Chapter 8

Beckett downed her vodka in one infuriated slug. "Another, please."

Cedar examined her. "How about I provide you with something else?"

"Vodka tonic, please," Beckett snapped. Cedar, recognising reality, made a concessionary gesture and went off to construct it. He returned with the vodka tonic and a glass of something that looked identical to the mead that had been in her room.

"It's mead," he said. "Good for soothing irritated tempers."

Beckett considered saying that she liked her temper irritated, but then realised that would make her sound unpleasant and childish. "Thank you," she managed.

"Try not to kill him on the premises," Cedar advised. "Blood's hell to get out of the upholstery, and my chairs are really good quality."

Beckett smiled for the first time since Doinnean had taken her off her selected trail. "Noted." She paused. "Is this the same mead as is in my room?"

"Yep. House speciality. We brew it here. We also have a distilled mead spirit – honey shine – but that's more of a digestif. You might like it after your meal."

"Let's see," Beckett said. "Thanks." She sipped the vodka, and left the mead for now. She'd worry about soothing her anger when she'd worked some of it off on Castle's fury-deserving head. And oh, look, guess who was coming into the bar? Yep, that rat bastard himself.

Horse. What? Horse, not rat. Shut up. You know what they say about hung like – Shut the hell up. The worm wiggled away, having planted its thought in Beckett's brain, from which she swiftly evicted any such thoughts, though sadly she couldn't evict the worm.

"Beckett?" Castle said. "Oh – you have a drink. I was going to offer you one."

She stared at him. That was what he was going with? Offering her a drink? "I don't want a drink from you. I want answers."

Castle winced. "I think I'll get my drink."

"Your Scotch," Cedar said to him, before he could move. "Now sit down right there and answer m'lady Vila's questions."

Castle sat.

"What the fuck is going on?" Beckett opened.

"You're at Cedar's inn, on Hallowe'en." She glared at him with sunspot intensity. "It's where all the best supernaturals go."

"Why am I here?"

"Because" – he stared at his Scotch, then at the ceiling, then at the walls, then Cedar, without finding a single helpful item – "I wanted to show you my world. And, um, I was pretty sure you weren't one hundred percent human, so…um…"

"You kidnapped me," Beckett said flatly.

"No!"

"Oh? What do you call it when you take me somewhere without asking me and when you knew I was trying to turn you to go somewhere else? I call that kidnapping. And what did that…that…that thing over there mean when it" –

"He. The Wendigo."

"That's a myth."

"He's sitting right there."

"Not the point! When it said I thought you'd given that up, puca? Do you make a habit of kidnapping women? And what the fuck is a puca anyway? Is that the horse? You turn into a big black stallion and kidnap women?"

"No!"

"No? Or" – Beckett scowled nastily – "should that be not now?"

"She's got you there," Cedar said.

"You be quiet," she snapped. "You have no place in this unless I find you were complicit."

Cedar subsided, though his expression suggested that he either wanted to argue or, more likely, get some popcorn to watch the show. He departed to a safe distance.

"I'm the puca," Castle said. "I'm me in man or horse form. It's all one puca." He swallowed. "Just like you're a vila."

"What I am is not relevant to this discussion. You pretended to be a horse – Doinnean. Storm. You actually called yourself Storm?"

"Yep." Castle acquired a smug expression. "Storm is my creation, and if I want to call myself Storm I can."

"That was not a compliment. So you disguised yourself as a horse" –

"I am the horse. It's not a pretence or a disguise" –

"Still not the point. You concealed yourself to worm your way into my good graces" –

"Oi told him it wasn't a good plan," Oisin said from behind her.

"Stay out of this. I'll deal with you later," Beckett rapped, without even looking at him.

Oisin shuddered, and retreated to a small dark corner of the bar where Fergal already sat.

"To continue," Beckett said in tones which discouraged every being in the bar from speaking to each other, never mind to her or Castle, "you concealed yourself as a horse, behaved well for just long enough that I'd want to ride you this weekend, and then took advantage of that to bring me here. Exactly which part of that did you think would ever be acceptable?"

"Exactly how did you expect me to explain what I am? Oh, hey Beckett, nice morning, by the way I'm sometimes a horse? Exactly what part of that did you think would be acceptable? You'd have thrown me into the nearest crazy house."

