Chapter 16

Ch. 16: Julian

Despite Dane's attentions, I wake up in pain, and after a light breakfast, I decide to take Chloe's advice. The urgent care is mercifully empty, and I don't have to wait long to be seen.

A couple of X-Rays reveal Chloe was right: I've got two hairline fractures, and I need a partial cast. That takes a while, and the nurse keeps asking me weird questions about my home life while I wait. Finally, with a brand new cast and a prescription for painkillers in hand, I rejoin Dane, who's been waiting for me in the café across the street.

Now that my arm no longer hurts, my appetite returns, and I grab a pastry and a coffee before we head for his car. Awkwardly juggling several items with one hand while trying to open the door, I drop the bundle of papers and pamphlets the nurse had given me. I'd thought it was just instructions for the proper care and wearing of a cast, but as Dane bends to collect them, I see she'd slipped something else in as well.

"Domestic violence?" He lifts his brows at me as he examines the pamphlet. My face warms as the nurse's strange questions make more sense.

"I said I tripped."

"Hm. And the injuries are probably more consistent with a twisting motion than with an impact," Dane says, rubbing the back of my neck with his free hand. "Speaking of, you sure you're up for this? You don't have to talk to him in person, you know. In fact, you don't have to talk to him at all."

I know what he means and shake my head.

Ian Foley and I had a history — one I'd only barely managed to put behind me in the past year. I'd forgiven him for hurting me, and I was glad he'd finally moved on and forgiven himself as well, but seeing him still raised painful memories.

He'd also helped save my life last year and lost his father in the process. Dane would say he didn't deserve an award for acting like a decent person, but I knew he'd changed at least as much as I had since the brief time we'd been together.

"He could have valuable input," I say, "and some things are easier to explain face to face. Besides, what if he's on grandma's hit list?"

"Eh." Dane shrugs. "You win some; you lose some."

I shoot him a look but bite back a smile. Ian's not his favorite person, either.

"Come on," I say, handing the rest of my things to him as I climb into the car. "Play nice, and let's get this over with."

***

Ian is tall and bulky. With red hair, a beard, and a patch over one eye, he looks like a cross between a Viking and a pirate, and dresses like a lumberjack. His remaining eye is bright blue, and when he Shifts, he takes the form of a great bear.

He'd agreed to meet us at Lagrange's shop for a proper investigation of the tunnels. We're expecting Halloran to join us, but I'm surprised to see that Ian has brought his new boyfriend, Sam, along as well.

After losing his dad, Ian had taken off on some kind of soul-searching trip up north. I'd honestly thought he hadn't meant to come back, but he had — minus an eye and plus Sam. They were clearly happy together, and I didn't grudge either of them that.

Sam is short and slender, with sleek black hair, dark eyes, and pale gold-toned skin. He looks too young to have anything to do with Ian's thirty-something; but apparently, half his consciousness belongs to an ancient demon, and he holds his own. He's got the larger man wrapped around his little finger, anyway, which is proof enough.

Ian waves and smiles as we approach, while Sam's expression remains guarded. I don't know Sam all that well, but it seems he's got something of a possessive streak. Which I suppose makes sense, for a demon.

"Ian — thanks for coming. And Sam." I offer what I hope is a warm smile. "I don't know if we'll find any ghosts down there, but I'm glad you're here, too."

Sam frowns at me. "I don't just 'see ghosts.' If there's anything demonic, I'll sense it, as well as portals to 'fairy-hell,' or whatever. I'm just here to keep Ian safe, anyway."

I glance at the larger man, whom I've seen fight off multiple werewolves single-handedly, and hope the skepticism doesn't show on my face.

Ian flushes a little and rubs the back of his neck as his eyes stray to my fresh cast. "Sam's a little worried about this killer grandma of yours, is all. Sounds like she's got a grudge."

"Sounds like she may have a right to one, from what we've gathered so far," Dane says. "You know anything about that?"

Ian shakes his head. "Chloe filled me in last night, but none of it rang a bell." He sighs. "I've said it a hundred times, and I'll say it a hundred more, but I wish my dad were here. He knew all the family legends and lore — not just ours, but other Clans, too."

"He didn't happen to write any of it down, did he?" Dane asks.

"Nah. It was, uh... 'oral tradition,' he called it. S'posed to pass it down in stories, father to son."

"But he never did?"

"Uh, well..." Ian flushes as red as his checkered shirt. "He might've. But I don't recall."

Dane scowls, Sam bristles, and I move to intervene.

Ian probably has at least one learning disability, which is only one of several reasons he might not remember things. Before I can speak up in his defense, however, Halloran arrives, followed closely — to my surprise — by Ingrid, Chloe, and Grace.

Suitably distracted, we turn to greet the newcomers and make introductions.

"This isn't a guided tour, you know," Halloran says, eying the three women doubtfully. "It'll be dirty and possibly dangerous down there, and we don't know what we'll find."

I wince as I see three pairs of eyebrows lift at his words, but Dane surprises me and speaks first.

"I can vouch for them," he says. "They've all got useful skills or knowledge, and we'll have safety in numbers."

Halloran frowns but nods. "Very well. We'll go in pairs then. I think I've brought enough torches for everyone."

He opens the bag of gear he'd brought along and hands small flashlights around. I also glimpse a pair of helmets, lengths of rope, and some equipment I recognize as climbing gear but can't name.

"What's that for?" I ask.

"The cavern," he says. "Just in case we discover another passageway."

Inside, Dane pulls back the rubber mat concealing the trapdoor, and opens it. The square of blackness in the floor yawns wide, and Sam shrinks back with an expression of distaste.

