Читать книгу Entangled Secrets - Pat Esden - Страница 16

Chapter 7

Species: Black dog. Known by a variety of nicknames. A type of solitary hellhound.

Characteristics: Wolflike. Shaggy black hair. Glowing red eyes. Vanishes at will.

Location: Crossroads, execution sites, and ancient byways. May appear elsewhere or be attached to a person or be associated with an object such as treasure.

Threat Level: Feral by nature. May be affiliated with any fae or fae court.

—From Book of Good Folk

by B. Remillard

The black dog landed, then charged off in the direction it had come from, disappearing into thin air before he made it past the delivery truck.

Chandler grabbed hold of Lionel’s extended hand and let him pull her to her feet. Her back was soaked with sweat. Her legs were as shaky as a boneless giraffe.

She took a deep breath to steady herself, then rested her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes on Peregrine. “You do realize you’re in big trouble, young man?”

“But, Mom, the dog… Lionel wasn’t imagining it. It just wasn’t a loup-garou.”

“Don’t ‘but Mom’ me. We’re going to have a long talk about this later. Disobeying. Running across a street. Not to mention chasing a dangerous creature.”

Chandler’s head spun from the enormity of what had just happened. Not just that Lionel had seen through the black dog’s glamour, but that Peregrine had as well. A black dog. A fae creature. Sure, the Northern Circle had at one time worked closely with the fae. But not anymore. Not for eons. Even Brooklyn’s benign fae helpers were far from trustworthy.

She pressed her hand against her upper chest, drawing strength from her dragon. She’d prayed this day would never come. She’d begged the Gods and Goddesses to give him any gift but this one. Still, she’d known deep in her heart there was no escaping it. And there was no denying it now. Her son. Her beautiful, carefree boy had inherited faery sight from his father. And she wasn’t the only one who knew. Devlin and Gar had witnessed it as well.

Devlin cleared his throat. “We should get out of here.”

He motioned for everyone to follow, then he hurried deeper into the alley. As they started through a narrow passage between two buildings, Chandler hung back. She wasn’t worried that Peregrine would run off again. But there was a strong possibility that the city police might come running up behind them. After all, they had caused quite a disturbance at the bistro. If they needed to talk their way out of this one, she wanted it to be her.

Gar slowed his pace, falling in step with her. He caught hold of her shoulder, slowing her further until they were out of everyone else’s earshot.

“Is this the first time Peregrine’s seen through glamour?” he asked.

“I’m not sure. Yesterday he mentioned something. But I didn’t think it was real.”

“You’re not gifted with faery sight, are you.”

It was a statement, not a question. Still, she shook her head in denial while scenes from that Beltane night flashed in her mind: The moonlight gleaming on the May King’s face. His scar glistening against his beautiful tan skin, a mark left from when the fae had attacked him because he could see through their glamour. The same ability that had led to his grandfather’s torture and death at the hands of the fae.

She looked at Gar. He pressed his lips together, sealing his thoughts away. But the firm set of his jaw told her that he’d guessed the name of Peregrine’s father. That didn’t shock her. Gar had researched every Northern Circle member before he’d come to the complex to interrogate them in his capacity as Council investigator. He knew about her birth parents and the single woman who had adopted her after their deaths. He also undoubtedly knew she’d attended prep school at Greylock Academy during the same time span as one of the few witches known to have faery sight, a guy that Athena and her friends had hung out with. Gar could make only an educated guess who she’d had sex with and when. But faery sight was a rare, practically unique gift.

“Well,” Gar finally said, “this is an interesting complication.”

She nodded. “And terrifying.”

“I assume Peregrine’s father doesn’t know?”

She nodded again. “I tried to tell him.”

“You know I’ll respect your right to privacy,” Gar said. “But I’d want to be told.”

They fell silent as they came out the other end of the passageway and onto a side street.

Devlin motioned them into a huddle. “It would be smart to get off the streets for at least a few minutes, avoid any chance of running into the police.” He slanted a look at a nearby Tibetan restaurant. “Anyone want lunch?”

“Good idea,” Lionel said.

Chandler noticed Devlin and Gar glance sharply at Lionel, as if to question when he’d become a voting member of the group. But if either of them had objected, she would have demanded he be included. Like it or not, they’d passed the point where hiding everything from Lionel made sense. He’d seen the same creature they had and seen it before them. Besides, he’d risked his life to protect her and Peregrine from the dog.

As they settled in around a table at the back of the room, Peregrine poked her in the arm.

“Now do you believe me about the redcap?” he said.

Devlin’s gaze winged to her. “What?”

Chandler frowned at Peregrine. It would have been nice if he could have kept that to himself until the two of them were alone. “Didn’t we already decide that was Henry dragging around one of Brooklyn’s scarecrows?”

“I told you that wasn’t what I saw,” Peregrine insisted.

“You also said it was as big as a rhinoceros.”

He folded his arms across his chest, slumped in his chair, and kicked his sneakered feet against its legs.

As a waiter sauntered up to the table to take their orders, Chandler pointed at something on the menu. She really didn’t care what she ate. Mostly she wanted a cold drink. Iced tea. Lemonade. A tall glass of something cool, at home in her living room, alone with Peregrine where she could give him a good talking-to in private.

Once the waiter left, Devlin fixed his gaze on Lionel. “Are we right in assuming you’ve never had any supernatural experiences besides seeing this dog?”

“Never. And I—I’ve only seen the dog twice. This time and when I mistakenly thought I saw The Thinker shift into a loup-garou.” He scrubbed a hand over his uneven hair. “I told you the truth yesterday. All my life, I believed magic was real. That’s why I borrowed the invitation to the coven’s party. My goal wasn’t to hurt anyone.”

