Chapter 8

Ch. 8: Julian

Vaguely, I hear Dane and Vasquez exchange greetings, but most of my attention is on Rian Halloran.

He's a few inches taller than me, and has fashionably cut black hair and sapphire blue eyes. His skin is smooth and lightly tanned, and his face is classically handsome. He's dressed in a black suit with a black tie, and wears a red silk pocket square. The hand he extends to grasp mine is large, strong, and elegant, with clean, manicured nails.

Dane says Wolves don't always recognize other Shifters, but they always recognize their own kind. I've had very little opportunity to put it to the test, but as Halloran approaches and flashes us a blindingly handsome grin, I realize that the same may be said of Fae.

Halloran extends his hand towards me, and all I can do is stare.

I look at Dane, expecting to see my shock mirrored, but his expression is merely one of mild confusion and concern.

"Julian? You two know each other?"

Halloran's perfectly groomed brows lift a fraction, and my sudden conviction departs as suddenly as it came.

"N-no," I stammer, and manage a smile as I accept Halloran's handshake. "Sorry. Julian Hart."

He flashes me a wink, and my doubt returns. I don't know what it is, but there's something 'Fae' about him, for sure.

"And you must be Dane Hunter," he says, turning, "of whom I've heard so many splendid tales."

Dane scowls. "Dunno what's you've heard, but I guarantee most of it's not true."

Halloran glances at Vasquez, and smirks. "So, you didn't break up a bar fight and single-handedly arrest an entire gang, or leap from an overpass onto a moving car to stop a chase?"

Dane rubs the back of his neck and gives Vasquez an exasperated look. "It was half a dozen drunk, middle-aged bikers, and it was a low overpass."

Again, I can't hide my surprise as I realize how little Dane has talked about his past. I'd assumed it was something he didn't enjoy discussing, and so I hadn't pressed him, but now I wonder just how much I don't know about my mate.

Sensing something of my feelings through that very bond, Dane's expression shows a hint of pain, and I see him resist the urge to reach for my hand. I wish he would.

"That's not the way Monica tells it," Halloran continues. "In fact—"

"Where are you from?" I blurt, surprising even myself with the blunt question. I'd caught a hint of an accent as he spoke.

Halloran turns back towards me, brows lifted, but still smiling. When he speaks, his accent is much stronger than before.

"Ah, found me out already, have you? I've been trying to sound as North American as possible—makes things easier, you know—but you're right. I'm from Ireland. I'm actually here as part of an exchange program. One of yours trades places with one of ours, and we learn how things are done different here and there."

"What part of Ireland?"

Vasquez frowns at my borderline rudeness, but Halloran seems unperturbed.

"County Kildare," he says easily. "Have you been?"

"No, I haven't," I say, and again look at Dane with a question in my eyes. Unfortunately, he doesn't speak 'eyeball' and only lifts a shoulder in a half shrug.

Soft music begins to play, and further up the hill, a small group gathers before an urn on a pedestal surrounded by wreaths and garlands of white flowers.

"Ah, well, we'd best join the proceedings," Halloran says, and nods towards the little crowd.

He and Vasquez set off up the hill, while Dane and I trail behind.

"What was that about?" Dane asks under his breath. "You know that guy?"

I lift my brows at him. "You don't see a... resemblance?"

"Resemblance to what?"

I gesture frantically between Halloran and myself.

Dane shakes his head. "Should I?"

Ahead, Halloran glances back at us over his shoulder.

"Tell you later," I whisper.

We join the mourners gathered around the urn. The burial plot is open, ready to receive its ashy tenant, and a nondenominational 'priest' recites a long prayer.

The crowd is small, made up of Lagrange's widow, Vicky, and his two adult stepdaughters from Vicky's previous marriage.

The handful of others are the rest of the shop-owners from the same burglar-prone block: Stephanie Wong, dressed all in white, as well as Danni Spelling, Daniel and Liza Price, and Marta and Sergio Ortiz.

Danni was the first to reach out and ask to hire us; they run a tiny shop across from Lagrange's bike-rental place, selling handmade soaps, essential oils, herbs, teas, incense, and witchcraft supplies. Marta and Sergio own a hardware store, and sell everything from garden tools to candles and jewelry, while Daniel and Liza own Danny's, a bakery and café featuring the world's slowest espresso machine.

We ourselves make up the remainder, and the sparse attendance tracks with what we'd learned of Lagrange so far.

The four of us hang back a little, not wanting to impose, but when the priest concludes his prayers, we move forward to offer condolences, and to observe more closely. At least, that's the plan; Dane and Vasquez stick to it well enough, but I keep my eyes on Halloran. He moves through the crowd with ease, talking with everyone, and none seems immune to his charms.

Fae charms, possibly, though my confidence comes and goes like a tide. One minute, I'm certain; the next, I'm equally certain I've imagined it. A flash of his sapphire eyes swings the pendulum back towards 'Fae' again.

Dane notes my distraction and nudges me with raised brows, inviting me to clue him in, but I shake my head. Now's not the time to discuss who might not be human in this crowd.

