Claryce said nothing, but I caught a brief, unsettled expression. She opened the thick, wooden door and started inside, but I caught her arm.
“Fetch?”
“Yes, Master Nicholas. Gladly.”
He slipped inside. A moment later, he poked his head out. “Cannot see or smell anything odd, other than a little mustiness and some tasty-smelling rats. All’s jake as far as I can see.”
Despite that assurance, I entered first. I looked around for a switch or a lamp.
“Over here,” Claryce commented. She pulled a string, turning on a single light over the door. It failed to illuminate the entire interior, but it was enough so that we could get an idea of what was inside.
Which was nothing. As far as I could tell, the place was empty. That didn’t seem to be odd to Claryce, who walked toward the center untroubled.
She reached down. Only then did I see the small ring attached to the wooden floor.
Claryce pulled the trapdoor up with ease. She peered into the opening.
I joined her. Below, sitting in water, was a weathered twenty-five-foot Hacker runabout. I figured it to be twelve years old, but sitting like that had added some extra wear to it. Still, it looked damned serviceable. The dim light was just enough to reveal it’d once been mahogany all over.
“I don’t suppose you know why we need this,” I asked her.
“I remember this,” Claryce said almost wistfully. “We rode it deep out in the lake. It was a little cold. End of March. He enlisted right after we entered the war.”
“Anywhere in particular?”
“I don’t . . . I’m not sure. I remember an island . . .”
That didn’t make sense. Northerly Island—a man-made venture near Chicago that was supposed to house an airport and a planetarium—hadn’t been started until 1920. As for most of the lake’s natural islands, they were far north, near Michigan. I couldn’t see Claryce and him having gone all the way there. “You’re sure it was an island?”
“I don’t know. Damn him!”
Her outcry startled us. Fetch’s ears flattened. Claryce was very honestly upset. I had to admit, there was a tiny part of me that was glad.
More than a tiny part, Eye would say . . .
I didn’t argue. “Claryce—”
Fetch abruptly straightened. His ears stiffened.
At the same time, I heard a slight noise outside.
“Someone’s out there,” I whispered to Claryce.
“I’m not surprised.”
She reached for her revolver, but I stopped her for the moment. “Do you still have the dagger?”
Since the Smith & Wesson wouldn’t necessarily stop everything we faced, I’d early on given her a silver-tipped dagger that’d been blessed in Constantinople over a thousand years ago. It had served me very well, so I’d hoped it’d do the same for her.
“Always.” She tapped her leg.
“Make sure you can get it at a moment’s notice, quicker even.”
I pointed down at the boat. Fetch leaped through the trapdoor, landing on the runabout without a sound. He darted toward the bow, vanishing from our sight.
“Stick behind me,” I ordered Claryce.
“I’m not afraid.”
“But I’m more durable.” With care, I opened the door. I could’ve summoned the dragon’s vision, but didn’t feel the need just yet. If it turned out to be a night watchman, I didn’t want to scare him to death.
When I saw nothing, I exited. By now, Fetch was well into a position where he could catch whoever was outside from behind. It was still too early to draw Her Lady’s gift, but I kept my hand very close.
The faint sound of footsteps coming from atop the building verified for me that this was no mere watchman. I looked for a way up, but found nothing.
Dolt! We have wings! We can fly! Must you reject all sense!
I looked around. There was no one in sight and the sky was overcast, making it perfect conditions for what he suggested, but I wasn’t ready for that. Just lend me your hands . . . or paws.
Fool. . . Despite his frustration, he wasted no time. My fingers twisted and lengthened. The darkness hid the full, monstrous results of what he had done to my hands, and I had no wish to spend any time staring at the transformation. Digging my claws into the wooden wall, I pulled myself up.
Climbing on top of the roof, I surveyed the area. The dragon’s gaze enabled me to see a lithe figure running toward the other end of the roof. The flowing overcoat prevented me from seeing whether it was human or not, much less male or female.
