by N. P. Martin
"So what now?" I asked Amelia as we drove out the security gates again. "Are we done for the day then?"
She shook her head. "Not quite."
I sighed inwardly. "More debt collecting?"
"I have to kill someone."
I couldn’t contain my shock. "What?"
Amelia laughed. "You should see your face."
Shaking my head, I said, "Very funny, though I wouldn’t be surprised if you were telling the truth." An ugly thought hit me then. "Did you kill my mother?"
Now it was her turn to seem surprised. "What?"
"You heard me. You’re Iolas’ enforcer, right? Taking out your uncle’s enemies sounds like it fits your job description."
Amelia suddenly slammed on the brakes in the middle of the road, causing horns to sound behind us as the other cars went around, the drivers making angry gestures out the window, which Amelia ignored. "Let’s get one thing straight," she said. "I don’t kill people. I also don’t know anything about your mother’s death."
"Her murder. She was murdered…and I don’t believe you."
Amelia stared at me for a long time as more cars veered around us with the drivers slamming on their horns. "Take my hand," she said eventually, holding her left hand out to me.
"Why?" I asked.
"You have abilities, don’t you? Surely you can sense if someone is a murderer or not."
She was right in what she was saying, I could sense the general state of someone’s soul, and how much darkness or light existed there. And if I tried really hard, sometimes I could even sense the specific nature of the darkness or light in someone’s soul. The last time I did this was seven years ago, when I was twenty-one and still in Trinity College. Monty, who was there with me at the time, became convinced one of his professors was a pedophile. Monty was sexually abused by his uncle as a kid, so he was understandably wound up by this professor, and if it turned out the prof was a kiddie fiddler, Monty vowed to ruin the guy. So I offered to help, as my soul gazing abilities were stronger than Monty’s thanks to my mother’s diligent tutelage over the years. I went up to the prof one day under the pretense of congratulating him on a stimulating lecture. When I grabbed his hand to shake it, I went deep inside him and saw…well, you really don’t want to know what I saw. Let’s just say that some things can’t be unseen, and some feelings can’t ever be unfelt. When I let go of his hand I was violently sick over the guy’s shoes. I didn’t function properly for months after that, even going as far as to leave college altogether. I also vowed never to gaze upon another soul, for fear of what I might find.
But now circumstances had changed. My mother was murdered and I needed to know who did it. If Amelia’s soul wasn’t tainted by murder, at least I could eliminate her as a suspect.
So I reluctantly took hold of her hand and looked straight into her deep blue eyes. Soul gazing is a very intuitive process. I don’t actually see very much apart from a few flashing images usually, but I feel a hell of a lot. In Amelia’s case, the over-riding feeling I got from her was pain—physical, mental and spiritual pain. There was joy in there, sure, along with everything else you would expect a functioning being to experience, including pleasure, most of which seemed to be of the sexual variety. The few images I got seemed to be from Amelia’s childhood: one of her being scolded by her father; another of her witnessing some dark ritual involving tall figures in hoods; and another of her holding her mother’s hand as she died. This last glimpse almost brought tears to my eyes, and I let go of her hand at that point, but continued to look into her eyes until she looked away, seeming almost ashamed now. As I sat back in my seat, she started driving again like there was nothing more to say.
"Why did you let me do that?" I asked after a while. We seemed to be heading back toward the city, and Amelia appeared more broody than she was earlier.
"Just so you would know I had nothing to do with your mother’s death," she replied.
"But why? Why do you care what I think?"
She turned her head to look at me for a moment. "I don’t, to be honest. But both my parents died under mysterious circumstances when I was little, and I don’t want anyone thinking I had a hand in taking either of their parents away from them."
I nodded. "I get it."
"So we’re clear then?"
"Yeah. What happened to your parents?"
"None of your business."
Of course it isn’t.
"I take it Iolas took you in after they died?"
She nodded. "He did."
"When did he start you working for him?"
"You ask a lot of questions."
"Hey, I’m just making conversation. Have you always been this abrasive?"
She shook her head slightly, seeming somewhat affected by my question, though she gave no reply.
Silence ensued for another moment, until I said, "You seem to carry an unusual amount of pain."
"Doesn’t everyone?"
"Yeah, but…" I trailed off. Fuck it, I thought. It’s none of my business anyway.
Amelia carried on driving in broody silence for a while, until we arrived at an industrial estate in Damastown, on the edge of Mulhuddart and Clonee Village, which were about forty-five minutes away from the city. I only knew the place because I once filmed a music video in the nearby Mulhuddart Wood, back in my youth when I was part of a black metal band called Athrú Fola (we made one album that sold a few hundred copies at most). Amelia seemed to know where she was going as she took us through the maze of roads that separated the buildings within the sprawling and strangely deserted estate. Eventually, she pulled up outside what appeared to be a warehouse. "Stay here," she said. "I’ll just be a minute."
"You don’t need my help?"
"I didn’t need it last time either."
She opened the door and then slammed it behind her, disappearing into the warehouse, leaving me to slump back into my seat, shaking my head as I wondered what the fuck I was doing here. "You’re in balls deep with your ma’s murderer," I said to myself. "That’s what the fuck you’re doing here."