That's true, said the worm.

"You could have shown me any time in the last three weeks, not kidnapped me."

"You can leave any time you like. I haven't kidnapped you and I'm not keeping you here."

"And how am I supposed to get home with no transport? I came here on horseback, remember?" The acid bite on Beckett's sulphurous words almost etched Castle's glass.

"If you want to leave, I'll arrange transport," Castle said mildly. "If you want to stay and meet other non-humans, you can have the dinner table to yourself – Cedar's chefs are the best around, so I recommend you have dinner – and your room is yours. I have a completely separate room."

Beckett turned a frigid shoulder to Castle, and spoke to Cedar. "I'd like to have dinner, please," she said, "at a table for one, where I can see everyone else."

"Certainly."

"Beckett" –

"I don't want to speak to you. You just went right ahead and did what you wanted, just like you did with my mom's case. I thought you'd grown up, but no. Go away."

"I'm sorry. I wanted to show you this world."

"You could have asked. Last weekend, when we were having dinner. If you had asked, I would have changed the route to come here. But you didn't ask. So go away."

"You would have? I didn't think" –

"No. You didn't think. You never do think, you just do whatever the hell you want to regardless of how I feel about it. Well, here's how I feel. Betrayed. Leave me alone."

She surged up, took the small glass of mead, left the now-empty vodka glass, and stamped off to a small table far away from Castle.

Castle stared at his Scotch. After a moment, Cedar came to sit with him, bearing another tot of Scotch and his own ale. "Now what, puca?" Castle shrugged. Oisin and Fergal joined them. From her corner, all four of them could feel the searing heat of Beckett's fury. Not being entirely stupid (despite their complicity in Castle's plan), all four of them refrained from glancing in her direction, even for an instant.

The bar began to fill, but not one person made any attempt to join Beckett at her solitary table.

Cedar left Castle to his misery, and went to tend the bar. With each drink he served, he told the tale of the puca who carried off a vila. Soon, the bar was buzzing with the story. Everyone, having no idea of her real identity as Detective Kate Beckett, NYPD, glanced at her. Plenty of them cast her an appreciative look; but as soon as they noted the roiling thundercloud of her anger they left her severely alone and expressed their amazement that the puca had been brave enough to sweep her up. It soothed Castle's misery, though not by nearly enough to raise him out of his gloom.

As the buzz rose around the bar, Beckett became aware of the attention being paid to her. It didn't improve her mood. Normally, compliments (outside of her work, where compliments should not appear) were very nice to have, but she was thoroughly upset, angry, and – as she had said – felt betrayed. He'd just started to be really nice company, and she'd just started to be ready to take things a little further – and yet again, he'd spoilt it all. Fool her once, shame on him; fool her twice, shame on her. Well, she surely felt ashamed of her own credulity and stupidity in trusting him ever again.

She sipped her mead, discounted its soothing qualities since soothed was exactly the opposite of where she was at, and glared impartially around the room. Her cop brain noted everything – and a lot of the guests definitely qualified as thing not human. In fact, almost all of them were noticeably unhuman.

It occurred to her that she wasn't human. Which was something she intended to discuss with her dad in extremely short order – in fact, she could just step out of the bar and do that now. She stalked out, perfectly confident that not one person, thing, supernatural, zombie, ghost, undead, never-dead, or should-be-dead of any kind would go within a yard of her table and chair. If she'd realised that her eyes were glowing slightly, she would have been even more confident that nothing would be touched (or possibly even glanced at).

She stood outside the door of the inn, ignored the cold beauty of the starry sky and crescent moon, and dialled her father.

"Katie! Hello there. Why are you calling your dear ol' dad on a Saturday night? Shouldn't you be out catching killers or on a date?"

"What do you know about vilas, Dad?" She didn't bother with any softening greetings.

"Ah. That."

"You knew? What the fuck?"

"Don't use language like that to me!"

"Don't tell me off when you've been hiding this for thirty years! Now tell me exactly what you know and what you should have told me. Right now, Dad. No evasions, no lies, no misdirection. I'm really not happy with you."

"You know, some days I really wish you weren't quite as brilliant at intimidation as you are," Jim mused.

