Visions (Cainsville 2)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

On my way home, I called Rose and asked to speak to her. She was free at seven, and at 6:55 I was walking through her door.

"Okay," I said as I pulled off my shoes. "I have a question that requires all your fortune-telling skills."

"Excellent." She ushered me into the parlor. "What is it?"

"Exactly how big an idiot am I if I agree to work for Gabriel?"

"I can tell you that without even checking the cards."

"Let me guess. It will be the best decision I could possibly make, and I'll never regret it."

"Oh, no, I'm sure you'll regret it. Many times. As I'm sure it's not the best decision you'll ever make. It will, however, rank near the top. He will make mistakes. So will you. There will be times when we'd best hope there are no firearms at hand. Ultimately, though, it is the first step on a life course that will make you happier and more satisfied than any other."

"Uh-huh. I'd rather go with the cards."

"Are you serious?" she said, sliding into her chair.

I slumped into mine and sighed. "As tempting as it is to ask for otherworldly reassurance, this is one mistake I need to make myself. I called him before I came over. I start work tomorrow. I may leave my gun at home. Just in case." I straightened. "That's settled. Now let's head straight to the real reason I'm here. You don't know Welsh, do you?"

"Welsh?"

"Yeah, it's a long shot, I know."

"Not so long. Walshes originally came from Wales--"

"--before moving to Ireland, where they got their name because it means Welshman. Well, the translation is 'foreigner,' but literally

it means Welshman."

"Very good."

"About this question, though. I have a feeling it falls under the same very broad heading as omens, second sight, and fae."

"Really?" She shifted, interest piqued. "What is it?"

"Cwn Annwn. Don't ask me to spell it. From what I've learned of Welsh, you can probably count on it having no more than one vowel."

"I suspect you're right. I don't recognize the word, but I'll take a stab at the spelling and do some research." She waved at the floor-to-ceiling wall of old books behind her. "If it's in there, I'll find it. You're sure it's Welsh?"

"No, but it's a solid guess."

"Where did you hear it?"

I told her the whole story of my meeting with the man at the charity dinner. When I finished, she sat there, speechless.

"I'd drank half a glass of champagne," I said. "And taken no drugs that I'm aware of. Plus, he gave me this." I laid the boar's tusk on the table. "Which seems to prove I didn't temporarily fall down the rabbit hole, as much as it seemed like it."

"I don't doubt you, Olivia. I'm just . . . I've heard of such things. Meetings . . ." She trailed off. "You say you smelled horses?"

I nodded. "I smelled forest, too, and I heard pounding hooves and baying hounds. I asked him if that"--I pointed at the tusk--"would protect me from the hounds. He said I didn't need protection from them. He knew what I was talking about."

"Horses. Hounds. Cwn Annwn." She fell quiet, thinking.

"There was something about salt, too. I wouldn't take the drink from him, and he said I was misapplying my folklore. That I only had to be worried if he offered me salt."

"That's a common motif in fae lore. Eat their food or drink their wine and you'll never be able to leave."