I couldn’t help feeling under Iolas’ thumb, like everyone else around him seemed to be, including Amelia. She came across as fiercely loyal to her uncle, but I sensed dissent within her, and I inevitably wondered if Iolas had something to do with her parents’ deaths. And what was that ritual all about that I saw when I was gazing into her soul? It looked like some dark, twisted shit, though at this point I was afraid to ask her about it. Maybe if I ever got past that ice cold front she maintained, if that was even possible. Amelia came across like a soldier to me, someone who was broken when young and built back up into someone different, probably by her uncle capitalizing on her pain. Getting past her defensive walls would be difficult, but I was starting to think it might be worth persisting with, given how useful she could be if I managed to get on her on my side. She clearly hated me, though, so doing so might be difficult, if not impossible.
My thoughts were broken a moment later when I turned my head to see Amelia walking out of the warehouse with the body of a man over her shoulder. I wasn’t sure if the man was unconscious or dead, but either way, Amelia didn’t seem to be having any trouble carrying him.
"What the fuck?" I said as Amelia went around the back of the car and opened the boot, dumping the man inside before slamming the lid closed. When she got into the car again, she started the engine and began driving as if she didn’t need to offer any explanation as to her actions.
"What?" she asked when she caught me staring at her.
"What do you mean what? You just put a fucking body in the boot."
"And?"
"Well…is he alive?"
"Of course he’s alive. Didn’t you hear anything I said to you earlier?"
She swung the car around and began to head out of the industrial estate.
"So what’s the deal then?"
"The deal is he tried to attack me and I stopped him."
"Why?"
"Why
did I stop him? That’s a dumb question."
"No, why did he attack you?"
She gave me a look. "That’s not your concern."
"Not my concern?" I said shaking my head in indignation, but knowing there was nothing I could say.
A thumping sound started in the boot as the man in there seemed to come around and begin to bang his fist against the lid. "Hey! Let me out of here!"
Amelia continued driving as though she couldn’t hear the man’s plea.
I puffed my cheeks out and shook my head. "What the hell have I got myself into?" I said, more to myself.
Amelia smiled probably for the first time since I’d met her. "You’re in balls deep now, boy," she said. "You’d better get used to it."
12
Back at Iolas’ mansion, Amelia parked the car in the driveway and went outside to get her captive. I stood by the font of the car and watched as a man in his forties emerged from the boot, a look of fear on his face. He appeared to be human and Untouched, so god knows what he was thinking about his situation. It was possible of course that he knew what Amelia was, and what Iolas was, but I doubted it. Most Touched, especially elves, were not in the habit of revealing their true natures to ignorant humans. More than likely, the man just saw Iolas and the rest as gangsters trying to muscle him out of his property. As Amelia led the man inside the house, I walked down the driveway a bit, toward the immaculate gardens. Stopping by a hedge which was impossibly carved into the shape of a Pegasus, I took out my phone and called Monty.
"'Oweya, bro?" he said upon answering. "What’s di craic?"
"I’m okay, bro," I said as I looked around behind me to make sure no one was within earshot. Amelia was inside the house and only two orcs stood guard by the front door. "I need a favor from you."
"Anythin', bro, as long as it doesn’t involve me movin' av me couch as I’m a bit 'ungover."
I rolled my eyes and shook my head. "Partying last night were you?"
"I ended up wi’ a load of English birds out on a hen noight."
"You went on a hen night? Only you, Monty."
"It was some craic, I tell yi." He laughed as if remembering what a great time he had. "Them English birds know how to party. There was this one that did this trick wi’ 'er—"
"Yeah, tell me later," I said cutting him off. "I don’t have much time here."
"Why, what’s up?"
"I need your computer skills so I can find out something about Iolas." Monty’s Technomancer skills were unrivaled, though not many knew about them. He preferred to keep it that way, as when it came to hacking, anonymity was everything.
"Okay," Monty said. "Fend oyt what exactly?"
"I want to know what ties Iolas has to an industrial estate in Damastown. You know the one, near where we filmed that video for the old band years ago, you remember?"
Monty laughed. "Jayzus, 'oy cud oi forget al' dat corpse paint an' fake blud. Fun times, bro, fun times. Yer mind dohs campers who came cross us?"
I couldn’t help but smile at the memory. "They thought we were all devil worshippers, I remember."
"Called de Guards an' everythin' they did."
"And by the time the Guards came, the shrooms we took had kicked in…" I shook my head. "Jesus, what a farce that turned into."
"Gran' times, though. We shud totally git de auld ban' back together. Black metal is still popular dees days, we could—"
I looked behind me again to see Iolas standing talking to the orcs at the front door. "Listen, mate, I don’t have much time here. Will you do some digging for me, see what you can find?"
"Sure thing," Monty said. "How do you know about dis anyway?"
"Because I’m working for Iolas now, that’s why."
Monty didn’t speak for a full five seconds, which was a long time for him. "Waaat de feckin 'ell…."
