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Once he knew what he was looking for he’d managed to find a deluge of information, well, not so much information as myth and legend. It wasn’t as though finding out about the Wild Hunt was difficult as such, but most of the stories were oral history and those that were on paper were very vague.
Shifting through myth and legend for the truth was something he could do in his sleep and often did. If something didn’t make sense when he went to bed usually did in the morning. Something that Scott often referred to as his superpower, before everything went to shit that is.
In the end he’d taken what he had to Peter as it was he was pretty much certain that Derek, Scott and Co. wouldn’t take him seriously. After all the Ghost Riders were just legend, or a comic, or a couple of weird films; take your pick.
That voice, the one that hissed warnings in his head occasionally hadn’t been beyond taking pleasure in his difficulties, laughing, pushing him down a wrong path or two before bringing him back round to the right one.
The histories it had shown him, though, had been interesting in their own way. Useful things to file away for when he was going to need them, and he was pretty certain that he would. His guest didn’t give over any kind of information unless it believed it would be needed to keep him alive.
At some point during his research binge he’d given that voice a name. He wasn’t sure when and it certainly hadn’t been intentional, but that hissing voice in his head had become Hissing Sid. Not at all complimentary but amusing and seemed to fit.
For some reason that he couldn’t quite work out, Peter had taken the information that he’d brought to him seriously. Looked through everything and then pointed him in the direction of his library to go research some more. Which kind of pissed him off, he’d worked his ass off on this already and that asshole had just pointed him the direction of more books.
Hissing Sid had just laughed. As had Peter when he’d heard him muttering to his guest, who was being a damn sight more helpful than usual.
“You know by naming it you're beginning to accept it.”
And for half a second those words stopped him dead. The book that he’d been working though falling open onto the floor. Open on a page he was pretty certain hadn’t been there before.
A ritual that would allow him or rather them to possibly have a chat with Gwyn ap Nudd.
Or they could possibly end up dead.
Something that sounded rather familiar.