“That’s not what I meant,” he said.
I gazed toward the lightening haze in the east. I had been in hiding for months. I was being hunted by angry elves and crazy fairies. A Dead fairy queen wanted my help, and a live one wanted me dead. My girlfriend could read the future, and it didn’t look good, and my mother thought I should go bowling with my uncommunicative dad and alcoholic brother. “I’m not dead. How are you holding up?”
He chuckled. “This, too, shall pass, you know?”
We didn’t speak for several long moments. Murdock and I had gone through a lot together. I didn’t know what I would have done without him the past few months. It was a measure of his friendship that I had caused him pain, but he’d stuck by me. I couldn’t ask for more than that in a friend.
“How’s Janey?” I asked.
“Be careful going back.” I didn’t take offense at the abruptness or the lack of an answer. Murdock didn’t like to talk about his feelings. He turned away. Murdock didn’t like saying good-bye either.
18
Later that day, I waited for Murdock at the end of Tide Street. Mechanical devices malfunctioned in and around the Tangle, and the street was the closest parking that wouldn’t screw up his engine. The western sky burned a brilliant orange behind the buildings opposite me, making them seem on fire, an unwelcome reminder that they had been. Most stood gutted and dark, too structurally unsound for even persistent squatters.
Murdock pulled his old heap up to the curb and parked it behind the burned-out shell of a taxi. A parking ticket fluttered on the shattered windshield of the taxi. At least someone did his job in the Weird.
“You’re looking a bit world-weary,” he said. He was wearing what I liked to call his urban tactical uniform, black jeans, black ankle boots, black militaryesque shirt. Over time, Murdock had gotten more comfortable blending into the scenery of the Weird. His outfits didn’t scream “cop” anymore with khakis, white shirt, and tie. Of course, for Murdock, that didn’t mean his clothes weren’t impeccably clean and ironed. Meryl still liked to tease him about his wardrobe.
“I had a bad day,” I said.
He glanced at me, circumspect. “That’s not a good thing where you’re concerned.”
I grinned over at him as we walked down Tide. “No interdimensional meltdowns. It was more personal.”
“This time,” he said.
“This time,” I said.
We turned into an unnamed street, one that didn’t exist on any maps or maybe didn’t exist at all. The Tangle was filled with illusions. Streets existed, to be sure, but the illusion of streets did, too.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Nothing particular. I spent most of my time avoiding people. Apparently, even in the Tangle, some people supported the Elven King. I was at a bookseller’s stand, and someone threw a brick at me.”
“Did it hit you?” he asked.
“I had my shield up,” I said.
Murdock paused, then resumed walking. An ornate building shimmered beneath the image of a plain brick-front warehouse. “I’m having some kind of double vision.”
“You’re seeing through the glamours. Not many humans venture this deep in the Tangle. The glamours are more tuned to fey sensibilities,” I said.
I left it unsaid that Murdock was fey now. Technically, he always had been, but a suppression spell kept him as clueless as everyone else. He avoided talking about it, but I thought if I kept bringing fey matters up, eventually he’d relax. He didn’t relax. If anything, his face became closed, and he watched the ground as he walked.
“I’m concerned about Gerry and Kevin. When they came home last night, Gerry had essence burns on his hands. He said it happened by accident, but I think he’s been playing around,” Murdock said.
Gerry Murdock’s using essence was a concern. He had a short temper and a chip on his shoulder. He, like his brothers, was also starting to exhibit more aspects of fey ability inherited from his druid mother. “They need to be trained, Leo. Dru-kids have seriously hurt themselves because they didn’t have training. Just because they’re adults doesn’t mean your brothers are immune to accidents.”
“They won’t talk about it,” he said.
I feigned surprise. “Really? I’m shocked. The Murdocks don’t talk about their fey abilities?”
“Oh, shut up,” he said.
“Seriously, Leo, I’d think suddenly having fey abilities would be a major conversation. Why are they avoiding it?”
