by Ari Marmell
And, of course, the giant stone serpent that wound its way around the fanciest public joint in the place, the Lambton Worm.
“Is that real?” Adalina asked, breathless.
“It’s real stone.”
Okay, maybe that was a bit short. But we’d been wandering around for a couple hours now, and I was startin’ to get real, real nervous.
A few strange looks? Those I’d expected. Like I said, Adalina’s “disguise” wasn’t exactly a paragon of the craft. Your average Joe might not get a good slant on her, probably couldn’t begin to describe her, but he could tell that she didn’t entirely fit in, even here. Fact that she was gawping at everything like a hick off the farm wasn’t doing us much good, either.
But here, unusual still ain’t that unusual. So yeah, I’d expected some stares, but nothin’ else. Even if anyone important had come over curious, it wouldn’t be polite to just walk up to us and start digging. They’d make a note to pump me for information later, and I’m real good at avoiding that sorta thing.
For the past hour or so, though, I’d seen a lot more’n “some stares.” It was starting to feel as though everyone was giving us the once-over.
And the thing was… I been doing what I do a long time, and, occasionally, I’m even good at it. So, while it might seem paranoid to say, when I had Adalina right beside me, I was really feelin’ more and more that those curious blinkers weren’t pointed her way, but mine.
I coulda just snatched one of the bums right there off the street, put the screws to him until he told me what it was everybody suddenly found so fascinating about me. Gotta figure, though, if I wasn’t already in hot water, that’d dunk me in it pretty good. That kinda direct roughness wasn’t the done thing. Wouldn’t be polite.
Besides, wasn’t as though I didn’t have friends here I could go chin with, maybe get some answers. I didn’t have a lotta friends here, mind, but not none.
Probably.
“Hey, Adalina. How’d you like to go see the Lambton Worm up close?”
If anyone was gonna have the rap I needed, and might just like me well enough to actually spill it, it’d be Ielveith, owner of the Lambton, sidhe about town, and the closest thing I really had to a pal in this burgh.
Also a dame I already owed more’n a couple favors, and here I was about to ask for her help. Real wise head, me.
Still, good idea or bad, end of the day it made no nevermind one way or the other. Adalina’n me reached the big marble columns that even the Ancient Greeks woulda thought were overcompensation, the shining glass façade, the brass-framed revolving door—and that’s as far as we got.
A huge bushy red beard, with a vestigial person attached to its backside, stepped up to block our path. “Don’t need the trouble, Mr. Oberon.”
“You serious, Slachaun? Find a new dance. This one’s gotten real worn out.”
The Lambton’s hotel dick puffed up his chest, literally. The spriggan was just a little over my height right now, which meant he’d grown far enough to look down at me, but not so big that he was really expectin’ trouble. He opened his yap, and I was all set for the usual bluster and threats and all the other pleasantries me’n him tossed at each other every time we met…
And just that quickly, he deflated. All the way back to his normal size, which is about chest-high on me when I’m in the Otherworld.
“Look here. I’m just tryin’ to keep the boss outta dutch. It’s my job, remember? Mrs. Ielveith seems fond o’ ye, fer reasons that beggar understandin’. She’s lent ye a hand when ye were needin’ one. Seems like the least ye could do in return would be to keep yer messes to yer own self.”
Okay, the little lug was being way too polite about all this. This wasn’t his usual beef with me, wasn’t just that he didn’t want me popping in to jaw a spell. Something specific had happened.
Or was still happening.
“You tell me what sorta mess you think I’m bringing down on Ielveith…” I started.
“That’s Mrs. Ielveith to you, boyo!” It was a reflex; his heart wasn’t in it.
“…and maybe I don’t need to talk to her anymore.”
Slachaun’s glare packs almost as big a wallop as his fists, which pack almost as big a wallop as his personality, but for all his bark and bristle, his loyalty to his employer’s stronger’n anything else, even his anger and resentment. The idea of helping me out mighta caused him physical pain, but he’d do it if it meant helping her, too.
