Serpent Son

by N. P. Martin

  "So where we headed?" she asked.

  "North Circular," I replied as I headed east, enjoying the feeling of the warm wind rushing over me as I drove, as was Dalia it seemed, who tilted her head up to meet the wind, a look of innocence on her pale face for once. "Nice night for a drive, right?"

  "The best. Let’s take O’Connell Street. I like it at night."

  Traffic was thin, so I turned up Dublin’s main thoroughfare, also known as O’Connell Street. It’s a wide street, similar in some ways to Paris' Champs-Élysées, which I did some busking in a few years ago. O’Connell Street is usually filled with tourists, mainly because of its history, the many statues of political leaders that line the street, and of course the General Post Office building, which was famously the headquarters of the Republican leaders during the 1916 Easter Rising. It’s a grand building to be sure, with its six fluted Ionic columns and granite exterior. Dalia couldn’t help staring at it as we passed. "There’s a lot of history in this small city," she mused.

  "Yes," I said as I struggled to change gears in the small car. "There’s a lot of history in this whole island, most of it blood-soaked."

  "It’s what makes us who we are."

  "True, although I thought being a Demifay would’ve had an effect on your sense of identity these days."

  She turned her head to look at me, seeming offended for a moment. "It has, but I’ll always be Irish. Even the Fay and the Sidhe still consider themselves Irish in a way. Most of them were conceived here, albeit in the Otherworld…"

  "You ever meet any of the Sidhe?" I asked her as we passed the Monument of Light, also known as the Spire of Dublin, a large, stainless-steel pin-like sculpture that stands nearly four-hundred feet in height, erected to replace Nelson’s Pillar, which was blown up by Republican activists in the sixties.

  "I’ve met a few," she said. "They tend to keep to their own kind. They’re worse than elves that way, even though elves do tend to fraternize with the lower classes on occasion…as you well know." She coughed and looked away.

  I threw her a look. "Whatever. What did you make of the Sidhe then? Are they arrogant one percenters?"

  "Well, they are practically Fae royalty, so yeah, most of them look down their nose at you."

  "I’ve never met one. I’m not sure I want to either, if they’re just entitled assholes."

  "I’m sure they aren’t all like that."

  "Me ma said the Sidhe are as powerful as you can get. Maybe they could help us with Iolas."

  Dalia shook her head. "The Sidhe don’t involve themselves in mortal affairs. They’ll just tell you to piss off. Anyway, what would you expect them to do, assassinate Iolas? You don’t even know if he’s guilty yet or not."

  "Oh, he’s guilty all right."

  "I mean of your mother’s murder."

  I said nothing as I turned onto Parnell Street. My certainty over Iolas’ guilt had waned somewhat, though I wasn’t sure if this was down to a lack of evidence or the fact that I was now friendly with his niece. I still felt in my gut that he was involved in some way, I just wasn’t sure how yet. I was hoping Davey Carvell, the man we were on our way to see, could shed some light on things for us.

  "What are you expecting this pathologist guy to do?" Dalia asked, as though she had just read my thoughts. "I mean, your mother’s body has been in the ground for over two months now. Surely, he would have to examine the body to find anything out."

  "I know."

  I felt her staring at me as I kept my eyes on the road. "I hope you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking, Corvin."

  "I don’t like the idea any more than you do," I said. "But if it comes to it…"

  "Jesus Christ, Teresa is probably turning in her grave listening to this."

  "She would want me to do whatever it takes to bring her killer or killers to justice. You know how big on justice she was, that’s why she stayed with the Council."

  Dalia puffed her cheeks out and shook her head. "And they say the Seelie Court is dark."

  "This hardly compares. Let’s just speak to Davey first and see what he says."

  It wasn’t long before we arrived at the North Circular Road, and I parked the car outside a two story red brick Georgian house. We both exited the car and walked up a pathway to a set of steps leading up to a red front door.

  "Isn’t it a bit late to be calling?" Dalia asked.

  "He mostly works at night since he retired from Trinity." Davey used to be a lecturer in Irish Folklore at Trinity College. I took his class while I was there, on my mother’s recommendation, which is how I got to know the man. It was Davey who turned me on to the truth about Irish history and Ireland’s pivotal role in shaping western civilization centuries ago.

  It took three more knocks before the door was opened. When Davey—a smallish man in his late sixties with a shock of white hair—appeared at the door, he did so wearing a white butchers apron that was splashed with bright red blood. He also wore surgical gloves and held what looked like a bone saw in his hand that still dripped with blood. Dalia and I just stared at him a moment as he stood staring back at us like it was completely normal to answer the door looking a serial killer.

  "Jesus, Davey," I said. "We could’ve been anybody standing here."

  Davey smiled, his whiskey eyes sparkling as usual. "Sure it’s just a bit of blood," he said. "I was expecting you long before now anyway, young Chance. Come on in, and don’t slip on the blood on the floor there…"

  16

  Davey Carvell was once an official Dublin City coroner, but he retired from that position over a decade ago to teach his favorite subject at Trinity. He still worked as a pathologist, though, just not in any official capacity. These days he only dealt with the bodies of the Touched when friends and relatives didn’t want their loved ones going through official channels, especially if the dead person in question died from foul play or through the use of malicious magic. A normal pathologist wouldn’t know about such things, so bodies were often brought to Davey so he could point people in the right direction when it came time to investigate the circumstances of the death, and of course to catch the killer.

