In Truth and Claw (A Mick Oberon Job #4)

by Ari Marmell

  “I gotta go talk to some friends,” I answered. The words almost wouldn’t come. I hadda force ’em through my throat by main force. “I got…” I looked around, and I had a sudden image, a sudden urge to burn the whole fucking house to the ground. As if doin’ that could change one iota of what’d happened here. What I’d discovered here.

  Damn you, Orsola.

  “I got somethin’ I hafta tell them.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  It was just comin’ up on first light, a couple early hints of pink blushing beyond the waters of Lake Calumet, when I reached the Ottati apartment.

  Yeah, after all the chiding I’d given ’em about me knowin’ where they were bunked, all the worries about someone bein’ shadowed back there, maybe it was a bad idea. But what was I gonna do, pick up the blower and call? Some things… Some things people deserve to hear face to face.

  No matter how much you don’t wanna tell it that way.

  Oh, I took steps, sure. Doubled back more’n a few times, wound myself in a tight cocoon of extra luck, checked every reflection and every shadow in the street lights. No way anyone, mortal or Fae, was on my tail.

  All that effort gave me an excuse not to think about what was comin’, too. But now I was inside the building, knuckles raised to rap on their door, all I could do was think. About what’d gone down.

  About what came next.

  Was a time I was just like most of the others of my kind. When mortal lives meant squat to me, and I could play with ’em—or end ’em—without the idea of remorse ever crossin’ my mind, let alone actually feelin’ even a sliver of it.

  That was a me I’d worked hard to kill, or at least bury. A me from long, long ago. A me who mighta had some affection for a human as a pet, or something to lust after, but who woulda been appalled, even offended, at the idea of callin’ one of you “friend.”

  I know a lotta you personally, now. I got a lotta contacts and connections, a lotta allies.

  Not so many friends.

  Now, one fewer. And I guessed maybe Fino wasn’t the last I was gonna lose today.

  I knocked, because what else could I do?

  A few latches clicked and the door swung open. Even this early, Bianca was dressed, though she wasn’t exactly dolled up to go anywhere. I doubted if she’d gone back to bed after our phone call.

  Soon as she saw me, her fist clenched around her rosary, her lips parted in a short hitch of breath. Maybe she didn’t already know what I hadda say, but she knew somethin’ was wrong.

  No call for me to just show up this way otherwise. Not alone.

  “Can I, uh… Can I come in, Bianca?”

  She stepped aside, silent. She shut the door softly, didn’t wanna disturb the neighbors, but it was still the loudest thing I’d heard in years.

  I found myself standin’ by the table, beside the sofa I’d slept on a few nights and centuries ago. Don’t remember walkin’ over there.

  “What is it, Mick?”

  Strong woman, and make no mistake. I think most woulda been screamin’ for answers or sobbin’ already. Bianca Ottati? Her voice barely quivered.

  I’da near sold my soul not to be in that room.

  “Bianca, he… Fino found Orsola first.”

  “He…?” Click-click-click went the rosary, and I swear each bead shook the room like fallin’ boulders. “Don’t tell me he’s thrown in with her again? Not after what she did to us!”

  She didn’t wanna believe that, except her body, her aura, screamed at me that she did. Because it was still the better option.

  “I don’t think she ever even gave him the chance.” I was reachin’ both hands out, beseeching for I dunno what. “She…”

  “No.”

  “I’m so sorry, Bianca.”

  “No!”

  She bit her lip like she was tryin’ to catch the shout before it escaped. Tears streamed down cheeks gone white as her teeth, and her whole body shook with the effort of keepin’ quiet, keepin’ control.

  For an endless minute, she cried in silence.

  Then the rosary slipped from her fingers. Beads clattered as it thumped into the carpet, and that… that was one step too far.

  It wasn’t exactly a scream, wasn’t exactly a sob. It was short, sharp, wracked her body with a single violent shudder, and was gone just as quick.

  But it was enough. Celia and Adalina about tumbled through one of the doorways to stand side by side, staring at us across the living room. Both of ’em wore frilly nightgowns that, though more than modest enough, they probably wouldn’ta wanted me to see if the circumstances…

  Well, yeah. Circumstances.

