He also kept extensive records on each piece, including detailed descriptions, appraisals, receipts, and even pictures. His collection of files reminded me of the grisly mementos collected by serial killers. In a similar fashion, they each represented the pain, loss, and failures of their victims. Wedding rings, engagement rings, anniversary presents. What had these things meant, once upon a time? What had happened to make their owners cast them aside?
As I looked at Moonie’s files, I became aware of just how much time had passed since my death. I knew it had seemed like a long time, but I hadn’t realized until that moment just how long. The fact that it had been five years came as a bit of a shock. I almost didn’t believe it, until I scanned the dates on Moonie’s magazines.
It was then that I realized any thought I’d had of tracking down Siva had just flown out the window. She could be anywhere. And what about the rest of the mystery? How could I even begin to track down these people? Gallan’s victims had been dead for five years. The entire world had changed in that time. The people who had known them -their friends, family, and coworkers- might not even live in the undercity anymore.
I still had to try, though. The trail might be cold, but I’d piece together what clues I could. If there was a chance in solving their murders and understanding what had happened, then I had to take it.
A minute later, I stumbled across a file that changed everything. On the cover, I saw a picture of the ring. I instantly forgot all my doubts. I flipped it open and started scanning the documents. As I had expected, the ring had been made by Moonie’s brother, an uptown jeweler with a reputation for dealing with the mob. The guy Moonie had sold the ring to was Jacques Maxwell. That name didn’t mean anything to me. He’d worked for a company called The Preservation Society. That name didn’t mean anything to me, either, but it was a place to start.
I took one last glance at Moonie’s unconscious form on the floor as I left. I resisted the temptation to hang him upside down on the wall with the samurai swords. Knowing Moonie, he’d probably get himself killed trying to get down, which would be entertaining, but not good for my freshly reset karma. I folded the file in half and tucked it into the inner pocket of my coat as I stepped outside.
The street was dark and quiet. There was no sign of cops, or anyone else for that matter. It was like I had the whole city to myself. I crawled into the driver’s seat of the Hummer and sat there for a minute, trying to figure out my next move.
Whatever this Preservation Society was, it probably wouldn’t be open until after the curfew lifted. I only hoped that the place still existed, and that someone there still remembered Jacques. It had been five years since he died -since we both died- and a lot can change in that amount of time. I heard sirens in the distance. I couldn’t be sure if they were headed my way, but it didn’t matter. I had what I’d come for. It was time to go. I started the Hummer and headed west, circling around the neighborhood to the nearest highway onramp. It was time to explore the next branch of my investigation...
Chapter 4
Before her death, Miley Grohn had managed the trailer park where I’d gone in search of Gallan. He had been using a false name at the time -a name conveniently provided to me by Siva- and the trail of breadcrumbs led me right to Miley. Unfortunately, when I got there Gallan was gone and Miley was dead. I had just been framed for her murder.
This was just the first step in Gallan’s master plan. His goal hadn’t been simply to get me arrested, or even to kill me. He wanted to destroy me. He wanted to ruin my reputation and turn everyone against me, especially those people I cared about the most. Then he wanted me to die, and in such a spectacular fashion that the fae would curse my name forever.
By his own admission, Gallan’s plan hadn’t worked out quite like he’d hoped. He had admitted that much to me on the day he died. What exactly had gone wrong, I still didn’t know. I might never know, but that wasn’t important. What was important right now was understanding what role I had played in Gallan’s plan, and what role Siva might have played. If she had conspired with him the way I thought she had, she was going to have to pay for that. Thousands of lives had been taken, and justice had to be met.
What I didn’t understand was what Miley had to do with all that. At first blush, she could have been an innocent bystander -a murder of convenience- but I doubted it. Knowing Gallan, he must have had a very specific reason to lead me to Miley, just as he had with Jacques. I didn’t believe it was random in either case.