"Dad! Right now, or I'll show up at your door tomorrow and we'll be having this discussion in person. And yes, that is a threat, as well as a promise."

"Now, Katie, there's no need for that."

"There's every need. Start talking."

"Oh, whatever. You're just like your mom was."

"I've heard you when you're being your professional attorney self. It's just as much you, and now you don't like that?" Jim muttered darkly at Beckett's words. Beckett projected as much intimidation down the phone as she could muster – which was enough to face down both sides of the Cold War and have them running crying to their mommies – and when Jim hadn't started talking within a half-second, she growled. "Talk, Dad."

"I never thought you'd find out," Jim muttered. "You never showed any signs of anything unusual."

"Was it you or Mom or both of you?" Beckett snapped. "I need answers. Stop prevaricating and making excuses and just for God's sake tell me."

"Katie, what on earth has happened?" Jim finally found enough coherent thought to ask.

"That rat bastard Castle turned out to be a puca and kidnapped me to some godforsaken inn called Cedar's."

"Cedar's? Wow. We never got there, but we heard it was top class. I would've taken your Mom, but we couldn't get a reservation."

"Not the point!"

"So your Rick Castle is a puca?" Jim pondered. "Well, I never." The second half of Beckett's explanation hit his brain. "He kidnapped you? I'll have his head. I'll polish my shotgun right now and you can tell him if he's harmed a hair on your head I'll pepper his backside with buckshot till he can't sit down for a year. Kidnap my daughter, will he? No fucking way!"

"Now who needs to mind their language, Dad? And I have my own gun to shoot him with."

Jim growled, sounding very much like Beckett had earlier.

"What are you – and what was Mom?"

"Your mom was a vila. I guess it bred true in you. I'm, um, a bit fae."

"What does that mean?"

"Um…"

"Dad," Beckett warned, her never-extensive patience slipping even further out of sight.

"Um, sort of Irish fae."

"Sort of?"

"Um…" Beckett could feel her father wriggling without needing to see him. "Well, er…direct descent from Lugh."

"Loo?"

"L-U-G-H. Lugh. Um…Arts, but from my point of view, truth, oaths, and the law. And yours, from a slightly different perspective." Jim paused. "So you're a vila too. Mm. I'd rather given up hope that you'd inherited any of that."

Beckett emitted an unformed screech.

"You're not a banshee, so don't make noises like that."

"I don't think you've got much of a leg to stand on. I'm not taking correction from someone who's been lying to me all my life!"

"Now, Katie" –

"Don't you now Katie me! You're not the one who's stuck out here at Cedar's inn with a bunch of myths on Hallowe'en with pointed blood-red nails and waist length hair. Do you know how much conditioner it took to be able to comb it?"

"I think I can guess," Jim said dryly, "seeing as your mom had the same."

Beckett screeched again. "You should have told me."

"I just said, you never showed any of the signs. Why would I upset you when there was no need?"

"So now I find out thanks to that double-dealing sonofabitch Castle who pretended to be a horse and then kidnapped me?"

"You don't sound very kidnapped if you're calling me," Jim suggested, and was promptly deafened by the latest in a line of banshee-worthy screeches. "Ow," he said mildly. "Now, you're at Cedar's. That sounds a bit like your Rick was trying for a romantic surprise trip."

"He kidnapped me!"

Beckett's latest screech caused a lurking, eavesdropping raven to back away slowly around the corner of the door jamb. For form's sake, it cawed nevermore. For common sense's sake, it cawed so quietly that the sound was inaudible a foot from its beak. Ravens were not stupid. Having heard enough, it hopped back into the bar and began to gossip.

Outside, Beckett and her father continued their argument. "Are you really telling me that you couldn't just walk out and come home – somehow – if you wanted to? Because if you can't, I'll come find you at Cedar's. He'll let me in." Suddenly, Beckett heard the echoes of her father's ancestor. "And they'll let both of us out again."

Beckett was silent.

"So you could walk out. Well, technically he might have taken you without your consent" –

"I'm not a stolen truck" –

"But there's nothing stopping you leaving." Jim stopped. "So why haven't you?" he asked, and Beckett could, infuriatingly, hear his grin.

"He should have asked me," Beckett said sulkily, sounding around six years old again.