“You and this conversation. I think they do talk about it, just not in front of me. They don’t want your knowing anything about them,” he said.
“Oh.” Yeah, the Murdocks hated me. I understood their feelings. It didn’t matter that I didn’t kill their father. It didn’t matter that I had been young and their mother initiated our relationship. From the outside, my actions appeared intentional. Despite my innocence, their parents were dead, and I was an easy scapegoat.
We stopped in front of a building with three arches capped with large granite blocks. Warm blue neon glowed from inside a bar called Fathom, and the faint sound of a bass line thumped at my ears. “They need to be trained, Leo. You don’t need me to tell you that.”
He nodded. “Anything I recommend is assumed to be coming from you. If you can think of a way around that, let me know.”
I opened the door, and the music became louder, with a lush, low energy. Down the center of the main room, a long pool of water was lit from below. The effect threw undulating shadows across the ceiling. Merrow women lounged in the water in small groups or leaned against the sides to talk to other customers. They weren’t a floor show.
Water fey preferred little to no clothing, which invited trouble for them, even in the Weird. The Tangle provided a refuge from stares and hassle. Outside, in the real world, they had to rely on police or the Guild or the Consortium for protection. In the Tangle, if someone bothered them, they could use their full strength to fight, and no law enforcement was around to stop them.
The air hung thick with the tang of the ocean. We endured hard stares as we lingered at the door to adjust to the dimmer light. Getting checked out was standard op whenever you trod on a subculture’s turf. The stares gave notice that any games would be met with resistance. If you came to laugh or gawk or get your kink on, you’d be shown the door faster than a fist could fly.
We made our way around the pool to a low table surrounded by plants and curtains. Melusine Blanc reclined on a pillowed lounge. She wore a loose robe of soft blue cotton and nothing on her bare feet. Her long, thick hair draped in intricate knots behind her. She smiled up at us as we took seats opposite, her sharp teeth dull in the dim light.
Melusine wasn’t a merrow. Some say she came from Germany or France, but that didn’t mean she had any inclination toward the Consortium. One could be Teutonic and not be aligned. She was a solitary water fey, her skin like translucent porcelain, her legs longer in proportion to her body than a human’s were. She had a compelling attraction, her features exaggerated and narrow, offset by deep, blue eyes. I could imagine a sailor or two crashing against the rocks for her.
Decades ago, she had gained respect among the solitaries of Boston with her tough nature, and her selection as the representative of the solitaries on the Guild board had become routine. Her independence from both the Guild and the Consortium gave her power over both groups at times, but more often she struggled to defend her positions alone.
When Eorla set up her independent court and invited the solitaries to join, everyone expected Melusine to resist. She didn’t. Instead, she welcomed Eorla and deferred to her at almost every turn. In fact, when she learned of the dead merrow in the harbor, Melusine sent word that she would help in any way she could.
She extended a languid hand. “Connor Grey. At last, we meet.”
“My pleasure. This is Leonard Murdock. He’s a detective lieutenant with the Boston police.” We took seats opposite her, low divans that prevented us from sitt
ing up. Murdock perched on the edge of the cushion, intent on not falling back in a sprawl.
Melusine rolled onto her side and gestured at the table. Serving trays loaded with oysters, clams, and shellfish crowded the table. “It’s a terrible cliché in merfolk restaurants, but the raw bar here is quite amazing.”
“No, thanks. We were wondering if you could help us with something,” I said.
She slurped a raw oyster. “Of course. The dead merrow’s name was Wessa, from a pod off the coast of Norway. She migrated south to the English Channel with some of her sisters about a decade ago and worked for the Consortium on and off since then. Sea surveillance, if that wasn’t obvious.”
Murdock and I exchanged surprised looks. “How did you know why we were here?”
Amused, Melusine pursed her lips as she picked through the shrimp. “Is it that surprising? You were both seen when the body was recovered. You and I, Connor Grey, have never spoken, and I get word from Eorla that it might be wise for us to meet.”