It took some time and maneuvering, but I eventually wrangled the Hummer down those narrow streets to the Windmill Trailer Park at the back of the Hallows. I dented the bumper and scraped a fender along the way, but I wasn’t too worried about it. To be honest, I found the experience a little gratifying. I couldn’t wait to show the “Governor” what I’d done to his truck.
I arrived at about six a.m., just as the curfew broke. There was a rush of traffic as the residents came scurrying out of their trailers to head to work. A few had cars, and some drove scooters or motorcycles, but most just headed up the road carrying their briefcases and umbrellas on their way to the tram. The scene was surreal. I can’t even begin to describe what it’s like watching elves and dwarves and brownies come out of their homes in the morning like a bunch of human suburbanites. The scene was so calm, so orderly, so... so human that it made my guts churn.
This sort of behavior may seem perfectly normal topside, but it was in direct violation of everything I knew about the fae. It was at odds with their very nature. Most fae creatures are naturally nocturnal. Many have regulated their hours according to their need to do business with humans, but I had never seen anything like this. It was horrifying. This wasn’t the behavior of wild and free fairy creatures, it was the behavior of slaves. These once reckless creatures had been bound in chains not of iron, but of responsible behavior. It was terrifying. Terrifying. And heartbreaking, too, like seeing a lion locked in a tiny cage, neglected and abused, reduced to a miserable apathetic soulless reflection of what he was meant to be. That’s what I was seeing.
I knew right then and there that the first sign of the progression of fascism is not a rush of militants or the rise of a terrible regime, but rather the emotional pacification of the commoner. These fairy creatures had no soul left; no spark. They may as well have been dead.
As I drove the Hummer through the trailer park, I turned my head slowly, watching all of this in disbelief. I saw the melancholy smiles, the pacified glaze of their eyes, the hopeless gesture of heading out to face another meaningless day of work. I almost wanted to weep for them. Who had done this? How had it even been allowed? Where were the Elders in all this?
That’s what I wanted to know. There were thugs masquerading as a police force, cruising the undercity, enforcing a curfew that had no business existing in the first place, terrorizing the helpless citizens into submission, and no one had done a thing to stop them. The Elders were some of the most powerful wizards on earth. How had they allowed this to happen? The more I saw what had happened in the undercity, the more I saw the extent of the changes that had occurred, the more questions I had.
I parked in front of the old doublewide where Miley had lived. It still had the “Manager’s Office” sign hanging on the porch, so I assumed that someone had moved in to take her place. I crawled out of the Hummer and climbed the stairs to knock on the aluminum siding. The windows were dark, and I didn’t hear any movement inside. I knocked again.
“Ain’t nobody there,” said a voice behind me. I turned to see a dwarf woman in a pink bathrobe standing near the adjacent trailer. She was short and heavyset, as you might expect, with uncombed dirty-blonde hair and thick, round spectacles that made her eyes look twice the normal size. Her beard was hardly noticeable.
“I’m looking for the manager,” I said.
“She’s dead.”
I frowned. “Another one?”
“Huh?”
“Another manager got killed?”
“What are you talking about?”
I took a deep breath. “A centaur named Miley used to live here.”
“Yep. She died. Murdered, I hear. It was that...”
She paused, and her eyes widened a little. She looked me up and down. “What’d you say your name was?”
“Frank.”
“Frank? Oh, I guess you’re not him.”
“You mean Hank, the Steward. He was my cousin. He died.”
“Good to hear it.”
She turned to go back inside. I stared after her in disbelief. “Ma’am?” I called out as she disappeared around the corner. I hurried after her, and found her climbing the stairs to her own front door. She rolled her eyes as I appeared.
“What now?” she said impatiently.
“Is there a manager, or not?”
“We already been through that. She died. If you need a spot, just pull into an empty lot. Stay away from fifteen, though. Them wood-elves is newlyweds, and that trailer is always rockin’, if you get my meaning.”
I said I did, and thanked her for her help. Then I went back around to Miley’s trailer and tried the front door. It was unlocked. I pushed it open and a wave of putrid air washed over me. I stepped back, gagging, trying to force down the vomit rising in my throat.
