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"It shouldn't be. In the larger scheme of things, it's inconsequential. This is important." She held out her handful of black and white stones. "The rest?" She scooped up sand from around her feet and let it run through her fingers. "The rest is not. What you find here will be terrible. But, in the end, it is but a distraction luring you from the path."
"So you know what I'm supposed to find here?"
"Yes."
"Will you lead me to it?"
"No. I will tell you a story, and then you should leave. What lies here is best not found. Not by you. Not by anyone, if that were possible. It will only interfere. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust."
"And if I disagree?"
"Then you'll have to find it yourself. I'll not bring you pain."
I turned to Gabriel. "There's something here I'm supposed to find, but she won't help me. She wants to tell me a story."
I thought his answer would be quick. Forget that and get to work. Find what we were brought here for.
"Hear the story," he said. "This is the second time she's tried to tell you. You should listen."
I glanced at her. "Fine. Go on."
"Another day."
"What? Look, if you have something to tell me--"
"I do. A different story. You aren't ready for the other yet. You don't understand enough. I see that now." She spun, her dress belling out, face raised to the sun. "You like it here. Do you know why?"
"I appreciate fine architecture and--"
"Don't be silly. There are old buildings everywhere. But you're drawn to this one. As he is." She darted to the nearest wall and ran her hand over an ivy-filled crack. "It tells a story of our past. Of our revenge."
"Our . . . ?"
She pointed at Gabriel. "His. Ours. Fae. Our memories. We can hear the laughter here, feel the joy, smell the fire, touch the pain, see the mighty hand of nature taking vengeance for us."
She fingered the ivy, creeping ever deeper into the stone, those tiny green vines slowly but relentlessly ripping the stone building in two.
"Do you hear them?" she asked.
"No--"
"Because you aren't listening. Close your eyes."
I sighed, shut them, and crossed my arms. Gabriel murmured, "Olivia . . ." and I knew what he meant. I know this makes you uncomfortable, but we aren't getting any answers as long as you resist.
I like my mysteries clear and real, with facts and clues that I can follow. Ego, I suppose. I wanted to solve the mystery myself, not stand before a ruined house talking to a child no one else could see.
I uncrossed my arms and let my mind clear, as I did when I was looking for omens. Shifted to that other state, where the smells and sounds of the real world faded and--
Laughter. Voices, too, speaking in a tongue I didn't recognize. It didn't sound like Welsh, though it had similar notes. I caught the strains of strange music, unlike any I'd heard, and I started toward it--
Gabriel caught my arm, and I jolted from that other place.
"Tell him what's happening," the girl said. "He's trying hard to be patient, but he isn't very good at it. He needs information." Her voice rose to a singsong. "Data, data, data."
"That was a quote," I said.
"Perhaps, but it's also him. Tell him what's happening."