“Áebinn’s gunnin’ for ye, Oberon. Haven’t the foggiest why, an’ I can’t say as I care. But she’s been to the Lambton three times already. That sorta attention, Mrs. Ielveith and me don’t need. Ye get me?”
“I get you. Thanks, Slachaun.”
“Don’t be thankin’ me, boyo, just deal with it.” He stepped back a pace and vanished into the revolving door. Pretty sure he was holding it from the other side, too, just in case I decided to push past and try meeting with Ielveith anyway.
“Adalina, we’re going home.”
“But who’s—?”
“Now.”
No bunny, that girl. Whatever she heard in my voice, she kept her head shut and followed me.
Good thing, too. I’d have to answer some of Adalina’s questions eventually, sure, but for right now I was in no mood for explaining.
Áebinn. Shit.
You remember Áebinn, yeah? Bean sidhe from the old country. The bloodline she was tied to died out, so she found herself a new purpose working as a detective for the Seelie Court. Comes in real handy in that job, her power to sense death comin’.
I’d crossed paths with her a few times, most recently during the fiasco with the Spear of Lugh, and frankly I wasn’t real eager to do it again. We didn’t exactly drink outta the same bottle, if you get my drift.
Yeah, I know. Lotta Fae don’t seem to care for me much. Whaddaya want from me?
Point is, whether she was nosin’ around after me on an assignment from the Court, or for more personal reasons, it wasn’t good news for me either way. I couldn’t know if it was important enough that she’d come lookin’ in the mortal world, but I wasn’t about to hang around here and make it easy on her.
We didn’t exactly run back to the Path that’d take us back to my office in the basement of a dirty graystone in the middle of Pilsen, but it sure was a much brisker walk than we’d taken on our way in.
* * *
The tunnel of wet loam, rainbow molds, and twisting strands that mighta been roots or worms or somethin’ else entirely led us back to the little niche in my office. You know the one: where other folks mighta had a refrigerator or a cupboard, I had empty space with mildew in the corners for just this reason.
Adalina’d been pretty patient with me, considering how bad the curiosity musta been burning her, and it was right as we stepped back into my place that she finally demanded, “So who’s this Áebinn person, anyway?”
It was also right as we stepped back into my place that Franky stood up from the chair by my desk and said, “So, Mick, that witch thing you wanted me to dig into…”
They both stopped and blinked at one another, which did me just fine, since it gave me half a moment of silence to think, and quick.
“Witch thing?” Adalina asked. “What witch thing?” She did a pretty fine job of keepin’ her voice steady, but I still heard the quiver she wasn’t lettin’ out. No surprise; given her grandma, it hadda be a sensitive topic.
“No witch thing. Which thing. He’s lookin’ into a whole heap of things for me, ain’t you, Franky?”
“Uh, sure, Mick.”
“But that’s not what he—”
“Yeah, it is. Franky, this is Adalina Ottati. You mighta heard me mention her a time or two. Adalina, ‘Four-Leaf’ Franky Donovan. Ain’t ever mentioned him to you. Sorry to break that streak.”
“Hey!” Franky protested. And then, “Wait a minute, what about Áebinn, now?”
“Nothin’. Nothin’ about nobody.”
�
��But—” she said.
“Hush.”
“But—” he said.
“Hush!”
I tossed my flogger over one arm of the rack, took Adalina’s coat and scarf and hung ’em a lot more neatly from another. Then I passed her a nickel.
“You know where the blower is, doll. Why don’tcha let your parents know we’re back and they can come get you?”
“I still want to know about… Um. I’ll just go call them, then.”
I made myself break whatever expression’d changed her tune with a smile. She slipped into the hall, leaving the door open just wide enough to eavesdrop. I stepped over, pulled it shut, poured myself a glass of milk from the lukewarm icebox, and then flopped into my chair. Franky sank back down across from me.