I cupped a hand over my mouth and stepped forward, trying not to breathe if I could help it. The pale light streaming in through the windows revealed a disheartening scene. No one had ever cleaned up after Miley’s death. She had been a centaur, and the piles of straw on the floor had been left to rot. Over the intervening years, the straw had decomposed into sod, and from this had grown a wild array of mushrooms, moss, and mold that were in some cases several feet in diameter and tall enough that they were forcing their way through the rotten ceiling, which was itself partially collapsed and open to the sky.
The walls were covered in green and gray, the windows hazed over by a layer of mildew, sections of the floor completely collapsed, opening into darkness and God-only-knew what else might be down there. It had been my intention to search Miley’s belongings for a clue to tie her to Jacques or Siva, but that was out of the question. I’d be risking my life just taking a step into that trailer. I may have been risking it just standing in the doorway.
“What are you doin’?” a familiar voice demanded. I spun and found the dwarf woman glaring at me through her open kitchen window. “I told you, she’s dead.”
“I know she’s dead,” I said. “I just needed to see Miley’s things, but-”
“Well, what are you lookin’ in there for? Why didn’t you say so in the first place? Her stuff’s in the storage locker.”
I licked my lips. “What?”
“The locker, down by the fence. The one that says ‘Manager’ on it. Nobody ever came for it after she died, so they just locked it up for safe keeping.”
I followed her gaze down the road to a row of small self-storage units along the outer perimeter of the court. Not more than seventy-five yards away. “Thanks,” I said, tipping my hat. She slammed the window shut.
The lock on the storage unit was in the condition you’d expect after sitting in the weather, completely untouched for five years. It was rusty enough that a fairy landing on it could’ve broken the thing. All I had to do was give it a little twist, and the metal practically crumbled to dust in my hand.
I bent over, grabbed the handle on the sliding door, and pulled upwards. The light flooded in, revealing a six-by-eight space that was mostly empty. The smell of dust and rat feces washed over me. I saw a handful of boxes stacked in the corner, and a stained old mattress leaning against the back wall. To the right, a small dresser with a pair of matching brass lamps shaped like unicorns... that was about it.
I started going through the dresser drawers. I didn’t find anything unusual there, mostly just human garments that had been altered to fit a centaur’s dimensions. The small side drawer had a makeup kit, and a few other personal items. Nothing of interest. I cleared the lamps out of the way, and used that space to start perusing the boxes. The first three were full of books, mostly about unicorns and wild stallions tamed by orphan children. Who knew there was an entire genre based on that premise? A quick glance at a few descriptions told me they were the same story told over and over, changing little more than the names. I couldn’t imagine why someone would want to write the same story so many times, much less read it. Miley had, though. It looked like she’d read every single one ever published.
In another box, I found old framed photos and photo albums. I set those aside to peruse later. The next box contained a jewelry case. It was a nice box, with doors that swung out on either side and a tiny little mirror in the center so Miley could try out her jewelry before making a decision. There were intricate little drawers, hangers, and shelves for every conceivable type of adornment. I didn’t see anything of interest though, so I closed it up and set it aside. That was when I glanced in the bottom of the box and saw a silver necklace. I pulled it out and held it up to the light.
It was a long cord with a heavy silver pendant. The pendant was tarnished from disuse, but that wasn’t what caught my eye. The pendant was an onyx oval with a golden tree embossed in the center. It was the exact same symbol as the one on the ring I’d taken from Jacques -the one I’d shown to Moonie. Now that was an odd coincidence.
Before I could examine the item further, I heard the rumble of a big diesel engine outside. I glanced up the road and saw a big black Hummer headed in my direction. It was just like the one I’d stolen from the Peacekeepers, but with less scrapes and dents. I had just enough time to jam the necklace into my pocket and step outside. The hummer skidded to a halt right in front of me, and six goblins came piling out. They wore the same uniforms and armbands as before, and it was pretty clear from the looks on their faces that they’d made a special trip just for me. I wondered if it was the dwarf lady who’d tipped them off.