  No bunnies, either of the Ottati girls. They saw me there, with the sun barely up. Saw their mother, one of the strongest dames either of ’em ever met, tear-streaked and steady as a single snowflake in a flurry. And they knew.

  Adalina’s mouth opened, once, twice.

  When she finally forced the word through, it wasn’t even a whisper. “Daddy?”

  Bianca tried, she really did. “Darling, I…”

  She couldn’t do it. It caught in her throat, whatever she’d meant to say, and all she could do was choke. Adalina fell to her bony knees, hard enough to shake the floor, arms wrapped around her stomach, rocking violently as she sobbed.

  And Celia…

  Celia knelt, gently holding her sister by the shoulders, bringing the rocking to a slow halt. But her eyes, shining and rippling with tears she wouldn’t yet shed, never left mine.

  “You were supposed to be better. You were supposed to be better than Goswythe.”

  “What?”

  Don’t.

  “Daddy… It was his mother, wasn’t it? He knew where to look, and you didn’t.”

  “I… Yeah. I’m afraid so.”

  Don’t do it. Please.

  But she did.

  It wasn’t as if I hadn’t already thought it a thousand times. If she’d said nothin’, I coulda dealt with it in my own time. If she’d screamed it, shrieked it, sobbed it, I coulda closed myself off against the emotional ing-bing and protected myself from the words in the process.

  But she just crouched there, glarin’, completely in control, and her words bored into me like an iron drill bit.

  “If you’d told us she was still alive at the start, if you’d trusted us like you always wanted us to trust you, you could’ve found her together. He could’ve led you right to her, and he wouldn’t have had to face her alone.

  “He wouldn’t be gone.”

  What could I possibly say to that? What could I do?

  Nothin’. Not one damn thing.

  Maybe I’da just kept right on standin’ there like a stump, doin’ nothing at all. But I guess the grief—not to mention the fear she’d been livin’ with for days, that the Unseelie were gunnin’ for her—had been building up in Adalina faster’n her sobs could let it out. It erupted.

  She wailed, long and loud, a cry of undiluted anguish. It filled the room, drowned the mind. On and on, wavering, falling, rising in ways no human throat coulda produced. Breathless and seemingly endless, it continued long after any mortal, or even most Fae, woulda been forced to break off and gasp for air.

  And still it wouldn’t stop.

  Celia and Bianca both stared my way, now, not just in grief but in fear, lookin’ to me to do something. I took one step, tryin’ to figure what I could do…

  The light bulb flickered, sizzled, and bust with a sharp pop, leavin’ the glow of morning between the curtains as our only illumination. Cracks spider-webbed across the window with a sharp, almost tinkling sound, and the ceiling fan above us slowly spun backwards. The faucet in the kitchen—no, the whole sink—started to shake, like some dragon roared and crawled through the pipes toward us.

  Oh, this was familiar, sure. Way too familiar, of late. Only it wasn’t me doin’ it.

  Took another step toward the girl, tryin’ to figure some way of talkin’ her down without gumming things up even worse… And
then things got weird.

  Knobs twisted on their own and the faucet began to run, fillin’ the sink faster’n the drain could swallow it up—but this wasn’t the usual city juice. Even from across the apartment, I could smell rotting kelp, the crisp tang of saltwater.

  The cracks in the window? They started changin’ shape, some closin’ back up and fading away, others writhing like reeds in the wind, but leavin’ the glass completely intact after they passed.

  And the light…

  The shattered bulb started to glow again, but it was a dull crimson hue, the kind you see at the edge of firelight. Nothin’ at all stood between that source and the far wall, but shadows streaked the paint, skipping and stuttering like bad film at first, but growin’ smoother with every heartbeat. Almost-human forms swam across that wall with frog-like strokes and serpentine undulations. Others rose to meet ’em, with dull shapes that mighta been swords or clubs in their hands. But all of it was blurred, smeared, so that anyone coulda thought they’d imagined it all, that they saw only blotted shades in the dancing light.

  What in two worlds are you, Adalina?

