She laughed as she bent beside the mushrooms. “You know what that is, then.”
“Sure. It’s a fairy child left in place of a human one. I stumbled across the Bridget Cleary story in a high school law class.”
Rose recited, “Are you a witch, or are you a fairy, or are you the wife of Michael Cleary?”
“Her husband burned her to death and was found guilty of manslaughter, not murder, because he claimed she was a changeling.”
“And you cannot murder a nonhuman.” Rose smiled. “The much-underutilized fairy defense. One that would impress even my nephew.”
“So now you’re saying that I’m a changeling?”
“Metaphorically speaking, of course. A child stolen from her parents and snuck off to others, who raise her unaware of her true heritage.”
Tricked by malicious fairy folk. I wondered what my mother—Lena—would think of that. Was it how she felt?
“Olivia?”
“Sorry.” I snapped out of it and nodded at the mushrooms. “What’s the story with these?”
“They’re considered the dancing place of the fair folk. If you see them, you must hurry on. Do them any harm and you are doomed to misfortune and early death. Dance with them and you’ll dance forever, trapped in their circle.”
I crouched to look more closely. “There must be a natural explanation for the growth formations.”
“Don’t be dull, Olivia. There is no graver sin.” She began walking again. “Now come. We’re having tea, and you’re going to tell me what you found in your room.”