“Why didn’t you go to the police with the information?” Murdock asked.
Melusine leaned back among the cushions. “Why would I? Wessa was a Consortium agent. As soon as that became known, any local investigation would have been suspended.”
“What was she doing for the Consortium?” I asked.
She toyed with her hair. “Could be anything. I haven’t been inclined to find out.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“Because it doesn’t concern me as far as I can see. Look, Connor—may I call you, Connor?—solitaries work for the Consortium and the Guild. They all have their reasons, and I’m sure Wessa had good ones, for her anyway. How someone chooses to navigate between the Guild and the Consortium is their business. It’s a difficult strategy to play in the best of times, and these are not the best of times.”
“I thought you were a Guild director,” said Murdock. “It doesn’t bother you that one of your people was working for the other side and was murdered?”
Melusine swiveled on the lounge in order to lean closer to Murdock. “You mistake my role, Detective. A Guild director attempts to safeguard the people she’s chosen to represent. I do not answer to Maeve any more than Eorla Elvendottir does. The side I concern myself with is that of the solitaries. Whom they chose to ally themselves with is their own affair. I try to ensure that neither monarchy takes advantage in the process.”
“A woman’s dead. That feels like an extreme form of being taking advantage of to me,” Murdock said.
His annoyance didn’t bother her. She reached over and collected more shellfish. “Don’t mistake my pragmatism with callousness, Detective. I’m not indifferent. An investigation will be done. The difference is that neither of us will be privy to it. Now, that might bother you, but it does not bother me. Who does the job is irrelevant to me. You sure you won’t have something to eat? These oysters are from Wellfleet.”
At that point, I couldn’t resist. Wellfleet oysters were among the best in the world. Living near the clam beds on the cape was one of the advantages of life in Boston. I put a dash of hot sauce on the nearest shucked one and ate it. I held the bottle out to Murdock, but he shook his head.
I tossed the empty shell into a bowl provided for discards. “Does Eorla have anything to do with your lack of interest?”
“Why would she?” she asked.
“Well, she’s moved into your territory. Solitaries are looking to her for leadership,” I said.
Melusine watched the other patrons splashing in the pool. “Anyone who protects us is an ally, Connor. I do my part, and Eorla does hers. We’re not competitors.”
I wiped my hands on a cloth napkin. “Sorry. I had to ask.”
She smiled as we stood. “No offense taken. Say hello to Bastian for me.”
I laughed and shook her hand. “I’m glad we met.”
Outside, full dark had come down on the Tangle. Murdock and I didn’t speak until we were a block away. “That is one smart lady,” I said.
“Well, talking to Bastian Frye is our next logical step,” he said.
“‘Our’?” I asked.
“It’s my case until it’s not,” he said. He withdrew his phone from his pocket and read the screen. Smiling, he put it away. “That didn’t take long. Janey texted me that the Consortium picked up the merrow’s body.”
“And that makes you smile?” I couldn’t resist.
“She made a joke,” he said.
“So…. you and Janey,” I said.
“Yep,” he said.
“You didn’t say anything,” I said.
We reached his car, and he opened the door. “Nope.”
“Aaand, I’m not going to get anything out of you now,” I said.
“Nope.”
I let it pass. It wasn’t any of my business, but it did surprise me, considering Janey was as fey as they come. I wasn’t sure how well received she was going to be at Sunday dinner in Southie.
“I’m still curious about the merrow. You?” he asked.
“I have a few other questions for Bastian myself,” I said.
“I can’t believe you ate that oyster,” he said.
“Come on, Leo. She gave us information. I was being polite,” I said.
He shuddered and grimaced. “No, I mean ick, man. Raw ick.”
19
The boat sliced through the water without a sound. I wasn’t fond of water travel, but visiting Eorla had become complicated. Old Northern Avenue had become a shooting gallery, and I had become the big prize. A little nausea was better than a lot of bullets. Melusine had offered the services of a merrow to tow me across the channel. He kept underwater, his white skin a ripple beneath the surface. As bodyguards went, I couldn’t ask for someone tougher and scarier.
