Portents Page 10

  They met at Ida and Walter’s house. Veronica was there, along with a few of the other elders. The silent majority, as he called them. Non-entities who could be counted on only for one thing: to follow Ida’s lead.

  “I hear Seanna Walsh had a son,” Ida said before he could even settle in. “Congratulations, Patrick.”

  He glanced at Veronica, who reiterated her earlier message, mouthing it.

  “We heard she stopped by while she was pregnant and was rather desperately looking for you, Patrick. We’d hoped we were mistaken about the obvious conclusion. But when a source brought us the news that she’d given birth, I went to see the child myself. He’s half fae. Half bòcan.”

  “I—”

  “You impregnated a drug-addicted child?”

  He could tell the truth. Tell them how he’d been tricked. Which would lay him open to their mockery yet not exonerate him from the accusation, because they wouldn’t believe him. Oh, they’d accept that he’d been tricked—that was too rich an irony to ignore. But they’d think he’d gone along with it in the end, that Seanna drugged him and that lowered his inhibitions, but he’d still been an active participant in the process of conception.

  “She wasn’t on drugs at the time,” he said. “That would hardly be a worthy conquest. And the age of consent in Illinois is seventeen. So . . .” A careless shrug, coupled with a faint smile. “I didn’t mean to knock the kid up, but condoms don’t always hold under rigorous conditions.” His smile grew as he leaned back against the couch. “With me, it’s always rigorous.”

  He got the full contempt-dripping glare from Ida for that. Veronica shook her head, but the look she gave him said she understood his choice. Embrace misbehavior rather than suffer humiliation. He was a bòcan. Misbehavior was expected.

  “If that’s all . . .” he said, starting to rise.

  “We’re going to switch the child,” Ida said.

  Patrick stopped. “Switch . . .”

  “You know what we mean.”

  He did. Human legends told of changelings, fae stealing a human child and replacing it with one of their own. Like most lore, it had arisen to explain the inexplicable in ancient times. How could two perfectly healthy humans give birth to a child who grew up disabled or mentally deficient? There was only one answer: that the child wasn’t human, that a fae child had been swapped for their own. But within that nonsense there was a shred of truth, perhaps from parents who’d instinctively realized that while their child might resemble them, the resemblance was only superficial, and he or she was not truly theirs. That their child was, indeed, a changeling.

  Fae did not leave full-blood offspring with humans. Fae had enough difficulty conceiving that they’d never part with a child. Beyond that, they had no magics that would disguise a fae child permanently. No, true changelings were a very different thing.

  Fae were well aware of the problems that could come with their blood, and sometimes, the cycle needed to be broken. If a child was born to a fae-blood family deemed too damaged to care for it, they’d find a human child with the same basic appearance—and far superior parents—and swap the infants, using compulsions and charms to hide the switch until the parents grew attached to the new child.

  That’s what the elders wanted to do with Gabriel. Find him a new family. Which meant Patrick would lose him. They would lose him. Their new Gwynn, gone before they even realized he existed. Patrick might be able to keep tabs on the child, but there was no reason for the swap here.

  “Seanna will be a fine mother,” he said.

  Ida laughed at that. “You have met the girl, haven’t you? Presumably had a few minutes of conversation before taking advantage of her? She’s a high school dropout with a juvenile record. Addicted to drugs since she was fifteen—”

  “She’s clean,” he said. “If you saw the child, you know he’s fine. She gave up drinking, drugs and even cigarettes for the pregnancy. She ate well. She found an apartment. She’s making plans to get her high school diploma.” He straightened, finding a smug smile for her. “One could even say I did her a favor. Helped her turn her life around.”

  Ida fixed him with a cool look. “You did nothing of the sort, bòcan. If Seanna seems to be a good mother, then she’s plotting something. That’s the kind of girl she is. She won’t change.”

  “Now that’s a little harsh, Ida,” Veronica said. “If Patrick is right—and we can easily check that—then while he certainly didn’t do her a favor, the child may have given her a purpose. Perhaps that’s all she needed.”

