Visions (Cainsville #2)(94)

Gabriel leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming the desk, and there was a moment where I thought I’d lost him, as if he’d gotten bored with my speech and was mentally compiling the day’s to-do list. But after a few seconds he said, “You aren’t the only one who’s seen those roads and refuses to follow them. As for why . . .”

More drumming before he pulled his hand away, forcibly stopping himself and looking up, expression resolute, as if having decided to share something difficult. I braced myself.

“There are gargoyles in Cainsville,” he said.

“Um, yes. I’ve noticed.”

“There’s a game children play . . .”

“The May Day contest. I’ve heard of it.”

From the wary look he gave me, you would have thought I’d just announced having uncovered a dark secret through very underhanded means.

“Some of them are . . . hidden,” he said finally.

“I know. There are those you can’t see at first, but I found one—on the bank—that I can’t see at all during the day. It’s not there. Veronica called it a night gargoyle.”

“There are others. Ones you can only see from certain angles. Or if the moon or the sun strikes it. There’s one that appears in rain. One in fog. One only under the winter solstice moon. There’s no rational explanation for that. There just isn’t.”

“I know. But I tell myself there is—there must be. I don’t question. I . . . I don’t want to.”

“Exactly. That is the contradiction that I cannot wrap my head around. I have no hesitation seeking answers. I make my living doing that. Except when it comes to Cainsville.” He straightened. “I was a boy when I learned about the hidden gargoyles. I went to Rose for answers. She told me it was magic. I was angry. It felt as if she was treating me like a child. So I wanted to ask others. But I couldn’t. The more I thought about it, the more I simply wanted to accept it.”

“Maybe if we talk to Rose again? You’re not a kid anymore. If we ask her—seriously ask her—”

“When it comes to Cainsville, she refuses to question or to answer. She has a good life there. The town is safe and welcoming, and it’s as if . . .” He seemed unable to find the right words. “I remember when I was eleven or so, I was talking to . . . I can’t remember exactly. I always want to say it was Patrick, but it couldn’t have been—he’s not old enough. Perhaps a brother or relative? I’d spoken to this man before. He even gave me a hint on the last hidden gargoyle. We were talking that day, and Seanna caught us. She didn’t usually come to Cainsville—Rose would pick me up in the city. This time, Seanna brought me in a friend’s car and stayed to visit. I’m guessing she needed money. She must have gotten it from Rose and wanted to leave quickly to buy her fix. When she found me with this man, she was furious. Dragged me away. She asked me if I’d ever spoken to him before. I lied and said no. She said I was never to talk to him. I asked why not, and she hit me.”

I must have winced, because he said, “That was unusual. She’d cuff me when I was younger, but by that age I was big enough that she’d likely started to worry I might hit back. So when she struck me, I knew it was serious. She made me swear never to speak to him again. I asked Rose, later, why Seanna was so upset. She said she didn’t know, but she told me I could speak to him. In fact, if he talked to me, I should never refuse to answer. I was to be polite and respectful to all the adults in Cainsville. And not ask questions. Above all, don’t ask questions.”

“So you still don’t,” I said. “I don’t, either. That means something. It has to.” I paused. “Chandler was the first to mention a Cainsville connection. Do you remember what Patrick said about mind control? That it was beyond the realm of science but prevalent in folklore and magic.”

“If you’re saying that we’re magically blocked from asking questions . . .”

He trailed off. I knew he wanted to finish the sentence with that’s preposterous. So did I. But neither of us did.

“Let’s call it preternatural,” I said. “If you say magic, I think of Disney witches and fairies and pixie dust, and my brain won’t go there. But I see omens, and that’s definitely not natural. Same with giant hounds and the Wild Hunt and hallucinations and visions and second sight.”

Gabriel shook his head. “But to say that I’m being prevented from asking questions by powers beyond my control feels like an excuse.”

“Now you know why I kept denying I could see omens. It feels like hearing voices and thinking, ‘I don’t have schizophrenia; I can speak to the dead.’ There’s something preternatural happening, and we know it. So let’s make a list of everything we want answers on, especially connected to Cainsville. We’ll put it in writing so we can’t shove it under the rug.”

As I pulled over a legal pad and pen, he pushed back from the desk and shook his head. “I don’t think that’s necessary. We certainly will look into this, but there’s hardly any need for a list. We have things to do—”

“So urgent that we don’t have ten minutes for this?”

He checked his watch.

“You don’t have any appointments, Gabriel. You already said that.”

“Yes, but I have work—”