Lost Souls (Cainsville 3.6)

Patrick arrived just in time to see Gabriel on the move again, heading out from a row of tombstones, looking less relaxed now, almost anxious. One might think he'd seen something in the graveyard that upset him, but only Liv could cause that particular look, the one that reminded Patrick of a man hanging from a cliff, thinking he'd found a good handhold and then feeling the edge crumble under his fingers.

Patrick circled around and tried to figure out which gravestone Gabriel had been looking at, but Gabriel's worry seemed to pulse through the air, shattering his concentration. Which was vexing. It wasn't as if Patrick had never had a son before. He'd left enough children in his wake to populate a small city.

He could say Gabriel was different because Gabriel was Gwynn, and with Matilda, they represented Cainsville's best hope of survival. Patrick admittedly wasn't eager to abandon the town. He'd made a place for himself there. A home. He might affect the glamour of a young man, but in fae terms, he was entering his twilight years and, like humans of that life stage, he could not overestimate the appeal of a home, a safe place to rest both body and mind. At the thought of finding a new refuge, his entire being screeched, "I'm too old for this shit."

Yet it was more than that. More than worry that Gwynn wouldn't win his Matilda, and Cainsville would crumble. Gwynn didn't need to win Matilda. Cainsville and the Tylwyth Teg needed to convince her to choose them over the Cw^n Annwn. Having Gwynn for her lover only helped cement her ties to their side.

So why fret about Gabriel and his relationship with Liv? Because Liv made Gabriel happy, and Patrick wanted his son to be happy. A simple thing for a human father. For fae? Nearly unfathomable. They sired children to spread their blood, infiltrating the ranks, so to speak. Like human populations dealing with invaders. Survival by biological assimilation.

So it had been with the scores of children Patrick sired. But with Gabriel, Patrick couldn't just sow his seed and waltz off. Gabriel was Gwynn. Gabriel had to be kept close and nurtured.

Which Patrick had completely and utterly failed at.

It wasn't even guilt that drew him to his son now. Not entirely. There was more, but he wouldn't waste time on self-analysis. Leave psychotherapy to humans. It was enough for Patrick to acknowledge there was more.

Now, where was his son? Patrick had been following him, and then Gabriel had walked behind a mausoleum and, poof, vanished like a ghost. Which was impossible. First, Patrick wasn't certain there were such things as ghosts. Second, Gabriel didn't vanish even in a crowd. So where had--?

Patrick spotted him. Gabriel had veered of

f course and stood in front of yet another gravestone, cell phone still at his ear. He was relaxed now, that tightness gone from his profile. He'd recaptured Liv. Well, recaptured her attention, which was step one.

While Gabriel was stationary and distracted, Patrick had a chance to stage his story. To bring a ghost to life. He just had to figure out how to do that. So...

Gabriel is in a cemetery. A cemetery. The stage is prepped and waiting. You're a writer. Here's your setting. Give me a scene.

The harder he thought, though, the more his muse whined about the unsatisfactory conditions. It was broad daylight. There were people milling about. Gabriel wasn't near anything Patrick could hide behind.

Honestly, what was he supposed to do? Sneak up behind him and make ghost noises?

Patrick needed time. He needed props. He needed a cloudy night and a bitter wind whispering through treetops.

And now Gabriel was on the move again. Of course he was, damn him. Patrick set out at a jog, watching and assessing. When he realized Gabriel was heading out of the cemetery, Patrick let out a curse. Then he saw that his son's trajectory put him in line with the mausoleum.

Yes!

Patrick raced behind the building and shed his glamour. First, of course, he made sure no one was watching, his natural form being somewhat more...noticeable than other fae's.

Glamour gone, he pressed against the ivy-covered side of the mausoleum. Then he reached up. In fae form, he was taller than his human self, with longer and thinner limbs. He leaped and caught the edge of the roof. Then he scuttled onto it and pressed down again, letting himself meld with the vines and moss as he wriggled across to the far side. He got there just as Gabriel started passing underneath.

Patrick made ghost noises. Well, what a real ghost might sound like, sibilant whispers rather than the moaning and clamoring of the fictional variety. His son slowed. Then he stopped directly under the roofline.

Patrick leaned out as far as he dared and added words to his whispers. Key words, like "help" and "please."

Gabriel stayed still. Listening intently.

"Help," Patrick whispered. "Please. I need--"

"Yes, that's an excellent idea," Gabriel said into the phone. "I'll do that right now." He resumed walking and shifted his cell to his other ear. "That's fine. Have a safe trip. Give me a call when you stop for the night, and I'll let you know what I've found."

Patrick growled, startling a squirrel peeking over the roofline. The beast saw him and shrieked and tore off. Patrick retreated across the roof, dropped to the ground and snapped his glamour back in place. As he did, he caught a movement to his left and spun fast, peering down the row of headstones.

He had surveyed the scene before climbing down. It'd been clear. But now he was sure he'd spotted a figure amongst the tombstones.

And, yes, that sounded exactly like the sort of thing he'd tried to conjure up for Gabriel. Which suggested his mind was playing a nasty and mocking trick.

Patrick was about to turn away when he caught the flicker again. He turned and...

And there was a woman standing by a grave. The same tomb Gabriel had visited.