Willing my hands back to normal, I gave chase. I knew that below me Claryce would hear the movement and act accordingly. However, it wasn’t Claryce I waited for at the moment.
At the far edge of the flat roof, the figure paused. I could see the gap between this building and the next and knew that, if this was a human, there was no way that they’d be able to bridge that gap. If they weren’t . . . I’d be interested to see just how they did it.
Whether or not the figure could leap or fly over to the next warehouse became a moot point as a canine form jumped up from below to confront our intruder. With a snarl, Fetch forced the figure away from the edge.
One of the intruder’s hands reached near the waist. At that moment, I saw just enough of the head—and the bound hair—to realize that what we’d trapped was female. I had a brief moment of amazement that perhaps Her Lady’d snuck through the Gate, but dismissed that notion before the dragon could mock it.
Her hand slipped closer to her waist, only to hesitate again when Fetch growled. Despite the stealth with which I approached, she somehow heard me and glanced behind her.
At first, I took her for either a Negro, a Mexican, or a mixing of the two. Then, I realized that I’d seen that face somewhere before and she was neither. It took me a moment to recall just where. Laertes’s little sanctum, where he played “Ladykiller” Leighton for his human associates. She’d been there. One of his two dolls. The American Indian one.
Clearly, she was more than I’d thought. Right now, I could read her stance enough to know that she was debating which of us was the greater threat. I offered her some help by tapping my chest.
From her actions, it’d already been evident that she had pretty good night vision, but I could tell she couldn’t really see me well enough yet to notice the difference in my eyes. I debated returning them to normal, but figured that if she were hanging around elves and climbing atop warehouses, she could survive my appearance.
She suddenly raised both hands, palms toward me. Then, with the utmost care, she reached to her throat and removed a small medallion hanging there. To my surprise, this was followed by making the sign of the cross.
She knows us . . . how curious . . .
I didn’t argue. I knew that if I stepped up to her, I’d see that the medallion was one honoring me—or rather, St. George. I silently cursed Laertes’s loose lips and apparent excessive fondness for human women. Then I again considered the fact that she was on this roof and decided that maybe she was more than plaything to him. Laertes had to rely on the mortal world in order to keep hidden from Her Lady. Having Wyld as servants would only draw Her Lady’s attention. This particular servant wouldn’t.
“Saint George,” she muttered, her voice deep and fluid.
“What’s he up to?” I demanded of her. “Tell him I don’t like being followed.”
“He did not send me. This path I follow on my own. He knows better than to stop me.”
“And why is that? Who are you?”
“The boarding school insisted I be called Winifred Louise, a much more Christian name than the one they couldn’t pronounce. They drummed that name into me so much, I don’t even know what my parents called me.” She gave me a crooked, bitter smile. “One of the older girls, who still remembered the ways of the Potawatomi some, called me Crying Wolf.”
I still wasn’t sure what to call her and was caring less by the moment. I could sympathize w
ith her plight growing up, but that didn’t excuse her following me.
“‘Ware her, Master Nicholas,” growled Fetch, also apparently not concerned about revealing anything to her. “She smells of some sort of magic. I cannot say which, but she is no simple Jane!”
A slight smile played on her lips. “Does he always talk like that?”
“He does, and I find it very endearing,” Claryce shouted. She came up behind Fetch, the revolver aimed at the other woman. “Sorry, Nick. I tried, but I couldn’t stay behind.”
“‘Nick’?” The woman’s brow wrinkled.
“Yeah. Nick will do,” I replied. The lake wind was growing harsher. “What’s this other path Laertes had nothing to do with?”
Her eyes abruptly widened. From the left sleeve of her coat there slid a curved, completely black blade. At first I thought it was made of black silver—a vicious product of Feirie—but then caught a slight glint that even through the dragon’s vision reminded me most of obsidian.
The blade slipped expertly into her hand. Fetch snarled and Claryce, despite having to contend with the darkness, shouted a warning.