  Ida opened her mouth to protest, but Veronica silenced her with, “Let’s just go see. We’ll ‘bump’ into Seanna in the city, check the baby, talk to her. If she’s properly caring for the child, then taking him away would be unnecessary, even cruel.”

  “Veronica is right,” Walter said. “We lose nothing by checking. We all know Patrick is almost certainly stretching the truth. If so, then we proceed with the switch.”

  Ida and Veronica did “bump” into Seanna and the baby in Chicago. They took mother and child to lunch, and even Ida had to agree that the baby had made an immense difference in Seanna. She’d cleaned up—both figuratively and literally, her hair sleeked back in a ponytail, face scrubbed clean, dressed in a peasant blouse and long skirt. Gabriel was just as clean and well dressed, pushed in a fancy new stroller, courtesy of a mysterious benefactor.

  When the baby spit up at lunch, Seanna whipped out a fresh jumper from her diaper bag. When he fussed, she had rattles to amuse him. Ida grumbled that she wasn’t thrilled that Seanna had chosen formula over mother’s milk, but as Veronica said, she had to find some fault and if that was the best she could do, then the answer was clear: mother and child were fine and would stay together.

  Over the next week, Patrick periodically checked in on Seanna and Gabriel. He had to be completely certain this change wasn’t a whim, abandoned after a few too many sleepless nights. But Seanna kept it up, and their son made it easy—he rarely cried or fussed.

  One day, when Patrick swung by their neighborhood, he saw Seanna come out of the apartment building looking even better than usual. She was dressed almost like a schoolgirl, in a modest skirt, white blouse, flats and a sweater. Her hair left free and brushed until it gleamed. Going to meet someone, it seemed. Normally, he’d have contented himself with that few minutes of watching, but this made him nervous. It wouldn’t be a job interview so soon after the birth. A young man? That’s what he was afraid of, that a new lover would distract Seanna from their child. So he followed.

  She took Gabriel to a nearly empty park. Patrick wore his old-man glamour, knowing she hadn’t paid enough attention at the hospital to recognize him again. But approaching them would seem odd when there was no one else within fifty feet. He stayed back while she sat on a bench and took Gabriel from his stroller and dandled him on her knee and cooed at him. The perfect picture of an adoring young mother.

  A few minutes later, a couple approached, seemingly to ooh and ahh at the baby. They were in their thirties, dressed in business wear, as if taking a stroll through the park on their coffee break. Except there were no office buildings within a mile radius. And when the woman sat on the bench, she perched on the edge, as if not quite committed to staying. The man stayed standing, casting anxious glances around. Seanna held the baby out for the woman to hold. The woman pulled back, shaking her head, but the look in her eyes, the longing in her eyes . . .

  No. No, no, no.

  Patrick darted from one tree cluster to another, getting as close as he dared.

  “The doctor says he’s the healthiest baby he’s seen,” Seanna was saying.

  “I . . . I can see that,” the woman said haltingly. “He’s . . . he’s beautiful.”

  “Smart, too. Everyone says so. He has to look at everything. His dad is super-smart. He’s a writer.”

  The woman nodded, unable to tear her gaze from Gabriel.

  “And he’s a really good baby,” Seanna continued. “Sometim
es, if I didn’t get him up for feedings, he’d sleep right through the night. If he cries at all, it means he’s hungry or he’s wet. Oh, and about feedings, while I would have loved to breastfeed, I knew that wouldn’t be right, under the circumstances. He’s on formula. The best kind. I don’t have a lot of money, but I made sure he got the best of everything. He deserves it. I . . .” Seanna’s voice broke. “I wish I could keep him. I really do. But this is for the best. I’m only sixteen. I’m not ready for parenthood. I need to finish school and then go to college. That’s what the money is for: college. Otherwise, I’d give him to you for free. I . . . I never thought I’d be able to go to college. My parents . . .” She swallowed. “They were really young when they had me, and I saw how hard it was, as much as they tried. I want to do better. For him. Because it’s all about him. ”

  “We can see that,” the woman said. “You’ve taken such good care of him. It’s just . . .”

