“Can’t resist the low blows, can you.”

“It’s the truth. Gabriel doesn’t need a daddy, Patrick. In fact, I’d strongly suggest you don’t try to be one, or he will find reasons to not come by. But understand that he has zero expectations of you, and maybe try to do more than exceed them.”

“In anything else, I would have.”

“Not good enough. He asked you for that.”

—

When Gabriel arrived, I stepped out to pet Lloergan, giving Patrick a minute with his son. It really was no more than sixty seconds. Just long enough, I’m sure, for Patrick to apologize and Gabriel to brush it off as “hardly necessary,” and then escape the awkward conversation by bringing me inside.

Patrick had the book ready. When I started to open it, Gabriel said, “One moment, please. Patrick, Ioan said that visions are the same as reality with the sluagh. If you’re about to send Olivia into a vision of them, you need to clarify exactly what that means.”

“This isn’t a vision. It’s a replay, which doesn’t count.”

“You’re certain of that?”

“I wouldn’t send her in if I wasn’t, Gabriel. When Ioan said visions are the same as reality for sluagh, he means visions that are the equivalent of human dreams. What do you see when you dream?”

Gabriel’s expression closed. “I don’t.”

“I’m not asking for specifics. In general, when you dream—”

“I know what a dream is; I do not have them. I experience replays of memories, not unlike what I see with Gwynn. It’s all factual, though. I do not imagine things that haven’t happened to me.” He snuck a look my way, his eyes wary. “I do not and have never dreamed.”

“Is that his fae blood?” I asked.

Patrick didn’t seem to hear me. He was frowning at Gabriel.

“Would his fae blood repress dreaming?” I prodded. “You called them human dreams.”

Patrick tore his gaze from Gabriel. “Yes. Fae don’t dream. Some of us have visions, like yours, but our ‘dreams’ are the replay of memories. I’ve never heard of it extending to our offspring, though.” He looked at Gabriel. “I’m sorry.”

“I can’t miss something I’ve never had,” Gabriel said. “Do you regret the lack of them?”

“I’m not sure I’d say regret. I envy the ability. That sense of the fanciful. I’ve often wondered if it’s why I write. I’m creating my own dreams.”

“Then that is a gene I did not inherit. I prefer to apply my imagination to the waking world, where I can use it to solve problems. It seems wasted in sleep.”