“But if you’d found proof you would have exposed the Circle to the world by writing an article?” Gar asked.

“Um—I don’t know. I might not have.” A pained expression furrowed Lionel’s forehead. He closed his eyes. “You don’t know what it’s like to never have people believe you. You don’t know how good it felt when I met the goth and he told me about the Circle. Suddenly, someone believed me. I wasn’t alone. It was the same today when Peregrine and the rest of you saw the dog.”

Devlin leaned back in his chair. He rested his hands on the tabletop. “So, you never saw any weird or unexplainable creatures until very recently?”

Lionel closed his eyes, carefully summoning the right words. “I suppose I did see things, when I was half asleep. Out of the corner of my eye. But, no, not fully formed creatures in broad daylight.”

Chandler’s thoughts went back to when she’d shook Lionel’s hand. She’d sensed a creative fire in him, like that of an artist. It wasn’t unusual for highly creative people to construct ghosts out of moonlight or imagine faery faces in the wrinkled bark of trees. He was right, too: creative imagination was not the same as seeing through glamour.

Lionel nudged his glasses up higher on his nose and stared steadily over the lenses at Devlin. “Where are you going with this?”

“It doesn’t make any sense for an adult person who lacks any supernatural ability to suddenly develop one.” Devlin didn’t say it aloud, but Chandler knew by “adult person” he was referring to non-witches.

Lionel leaned forward. “What if a spell messed with someone’s brain? Could that give them the sight? Um—like the spell your high priestess”—he corrected himself—“like Rhianna performed on me when she was impersonating your sister.” He turned to Chandler and smiled warmly. “Yesterday, I believed you when you told me the truth and then claimed it was a lie to demonstrate my naivete. At least, I believed you for a few minutes. I—I don’t blame you for trying to protect the coven.”

She let herself look deeper into his eyes and saw nothing but kindness and honesty. There had to be a way to at least begin to resolve this stalemate, a way through this maze of Lionel’s astute guesses and their uncomfortable but necessary lies.

Peregrine nudged her foot with his. “Mom?”

“What?” she said sharply, followed by a warning side-eye.

He shoved his hands into his pants pockets and looked down as if rethinking before getting in trouble again. “I was just thinkin’ about what Gar said last night—about laws and people being responsible for things even if they didn’t do them.”

“I was talking about a different situation,” Gar said quickly.

Peregrine crumpled deeper in his chair. “Yeah, I guess.”

A lump formed in Chandler’s throat. She swept her hand over her head, feeling the soft bristle of her hair. Peregrine was onto something. Along with covering up threats to the witching world’s anonymity, covens were responsible for policing illegal magic. There was nothing legal about the spell Rhianna had used on Lionel. Plus, just because they weren’t aware of a spell that could cause a non-witch to have abilities, it didn’t mean one didn’t exist. In this case, it was the only logical answer for Lionel having the sight. He didn’t have it before the spell affected his mind, but he did afterward.

Chandler rested her elbows on the table. Then she steepled her fingers and looked from Devlin to Gar and lastly to Lionel. She was the Circle’s high priestess now, and she knew in her heart the first step Athena would have taken toward resolving the situation. There was only one right choice, morally and by High Council law.

She lowered her voice and mustered an Athena-like tone. “It seems clear to me that the spell performed on Lionel affected his thought processes and somehow gave him the sight. As the current acting high priestess of the Circle, I feel we are obligated to find a way to reverse the damage done by someone illegally presenting themselves as a member of our coven.”

“I told you—” Peregrine started to say.

Chandler put a hand on his arm. “Quiet.”

“I tend to agree that helping Lionel is only fair,” Devlin said. “But we need to have a way to ensure his future silence.”

“Um”—Lionel blinked uneasily—“I don’t blame you, if you don’t trust me after what I did. But if you can straighten out my head, I promise I won’t ever tell anyone or write about the coven or heritage witches.”

“You’ll also need to sever all contact with our world,” Gar said. “And simply giving your word won’t be good enough.”

Chandler wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that. The type of pledges the High Council required came with major risks attached for violations—like deadly consequences.

Devlin shot a hard look at Gar. “As high priest of the Northern Circle, I say his word is good enough for now. We’ll figure something else out later.” He focused on Lionel. “I’m sorry about what Rhianna did to you. I promise, no one will force you into anything this time.”

“Thank you.” Lionel bowed his head, then looked back up at Devlin. “I’m sorry about your sister. That’s got to be rough. What Rhianna did to her was… I can’t even think of a word for it.”

“It hasn’t been easy,” Devlin said.

Gar chuckled. “At least Rhianna’s one thing we don’t have to worry about. She’s dead, gone, and never coming back.”

“Shh…” Chandler silenced everyone as a boisterous group of customers swarmed across the restaurant toward the table next to theirs. A second later, the waiter arrived with their drinks and the mountain of appetizers Chandler had unwittingly ordered.

Devlin frowned. “Maybe we should focus on eating for now and finish this conversation at the complex?”

Lionel nodded. “I would like that.”

“I agree,” Chandler said. Something else occurred to her, but she bit her tongue until the waiter left to get their meals. Then she leaned toward Lionel and whispered, “You should have a protection charm. A triskelion. Peregrine wears one. It doesn’t work against all fae and, judging by what’s happened lately, it may be less effective than I was led to believe. But it’s supposed to make the fae—things like the black dog—less inclined to attack the wearer. It wouldn’t take long for me to make one for you.”

He reached across the table and brushed her wrist with his fingertips. “I’d appreciate it.”

The warmth of his touch and wholehearted smile sent a ripple of joy threading through her. If only something as simple as a triskelion could keep him permanently safe from the fae. It might help, but unfortunately it was still a long way from a real solution.