  Wasn’t until the murky seawater started to overflow the sink and spatter across the linoleum, until the cracks started to tentatively, questioningly, reach out of the window like a curious goddamn jellyfish that I tore my attention away from the question. I all but sprinted the last couple steps and dropped to my knees in front of her.

  “Adalina.” I took her hands. She tried to pull away, but without any real strength. “Adalina, sweetheart, you gotta simmer down. Get a hold of yourself.”

  Nothin’. She kept wailing, things kept moving.

  “It’ll be all right, it’ll…”

  No. That wasn’t gonna cut it. Even if she wasn’t so far gone, when did hearin’ that kinda hooey ever really comfort the grieving?

  I could get into her mind, make her stop—but gods, I didn’t wanna to do that. It woulda been one violation too far.

  “Adalina!” Celia and Bianca both jumped at the shout, but they weren’t the ones needed to hear me. “You nix the tantrum now. You’re gonna hurt your momma and your sister!”

  The keening stopped so sharp, you’da thought I’d cut her throat. The red glow faded. The water stopped flowin’. And she caught me with those wide, bloodshot blinkers and wouldn’t let go.

  “I’m sorry, doll. I know that was cruel. You got more right to cry than anyone. I only… I hadda get you to hear me.”

  She hiccupped, nodded, and bent her head to watch the floor.

  Bianca, trembling, staggered over to pull the curtains, let more of the light inside, and then knelt to wrap her arms around both her daughters. They turned, wet faces pressed tight to her shoulders, her chest, and all three of ’em shook.

  I moved away, and found myself almost steppin’ on the fallen rosary. I picked it up, studied it a minute, and then went back to hand it to Bianca.

  The look she laid on me when she took it wasn’t exactly one of gratitude.

  I stayed a few more minutes, just enough to be certain Adalina’s fit had truly passed. We were gonna hafta look into that, have some words, but… Later.

  Later.

  Then I left; it seemed the best thing for everyone. The door shut behind me, and nobody’d said a word.

  And even after all that? I still hadn’t spilled everything. I still hadn’t told ’em Fino wasn’t just dead, but was shamblin’ around, animated by dear momma’s damn magics. That even as a stiff, he couldn’t escape her.

  Probably not for long—it ain’t easy to keep a dead body up and about, to say nothin’ of presentable—but still. Should I have told them? Was it a kindness to keep my trap shut, or was I repeating the same mistakes I’d just made?

  I dunno. Didn’t then, still don’t. But I walked away without going back, and if you wanna judge me for that, you go right ahead.

  It ain’t as if I haven’t.

  * * *

  After a longer opportunity than I wanted to ruminate on everything that’d just happened, and the usual discomfort of crossin’ Chicago on the L, my mood hadn’t much improved by the time I got back to the office. I about kicked the door in, and near drew my sword—or at least spat some ungentle words I wouldn’t have been able to take back—when I saw Ramona’n Pete waiting for me.

  It’d utterly slipped my mind that they’d even be there, honestly.

  I threw my coat at the rack, stormed to my chair, and landed like I was tryin’ to punish it.

  Ramona had been reclining in the other chair, though she half-rose when I barged in. Pete’d taken the liberty of pulling down the Murphy, and had been catchin’ some doss until my grand entrance. Now they both watched me—though he was blinkin’ so much, it was hard to be sure—I guess waiting for me to proclaim our next step.

  Right. ’Cause I was battin’ a fuckin’ thousand so far.

  “What?” I demanded.

  “Um.” Pete knuckled at his face, cleared his throat. “We expecting Varujan?”

  “He’s sleeping somewhere dark,” Ramona said. “With at least a small sack of the earth of his homeland, if I recall correctly?”

  “Yeah,” I said grudgingly. “Somethin’ like that. Not a big fan of sunlight, the nosferatu. It’s just us.”

  Pete nodded, his chin vanishing into the collar of the shirt that really was too big for him. “So what now?”

  “How the fuck do I know?”

  The both of ’em actually jumped a little. I squeezed my peepers shut a spell.

  “Sorry.” I got up, hauled open the icebox and took out the carton of good cream I’d been saving for a special occasion.

  Nothin’ special today, but it sure as shootin’ was an occasion.

