Omens (Cainsville, #1)

by Kelley Armstrong

Our family doctor used to blame my hypersensitivity on my upbringing, raised in a quiet house in the suburbs. But years of city exposure didn’t seem to help.

If you wish to live and thrive, Let the spider stay alive.

“Ewch i ffwrdd, bran!”

Normally, when couples kill, it’s about sex. Brady and Hindley, the Gallegos, the Bernardos . . . Torture and rape and murder as a cure for the common sex life.

All the indignities committed on the bodies had occurred postmortem. Eventually, the experts came to realize these weren’t sex murders. They were ritual sacrifices.

There were five elements of the murders identified as ritualistic. An unknown symbol carved into each thigh. Another symbol painted on the stomach with woad, a plant-based blue dye. A twig of mistletoe piercing t...

And a section of skin removed from each back—which was the part I’d vaguely remembered hearing about and had mentally exaggerated int...

No matter how hard she tried, things were always going wrong. Plates dropped when she was sure she had them balanced. Cream curdled weeks before the sell-by date. Salt turned up in the sugar dispensers even when she’d taste-tested it before putting them out.

“Hunch?” one of the women called over, loud enough to make me wince. “That’s no hunch. You read the signs. Some people can.”

Born outside Cainsville, her mother had been lost from the start. Usually the children did not stray far enough to warrant attention. With Pamela Bowen however . . . They had all underestimated the danger. The chance she’d get to know Todd Larsen. That would not happen again.

boinne-fala

In America, we see a black cat and think its bad luck. In other places, particularly Britain, they’re considered good luck. Kill a spider? Bad luck. Stir with a knife? Causes trouble. See a cat wash its ears? A sure sign of rain.

the poppy. It turned out they were a

death omen. I’d seen a poppy outside the door of a dead man . . . before I knew he was dead.

“bran.” It was Welsh for raven.

double-negative.

“A Magician Among the Spiritualists. Do you know what it is?” “Harry Houdini’s accounts of his attempts to debunk spiritualists.” I waved the book. “This cost him his friendship with Conan Doyle.”

“I’ve read The Edge of the Unknown, Conan Doyle’s response. Wisely published after Houdini’s death.”

“I mean brownies of the wee folk variety. Bogarts are a particularly nasty form. Troublemakers. Not to be confused with bogan, which are just as troublesome but less maliciously so.” “Bogan . . . ?” “Bogan, hobgoblin, bòcan, whatever you wish to call them.” “Goblins, I know. They’re like trolls.”

Hobgoblins are not trolls.” “Troll-like creatures?”

“I take it you’ve seen A Midsummer Night’s Dream?”

“Do you recall the character of Puck?” I nodded. “H...

Dissolving a corpse in quicklime? Any fool with a basic knowledge of chemistry knew quicklime was a preservative, and it could only be used to destroy a body if done with extreme care. His client had not taken extreme care. The result was a corpse that was only superficially burned.

Cainsville has no churches.”

The gargoyles protected us from organized religion.

“Cainsville was settled by immigrants from the British Isles. Hence, May Day. There were a few Anglicans, a few Presbyterians, a few Catholics, a few pagans . . . In other words, the religious background wasn’t cohesive enough to choose a representative church. So everyone worshipped in their own way. As the town grew, people of other faiths joined and that continued. If you wanted services, you’d drive to a neighboring town. A perfectly suitable arrangement that recognized freedom of religion. All very American

“But one of the churches didn’t think so,” she continued. “They sent a letter to the town council saying they wished to build here. The council politely demurred. The church insisted and there was pressure from neighboring towns, who’ve always thought we were a little odd. So the council relented. The church sent a representative. He took one look at the gargoyles and hightailed it from town. Declared we were all terrible heathens. The church demanded we remove some so they could feel comfortable building here. We refused. So we have no churches. Thanks to the gargoyles.”