  Davey’s house was a messy bachelor pad, with stuff piled everywhere and books stacked in every free space, creating something of a maze around the house. Dalia seemed to be somewhat captivated by it all as she looked around with wide eyes.

  "You caught me in the middle of something," Davey said as he led us down the hallway to a door at the end. "Come down to the basement with me. We can talk as I work."

  We both followed him down the steps to the basement. The room was large and brightly lit with halogen lights. The walls were covered with shelves that held all manner of glass jars and bottles, many of them seeming to contain parts of once living things that were now soaking in formaldehyde. In the center of the room was a stainless-steel pathologists table with a drain underneath it to catch the blood. On the table was the body of a large hair-covered beast that was still human in shape. "Is that what I think it is?" I asked.

  "A werewolf, yes," Davey said. "Brought in last night by members of his pack."

  Dalia seemed fascinated as she walked close to the table and began to peer inside the open chest cavity. "The heart is so big," she said.

  Davey scared quizzically at her for a moment, then threw me a look as if to say, "She’s a strange one, isn’t she?"

  "This is Dalia," I told him.

  "Pleasure to meet you Dalia," Davey said. "I was just about to remove the heart. Would you like to help?"

  Dalia looked up slowly, her eyes wide. "Can I?"

  "Of course. Come around here and I’ll show you what to do."

  I shook my head as I stared around the room, wondering what kind of creatures all those jarred body parts belonged to. There were as many different types of supernatural creatures roaming around Dublin and Ireland in general as there was native wildlife. Being something of a naturalist, Davey liked to collect parts of these creatures after he had
finished studying them. He even hunted them occasionally, when the need arose.

  "So what happened this guy?" I said as I stood by the end of the table.

  "That’s what I’m trying to find out," Davy said as Dalia stood next to him, ready to plunge her hands into the werewolf’s chest cavity. "His pack leader says he was poisoned with silver, though I’m not sure that was the case."

  "He was killed by Fae magic," Dalia stated. "I can still see it in him."

  Davey looked surprised for a second. "You know what, my girl, I think you’re right about that. That would explain the lack of blood and tissue under the fingernails, meaning this boyo didn’t put up any fight."

  "He was glamored," Dalia said. "I’d say by a fae of the Seelie Court. They like to kill things for the sake of it sometimes."

  "As you appear to be from the same Court, I hope that’s not the case with you, young lady."

  Dalia shook her head. "Not my thing. I prefer the darkness of the living, not the dead."

  "Well, that’s…reassuring, I suppose." Davey smiled at her like she was strangely sweet, which she was. He handed her a scalpel, which Dalia took like it was some sacred object, holding it up in front of her as though she was entranced by the light reflecting off the steel. "Just cut where I tell you to, then we can remove the heart. I’ll add it to my collection then."

  Once Davey had shown Dalia exactly where to cut, she gleefully went to work as Davey turned his attention to me. "I was very sorry to hear about your mother, Corvin."

  "Thanks Davey. That’s actually why I’m here."

  "I tried to obtain her body, but the Council blocked my request."

  "Iolas, you mean?"

  "Yes, probably. Any idea why?"

  "Maybe because he killed her."

  "What?" He seemed shocked. I didn’t really expect him know much about Iolas or his relationship with my mother. Davey mostly kept himself to himself and stayed out of Touched politics.

  "We have no proof he did it," Dalia said, then gestured down at the werewolf, her hands now bloody. "I think I’m done."

  Davey leaned in for a look and then nodded. "Okay, you can lift the heart out now, and put it in that dish over there."

  Dalia plunged her hands into the gore once more and firmly gripped the exposed heart. After a bit of pulling, she extracted the organ, and with dripping hands, she placed inside a steel dish, looking very pleased with herself as she did so. "What now then?" she asked Davey eagerly.

  "I was going to extract the brain," Davey said.

  "Awesome," Dalia said. "Can I use the saw?"

  Davey smiled at her once more. "I like your enthusiasm. Maybe you should become my apprentice."

  "I was going to become a surgeon before I was taken by the Fae," she said. "I did four years at med school."

  Davey nodded. "Sounds like you might be suited to this line of work then."

  "Do you mean that?" For all that she had been through, she could still manage to look innocent when she wanted to.

  "Well," Davey said, thinking it over. "As I’m getting on a bit these days, perhaps it is time I thought about passing the mantle to someone younger."

  A wide smile spread slowly across Dalia’s face, which made me smile as well. "Don’t fuck with me on this. I could totally be your apprentice."

  Davey looked at me and I shrugged. "As you said, she’d be suited to it."

  "Sleep on it," Davey told her. "Then come back to me."

  "I don’t need to sleep on it," Dalia said. "I’m your new apprentice. Where do you keep your saw?"