"Yep," Jim agreed, which soothed his daughter somewhat. "He should've." He paused. "But he didn't. Has he apologised?"

Beckett thought. "He said sorry," she admitted, "but it didn't exactly sound sorry and mostly he was just trying to justify himself and his dumbass actions."

Jim thought in his turn. "So he did something really dumb, because he thought you'd like the outcome. I thought Rick had more intelligence than that, but I guess not."

"He's plenty intelligent: he just uses all of it to annoy me."

"I still think he thought – however wrong his actions were, before you start yelling again – that he was trying to do something you'd appreciate."

"He said he wanted to show me his world," she grumbled. "If he'd asked me if I wanted to try a different inn, I'd have agreed. It's not the inn I'm objecting to, it's his behaviour. I'm not some dumb doll or brainless bimbo who might put up with being whisked off to an unknown location without my permission."

"You sure aren't either of those," Jim agreed fervently. "He should have asked you."

"Damn right."

"Maybe I should talk to him," Jim suggested, which suggestion melded fatherly mischief with Lugh's force.

"Dad! No, you will not. You don't get to vet my boyfriends any more – not that you should have done it any time, but I'm not fourteen."

"Your boyfriend?"

Beckett's screech scared the owls from their trees, and sent a lone wolf running for the caves beyond the woods. "He is not not not my boyfriend!"

In the background, thanks to the gossipy raven, the entirety of the guests of the inn crowded around the windows and peeped out of the door, safely out of the potential blast zone. Cedar kept everyone supplied with snacks while they watched and listened to the best show in town. Those with sensitive ears relayed Jim's side of the conversation to those less hearing-enhanced.

"In which case," said Lawyer Jim Beckett, "I won't be vetting him, will I? I'd just be talking to him. I can talk to people…especially if they're kidnapping my daughter."

"You're an anti-trust lawyer, not a criminal lawyer, and if I think Castle should be arrested for kidnapping me I'll arrest him."

"So why haven't you arrested him?"

"Because nobody would believe that I went trail riding on a black stallion which ran off with me and turned into Castle!"

"That is a bit of a problem, yes. So obviously I should put the hard word on him."

This time even Beckett's fury parted enough to recognise her dad's teasing. "This is serious! Stop messing with me."

"Oh, Katie. He screwed up, big time. But if he'd done it the right way, you'd have been happy with the outcome, yes?"

"Guess so," she groused. Behind her, an over-enthusiastic selkie with a serious romantic fixation started to cheer and was swiftly and forcibly silenced. The majority of the crowding audience had no illusions whatsoever about their likely fate if Vila Beckett, Lugh's descendant, spotted their presence.

"If I were you" –

"Which you aren't, Dad" –

"Thank the good Lord – I would give the man one chance to apologise properly."

Half the watching entities turned to Castle. The other half nudged him, hard.

"If he messes that up, well, he's not good enough for you – or anyone else. But let him try. God knows, your mom and me got it wrong sometimes, but we always apologised sincerely and tried to do better – both of us. Though I do remember one time when she pulled on her other form and tried to pull out my guts with her nails…"

"I do not need to know this, Dad!"

"Probably not. Anyway. If he doesn't apologise properly, then you'll know he's not worth it." Jim's voice hardened. "And then you can deal with him however you want. Or I will. Your choice."

The audience, recognising both the end of the discussion and the reality that both Becketts were extremely unhappy, dispersed at speed, and by the time Vila Beckett turned around, were all back at their tables or bar stools. She stalked back into the bar, straight back to her untouched table, and scowled blackly. The entire inn sighed in relief when she took a sip of her mead.

Castle, having heard or been informed of the entire conversation, had spent most of the discussion between battling Becketts cringing, and the subsequent few moments trying to work out how to eat humble pie in sufficient quantities to avoid both angry Kate and angry Jim. Grovelling seemed to be the starting point. It wasn't exactly his favourite pastime, but…well…

Oh, hell. Of course she wouldn't like it. And worse, if he'd only asked, she'd have happily rerouted to Cedar's. Oh, aaarrrrrghhhhhhhh. He had really messed up here. Hell.

Thank you to all readers and reviewers.

FF seems to have fixed reviews and returned the story list to showing updated stories at the top. I think I've answered everyone. Apologies if anyone has been missed.