He musta either been on his way to, or comin’ from, an important meet. He had on his best gold chains—well, best of the latest lot—and those ugly green glad rags of his looked as though they might actually have spent some time in the same room as soap and an ironing board.
Took a big gulp of milk, and then, “I’m almost positive I locked my office door before steppin’ Sideways, Franky.”
“Aw, c’mon. I know you didn’t mean that lock for me.”
“Really? And where’d you get that notion?”
“If you had, you’d have gotten a better one.”
Worth a courtesy chuckle, I guess. Followed by another few gulps that finished off the glass. I decided it wasn’t worth gettin’ up for a second helping.
“So, that’s Adalina, huh? You’re right. She doesn’t look like anything I recognize. Maybe a little like a bagiennik, but…”
“But only a little, yeah.”
“So whatcha think—?”
“Franky, if you got news for me, I really do appreciate it, but you didn’t come here to talk about Adalina.”
“No, sure didn’t. You first, though.”
“Me? You came to—”
“What’s this about Áebinn, Mick?”
I really wanted to sigh, but that was a fair question. He had plenty of good reasons not to wanna run into her anymore’n I did.
“Not a lot to spill,” I admitted. “She’s lookin’ for me. Dunno why. Plan to do my damnedest not to find out.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s—”
Door clicked open and Adalina stepped back inside. “They’re on the way.”
“Good. Grab a…” Huh. My place only has the two chairs. I hopped up, shoved mine her way with a foot—didn’t scoot too far, but I guess the intent was clear—then pushed the typewriter aside and perched my keister on the edge of the desk.
Yeah, before you ask, that typewriter. The one that croaked a man. And no, before you ask, I still ain’t telling that story.
“Um…” Franky said.
I smiled, real friendly, and said, “You know I can’t talk client business in front of a guest.”
By which I meant, Keep your trap shut or I’ll nail it closed for you. Franky seemed to understand me fine, since his lips clamed tighter’n a vampire with lockjaw.
If the three of us had just sat there studying one another, though, it mighta gotten awkward. So, not havin’ much else to bump gums about, I wound up telling Franky about Adalina’s first experience in the Otherworld Chicago. She piped in with her own observations, and Franky started tellin’ embarrassing yarns about this Fae or that.
He’d just finished the one about a minor sidhe noble, name of Kileagh, and the night he’d gotten completely lit on ambrosia and mistaken one of the ghillie dhu for a compost heap, when a quick rap on the office door announced some new visitors.
Bianca Ottati, dark of hair and burgundy of dress and wife of Fino “the Shark”; and Archie Caristo in his tan suit, Fino’s lieutenant and, so far as I’d ever been able to make out, best friend—and nothin’ more—to Bianca.
“Hello, Mick,” Bianca greeted me, warm enough to melt the snow we’d just recently come from.
“Oberon,” Archie added. He wasn’t really payin’ me much mind, though. Only had attention for the stranger in the same room as Bianca and Adalina. He didn’t twitch so much as an inch toward the bulge in his coat, but it was still crystal clear he was thinkin’ about it.
“Nothin’ to worry about, Archie. This is Franky. He’s good people.”
“Good people, huh?”
“Actually, he ain’t either, but he’s no threat.”
Franky’s gaze kept flickering between the two of us. Archie just gave him a last sideways slant, and then actually cracked a small grin.
“Y’know, Oberon, before I met you, bein’ told somebody ain’t ‘people’ woulda seemed hinky.”
“That’s me. Opening people’s horizons.”
“Opening horizons. Right.”
Bianca had already crossed the office and wrapped an arm around Adalina. Didn’t show the slightest sign that she was at all bugged by one of her daughters bein’ all fishy. One of these days, I was actually gonna have to get around to askin’ how a woman like her’d wound up hitched to a mobster, anyway. She’d never struck me as the type.
“How was the trip, sweetie?”
Adalina immediately launched into a repetition of everything she’d been raving to Franky about, only more so— and without a peep about anyone hunting me. I’d have to thank her for that later.