Iolas was coming across the driveway now, heading toward me it seemed. "Look, I’ll explain when I see you. Just find out what you can."
I hung up the phone and put it back in my pocket just as Iolas reached me. "Important call?" he asked, his stern features looking down on me as he stood in his dark, and very expensive looking, suit
"Not really," I said, probably a little too casually. "Just organizing my next gig, that’s all."
Iolas nodded like he didn’t really care. "How are you getting along with Amelia? No problems, I hope."
"Fine. She doesn’t say much."
A slight smile creased his thin lips. "No, she’s not supposed to."
I couldn’t keep the frown from my face. "Whatever that means."
"It means she practices discretion. She tells me, though, that you helped her catch Haknet. It seems you aren’t quite the layabout I thought you were."
Asshole.
"Where is Haknet?" I asked him.
"Back in his shop at this point, I should think."
I nodded. "With all his fingers intact?"
It was his turn to frown. "What do you take me for, some kind of thug?"
Uh huh.
"You have to admit, this is all a little…gansterish."
"Does that bother you?"
I shrugged. "I guess not."
"You guess?"
"No, it doesn’t bother me."
"Good, because I’d like you to continue to work with Amelia."
"Amelia doesn’t want me tagging along with her."
"She’s just used to working alone. She’ll come around, don’t worry. In the meantime…" He reached inside his jacket and took out a folded piece of paper, handing it to me.
"What’s this?" I asked as I unfolded the paper with some trepidation, which was actually two sheets.
"Your mother’s autopsy report."
I stared at him for a second, slightly stunned. Then I looked at the sheets of paper in my hand and realized he was telling the truth. There had been so much red tape involved in trying to get the report that I had completely forgotten about it. "I won’t ask how you got this."
Iolas shrugged. "It wasn’t hard. I knew you were having some difficulties getting hold of it, so I thought I would help."
"Thanks." I probably would’ve been more grateful if Iolas wasn’t the one who handed me the report. As it was, he didn’t seem too annoyed by my lack of gratitude.
He came forward then and put a firm hand on my shoulder. "I want you to know that I’ve launched my own investigation into your mother’s death," he said. "You might find that report interesting reading."
"Why?"
"Because your mother was a friend, as I’ve already told you." He focused his blue eyes on me. "We may have had our differences of opinion, but we respected each other."
Not what I meant, but anyway. I was talking more about the autopsy report. "I’m sure the feeling was mutual."
Iolas stared at me a moment, as though he wasn’t sure if I was being sarcastic or not. "Anyway," he said eventually. "I’ll let you know if anything more turns up. In the meantime, I’ll get Amelia to drive you home. I’m sure you have…stuff to do."
With that, he walked away, back inside the house. Amelia was already waiting in the car. Putting the autopsy report in my pocket, I went and joined her. As she drove me into the city, we hardly spoke. Not that I minded, since my thoughts were mostly on the report inside my pocket anyway, and what I might find within it. When we finally pulled up outside the bookshop, I told Amelia I would see her later and went to get out, but as I did, she stopped me by saying, "Hey."
"What?"
"Would you like to get a drink with me later?"
I stared at her, half in shock, not sure what to say. "No offense, Amelia, but I don’t think you like me very much."
She turned her head away for a second as she sighed slightly. "It’s just a drink. If you don’t want to…"
In that moment, she seemed vulnerable, despite trying to appear the opposite, and I sort of felt sorry for her. Her loneliness was palpable. "What time?"
"Around seven. I’ll pick you up here."
I closed the door and she sped off without another glance, leaving me standing there for a moment as I felt like I could finally breathe again. "This day can’t get any weirder…"
Though something told me it probably would.
13
My instincts were proved right as I entered the bookshop, as it turned out. I walked in to find Dalia standing in the middle of the shop with some other woman. The other woman was human, in her early thirties with long reddish hair. She stood like she was in some sort of trance as Dalia’s dark energy surrounded her, clearly probing the woman in various places.
"What the fuck?" I said.
Dalia jumped like I’d startled her, and the dark energy surrounding the woman suddenly disappeared as it retreated back inside Dalia. "Corvin," she said, seeming vaguely embarrassed, as though I’d just caught her in some sex act. "I wasn’t expecting you until later."
I shook my head at her, but refrained from saying anything else, because the red-haired woman was blinking like she had just awakened from a dream. "Oh, I’m sorry," she said shaking her head slightly in confusion. "I must’ve zoned out there for a moment."
"Don’t worry about it," Dalia said, smiling like she hadn’t just been getting her rocks off at the woman’s expense. "It happens to me all the time." Her smile remained as she threw me a glance.
Then the woman suddenly noticed me standing there. "Hello," she said a bit uncertainly, as though she still weren’t in her right mind yet.
"Hi," I said, smiling. "I hope Dalia here is looking after you."
"Of course I am," Dalia said, handing the woman a book. "Here’s the book you were after."
The woman took the book like she could hardly remember asking for it. Come to think of it, she looked like she could hardly remember entering the shop at all. "Oh, right, thank you."
"No problem," Dalia said like she was all about the customer service. "Come again, won’t you?"
