"That's a late interpretation. Post-Christian, obviously. In the early stories, the Otherworld is merely the afterlife, undifferentiated, as in many pagan religions. In those older tales, I would presume Matilda just captures them and sends them on their way."
"Like the grim reaper on horseback. In those versions, then, the Hunt chases spirits, not the living."
"Sometimes. Other times, they hunt those not yet dead, those who may deserve death. Matilda sets the hounds on them, and they rip the victim limb from limb, and she seizes the soul."
"Lovely. So my vision has nothing to do with the story, then. Except for the hunt aspect."
"No, that part, I believe, relates back to Matilda's origin legend. One version says she was a beautiful noblewoman who loved to hunt. She declared that if there was no hunting in heaven, she did not wish to go there."
"And so, on her death, she was doomed to hunt forever."
Rose smiled. "You're good at this."
"Legends. So predictable. That's not quite what I saw . . ."
"The other story is that Matilda was due to wed, and her husband disapproved of her hunting, so she promised never to go again after they were married. But she snuck out. He caught her and doomed her--"
"To ride forever," I finished.
"And, yes, again, not what you saw but rather a variation on it. In your vision, you--or Matilda--were to wed a fae king or prince." She paused. "Did you hear his name?"
"I . . . don't think so." Some faint memory twitched. Had I heard names? Other than Matilda? I couldn't remember.
"All right," Rose said. "So Matilda was to wed this man, but she could not resist the call of the Wild Hunt, despite a vow never to join it again. In making that impulsive decision, the fae realm was closed to Matilda forever. Given what you've said of Cainsville and what's happened to you, that has its parallels here."
"Two sides wooing me. I must choose one. Despite the fact that I have no goddamned idea why they want me."
"Mallt-y-Nos," she said. "Mallt-y-Dydd. Matilda of the Night. Matilda of the Day. Those are your options."
"When you put it like that . . . it still doesn't make a damn bit of sense."
"I know," she said. "I'll keep looking. Though I don't know how much more I'll find that will be useful. Folklore is a way of explaining the inexplicable. It's humans guessing at the mysteries of the unknown. If there's a true story, it's not going to be in my books."
I glanced over at Gabriel. He'd been silent during the discussion. Now his brows arched as if to say, Don't ask me. I'm as confused as you are.
"Okay, so back to the real world," I said. "I need to--Shit! Work. My shift starts at--"
"I've called in sick for you," Gabriel said.
"Thanks." I paused. "I'm sure you have work to do, though."
He fixed me with a cool look. "If I wanted to leave, I would. If you want me to leave, I should hope you would tell me to go. I do not feel obligated to stay. Nor do I require false niceties if you'd prefer I didn't."
"Nothing's ever simple with you, is it?"
"I don't see how it could be simpler. If I want--"
"Enough," Rose cut in. "Don't dissect the question, Gabriel. Just answer it."
A pause. Then, "It's Saturday. I do not need to work. However, my laptop is in the car, and I was going to retrieve it to do some work, but I drifted off." He rose. "I'll go get that, if it will make you feel less like you are imposing on my time."
"It would."
--
"He's right," Rose said as we heard Gabriel's footsteps going down the stairs. "He didn't stay because he felt obligated. If Gabriel does something, it's because he wants to."
"I know."