But neither, I realized, was intended against Winifred Louise Crying Wolf. Instead, it was meant for two figures climbing up behind me. A pair of hoods, one adjusting a tommy, had managed to reach the roof.
“Get down!” I roared.
In answer, Claryce fired a shot. It hit the second hood in the arm, causing him to drop his automatic.
Unfortunately, that still left the tommy gun.
The squat hood fired wildly, which was far more dangerous to us than if he’d taken the time to aim. Tommies weren’t the most accurate of weapons, which meant a spray actually worked better.
I had no choice. Despite the dragon’s hissed warning, I spread myself as wide as I could. A hail of bullets ripped through me. I could only hope that none of them had reached Claryce or Fetch.
My body burned with agony. I had to fight to stay conscious. The dragon railed inside my head, calling me just about every epithet he’d learned over sixteen hundred years. Still, I could feel him feeding me his power. The bullets in my body began popping out and wounds started healing.
Something streaked past me. At first I thought it was Fetch, who should’ve been protecting Claryce, but then I saw it was Winifred Louise Crying Wolf. She moved low, almost on all fours like her namesake, save that one hand had the black knife held ready.
The gunner turned his attention to her. I took a step toward him, my hand inches from Her Lady’s gift.
Something massive dropped out of the sky and crushed the roof right where I stood. I heard Claryce scream. Before I could do more than focus on that scream, I hit the floor of the warehouse hard.
If I’d been a normal person, I’d have died with a broken neck or back. Even so, the collision, along with my wounds, was enough to leave me gasping for breath and unable to move.
Naturally, that’s when a figure leaned over me.
I almost expected one of the three pale men I’d confronted in the theater. He was dressed close enough, with a slouch hat and a thick overcoat with the collar up, but thanks to the dragon’s piercing, if at the moment somewhat watery vision, I could see through the darkness enough to make out his face as he reached for me.
Well . . . if he’d had one.
CHAPTER 9
“So, Georgius—oh, I’m sorry, you’re Nick these days—you managed to find your way to me.”
I answered with a groan, the only sound I was capable of making. My first thoughts were split in several directions. That was Galerius’s voice booming in my foggy mind. I feared for Claryce. I wondered if Winifred Louise Crying Wolf had had something to do with this trap. Where was Fetch?
Why couldn’t I move?
I shook my head. Things started to clear. I managed to focus.
Galerius stood a few feet from me, a cigar in his mouth. Despite his nearness, I couldn’t smell the cigar at all, which was puzzling. At that moment, I’d have welcomed its odor over the fishy scent filling the room.
He withdrew the cigar. “Hungry? You’ll be fed soon.”
“No thanks,” I rasped.
He laughed . . . but there was something bitter in his laugh. “So damned noble, so much a martyr! You were born to be a bloody saint, weren’t you? Even to pulling your damned miracles again!”
Someone who wasn’t Galerius kicked me hard in the back. I grunted in pain.
“But you’ve only managed half of what you wanted! Only half! It still flew, Nick, which means it still set in motion part of what I planned . . .”
I knew my head still had fog in it, but Galerius wasn’t making sense to me. I’d managed to stop whatever he’d had in mind? I couldn’t recall everything that’d happened, but I could recall enough to know I’d been far from figuring out what his plan had been.
I tried to move, with as little luck as before. Not only was I bound tight, but I was also beginning to notice the pain wherever my bonds pressed against my body despite my clothes.
“I hope you’re suffering, Nick. I paid dearly for all that precious black silver to bind you with. Being so tied to magic, it burns you like hell, I’d bet. You know, the damned bitch demanded a high price . . .” He laughed. “But then so did I . . . and she paid it.”
I didn’t have to wonder who the “bitch” was. Just as I’d figured, Her Lady’d had a hand in some of Galerius’s activities.
He flicked his cigar. Something about the way the ashes fell bothered me.
