—
When I told Ricky about his late-night visitor, he didn’t seem too concerned. He doubted it had anything to do with the club. There were territorial issues, of course. I’d gotten a crash course on that from Ricky a while back. In Chicago, there were Illinois natives the Outlaws and the Hell’s Lovers as well as chapters of other gangs, like the Hells Angels and Wheels of Soul. They were all much bigger than Satan’s Saints, and the Saints basically stayed out of their way, having no interest in expanding their territory. As for “territory” in their less-than-legal activities, Ricky said it didn’t overlap much with others’. His father had carved out their own niche.
Most likely, Ricky figured, it was exactly what I’d suspected—a third-rate reporter hoping for a story. If the guy came around again, he’d take care of it.
—
It was probably a good thing I’d be spending Sunday night at my apartment. TC was not impressed with my gallivanting. Can’t blame him, really. Get trapped in a basement, finally make it home . . . and your damn owner only pops in on breaks to give you food and water before vanishing again.
I got back an hour before Gabriel was due to arrive. I had a call from Howard, which I returned. Just a check-in for my mother—I’d gotten busy and forgotten yesterday. TC spent the next half hour following me and jumping onto the nearest tall object to give me the stink-eye. When a rap came at the door, he planted himself in front of it, as if forbidding me to answer. I moved past him. He stalked back into the living room.
I opened the door to find Gabriel standing there, a coffee in hand. He passed it to me. “Yes, I’m early, but I need to get a photograph of Seanna from Rose. I’ll give you this while it’s still warm.”
“Thank you.” When he started to go, I stepped into the hall after him. “Gabriel?”
“Hmm?”
He turned. His shades were on, but I didn’t need to see his eyes to know he was still in a good mood. The mocha suggested it. His stance and expression, relaxed and at ease, confirmed it. I hated to screw that up. I really did. But I had to warn him.
“She knows. Rose, I mean. If you planned to grab a photo and not mention why . . . She already knows.”
“Ah.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, setting my drink down. “I asked her if you’d been to the station, and . . .”
“She didn’t know what you were talking about. You had no reason to think I wouldn’t have told her. I intended to. I just hadn’t gotten to it. I’ll apologize, then, for putting you in that position.”
His face was still relaxed, no sign of concern. When I glanced up, he lifted his shades onto his forehead, and there was nothing more to see in his eyes. Calm and centered.
“Okay,” I said. “I just wanted to warn you.”
“I’d need to explain when I asked for photos of Seanna anyway. It’s not as if I’d want a few for decorating my apartment.” A quirk of his lips, no bitterness in his eyes. “This saves me from having that conversation, and since it saves you from having to listen to it, we’ll go over together.”
SILENCE
Gabriel looked better than Rose had seen him in weeks. Happier than she’d seen him in . . . Well, that was harder. Even as a child, “happy” was never a word she’d use to describe Gabriel. Not angry or sad, either. His emotional continuum seemed to range from content to unsettled. Today, he was closer to happy than she’d have thought possible.
The reason for his mood was obvious. Eden had forgiven him. Oh, Rose was sure there was more to it than that—work must be going well, his schedule easing, his leg healing, life moving back on track. But the reconciliation was significant. The cards had foretold it, in their damnably decisive way. There were, as always, two choices, two paths. Gabriel would win Eden back and ease further out of isolation. Or he would not, and he’d shut down again.
There was no middle ground. There never was. This path, this outcome. That path, that outcome. And little she could do to set anyone’s feet on the right one. Like being bound and gagged, watching people you cared about heading to their doom.
But Gabriel was on the correct path now, and she saw that as soon as he came in, barely a word for her, still midconversation with Eden. He’d won her back, and he was happy. Which suggested, she supposed, that he didn’t know she’d gotten in only an hour ago, and whose bed she’d come from.
Rose was not about to enlighten him. It was none of his business. When he found out, he’d make it his business. He’d interfere. She didn’t need the cards to tell her that. It wouldn’t be sexual jealousy. That was still firmly on the other side of the wall, a nonissue for as long as he could keep it a nonissue. For now, it would be jealousy of Eden’s time. Of her attention. Sparked by deeper feelings, but that wall would not be breached anytime soon.
Rose wasn’t going to interfere. In any of it. Let Gabriel find out about Ricky Gallagher in his own time. Let Eden enjoy her fling, which she obviously was, given her own cheerful mood. As for the cards, they were staying silent on this, which she presumed meant it wasn’t worth divining. A minor complication with no major impact either way.
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.