  "Over there. You know how to use one?"

  Dalia nodded. "I worked with cadavers in med school."

  "Splendid," Davey said. "Work away then, my girl. I’ll supervise from a distance while I talk to Corvin."

  Dalia looked like she barely heard him as she went about retrieving the saw, even finding a spare apron to put on before she plugged the saw in and went to work, looking for all the world like she had been doing the job for years.

  "Eager, isn’t she?" Davey said to me after washing the blood from his hands in the nearby sink.

  I chuckled to myself. "She’s eager all right, is Dalia."

  When Dalia started up the saw, Davey watched her for a bit until he seemed satisfied that she seemed to know what she was doing, then he turned to me and said, "So what brings you here, Corvin?"

  I reached inside my jacket and took out my mother’s autopsy report, handing it to him. He took a minute to read over it before handing it back to me. "I see now," he said. "You think your mother was killed by magic."

  "Don’t you?"

  He nodded. "I agree with you, all indications seem to point to that conclusion. This is precisely why I wanted to examine her body afterward."

  "And precisely why you weren’t allowed to."

  "Perhaps," he said. "Though the Council aren’t always forthcoming in these matters. In my experience they don’t like the hassle of a full investigation, preferring to sweep matters under the rug if they can. It’s all politics, though I’m sure you know that by now."

  I nodded. "At this point, all too well."

  "So what would you like me to do then?"

  I took a deep breath before answering, just as Dalia was using a chisel to loosen the werewolf’s skull. "I want you to examine her body, Davey."

  Davey stared at me a moment. "I see."

  "Is it too late, do you think? Would you still get a magical fingerprint?"

  "That largely depends on how strong the magic was that was used," he said, glancing over at Dalia as she finally removed the top portion of the werewolf’s skull, which she carefully placed to one side.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Strong magic will reside in a body for quite a long time," he explained. "Making it possible to trace the source of the magic itself."

  "Can you trace it to one individual?"

  "That’s a tall order. I can certainly determine the type of magic used, and probably the race of the person who used it. But the person themselves…" He shook his head slightly. "That’s a lot trickier."

  "But it can be done?"

  "If I have enough magic to work with, then yes, probably, given enough time."

  I nodded. "That’s all I needed to hear."

  Davey placed a fatherly hand on my shoulder. "I’d advise you not to get your hopes up, son, at least not until we see what we have to work with first."

  "I’ll bear it in mind. Can you move tonight?"

  Davey puffed his cheeks out. "I was planning on drinking wine and working on my memoirs tonight."

  "You’re writing your memoirs? Cool. I look forward to reading them."

  "If I ever get them finished."

  I gave him a grateful smile. "I appreciate this, Davey."

  "Sure, it’s the least I could do, given everything your mother did for over the years." He turned to Dalia then. "How are you getting on over there, my young apprentice?"

  Dalia almost blushed when he called her that. She extracted the werewolf’s brain from its skull with a sucking sound and held it out like a newborn baby. "Where should I put it?"

  As Davey walked over to Dalia, I went upstairs and gave Monty a call, hoping he could help me find out some details about the plane crash that killed Amelia’s parents. I could’ve been reading too much into it, but I suspected Iolas may have had something to do with their deaths. In any case, Monty didn’t answer his phone, which probably meant he was out wowing tourists in Temple Bar with his sleight of hand.

  When I went back downstairs again, Davey and Dalia were getting cleaned up, Dalia looking as happy as I’d ever seen her. "You enjoy that?" I asked her.

  "It was awesome," she replied. "I think I’ve found my calling."

  I smiled. "I think you have to."

  After Davey had finished removing his bloody apron and washing his hands, he started for the stairs. "Right," he said. "Let’s go and grab some shovels shall we?"

  Despite my unease at what we were
about to do, I followed him up the stairs.

  17

  Mount Jerome Cemetery was about a fifteen minute drive away. Davey took us there in his Range Rover, with everything we needed—including a pick ax, a spade and two shovels and a couple of flashlights, plus Davey’s own bag of tricks—in the boot. I remained silent for most of the journey while Dalia chatted with Davey about the ins and outs of being a pathologist for the Touched. To be honest, my guts were churning just at the prospect of going back to the cemetery, which I hadn’t been to since my mother was buried. Thanks to everything that had happened with Iolas at the funeral, my memory of the place had been soured. Then of course there was the prospect of digging up my mother’s body. Jesus Christ, I thought as we pulled into the cemetery carpark, how has it come to this? Regardless of how wrong it all felt, however, we we’re doing what had to be done. At least, that’s what I kept telling myself.

  As it was after midnight, the cemetery was obviously closed, but that didn’t present a problem to us. We merely tossed the shovels and everything over the gate, and then Davey and I used our magic to pass through the gate like vapor. Dalia, thanks to her Demifay powers, became like pure shadow and crept underneath the heavy iron gate, growing in size again once she was on the other side.

  "That’s a neat trick," Davey said to her. "Turning yourself into a mere shadow…I like it. You must show me what else you can do sometime."