  “It’s not an easy thing,” her husband said. “We’ve talked to people, and they’ve warned us of all the things that can go wrong. Falsifying adoption records is expensive, and someone could blackmail us later. Or you might change your mind and want him back.”

  “Never,” Seanna spat out, before she seemed to remember her role and softened her voice. “As much as I love him, I know this is best, and I’d never interfere with his new life.”

  “We’ll think about it, but we really aren’t convinced it’s as easy as—”

  “No,” Patrick called out, strolling from his hiding place, his usual glamour back in place. “Buying babies isn’t easy, shockingly. It’s also very, very illegal.” He flashed the inside of his wallet. “Detective Jones, CPD. You aren’t the first couple this girl has tried selling her baby to.”

  “Sell?” the man said, backing up. “You think we were trying to buy. . . ?”

  His wife was on her feet. “Never. We just stopped to tell her how beautiful her son is.”

  “All right then. On your way. I need to have a chat with this young lady.”

  They fled at a near-run.

  “You bastard,” Seanna hissed.

  He met her gaze. “You stone-cold bitch.”

  She all but threw Gabriel back into the stroller. Patrick snatched him out, and she grabbed for him, but Patrick backed up, holding his son tight as the boy peered at him.

  “This is what you planned all along, isn’t it?” he said.

  “No, it’s what I planned after you refused to help me out.”

  “I did help you out, you little—” Patrick stopped himself. This was the mother of his child, and while he might not feel one iota of regard for her, after what she’d done to him and nearly done to Gabriel, she had the power here. Legally, the child was hers. All hers, since he could not come forward and claim paternity.

  “I did help,” he said. “Or did you really think social services would subsidize your apartment and buy you designer baby equipment?”

  Her sullen expression didn’t change. He didn’t expect it to. He understood her now, as only Ida—damn her—had really understood her. Seanna Walsh was incapable of caring for anyone but herself. She’d played the role of perfect mother for the sake of the prospective parents. Gone clean during the pregnancy and cared for the child to ensure the viability of the product. That’s all Gabriel was to her. A product. A means to an end. That had been the reason for his conception, and it was the reason for his continued existence. To handle that, Patrick had to handle Seanna on her own terms, the only ones she understood. The ones he understood, too.

  “I have a deal for you,” he said.

  “Unless it involves marrying me—”

  “It won’t. It can’t. That isn’t legally possible, and besides, we both know it wouldn’t last. I’m no more a father than you are a mother, Seanna. What I have is money. What you want is money. So here’s the deal. You will take Gabriel to Cainsville and move in with Rose. You will stay clean. You will care for our child with her help. In return, I will provide whatever you need.”

  “How much?”

  “When I said money, I meant it figuratively. I will pay your bills. I will buy what you need.”

  “I need money. Now.”

  He leaned back, cradling Gabriel as the child fussed at his mother’s sharp tone.

  “I’m sure you do, Seanna, but—”

  “No, I need it. I was counting on that deal you just fucked up.”

  “Those people weren’t going to buy him. You’ve watched too much TV if you really think it’s that easy.”

  “I owe money.”

  He sighed. “How much?”

  “They were paying me twenty grand.”

  “Then I’ll give you ten, because I’m sure you aren’t that deeply in debt. I’ll take Gabriel to Rose while you settle—”

  “He’s a newborn baby. You don’t have any idea how to care for him.”

  “Then you’ll have to tell me. I’m taking him to Cainsville.”

  “Fine. But not to Rose. She’s my aunt and he’s my son. I’ll take him to her. You’ll keep him overnight at your place. I’ll settle my debts and come get him tomorrow.” She handed him the bag. “Bottles, formula and diapers in there. Figure it out, same as I had to. Now let’s go get my money.”

  Patrick had indeed “figured it out”—with a stop at the nearest library and a book on basic baby care tucked under his jacket when he left. If he did anything wrong, Gabriel didn’t complain. He snuck the baby into Cainsville, and they spent the rest of the day and the night together, with no more than a few whimpers, easily fixed with food and diaper changes.