When I told Ricky about his late-night visitor, he didn’t seem too concerned. He doubted it had anything to do with the club. There were territorial issues, of course. I’d gotten a crash course on that from Ricky a while back. In Chicago, there were Illinois natives the Outlaws and the Hell’s Lovers as well as chapters of other gangs, like the Hells Angels and Wheels of Soul. They were all much bigger than Satan’s Saints, and the Saints basically stayed out of their way, having no interest in expanding their territory. As for “territory” in their less-than-legal activities, Ricky said it didn’t overlap much with others’. His father had carved out their own niche.
Most likely, Ricky figured, it was exactly what I’d suspected—a third-rate reporter hoping for a story. If the guy came around again, he’d take care of it.
—
It was probably a good thing I’d be spending Sunday night at my apartment. TC was not impressed with my gallivanting. Can’t blame him, really. Get trapped in a basement, finally make it home . . . and your damn owner only pops in on breaks to give you food and water before vanishing again.
I got back an hour before Gabriel was due to arrive. I had a call from Howard, which I returned. Just a check-in for my mother—I’d gotten busy and forgotten yesterday. TC spent the next half hour following me and jumping onto the nearest tall object to give me the stink-eye. When a rap came at the door, he planted himself in front of it, as if forbidding me to answer. I moved past him. He stalked back into the living room.
I opened the door to find Gabriel standing there, a coffee in hand. He passed it to me. “Yes, I’m early, but I need to get a photograph of Seanna from Rose. I’ll give you this while it’s still warm.”
“Thank you.” When he started to go, I stepped into the hall after him. “Gabriel?”
“Hmm?”
He turned. His shades were on, but I didn’t need to see his eyes to know he was still in a good mood. The mocha suggested it. His stance and expression, relaxed and at ease, confirmed it. I hated to screw that up. I really did. But I had to warn him.
“She knows. Rose, I mean. If you planned to grab a photo and not mention why . . . She already knows.”
“Ah.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, setting my drink down. “I asked her if you’d been to the station, and . . .”
“She didn’t know what you were talking about. You had no reason to think I wouldn’t have told her. I intended to. I just hadn’t gotten to it. I’ll apologize, then, for putting you in that position.”
His face was still relaxed, no sign of concern. When I glanced up, he lifted his shades onto his forehead, and there was nothing more to see in his eyes. Calm and centered.
“Okay,” I said. “I just wanted to warn you.”
“I’d need to explain when I asked for photos of Seanna anyway. It’s not as if I’d want a few for decorating my apartment.” A quirk of his lips, no bitterness in his eyes. “This saves me from having that conversation, and since it saves you from having to listen to it, we’ll go over together.”
SILENCE
Gabriel looked better than Rose had seen him in weeks. Happier than she’d seen him in . . . Well, that was harder. Even as a child, “happy” was never a word she’d use to describe Gabriel. Not angry or sad, either. His emotional continuum seemed to range from content to unsettled. Today, he was closer to happy than she’d have thought possible.
The reason for his mood was obvious. Eden had forgiven him. Oh, Rose was sure there was more to it than that—work must be going well, his schedule easing, his leg healing, life moving back on track. But the reconciliation was significant. The cards had foretold it, in their damnably decisive way. There were, as always, two choices, two paths. Gabriel would win Eden back and ease further out of isolation. Or he would not, and he’d shut down again.
There was no middle ground. There never was. This path, this outcome. That path, that outcome. And little she could do to set anyone’s feet on the right one. Like being bound and gagged, watching people you cared about heading to their doom.
But Gabriel was on the correct path now, and she saw that as soon as he came in, barely a word for her, still midconversation with Eden. He’d won her back, and he was happy. Which suggested, she supposed, that he didn’t know she’d gotten in only an hour ago, and whose bed she’d come from.
Rose was not about to enlighten him. It was none of his business. When he found out, he’d make it his business. He’d interfere. She didn’t need the cards to tell her that. It wouldn’t be sexual jealousy. That was still firmly on the other side of the wall, a nonissue for as long as he could keep it a nonissue. For now, it would be jealousy of Eden’s time. Of her attention. Sparked by deeper feelings, but that wall would not be breached anytime soon.
Rose wasn’t going to interfere. In any of it. Let Gabriel find out about Ricky Gallagher in his own time. Let Eden enjoy her fling, which she obviously was, given her own cheerful mood. As for the cards, they were staying silent on this, which she presumed meant it wasn’t worth divining. A minor complication with no major impact either way.
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.