In the bow, a kobold hunched, his flat, suspicious face intent on the dock behind the Rowes Wharf Hotel. Apparently, everybody thought I needed some bad-ass protection. Kobolds were another species of fey it wasn’t a good idea to get on the wrong side of. Prone to anger and poor impulse control, they liked to make their points physically more often than verbally. The kobold didn’t offer his name. I’d probably never see him again.
I couldn’t walk across the Old Northern Avenue bridge without official sanction at the moment. Too much hysteria—a lot of it promoted through the Guild by Ryan macGoren—made anything as controversial as walking the street difficult for me. When Eorla sent word that she needed to see me, she made the clandestine arrangements.
I clutched the gunwales. Boats were not my favorite mode of transportation. I crouched on the little seat and stared into the damp bottom of the boat. I kept my hood pulled far down over my eyes, as much to avoid seeing the bobbing dock ahead as to hide my face.
Midway through the channel, my stomach calmed enough for me to lift my head. The inner harbor was quiet at that time of night, ships rising and falling in place like they were dozing. A few smaller boats moved among them, but nothing like the frenzied activity of daytime.
Toward the middle of the harbor, a thick, muddy haze wavered, green with essence. It resonated like a druid fog, a protection barrier meant to confuse and subdue anyone who ventured near. I suspected it was intended to keep Eorla hemmed in—the National Guard and the Consortium holding the front of the hotel while the Guild controlled harbor access. As far as I knew, Eorla didn’t have enough water fey to consider a naval force, so the barrier seemed a bit of overkill. But then, Maeve liked to use the threat of overwhelming force to intimidate her enemies.
We reached the dock. The merrow rose far enough out of the water to reveal the top half of his head. Dark eyes peered from either side of a hatchetlike nose, his black hair plastered to his bulbous gray forehead. As I stepped onto the dock, he slipped beneath the surface, a faint swirling wake trailing away through the pilings.
“Use the service entrance beyond the gazebo like you do it all the time. Someone will meet you inside,” the kobold said. Gazebo was an understatement. The hotel’s
most popular function room stood like a giant cupcake detached from the main building on the dock overlooking the marina.
The kobold secured the boat, then busied himself among some crates on the dock, keeping his back to me and head down. His business with me was done, though I assumed he would jump in and help if anything happened to me. I hoped.
I understood my role. We all were acting out a scene designed to look inconsequential, another boat pulling up with supplies or workers. No one shot me as I walked away, so that was nice. Rand waited for me inside the door.
“You look a little green around the gills,” he said as he led me down an empty corridor.
“Yeah, boats,” I said.
We waited for a service elevator. “We might not have that option left for long,” he said.
“I noticed some kind of barrier going up in the harbor,” I said.
“We’re looking into it. So far, no one’s claiming it as their own, but it’s probably the Guild,” he said.
The elevator opened on a residential floor. Rand led me through more empty corridors to a private suite. “I’ll be waiting outside.”
Inside the modest suite, Eorla stared out the window, thick protection shields blurring the view of the harbor to random smears of red and gold lights. She held her hands out at the waist as she crossed the room. We clasped hands, and I kissed her offered cheek. Her skin glowed a pale green. “How fares my fellow fugitive?” she asked.
“I don’t mind using the back entrance, but I prefer walking,”
“The channel has been the safest way for people to come and go. I’ve been thinking of moving operations into the Weird to ease things,” she said.
“I can’t picture you living in the Weird,” I said.
She tilted her head, amused and proud. “No? Would it surprise you to know I lived in a forest camp for years?”
I helped myself to bottled water from the minibar. “Nothing about you surprises me. Why the change in location?”
“The National Guard has guns and tanks out front. The Guild has snipers on nearby buildings, and the Consortium has set up a command center on the elevated highway outside the conference-room level,” she said.
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