"Not unless they prove Byron wasn't a total dick."
Patrick thought. Thought some more.
"Yeah," Liv said. "Figured as much. If you want to impress me, tell me you knew Mary Shelley."
"Yes! I did know Mary. In fact, I was there on that fateful night when Byron proposed they all write ghost stories, and the monster of Frankenstein was born, an entire genre of fiction arising from the pen of a young woman--"
"Wait, did you see that?"
He gave her a hard look. "If you aren't interested, just say so."
"I am interested--if it's true, which I doubt." She got to her feet. "But I saw a figure over there. Among the taller statues."
"Pale figure of a woman? Like the one I told you-- Where are you going?"
She waved him to silence and took off at a slow lope toward the larger monuments. He hurried to follow. If he'd told her not to bring Gabriel into this, he was responsible for keeping her safe.
Patrick remembered the last time Liv fell into a vision trance at his instigation. He'd been a little less concerned than Gabriel liked, perhaps made a comment that had been...unwise given his son's agitated state.
Gabriel had hit him. Not a shove or a smack, but a fist out of nowhere, knocking him to the floor. And Patrick had been impressed, both by the skill of the strike and the sheer balls of it, no trepidation in hitting a fae, no fear of repercussions.
Fae preyed on trepidation an
d fear, and once they scented it, they lost all respect. So Patrick had been pleased. Not that he could admit that. He'd warned Gabriel against ever doing it again, and fully expected--and hoped--his son would ignore that with other fae.
Right now, though, Patrick remembered that blow and hurried to catch up with Liv. She was pulling away fast as she slipped between headstones. Once she reached the large ones, he lost sight of her for a second and broke into a run, whispering, "Liv!"
She reappeared on the other side of an angel and motioned for him to be quiet. She gestured emphatically at a spot out of his sight. Then she hunkered down and began creeping forward.
A figure passed between headstones. A young woman with long blond hair, wearing a pale dress. Liv crouched behind a large family monument, watching the figure as it slipped through a stand of trees, moving into an older section, more park-like, with towering trees.
Patrick snuck up beside Liv.
"You saw her, right?" Liv whispered.
He nodded. Liv started out. He tried to grab her back, but she was already on the move, sneaking between the large family markers, headed for that wooded area. She got a few steps and then paused, her head tilting, as if listening to something.
As Patrick drew up beside her, he frowned, gesturing to ask what she heard. She pointed to her feet and made a stomping motion. He arched his brows.
"Footsteps," she mouthed.
When he listened, he heard the patter of footsteps coming from the direction the young woman had gone. Liv seemed to be waiting for him to make some connection, but he only shrugged. She mouthed, "Ghost?" He still didn't get it. She threw up her hands and started forward again. He stayed right behind her now, moving from one hiding place to another and--
"Woooo," a girl's voice said.
Patrick may have jumped. Liv did not. Her eyes narrowed, and she looked in the direction of the voice.
"Woooo." The spine-tingling sound floated over on the night breeze. Or it was spine-tingling to him. If Liv's eyes narrowed any more, she'd be walking blind.
"Woooo--"
"Gotcha!" a guy said.
A girl shrieked, and someone else said, "That was the lamest ghost noise ever, Em. Seriously. Woooo? Please tell me you're already loaded."
"Not yet," the girl said. "Someone pass the bottle, and I'll get started."
"Shhh," another girl said. "I heard someone out here earlier. We need to keep it down."