“Notre Dame is famous for its gargoyles. Plenty of old churches have them.” “Do you know why?” “I know their original purpose is architectural. They divert water from the building itself. That’s why they lean out—to let water fall away from walls so they aren’t damaged by runoff.” “Correct. But churches also used them fo...

of the hell and damnation that awaited if they skipped service. Others viewed them as guardians, keeping the worshippers safe. There developed, however, a third view. That they were demonic themselves or, at the very least, i...

Giving me Jan’s file seemed like a breach in doctor–client confidentiality, but when I told Gabriel what Evans had done, he said that according to Illinois law, psychologists weren’t bound after a client’s death. Evans could refuse to turn it over, but it had been his idea, and he’d redacted information, so he was acting ethically.

if the pillowcase opening isn’t facing out, bad dreams will get trapped and disturb your sleep.

noticed my shoes in the middle of the floor. They were upside-down.

Upside-down shoes were bad luck,

A bad omen is a warning. A sign to stop and reconsider. Proceed with caution.

When Olivia wanted something from a man—whether

her contralto voice took on a husky note.

Earth-mother-worshipping form embraced by college students everywhere.

“Witchcraft, wasn’t it?” Ida said. Walter shook his head. “They’re called Wiccan now, dear.” “No, Wicca is a different thing altogether. Mavis’s granddaughter became a Wiccan when she went away to college, and she certainly never killed anyone. That’s witchcraft. Or a satanic cult.”

He’d been the sole dissenting voice when they’d devised their silly rules for coexisting with the boinne-fala.

They helped when they could, like the brùnaidh who gave Grace’s address to Olivia or the spriggan who scared her out of Chicago. Both had been quick to contact the elders,

He had a soft spot for Gabriel, though, more than he usually did for his epil.

“Mistletoe?” “There was a sprig of it left near the bodies.”

Mistletoe is traditionally associated with the Druids. The first known reference was by Pliny the Elder. While it’s not nearly as common as bloody pentacles, it wouldn’t be completely unexpected if one considers these potential sacrificial murders.” “Because the Druids practiced human sacrifice.” “Possibly. The jury’s still out on that. The problem is that we have no records from the Druids themselves. Unless you count neo-Druids, and I don’t. They’re as close to real Druids as Tinker Bell is to fairies.” “Real fairies.”

Neo-Druids are as close to real ones as Tinker Bell is to the traditional fae of folklore. We have no writings from the Druids because they lacked a writing system. What we have comes from something even worse than pixies. Romans.”

The Romans were bloody invaders, worse than the Vikings. Spreading their culture on the tips of their lances. They thought the natives were barbarians, led by bloodthirsty Druids.”

“I have no love for the Romans, but I’m not convinced the Druids didn’t practice human sacrifice. The problem comes in the interpretation. Or the misinterpretation. The Romans saw it as a fundamental disrespect for human life. It wasn’t. Romans understood the core concept—like the Celts, they practiced animal sacrifice. But when you really want—or need—to get the attention of the gods, you offer them your best. Something you value more than the life of an animal.” “The life of a human.” “Exactly. So, too, would the Druids, if they did indeed practice human sacrifice.

So what did the Larsens do with the mistletoe? I suspect it wasn’t just lying beside the bodies.” “It pierced a symbol on the women’s stomachs.” He frowned. “What kind of symbol?” I hesitated, then pulled out a drawing of it. “Pictish v-rod,”

“By Pictish you mean the Picts, right? Iron Age tribe? Northern Scotland?” “Late Iron Age, early medieval.” “Any connection to the Druids?” He nodded. “Before they converted—or were forced to convert—to Christianity.”

“And the v-rod means?” “No one knows. Again, no records. No reliable ones anyway. It’s believed to have something to do with death. As for piercing it with mistletoe?” He shrugged. “I’ve never heard of that.” A mishmash of symbols. Someone randomly linking them in a made-up ritual. I showed him the symbol carved onto the thighs next, but he didn’t recognize it. Nor did he know what a stone in the mouth might signify, further supporting my theory.

Killing the object of your desire might seem crazy, but it was, sadly, not that unusual with truly obsessed stalkers.