"What is it?" I ask, wondering if there might be ghosts after all, but Ian slips an arm around Sam's shoulders.

"You don't gotta go down there if you don't want to, darlin'," he says in an undertone. "I'll be just fine."

"Nope." Sam shakes his head stubbornly. "Where you go, I go, remember?"

I bite back a smile. Part demon or not, I don't know how a guy who gives off kitten vibes plans to protect a guy who can turn into a bear. Then again, like most of our friends, there's probably more to Sam than meets the eye.

"Wow! This is amazing," Grace exclaims as we descend the steps into the tunnel. "The Historical Society would kill to get down here. Well, not literally."

"Maybe literally," Chloe counters. "I've been to one of their meetings, remember?"

Grace giggles and the sound echoes up and down the tunnels like a flock of small birds. She covers her mouth with her hands in apology, but no one minds. I certainly don't: the place seems far less creepy and forbidding, with a group of friends at my side and Dane at my back.

And, with the more relaxed atmosphere, new questions rise in my mind.

I still can't wrap my head around the fact I have a great-uncle who looks young enough to be my brother — and I haven't even begun to process what he'd told me about my Fae ancestry — but the mystery of Lagrange seems mundane by comparison.

"I've been thinking," I say, drawing even with Halloran as we approach the place where he and I had discovered the cavern. "Let's say you're right, and Rhiannon came through the portal here. But you said portals in the 'underworld' are hard to find, while on this side, they don't change. If Lagrange was her target, it seems too coincidental that he'd have a shop right above the one she found."

"I see your point," he allows, "and I've been pondering the same thing. Honestly, I don't know, which is why we're here."

"The runes are strange, too," I say. "What do they mean, and who were they for?"

"That I can answer," Halloran says. "Your scholarly wolf is correct, more or less. The one in the thrift shop means 'Hart' and 'beware,' while the one in Lagrange's means 'ha Lárán' — or 'Halloran,' if you will — and 'so it is done.' Runes are cryptic, even among Fae; but I think the messages were meant for other Shifters — other targets — and not for us. The first tells them why she's here: vengeance for her lover and perhaps for her son. The second tells them who seeks it."

"So, a calling card."

"More or less."

"Do you think she'd talk to us? To me?" I ask. "I mean... It's been, what, almost sixty years since she was banished. Couldn't she be pardoned and allowed home after all this time? If she stops murdering people, I mean."

Halloran winces. "I don't think you quite comprehend the scope and severity of her crimes, Julian." He lowers his voice, perhaps conscious of Dane and Ingrid's presence. "She slaughtered an entire innocent Wolf-pack and jeopardized a fragile peace. However tragic her own tale, the choices she made were her own, and she bears the responsibility. Besides — as you say — it's been nigh on sixty years. Sixty years in the underworld is no picnic. I'd be surprised if she's even sane at this point. So don't put too much stock in the meaning of runes."

I fall silent again as the seeds of his words sprout new questions in my mind.

How would Dane's family feel if they knew just whose grandson he'd mated with? And was it right for me to stand at his side and 'claim' land where my own ancestor had spilled Wolf's blood? Despite my commitment to support him, he'd told me the ritual required a full moon, so we had another ten days to think it through.

My thoughts are interrupted as we reach the place where Halloran and I had moved the bricks, and all eight of us crowd about the opening, peering in.

"I've only brought spelunking equipment for two," Halloran says. "Anyone have experience caving?"

"I do!" Ingrid says, raising her hand and then wincing as her nails scrape the vaulted ceiling overhead. "I went caving with friends last summer."

"You did?" Dane asks skeptically, and Ingrid sticks her tongue out at him.

"Anyone else?" Halloran offers, half hopefully, but Ingrid remains the only eager volunteer.

He sighs. "Very well. The two of us will explore the lower cavern. The rest of you record as much as you can up here — take pictures, notes — whatever. We want a detailed map of the place, if possible."

We disperse in groups of three: Chloe, Ian, and Sam head back the way we'd come while Grace, Dane, and I forge on into the dark.

Without the added spice of fear, the tunnels quickly lose their air of intrigue, and before long, I'm tired and bored with the cold brick passageways. It's obvious they align with the streets above, with branches leading to the historic buildings on the block. Some are dead ends — things have changed since the tunnels were built — but some lead to trap doors like the one in Lagrange's shop.

Oddly, we can't open any of them from this side.

"So, this grandma thief is running around, right?" Grace posits. "Breaking into shops and stealing crap, looking for a Shifter. Okay. But how does she get down the tunnel and conceal it from the top? Basic rule of true crime: you can't kill yourself and bury yourself, too."

I laugh, but to my surprise, Dane takes the question seriously.

"That's a good point," he says. "I wonder..."

A scream cuts him off, and we freeze, listening.

"Was that...?"

"Ingrid," Dane confirms. "I'd know that ear-piercer anywhere."

"Shit."

As one, the three of us turn and make our back down the tunnel as quickly as we can.

At the cavern, we find Halloran helping Ingrid over the lip of the chasm, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Both appear unharmed.

"What happened?" Dane asks, as Ingrid unclips herself from the ropes.

Ingrid shakes her head and points toward the circular hole at her back. "See for yourself."

I advance, Dane at my side, and the two of us shine twin beams down on the black water a dozen meters below.

A pale shape catches the light, and I bite back a gasp.

"Holy shit," Grace breathes over my shoulder, giving voice to my thoughts. "Is that... a body?"

"Yes," Halloran confirms grimly. "And unless I'm very much mistaken, it's the body of Jeffrey Lagrange."