I directed Brenin. We found a large board at the base, hanging by one nail. When Brenin nosed it up, it left a space barely big enough for me to squeeze through, but the hound managed it, wriggling.

“It’ll close behind you,” the ghost said. “Quite clever, if I do say so myself. I convinced one of the unfortunate souls that God wanted him to pry that off. Couldn’t convince him that God actually wanted him to escape. The mad are quite difficult to reason with.”

His sigh fluttered behind us as the board swung shut. “Good luck, and fare thee well. Though, I hope you realize, they mean the same thing. But I suppose an extra dose of good wishes can’t hurt. Particularly under the circumstances.”

—

The ghost’s secret escape route was some kind of tunnel. I had no idea what it’d been used for, though the underlying smell suggested sewage. It was dry now, and Brenin was able to creep along until it joined a larger passage, allowing him to do an odd waddle-crawl, his occasional huffs suggesting he wasn’t convinced this was the way out.

You didn’t see another route, did you? I said.

He huffed again.

We only caught one side of that conversation, Ioan said. Care to fill me in while poor Brenin labors through?

I was telling him what the ghost had said when Brenin stopped and growled. I strained to pick up whatever he did. Again, I heard nothing, smelled nothing, saw nothing.

Ioan? I said.

I don’t know. There’s something, but…it’s muted. Muffled. Weaker than before, and yet stronger. Which makes no sense, I know.

You detect something with a sixth sense.

If you call it that, yes. Though in honesty, we have sixth senses, seventh senses, and possibly eighth. One can help us find prey; another can warn us against danger, not unlike Gabriel’s rather embryonic ability. Which I suppose suggests he may also have—

Brenin snorted, cutting Ioan off.

Is he telling you to stop digressing? I said. Or just objecting to the idea that the current Gwynn could have Cŵn Annwn blood?

Ioan chuckled. Either is equally likely. As I was saying, we have senses for both prey and threat. This is…neither? Both? I cannot tell. Brenin? You decide whether to continue.

Brenin growled, more of a vibration than actual sound, and he twisted, as if testing the likelihood of turning around, but while it seemed possible, he decided to continue forward.

When a familiar smell hit, he snorted it out.

Seems one of the ghost’s success stories wasn’t so successful, I said.

Yes, I’m afraid so. That might be what we detected. Brenin?

The hound chuffed, as if in agreement.

I believe we’re also picking up residual senses of the melltithiwyd, Ioan said. Which would be, in their way, both prey and threat to us.