  Seanna came for Gabriel the next morning. Was it hard to let her carry him out that door? Yes. Harder than he would have imagined. But it was how it had to be.

  That afternoon, Patrick was in the grocery store, picking up supplies. He’d stay in town for a week or so, be sure Gabriel settled in.

  Rose was at the till.

  “So,” he said. “I hear you have a new addition to the family. Congratulations.”

  She frowned at him. Then her eyes clouded as she dipped her chin in a nod and murmured, “My niece had a baby. Yes. I haven’t seen him yet.”

  Patrick went still, and it took a moment for him to say, “Haven’t seen. . . ? Wasn’t she in town today?”

  Rose looked up sharply. “What?”

  “I thought I heard Seanna and the baby were here.”

  “Not as far as I know.” Hope flickered in her blue eyes. “Did you see them?”

  Patrick extricated himself from that conversation as fast as he could. He went to the coffee shop and the restaurant and asked around. No one had seen Seanna and the baby, though one person recalled seeing “a girl” dropped off by a cab, which had then waited for her as she’d walked up Patrick’s street.

  By evening he was standing in the entryway of her empty apartment. Completely empty, only trash left on the floor.

  “You know her?” asked a voice behind him.

  Patrick turned to see a short, overweight man with a permanent scowl, and he decided that the proper answer was no, and then added, “I was given this address to pick up some stuff, but there doesn’t seem to be anything here.”

  The man snorted. “Neighbors said she had a couple guys come by and clean it out in the middle of the night. The guys gave her cash. Some of the stuff wasn’t hers. I rented this place partly furnished.” He peered up at Patrick. “You sure you don’t know her?”

  “No, but a friend of mine does.” He took out his wallet and handed the man five hundred dollars. “This should cover whatever she took. If you can get a forwarding address, I’ll quadruple that.”

  The man’s rheumy eyes gleamed. “For that much, I’ll find the kid myself.”

  Patrick gave his home phone number. “I’ll pay for any information. Just leave a message on the machine.” He peeled off another hundred. “Please.”

  Seanna was gone. Patrick spent a month looking for her. Paid two separate investigators to look f
or her. Had Veronica speak to Rose, saying she was worried about the baby and if she heard anything, anything at all . . .

  Finally, he returned to the korrigan, and found her at home, in a younger glamour. She motioned toward the living room, but he stayed in the front hall.

  “There’s a child,” he said.

  Her brows lifted. “So soon? I thought you’d decided against it. Or was the choice not yours to make, in the end?”

  When he glared at her, she said, “It’s not going well, I take it. Yes, I did foresee that.”

  “And you didn’t bother to tell me?”

  “You were already resistant. I was hardly going to say anything to discourage you. We need this child, Patrick. He may primarily serve the Cainsville Tylwyth Teg, but he will help all of us.”

  “His mother took him. I don’t trust her to care for him, and I need your help to find him.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t demand glimpses of the future. They are presented to me. If I get one of the boy, I’ll tell you. Otherwise, I have seen far enough to know he’ll be fine.” She paused and pursed her lips. “Well, fine might be an exaggeration. One cannot grow up like that and be truly fine. But it’s not necessarily a bad thing. It will make him stronger. Like tempering steel.”

  Patrick bristled. “My son is not a weapon.”

  “Oh, but he is. Whether you want that or not. Whether he wants that or not.” She eased closer and draped her hands around his waist. “I know that doesn’t please you. You’re angry and frustrated. May I offer a temporary respite?” Her fingers slid to his rear. “I believe I can distract you for a few hours.”

  Patrick pulled her hand away, turned and walked out. And with that, he had to admit he’d run out of options. He’d been thoroughly and repeatedly duped. By a drug-addicted high school dropout. The irony of that . . . The humiliation of that . . . It should have been unbearable, but what he felt wasn’t humiliation. That would make this all about him, and for once in a very long time, it wasn’t all about him. It was about a child he’d left with a sociopathic addict who couldn’t be trusted not to sell him for her next hit.