  “Didn’t go well, Mick?” Pete ventured.

  Good thing I’d already thrown back a slug, because if my kisser hadn’t been full, I’da said somethin’ nasty. By the time I could talk, the sympathy in Pete’s tone had smoothed over the fool question.

  Besides, he’d gone through his own hell this morning, too.

  “I’d rather spend a week wrapped up in that damned broad’s worst wards than ever have to relive a half-hour like that.”

  “I’m sorry, bud.”

  “Me, too, Mick,” Ramona said.

  Was she? I knew she could be upset, be hurt—emotionally, I mean—but did a succubus really understand grief? Or guilt?

  Well, whether she fully understood or not, she sounded like she meant it. I forced a shallow smile for her.

  I took a few more gulps, offered some milk to Pete— he took it, since I didn’t have any coffee—and waited for Ramona to poke through her purse and decide if she wanted a gasper. She didn’t.

  “Sorry,” I told them again. “But I got no idea what’s next. Orsola didn’t just kill my friend, she killed the trail. She was my best suspect.”

  “Are we sure she still isn’t?” Ramona asked. “You’ve explained your thinking, and it’s solid, but still, are you that certain you can believe what she told you?”

  I couldn’t help it. I laughed, sharp and bitter. “Sweetheart, I ain’t certain of much. Right now, I trust my judgment about as far as I’d trust a hungry redcap with a baby. But everything I got, reason and instinct, says Orsola ain’t our guy. She’s got a heap to answer for, and you better damn well believe she will. But not summoning the vampires, not whatever’s been tickling Áebinn’s nose.”

  They had their doubts; I saw it in their mugs, tasted it in the air. But they went along with it.

  Unfortunately, that left them about as stumped as it did me.

  “The Unseelie?” Ramona asked, shifting in her seat. I’da thought she was nervous, but if she was, I’m pretty sure it was for me, how I was gonna respond, not for the investigation or the thought of the Court. “You said they were stalking the Ottatis.”

  And yeah, I had more’n a small urge to shout, or change the topic, when they came back up, but… “Could be. I still haven’t tumbled what they were even aft
er, whether it was Adalina, or somethin’ to do with me, or what else. And calling a pack of vampires down on Chicago? That ain’t anything I’d put past ’em.”

  Pete, who’d scooted back on the mattress so he could lean against the wall, said, “But you don’t buy it.”

  Well, he had known me a while. “No, I don’t. They would do it, but I don’t think they can. They wouldn’t know how, anymore’n the rest of us.”

  Ramona half-frowned in a pretty moue that instantly snagged Pete’s attention. He knew what she was, and she was tampin’ the sultry way down—not just in her behavior, but the general waves of emotion succubi were always puttin’ off—but it waxed and waned with her concentration. And no matter how wary Pete mighta been, or the fact that he’d seen her in some far less dishy forms, he was only human.

  “A lot of the Unseelie,” she said, totally missing Pete’s longing puppyish gaze, “have one foot in the grave already. Or deal with spirits of destruction and darkness far more often than most other Fae.”

  I allowed how that was true, yeah.

  “So just because you’ve never heard of any magics that affect the spirits of the nosferatu before they find a corpse to pin on, or even because Laurelline hasn’t, I don’t think that means you should write off the possibility that they have.”

  I looked at Pete, who had his cop face back on, whether he was really feelin’ it or not, then back.

  “All right. That ain’t a bad point. Thing is, though… Redcaps and trolls and all those guys are pretty hot-tempered and impulsive, but Queen Mob and the other high pillows? They ain’t dumb. If they were gonna spring a surprise like this on us, I’m pretty sure they’d want to hold off until they could really hit the Seelie hard. This? Unless you count gettin’ Áebinn all wound up, they haven’t even inconvenienced the Court. All they’re doin’ is causing some mayhem in the mortal half of Chicago.”

  “Isn’t that all they appeared to be doing a year ago, with the Spear of Lugh?” she asked, just a bit smugly.

  Dammit.

  “You really figure they’d expose their new vampire party trick just to pull the same kinda swindle they ran on us last year?”

  “I’m not saying it’s probable, Mick. I’m saying it’s possible.”