Cainsville: Visions Part 11

"What's wrong?" she said as I took a seat.

"Nothing."

"Do you remember what I said about the key to being a good psychic?"

"Being willing to make guesses and be proven wrong? Yes, you're wrong this time. Sorry."

"I meant observation and interpretation." She sat down across from me. "You have never walked into this room and not taken advantage of the opportunity to poke about. Something happened today."

I hesitated, then said, "I saw the hound again."

"Where?"

"In Chicago. The thing is, I wasn't alone, and the person I was with saw it, too. But ... something about it bothered him, more than it should have, and I'm worried. For him."

"Was it James?"

"No. Ricky Gallagher. He's-"

"Don's son. Does Gabriel know you're seeing him?"

"I'm not. It was just coffee."

"I see. While I've never met the Gallaghers, I do follow them in the news, since they are my nephew's primary clients. I've seen photos of young Mr. Gallagher."

"I'm trying to reconcile with James."

"By going to coffee with an attractive young man? I would offer to do a reading to see where that will lead, but I don't need the cards for that."

I glowered at her. "Can I talk about the hound? Or are you testing out a career move? Advice to the lovelorn?"

"That wouldn't help you at all. Love doesn't enter into this choice. l.u.s.t versus duty. The perfect conundrum for a student of Victorian literature, though, one would hope, less of a struggle for a modern young woman. May I suggest that James Morgan is a wonderful catch ... for someone else, and that if you persist-"

"So Ricky and I saw this hound."

She sighed, but waved for me to continue.

"It seemed to ... confuse him," I said.

Now she leaned forward. "As if he recognized it?"

"No. And yes. It was like ... h.e.l.l, I don't even know how to explain it. Like when you catch a scent and it's familiar but you can't place it. When I see an omen, I know it means something. What do other people sense? They must trigger something, or there wouldn't be superst.i.tions about them. Ricky did sense something about the hound, which paid no attention to me. It was staring at him."

"And the other times?"

"It looked at me. My concern is that it is a fetch. A harbinger of death."

"Ricky's death."

"Right. You see it: you die. For me, it's a warning, because I can read omens. But if Ricky saw it..." I exhaled. "I texted him, tonight, pretending I just wanted to say I enjoyed our coffee, but I let out a huge sigh of relief when he texted back. Which feels crazy."

For ten seconds, Rose didn't respond.

"So..." I finally prodded.

"I'm deciding how to tell you this without giving you ammunition to think you really are imagining things, which is what you'd prefer."

"I don't want-"

"I've told you the sight runs in the Walsh family. When I started having prophetic dreams, my relatives all told me how lucky I was, how they wished it was them. They were lying. They were thanking the G.o.ds it wasn't them. People think it would be wonderful to see into the future. Just as, I'm sure, they think it would be wonderful to see warnings and signs. But it's not. For every ounce it makes your life easier, it makes it a pound harder. You have a gift you cannot share without being locked in a mental inst.i.tution. Which is one reason I'd urge you to mend fences with Gabriel. He accepts what you can do, and you will need someone like that in your life. Besides me."

"I-"

"My sales pitch for my nephew ends there. Back to the point. While this is clearly no ordinary beast, others can see it. So it exists and seems supernatural in nature. But is it a fetch? Patrick's correct-that's the most common meaning of a large black dog. And yet..."

"What else is there?"

"You keep calling it a hound. But it doesn't resemble a typical American hound dog, and that term's not used in traditional folklore. It's called a Black Shuck in eastern England, barghest or gytrash in northern England, moddey dhoo in Manx, Church Grim throughout England ... but never hound."

"Conan Doyle."

"Ah. Hound of the Baskervilles. Of course."

She nodded, but I sat there, thinking, until I finally said, "I thought of it as a hound before Patrick said Black Shuck. But I also thought of The Hound of the Baskervilles before he said Black Shuck. 'There stood a foul thing, a great, black beast, shaped like a hound, yet larger than any hound that ever mortal eye has rested upon.' So ... I don't know. I guess I was thinking Baskervilles."

"Either way, I'm not convinced it's a fetch," Rose said. "I think you're correct that others can sometimes sense the supernatural. Seeing it affected Ricky Gallagher, and he wasn't sure why. I'll look into folklore on black dogs and hounds. In the meantime, I believe I heard Gabriel drive up. If you'll let him in, I'll make tea."

Rose brought tea and then left us alone. We talked about Pamela first. Gabriel had officially launched an appeal. Chandler still wouldn't speak to him. There were no leads in Anderson's murder, probably because the police didn't consider it a murder at all. For them it was simple: a man loses half his foot, is facing life in prison, and ODs on morphine.

Next up on the agenda? Ciara Conway. Gabriel couldn't do more than quietly investigate, much as I had been. If he wanted to ask the police about it in an official capacity, he needed an excuse ... like having his office check into it on behalf of the elders of Cainsville.

"I could use your help obtaining theirs," he said. "The town elders aren't blind to my ... unconventional business practices."

"They'll suspect you aren't offering out of the goodness of your heart."

"I can ask for compensation, but that reduces the chance they'll agree."

