Rituals (Cainsville 5)

Ioan claimed he didn't know he'd been dealing with the sluagh. More lies. He'd set me up from the start, and I'd been stupid enough--

A wall loomed up in my path. A solid brick wall. Brenin swerved around it, and I headed right for it and...

And nothing. I passed through the wall without even a bump.

That's when I realized I really wasn't feeling anything. I was apparently being dragged by a hound running full out, and I felt the speed and the turns and the leaps as he bounded over obstacles, but it was like riding a sleek new steel roller coaster, without so much as a jerked neck, much less the skin-peeling I'd have gotten if I really was being dragged over the ground.

I managed to look back and caught a very distant glimpse of...myself. Crouched beside Ioan, our hands extended, as if resting on a hound that was no longer there.

Brenin leapt again. I felt the jerk of it and twisted and saw another wall coming straight for my head. I shut my eyes and--

I slammed into the wall. I felt the blow this time, yet it wasn't the blow of physically hitting a brick wall, but a jolt, like being thrown against my seat belt, and with that jolt, the wild ride smoothed out even more.

I opened one eye...and saw a darkened corridor. The scene bobbed, as it had when I'd seen the world through Lloergan's eyes. Then Brenin stopped. He let out a low growl and my field of vision swung left and then right.

To my left, I heard distant voices. My nose lifted, nostrils flaring, and a scent wafted in, one that made my hackles rise as I stifled another growl.

I was inside Brenin now. Seeing through his eyes. That's what Ioan had done. Not a trap, but a surprise. Showing me what the Cwn Annwn saw, watching through the eyes of their spies.

Would have been a lot easier if he'd just said that.

Easier, perhaps, but not nearly as entertaining. Ioan's voice, in the hound with me.

I ignored him. I was seeing through Brenin's eyes, inside the hospital, and that was worth my full attention.

Now that I knew what was happening, I realized it wasn't exactly like witnessing it myself, but rather like looking through narrow glasses, a sphere of perfect clear vision surrounded by a blurred perimeter. At that periphery, I kept catching glimpses of colors and flashes of motion, but even when Brenin swiveled his head in the right direction, I saw nothing but a wall.

He padded along a corridor filled with debris, leaping over it absently as he trotted, his attention focused on senses other than sight. Tracking those voices. Every now and then one would echo in just the right way for me to catch a word or two, and he'd pause to lift his head.

Liv?

At Ioan's prompt, I understood Brenin was pausing to give me time to identify the voices.

"One is Walter," I said. "I don't recognize..." I trailed off, something poking at the back of my memory, and I amended to, "I don't think I recognize the other."

Brenin continued down the corridor. When a pile of debris blocked his path, he nosed it, pushing aside a plank to see that, beyond the blockage, the ceiling had caved in. He snorted in annoyance and headed the other way, faster now, retracing his steps. We passed where we'd come in and hit another block.

This time, nosing aside broken wood let him wriggle through a spot that seemed improbable even for a beast half his size. Then he took a slow look around, assessing his options. Ioan spoke to him in Welsh, his voice low, seeming more to soothe the cwn's frustrations than give him directions.

Brenin set out more slowly as he moved along the passage. He stepped into a room, his big head swinging from side to side. Something flickered in the corner, an image that wouldn't quite take hold. He ignored that and looked instead at a far door. He padded through the room for a closer look. The door was closed, knob long gone. Brenin tilted his head, listening, and I picked up voices again. Walter and...

I recognized the second voice then. Grace's cousin, Jack, who'd been the one to refer me to Grace's building. Who'd sent me on my way to Cainsville.

Then, from behind us, a whisper.

"Find the darkness. Need to find the darkness."

Brenin ignored the voice, but the phrase "the darkness" gave me a mental start. The hound seemed to sense that, and he turned, and there was the flicker I'd noticed. It was a man, crouched in the corner. He wore pajamas and there was something in his hand, moving fast, as he hunched over, almost like he was playing a violin, drawing the bow back and forth in a frantic accelerando.

No, Brenin, Ioan said, and the hound snorted, as if he'd already come to that conclusion, and as he turned away, I saw blood dripping down the man's wrists as he sawed at them with what looked like a butter knife. I let out a soft Oh and Ioan said, Yes, you didn't need to see that.

What am I seeing? Ghosts? Trapped spirits?

No, simply impressions. Tragedies that have imprinted themselves on this place. Fae-related.

I tried to look back at the man, but Brenin kept his gaze forward as he nudged at the door. I could still hear the man whispering that he needed to find the darkness.

He has--had--fae blood? I asked.