With the service concluded, the mourners move forward to make their offerings and say their own prayers, each taking a white flower from a vase and tossing it into the grave. With this ritual concluded, they move away down the long sloping lawn to a small picnic area, where a temporary pavilion and table laden with refreshments awaits.

Vasquez and Dane make their perfunctory offerings and follow the others down the hill. I hang back with Halloran as he selects a white rose from the vase and twirls it between his fingers, gazing down at the pile already lying in the grave.

"They told me you'd grown up here," he says, and it takes me a second to realize he's talking to me. "They said your abilities would be stunted for it, but it seems you've seen through me easily enough."

My heart stumbles into a racing beat and I tamp down on my emotions as best I can, hoping to keep Dane from sensing my alarm. I have a feeling whatever Halloran has to say is for my ears alone.

"Who told you about me?" I ask.

"The council that sent me here," he replies easily.

"So, you are Fae."

He nods once and lets the rose fall from his hand. "I am; as are you."

"Are you..." I swallow. "Did you leave the runes in Wong's and Lagrange's shops?"

He glances at me and shoves his hands in his pockets. "No. But you've picked up on that, too, eh?"

I nod.

"And recognized them for what they are?"

"Well enough."

"You know what they mean?"

"No, but I know someone who does."

"Another Fae?"

I shake my head. "No. Just someone who knows about runes."

"Hm. That won't do."

He looks up at the border of orange and red maple trees and the bright blue sky beyond as a flock of crows fly past, rowing the wind with black wings.

"The council wanted you left out of it, given your... family history," he says, "but I warned them this would happen. You can't hide Fae business from a Fae—even one raised human. It calls to you, just as Faerie itself calls you home."

I shiver. "What do you know about my family? Who are you, and what are you really doing here?"

He smiles. "It'll take more than a minute to explain, and now's not the time for it. Tell you what, though—meet me at Lagrange's shop this afternoon, about 3 o'clock, and I'll answer all your questions and more."

"Alone?"

He nods. "Sorry, but I've got my orders. Fae knowledge stays between Fae."

"Dane is my... Dane and I come as a set."

Halloran shrugs. "Does the name Rhiannon mean anything to you?"

I start to shake my head, and then remember. "That was my dad's mother's name."

"Right so," he says. "There's more I could tell you—much more. But if you want to learn anything from me, you've got to keep this between us."

I frown. "Why should I trust you?"

He shrugs again and starts walking away to rejoin the others. "I haven't lied; I'm as much a cop as your wolfman ever was. Besides: if you can suss me out on first sight, your instincts must be keen enough. Trust them, if you don't trust me."

He wanders away to mingle with the crowd. After a moment of indecision, I follow him.

***

"What was that all about?" Dane asks a short time later, as we walk back to our car. We'd learned little we didn't already know, except that Jeffrey Lagrange had been reclusive and not particularly well-liked. It seemed most of those attending his funeral were there out of guilt and a desire not to be seen as completely indifferent to his fate.

"What do you mean?"

"Halloran, obviously. You couldn't take your eyes off him."

I still haven't decided whether and what to tell him, and stall for time. "Well, can you blame me?" I ask.

Even if he didn't smell Fae, surely he'd have noticed an unusually beautiful man.

Instead, Dane gives me a funny look.

"I didn't think the cookie-cutter country club sort was your type," he says.

Now it's my turn to be confused. "Halloran?"

"Obviously. Cute accent aside, the man's basic as they come."

I glance at him, unsure if he's serious. Given the similarities I'd noted between Halloran's appearance and my own, either Dane and I were seeing two different things, or I'd just inadvertently opened a whole new can of insecurity worms.

"So, what was it?" he presses.

"I... I thought he looked like a celebrity," I say, which isn't a lie.

"I guess I can see that," Dane concedes. "A cheap Cillian Murphy knockoff, maybe. Doesn't explain how excited you were to see him. What did you two talk about, anyway?"

I bite my lip and wait to answer until we've crossed the street to where we parked and get in the car.

My curiosity is like a terrible itch, and Halloran's invitation is the stick to scratch it with; meanwhile, Halloran hadn't said I had to keep our meeting a secret—just the reason—and I already know Dane has plans for the afternoon with Ingrid in the city.

"Actually... he's going to take another look at Lagrange's shop later. I'd like to go along."

Dane looks over in surprise. "He didn't object?"

"No; he invited me."

"Shit. Why didn't Vasquez mention that?"

"I don't know if he talked to her about it."

He nods and snorts. "Probably wants to see the 'psychic act' in action. You gonna go?"

My heart warms a little at the fact he made it a question.

"Yeah, I think I will. What about you?"

He shakes his head and gives me a smile. "Ingrid's living for this hair appointment," he says. "Usually, I'd say murder investigations are more important than hair, but lucky for me, I got a partner I trust. Just be careful and stay away from any runes. Got it?"

"Got it," I say, and hope it's a promise I can keep.