I looked at Gabriel.

“You already know what I was told,” he said. “They ward off the Black Death.”

“There’s never been an outbreak of bubonic plague in Illinois.”

“So apparently they work,” Patrick said. “Now come along, kids. I still have another chapter to write today.”

CHAPTER SIX

Patrick’s house was typical for the town: a one-and-a-half-story Gothic Revival. Inside, it was typical for him, far more concerned with personal comfort and amusement than historicity. In the living room, walls had been ripped down to create a large area that was half entertainment center and half library. We sat in the library end.

“I had a vision,” I said. “The details are unimportant, but—”

“Details are always important.”

“I just want to know what kind of fae I saw.”

“And I want the details. Start at the beginning.” When I hesitated, he said, “Liv …” as if I were a child being difficult for the sake of being difficult. I don’t know how to deal with Patrick. He’s useful, and he’s not unpleasant to be around. I could like him, as an ally. But I cannot get past what he did to Gabriel. Patrick was Gabriel’s father and—fae or not—he left him in unconscionable circumstances with Seanna.

“Olivia?” Gabriel said, glancing over, wondering why I was balking when I’d wanted to speak to Patrick. He didn’t know Patrick was his father, and I was in no rush to tell him.

I told Patrick the whole story, starting with hearing the Wild Hunt, through the death of the girl, to the others mourning her and the youngest’s words to me.

“Lamiae,” he said. “Greek fae.”

“Like Lamia from the myth?” When Gabriel arched his brows, I said, “She was a Libyan queen Zeus fell in love with. Hera punished her—because, clearly, if your husband screws around, it’s the other woman who needs punishing. Hera turned her into a snake-woman and forced her to devour her own children. She also made Lamia unable to close her eyes, so she’d forever relive her children’s horrible deaths.”

“Charming.”

“Oh, but Zeus came to the rescue. He made it so she could take out her eyes. Which solved all her problems. Then she went mad and started devouring random children.” I looked at Patrick. “Other than the snake part, I’m not getting the connection.”

“Folklore and myth is a muddled mess,” he said, easing into lecture mode. “Stories are told and retold, passed on and altered according to each storyteller’s proclivities and imagination. Take Matilda—there are clearly elements of her true story in the myth. Same with Arawn. Gwynn ap Nudd, though …”

Gabriel flinched. Patrick didn’t notice and continued. “The legends of Gwynn bear little resemblance to the truth other than the fact he was king of the Tylwyth Teg. In some lore, he’s confused with Arawn, making him lord of the Hunt. Then there’s his part in the Arthurian legend cycle. Yet his real role—in the Matilda myth—was stricken from the records. The simple fact is that the stories you’ll find in human collections rarely have more than a nodding acquaintance with the truth. Which is understandable.”

“Because they come from humans.”

“History is written by the victors.”

An odd choice of quote. Was that what humans were to fae? The victors? Driving them from their homes and destroying their lands?

I pushed back on track. “So the lamiae?”

“A similar mess. You have the Libyan queen of myth. A half-snake monster who devours children. Later she’s not so much devouring them as sucking their blood, becoming a form of vampire. Then, rather than being half snake, she’s a beautiful young woman, often depicted with snakeskin around her waist.”

“The belts I saw.”

He nodded. “And by that point, she isn’t targeting children at all—she’s going after men. Seducing them and stealing their life force.”

“Making her a variation on the succubus.”

“Exactly. Go a step farther and you don’t have a single monster named Lamia, you have a monstrous subtype called lamiae, young women with snakelike traits who seduce men and consume their life force.”

“Which is closest to what I saw. Are they descendants of Lamia, then?”

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.