He shook his head. "Remember what I said about the records getting mucked up? Flip it around the other way and you have something closer to your answer."
"The fae known as lamiae culturally evolved into the story of the Libyan queen."
"Either the story changed with the times--folklore giving way to myth--or two separate stories got mashed together. The point is that what you saw are lamiae, a Greek fae subtype."
"Show me," I said, nodding at his bookcase.
He smiled, not at all perturbed by my lack of trust. "You want the truth straight from the source? Good girl." He glanced at Gabriel. "You won't hit me again, will you?"
"That depends on whether you do something to deserve it."
"I would strongly advise against hitting me, Gabriel."
"Then I would strongly advise against giving me cause."
Patrick shook his head and went to the bookshelf. The tattered and worn tomes mended at his touch, the leather so new I swore I could smell it. He selected one and motioned me over. I took the chair he offered at a desk. Gabriel positioned himself at my shoulder. Patrick set the book in front of me.
"Fae of Foreign Lands," I said.
"You've been learning Welsh."
"It seemed prudent."
He chuckled and flipped open the book. It was handwritten, like many of his volumes--bound journals rather than printed books. The black ink gleamed so brightly it shone, and the words wriggled like eels, slipping and sliding across the page.
"Focus," he said.
"I am."
"Boinne-fala," he said. "As impatient as the children you are."
"What does that mean?" I asked.
"That you lack the patience of--"
"Boinne-fala," I said. "The fae use the term for humans, but the translation is 'a drop of blood.' Which makes no sense."
"Doesn't it?"
"I could see if you used the term for those with fae in their bloodline. For the disgynyddion--descendants--rather than epil--offspring. We do have a drop of fae blood."
"You have far more than a drop, Liv. You may not be a direct epil, but you have enough Tylwyth Teg and Cwn Annwn to make you more fae than human. To fae, boinne-fala is a disparaging term, meaning one who has no more than a drop of Old Blood. A base and mortal creature. So, when I call you boinne-fala..."
"You're mocking me."
He smiled. "Exactly."
I shook my head but did take his point about my lack of patience. I concentrated on the ink squiggles, on catching them and forcing them to be still. Soon they settled and turned into Welsh words. I started to translate.
"They appear as young maidens just past the cusp of womanhood, of marriageable age and..."
The words shimmered and bled into one another, and I struggled to pull them apart again, but they kept running across the page, turning it into a pit of black ink, and then...
I was on a hill. Ahead stood a small marble temple. I climbed the hill to see the temple columns wound with snakes.
I stepped inside. A mosaic covered the nearest wall. I had to squint in the candlelight to see it, but when I did, I could make out a woman in bed with a man who was half snake. Olympias and Zeus, if my classical mythology was correct. History claimed that the mother of Alexander the Great had been part of a snake-handling cult devoted to Dionysus. Mythology further claimed that she'd been impregnated by Zeus himself in snake form. As for the second mosaic...well, I recalled that both snakes and Dionysus were associated with fertility, and that next mosaic certainly suggested that. Let's just say there were a whole lotta young men and young women and snakes having a whole lotta fun. Well, the men and women seemed to be enjoying themselves. It was tougher to tell with the snakes.
"May I help you?" a high voice asked.