She bent and rubbed TC’s neck as he purred.

“What happened to him?” Ricky asked, taking a coffee.

“It’s what happened to me, I think. I grew up. I shouldn’t say he was my cat. I didn’t live in Cainsville. But he’d come around when I stayed over. Then I wasn’t visiting very often, and he stopped coming around. I figured he gave up on me and found a family. A permanent home.” She looked up the stairs. “And now he has.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say he’s made it permanent yet, but he’s with me for as long as he wants to be. Right, matagot?” I gave him a pat and he rewarded me with a chirp, and then headed into the parlor.

“Do you have time for the tour?” I asked Pamela. “Or just coffee?”

“Both if I can,” she said. “Please.”

I gave her the tour. She did not fail to notice Gabriel’s shirt in my bedroom or Ricky’s bag in the spare one. She didn’t comment, though. Just assessed and looked around, and even told me a couple of quick stories about my great-great-grandmother.

I noticed Gabriel giving us increasingly concerned glances, falling just short of pointedly checking his watch. He didn’t say anything. He knew that would only delay her more. I was keeping an eye on the time, though, and so was she, and finally she said, “I need to go.”

“Okay, we’ll drive—”

“I have a car.”

“Then we’ll follow—”

“Better that you don’t, Eden. If anything goes wrong, you never saw me.”

Gabriel nodded from down the hall, agreeing, and I said, “Okay, but while I’m not exactly happy with Patrick right now, if you do see him at the hospital, take whatever help he offers. He might be a bòcan, but this one will be a freebie. He owes me.”

“Bòcan,” she said, and then, “Hobgoblin. Well, that certainly explains—” She cut herself short and it was two long beats before she said, “It explains his troublemaking.”

I knew that took effort, directing the barb away from Gabriel, but she made that effort and I murmured, “Thank you,” as I walked her to the door.

We stepped outside, and she ran her hand over the brass knocker. “I remember this,” she said. “Gran said it was a good…” She trailed off.

“Good marriage omen,” I said. “I take it as a less specific omen, for a good household—whatever and whomever that household might include.”

I knew that wasn’t what she wanted to hear. She went still, her jaw working. Part of me wanted to change the subject. Avoid a confrontation. End this impossible visit on the best possible note. But I held my tongue, and after a moment she only nodded and said, “Yes, I suppose it means that, too.”