Over the girl’s running monologue, Bianca and Archie pretty much had to nod and wave their goodbyes, since nobody was gettin’ a word in edgewise any time soon, and it wasn’t until the outer door of Mr. Soucek’s basement shut behind ’em that Adalina’s voice finally went silent.
“That guy always repeat what you say to him?” Franky asked.
“They don’t call him ‘Echoes’ without reason.”
“Uh-huh. And did you have a reason for tellin’ him I’m not human?”
Got myself more milk, since I was up anyway, and returned to the chair I’d lent out. “Because you get in trouble with everyone, Franky. I’m honestly surprised you haven’t run into the Shark’s crew already. One of these days, you’re gonna wind up owing them money, and when that happens, we’re both gonna be a lot happier if they come to me insteada tryin’ to deal with you like any other mook.”
“Hrm.”
“Now, then… Milk?”
“Nah. That’s the great thing about being part human. I never touch anything as natural as milk.”
“Fine.” I took a sip, wondered if I was stalling. If I was nervous at the idea of finally having an answer.
Half a year. I’d been lookin’ for the better part of half a year, pounding the pavement, examining the ether, paying out more kale and minor favors than I could easily afford convincing Franky and my other contacts to keep their peepers wide. And I’d spent all that time keeping mum about every bit of it to the Ottatis, partly ’cause the truth would hurt ’em and scare ’em big time…
And partly ’cause, at least with Fino, I wasn’t so sure whose side he’d be on, not once he got wise she was still alive.
Lunatic witch. One of the benandanti gone bad. And where the Shark was concerned, dear momma.
Orsola Maldera.
I knew how she’d faked her death; figured that much out even before I found the phouka bones in her coffin. I was a lot less sure how she’d survived in the first place, since, witch or no witch, a quarter-drum’s worth of Tommy gun ain’t healthy for anyone.
But more important than that, I hadn’t the first notion of where she was or what she was up to, other’n having put a bad luck hex on me at some point. And it was drivin’ me batty.
If Franky’d finally found her…
“So spill, Franky.”
“I… might have found her.”
Because God frickin’ forbid I get a straight answer on anything, ever.
“Grapevine has it,” he continued, “that there’s a gathering coming up. Handful of Chicago’s up-and-coming, hedge witches, amateur warlocks and the like.”
I wanted to
chuck my milk glass at his head. Or my typewriter. Or maybe my desk. “Franky…”
He raised both hands, palms out, squirming in his seat. “I know, I know, but lemme finish!”
“All right. Still listening.”
“So, yeah, the broad you got us all watching for is pretty much the opposite of an amateur, wouldn’t be caught dead joining up with any such group. That more or less where you were going?”
Guess my flat stare was as good as a nod, ’cause he went on. “Now, what if I told you the entire point of this sit-down was to meet with another witch—a much more powerful one?”
Now that had some potential. I found myself leaning forward over my desk. “Why?”
Franky’s smile turned sheepish (which is actually one of its natural states). “I couldn’t tell you, Mick. Only so much you can pick up from third-hand rumors. Some kinda trade? You teach us, we do favors for you? Or the big witch wants something from the baby witches? I dunno.”
Frustrating, but fair. “And that’s also why you dunno for sure if it’s Orsola or not.”
“You got it. Word was ‘powerful witch,’ and we don’t have too many of those here in Chicago, so I’d say it’s a good chance, but…” He ended with a shrug.
“I’ll take ‘a good chance’ over the bupkis I’ve found so far. You got a date and time for this witchy wingding?”
That smile got even more sheepish, until I expected him to sprout a wool mustache, and his eyes flickered down at his suit.
I groaned. “You’re puttin’ me on. Tonight?”
“Came to you as soon as I heard, Mick,” he protested. “I tried calling earlier, but you didn’t answer the horn.” He waved at the mildewed nook. “Guess you were already out.”
“And you thought it was worth your time to tidy up for the occasion?”
