"Pleasantries complete, one-sided though they may be," Patrick said. "Liv wants to get down to business. How may I help you, Olivia? I presume that's what brings you to my office. You want something."
"Of course."
"And in return?"
Quid pro quo. That's how all fae operate on some level, but it's more overt with a hobgoblin.
"In return I will tell you what we're investigating," I said. "And you can decide how much of it you want to pass on to the other elders."
The old folks heard that perfectly well, and they were not pleased. Patrick's eyes glittered as he sipped his coffee.
I glanced around. Other than the elders, there were no other customers. Susie and Larry had gone into the back, like bartenders sensing a brawl brewing.
"Is that a reasonable deal?" I asked Patrick.
"It is."
"No." Ida got to her feet again. "It is not."
She started toward me. Gabriel stepped into her path.
"I want to speak to Liv," Ida said. "I am allowed that, under the terms--"
"Under the terms of our agreement, you are allowed to speak to her, but not to interfere. She wishes to consult with Patrick. You are attempting to interfere."
"Patrick isn't the one she should speak to."
"Perhaps, but he is the one she chooses to speak to."
"He cannot be trusted--"
"None of you can."
Ida stepped closer. "We are trying, Gabriel. Mistakes were made. If you and Olivia would just put aside this nonsense--"
"It isn't nonsense to us. Olivia wishes to speak to Patrick. Please allow her to do so. I'm sure he'll share the story with you afterward."
"I might," Patrick said.
Gabriel gave him a look. Patrick might play the rebel, but he didn't antagonize the others unnecessarily.
"Can we move this conversation to your place?" I asked Patrick.
"You kids go on ahead. I'll finish my coffee and catch up."
--
Ida didn't try to follow us out of the diner, and while I hate to give Patrick credit, I think he sent us on ahead so he could deal with them while we escaped.
Patrick's house wasn't hard to find. The town is arranged in a grid pattern. All commercial and public buildings are in the downtown core. Beyond that, it's houses, houses, and more houses. Besides Grace's walk-up, there are no townhouses or apartments. And there are very few buildings--residential or commercial--less than a hundred years old.
That is strange, when you think about it, but unless you do think about it, Cainsville settles comfortably in the mind, as if this is how towns should look. No rundown corner stores with barred windows and cigarette ads. No tawdry McMansions on streets of stately Tudors. There aren't even many stop signs--you're expected to follow the common courtesy of slowing down and checking before turning or crossing an intersection.
Cainsville is a town of unspoken rules and unconscious compliance. For someone like me, who chafes under restrictions and expectations--or Gabriel, who refuses to acknowledge them at all--that should be hell on earth. But it isn't.
It's not fae compulsion that draws us here. We don't balk at natural rules, like slowing down to watch for children. It's the larger, more institutional ones we struggle with, and there's no sense here that we're unwelcome if we don't conform to the laws enforced beyond the town borders. Only what happens within the confines of Cainsville counts in Cainsville.
We were walking past the school when I thought I spotted a gargoyle. That shouldn't be surprising, considering how many there are in the town. But they appear and disappear, and there's even a May Day contest to find them all. The local children submit their lists to the elders and win prizes for the most found. If they locate them all, they get a special award: a gargoyle made in their likeness. The last child to win that was the guy walking beside me.