As I squared off to face the goblins, a second truck pulled up behind the first. This one contained two wood-elves and a hobgoblin. Very quickly, I found myself surrounded.
The goblin in charge came forward and stood gazing up at me, hands on his hips, index finger tapping the end of his baton. He wore a nametag that said “Zak.” He was big for a goblin, pushing four feet high, and muscular, too. Even his five o’clock shadow was impressive, for a goblin. I made a mental note to ask him what kind of steroids worked for goblins.
“You get lost?” I said, glaring down at him.
A sneer curled up the edge of his mouth. “Well now, how about this?” he said. “You really are alive.” He glanced at one of the other goblins and said, “I owe you twenty bucks, Vizzy.”
“Told ya it was him,” Vizzy said. “No mistakin’ that chump.”
I glanced at Vizzy and realized he was one of the thugs I’d had a talking-to last night. I couldn’t tell from his face -goblins really do all look alike- but from the swollen bruise on the side of his head. I made a move to step around the leader, and he moved to block my path. The others tensed up and closed in.
“This doesn’t have to end violent,” I said. “Why don’t you boys turn around and go back wherever you came from? Just say you never found me, and nobody will have to get hurt.”
“We ain’t worried about getting hurt,” said Zak.
I decided it was time to wipe that smug little sneer off his face. I reached for his throat. The instant I moved, I heard the click-click of a pump-action shotgun chambering a round. It was the hobgoblin, I realized. He was standing a few yards back with a sawed-off shotgun. He had it leveled right at me. I hesitated.
“Thought so,” Zak said. “In case you’re wonderin’, that plugger’s loaded for bear with half a dozen fifty-caliber slugs. Show him, Spike.”
Spike grinned. The hobgoblin swung the barrel a few inches to the side and squeezed the trigger. There was a violent kaboom! that left my ears ringing, and a massive hole appeared in the wall of the storage unit behind me. Behind that w
as a hole through the back wall, and behind that, a hole through the fence. I couldn’t see any farther, but I was betting there were a good many more holes.
“Now, we have an understanding,” the goblin said. “I’m Captain Zak and you’ve been invited to meet the Governor. If you don’t want to go, Spike can go ahead and convince you. We might have to bag the pieces up when we’re done, but it’s all the same to me, so long as I get you there.”
I drew my gaze over the group, calculating my odds. If not for that shotgun, I wouldn’t have been worried. The Governor could throw goblins and wood-elves at me all day long, I wouldn’t even break a sweat. But fifty caliber slugs? Even my skin wasn’t that thick. If I tried make a run for it, there was nothing to hide behind. One of those slugs could go through six goblins, a trailer, and probably still have the oomph to take me down.
“Well?” the goblin said, glaring up at me.
I tipped my hat back and grinned. “Let’s go meet the Governor!”
Chapter 5
We encountered little traffic on our way back into the city. I saw a few residents here and there, grouped up at the ends of alleyways or on the front steps of townhouses, flashing hand-signs as we drove by, proudly displaying their Greenskin gang emblems on their jackets. I saw the poor, hungry, homeless, the helpless and the criminal. But where were the rich? That answer was easy: they were long gone. They had been the first to go, and they weren’t coming back. Those who remained did so because they had no choice. They were trapped here.
Up ahead, I saw the Financial District. The last time I’d been there, the streets were running with blood. Buildings had collapsed, fires burned wild, and hospitals overflowed. It had been rebuilt since then. Sort of. The rubble had been cleared, and some of the buildings restored, but I saw many empty lots. I also saw a lot of liquor stores and gambling houses. Most of the storefronts were hidden behind barred windows and doors, and every few blocks I saw groups of Peacekeepers parading down the sidewalks like middle-school bullies on a rampage through a playground, terrorizing and intimidating anyone who crossed their path.
A Dame to Die For Page 3