"I'll speak to them," I said. "But how do I explain my interest?"

"By working for me."

I stiffened.

"It's a way to gain work experience while helping your new town. I'm going to formalize your job offer. I know we'd planned to discuss that on your first s.h.i.+ft. I'll get it in writing for you now. Hours, pay and such. I need a day or two to put something together."

"I don't want-"

"I would like to make the offer, which you may then refuse." He stood. "Tell Rose I said goodbye. I'll see myself out."

I followed him out to the hall.

"Gabriel?" I said as he opened the front door.

He turned, a stray slip of moonlight illuminating a sliver of his face, blue eyes glowing almost preternaturally in the darkness. "Yes?"

I opened my mouth to say thank you, then stopped.

"Good night," I said finally.

A dip of his head, the moonlight evaporating, his expression lost in the darkness. "Good night, Olivia."

He backed out and pulled the door shut behind him.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

At lunch, I called Ricky to discuss where to meet tomorrow. It took my entire break. What can I say? He's a good conversationalist.

When my phone rang early that afternoon, I saw who was calling and ... and I hesitated. Then I felt bad about hesitating and called James back.

"I'll make it quick," he said. "I had lunch with the deputy mayor, and he asked me to join his table at a fundraiser tonight. It's a plus one, of course, which means I'm in the market for a guest and really hoping you'll say yes, because if my mother finds out I have tickets, you know who I'll have to take. I'd rather have you on my arm."

"So that's why I'm invited? Ornamental value?"

"Of course. Why else?"

I laughed.

"Come with me, Liv. It's not a public statement. I'll deflect any questions about our relations.h.i.+p. It'll be as painless as possible, and I'll take you for ice cream afterward."

"Scooter's?"

"Technically, that's frozen custard. But yes, Scooter's. So you'll come?"

"For the custard."

In the past month, I'd learned a lot about myself. I might even have matured, though I'm not sure I'd go that far. What I had not done, though, was develop any greater appreciation for charity dinners.

It was worse now, with everyone knowing who I really was. I got cold shoulders. I got sidelong looks. I got stares. I saw matrons in evening gowns whip out their phones, and they may have just been messaging a friend, but I suspect some were Tweeting OMG, I can't believe who's here! complete with photos.

But I'd come for James, so I pushed all that aside, and I chatted and I smiled and I laughed. I flirted and I charmed. I even danced.

I was slow dancing with James as he was whispering in my ear. I listened to his voice and smiled at his sardonic commentary, and I felt the familiar warmth of him, inhaled the familiar smell of him, and I remembered why I'd wanted to spend the rest of my life with this man. I was happy.

The feel of his body against mine reminded me of something else I'd missed in the last month and made me wonder why the h.e.l.l I hadn't dragged him to the nearest hotel last week. And then ...

I sensed something. James led me off the floor afterward, but I didn't hear a word he said because I was busy listening and looking and inhaling, trying to find what had caught my attention.

I've always been particularly receptive to sensory input. Step into a busy room like this and my brain used to reel, looking for signs in every sight, sound, and smell. Now I know what's happening, and that initial blast fades quickly once my brain realizes no omens need to be interpreted.

Except now something did need interpretation, and I couldn't figure out what it was. It was only a p.r.i.c.kle that said, "Pay attention."

"Liv?"

I snapped out of it and forced a smile. "Hmm?"

"I lost you for a moment there."

"Just..." I made a face. "The usual."

"All a little too much?" James said, because whatever had happened, he was still the guy who'd known me best.

"We can go outside," he said. "It's a nice night for a walk, and I won't argue with the chance to escape."

"That sounds-"

There. A smell. Wafting ...

I inhaled. Nothing.

d.a.m.n it.

I forced my focus back to James. "I would love a walk. Just give me five minutes in the ladies' room."

He pecked my cheek and said he'd be over by the bar, talking to a city councilor who'd been trying to get his attention. Everyone wanted James's attention. And I had it, even now, as I walked away-feeling his gaze on me, looking back to see his smile, making me feel as it always had, that mix of surprise and wonder at my good luck.

As I walked toward the back hall, I cleared my mind and followed my gut. Sounds easy. Not for me. I prefer to lead with my brain-with mindfulness, intention, and purpose. Now I followed my gut down one corridor and then another until ...

I caught the distant baying of hounds. I heard hounds, and I smelled horses, and I froze in my tracks as my gut and my brain and my heart screamed, "Get the h.e.l.l out of here! Now!"

I stood there, fighting the urge to run, just run, before I saw ...

Saw what?

Saw it. That's all I knew, that the hounds and horses meant it was coming and I had to flee as fast as my legs would take me or- "Olivia?"

I looked up. A man stood at the hall junction. He was maybe sixty. Fit and trim and handsome in a way that had me taking a second look, even though he was more than twice my age. My gaze went to his face and it stayed there, as if transfixed.

I knew him. That's what it was. I recognized him. He was ...

I had no idea who he was. Just a good-looking older guy in a tux, smiling at me and holding two champagne gla.s.ses. But he'd said my name, and something about his face was so familiar ...