Visions (Cainsville #2)(63)

Rose gave Gabriel the photos, and he tucked them into his pocket without a glance. Not intentionally ignoring them but paying them no mind because he was listening to Eden as she pointed out some interesting artifact in the room. When she finished, Gabriel turned to Rose and said, “You have something you wanted to tell Olivia?”

“Right,” Eden said. “You left a message about the boar’s tusk. Sorry I didn’t get a chance to pop over.”

Rose told them what she’d dug up. Wild boars had been native to the British Isles before being hunted to extermination centuries ago. Those hunts found their way into the folklore. Even King Arthur had his boar hunt quest.

They were also linked to the Wild Hunt. In some stories, that was what the riders chased through the ancient forests: a giant ghostly boar. Other times, in pictures, the beasts almost seemed to run with them, alongside the steeds and hounds.

In Celtic lore, the boar’s tusk could be a symbol of fertility or protection. Given what the mysterious man had said when he gave it to Eden, Rose was going with protection. That was the sense she’d gotten when she handled the thing as well. She’d also found Celtic and Druidic references to horn amulets, used as protection against the evil eye. This seemed a variation on that.

All that she could have guessed without her books—or even the second sight. The real question was what the engraved symbols meant. She’d managed to identify a few as Celtic, and they supported the protection theory. There were also a sun and a moon, the symbols linked, with writing below. No matter how hard she dug, though, she found nothing that would help her decipher the writing.

When she held the tusk, she felt unsettled. The urge to put it away, hide it away, was almost overwhelming. The thing didn’t feel evil. It just felt . . . as if it didn’t belong here, in her house, in her hand. In Cainsville.

That’s what she felt most of all. That it didn’t belong in Cainsville. This was no ordinary town. She’d always known that. As for exactly what its peculiarities hid, she’d been raised not to question, and she didn’t. Her soul rested quietest that way. Eden’s soul would, too. As would Gabriel’s. So she told them about the tusk and the folklore and the symbols she’d deciphered, and as for the rest—her feelings about it and Cainsville and their connection—she said nothing at all.





CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE


The police station wasn’t the same one we’d been to yesterday. This one was in an area of the city I didn’t recognize. An area I’d never have had any reason to visit. While some of the historically “bad” areas of Chicago had been redeveloped, this one had been left alone. Left well alone.

Was this where Gabriel grew up? I supposed so. It was where Seanna’s body had been found, in one of these buildings, probably still empty fifteen years later.

The detective who retrieved us at the front desk was young, new to his shield, given this task because of it. He didn’t even seem to notice me. He was too busy sizing up Gabriel.

“You have quite the reputation, Mr. Walsh,” he said as we walked through the station. He managed a smile that I’m sure he intended to be confident, but it wavered at the edges. “I expected you to be older.”

Gabriel grunted, taking in his surroundings.

“I don’t know what all this is about,” the detective said. “But it better not be some kind of trick. They told me to watch for tricks.”

Gabriel turned his gaze on the young man then, cold blue eyes swinging his way and pinning him, squirming, under that empty stare.

The detective began, “I’m just saying—”

“Nothing new. Nothing interesting. I make you nervous. You’re talking to hide it, which only reveals it all the more. A word of advice, detective? If you’re given the chance to take the witness stand, avoid it. You’re not ready.”

“There’s no trick,” I cut in before the detective could reply. “As Mr. Walsh explained, I was shown photographs by William Evans before he died. They were reportedly from a cold case your department has on file. We’d like to confirm that by seeing the originals.”

“You could have asked us to compare them with the ones found at the scene.”

“Yes, but given it’s my parents’ freedom at stake, I’d like to check all avenues myself.”

“Parents . . .” He stared at me. Recognition clicked. “Miss . . .”

“Taylor-Jones,” Gabriel said. “I mentioned she was accompanying me, did I not?”

“Um, right. I just didn’t make the connection.”

“Now you have. The photographs, please?”

The young man led us into the bullpen, and I realized he intended for us to identify the photos there—in front of the other detectives. Now, as he saw the detectives at their desks, Gabriel faltered. Just a split-second hesitation before he found his resolve again, his expression never losing that impassivity.

“Can we do this in private?” I asked.

“No,” Gabriel began. “This is—”

“May I do it in private?” I met the young detective’s gaze with an anxious look. “Please?”

“R-right. Of course. Let me grab the folder.”

As he hurried off, Gabriel dipped his chin, saying nothing but acknowledging what I’d done, telling me it was appreciated.