“The bloody fools. They all thought the power was going to go to them. Well, I appreciate you removing them for me, Nick. The Wing-foot served its purpose, that’s what’s mattered.” Galerius gave me a bow. “Thank you . . .”
The Wingfoot . . . I was starting to have a bad—worse—feeling.
“You’re not real,” I muttered. “You’re a six-year-old illusion.”
“It’ll take some time, but I can be patient,” he went on, of course ignoring my remark. “I spent centuries tracking those cards. I spent centuries rebuilding what you stole from me . . .” For the first time, something slipped into his tone, something manic. “I spent centuries . . . so many centuries . . . but at least I always had you . . . and her . . .”
Her. That made me struggle harder, which in turn made me suffer harder. I didn’t care, though. I was willing to suffer the pain if I could just free myself and track him down through the old illusion. There were ways to do that, ways—
I received another good kick. This time in the head. My world spun around. Through teary eyes, I saw a shadowy figure in slouch hat and overcoat come around. As it bent down, I was confronted by the featureless face from earlier.
The thing took hold of me. Where its fingers touched me, I felt incredible cold despite both my own clothing and the dragon’s power.
Galerius’s minion set me against an old barrel. It wasn’t a very comfortable sitting position, but I found out quickly that it didn’t matter.
It picked up a two-by-four and with a swing worthy of one of Gabby Hartnett’s homers, knocked me senseless . . .
The dragon kept screaming in my head. I tried to shut him out, but he grew more and more insistent, to the point where he even overwhelmed the awful pounding battering my skull.
A strange, unsettling sensation filled me. I felt a different sort of cold inside and out, and yet my lungs suddenly burned. I tried to catch my breath but couldn’t. I kept choking, no matter how much I struggled for air.
Somehow, I opened my eyes.
I was underwater. I was drowning.
Well, not exactly. My body was attempting to drown, but the protections of the Gate and the dragon had so far prevented that. Even so, I was going through incredible torture.
Somehow, my eyes had become his again. Despite that, our view was murky. I saw fish and plant life in a half-shadowed way. In the distance, there was a large object I thought was a sunken ship.
I was at the bottom of Lake Michigan.
<
br /> My body continued to attempt in vain to find air instead of water. It was all I could do to keep some bit of sanity. I had to credit the dragon for that; this was a situation far beyond me.
I struggled with my black silver bonds but still couldn’t break them. My feet refused to budge. Managing to peer down, I saw why. I’d never heard of someone actually getting “cement overshoes,” despite their popularity in fiction. Galerius, though, had evidently decided to grant me a special treat.
The block of cement enveloped my feet up to just over the ankles. It told me that I’d been unconscious much longer than I’d thought if it’d had time to set.
I kept struggling with my bonds. With each passing second, it was getting harder to keep what sense I still had. If that happened, I feared I’d never get out.
And then, out of the corner of my—our—eye, I saw something that shouldn’t have been in the lake. It was long and sinewy. Some vast serpent, I guessed. It had an odd, flat head, but I couldn’t make out any details. It kept coming and coming with no sight of the other end.
Another joined it.
It wasn’t hard to guess that they were heading toward me. There was only one possible way out of this now. I knew it and the dragon knew it. I willingly gave way to him.
But when he tried to take command of our body, the black silver bonds once more kept him in check. We both tried to roar our frustration, but to no avail.
Change, damn you! Change! I demanded.
Too strong . . . the accursed silver is too strong . . . it burns, too . . .
The strange serpents continued moving toward us. I still couldn’t see their other ends.
Change! I repeated.
I could feel him straining, which meant I also felt renewed agony from the black silver’s effect.
Too strong . . .
No! In desperation, I threw my own will into the transformation. It meant intertwining our very cores together as we seldom had. It meant being one, not two.
There was a peculiar cracking sound. The pressure eased a little around our feet. It took effort, but I managed to turn our gaze there.
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