Old Fashioned_Phantom Queen_Book 3_A Temple Verse Series

by Shayne Silvers

  Hilde’s arms fell to her sides, but I could tell she was still on edge. “How did you do that?” she whispered, finally, sounding very troubled.

  “Come on out of the closet,” I urged, “and I’ll tell ye.”

  Hilde took a look around, realizing that she was the only one still standing in a storage closet. “Oh, right.” She slipped out and shut the door, stared at us for a moment, then started walking. “Come on, we’re on the fourth floor. Leo will know what to do with you, and you can tell me why my weapons fled from you on the way.”

  Christoff and I exchanged looks. “Well,” I said, finally, “I don’t know about makin’ ‘em flee from ye, but let’s just say me abilities recently got…reinforced.”

  Hilde seemed to take that in stride, although it seemed she was having a much harder time with my choice of attire; she kept glancing back at me like I’d committed some sort of crime against all things right and decent. Once we were on the elevator, she reached out and tapped my jacket, thumping me hard enough to make me rub at my shoulder. When nothing happened, she frowned, and did it again.

  “Knock it off!” I hissed.

  “What is this woman doing?” Christoff asked, his whisper loud enough for us all to hear.

  I sighed. “She t’inks I’m wearing the clothes she gave me, and that I chose this jacket. What she doesn’t know is that I’m not and I didn’t.”

  Hilde’s frown threatened to pull the corners of her mouth to the floor. “What happened to the clothes I gave you?” she asked.

  I winced. “Well, ye remember that reinforcement I was talkin’ about earlier?” I asked, trying to sound upbeat.

  “Did you lose them?” Hilde asked, her tone practically glacial.

  “More like I broke ‘em, I t’ink,” I admitted. “But not on purpose!” I added, hurriedly. “Technically it wasn’t even me. It was some sort of fortune tellin’ goddess who looked like me ma. Or, ye know, an unfortunate representation of me subconscious…I’m still workin’ that bit out.”

  Hilde glanced over at Christoff, dismissing me entirely. “You’re the one Quinn asked us to find. So, tell me, why do you smell like the men who attacked us?” she asked. I hung my head; after ruining the priceless gift Hilde had given me, I suppose it only made sense that I was dead to her.

  “Many years ago, I was one of them,” Christoff replied. “We are…related. We share much. Same genes, even same blood, in some cases.”

  “Ye didn’t tell me that,” I interjected.

  “It was not important,” Christoff replied. “I have no more family left in Russia. My brothers died, long ago, before I come here.”

  “Those men shot one of mine,” Hilde said, her tone promising vengeance. She flicked her eyes at me. “We were able to get out, but not before Warren took a bullet. When we couldn’t find you, we assumed the worst. But, then I saw you here, unharmed, and it crossed my mind that you might have led us into a trap. That’s why I attacked you.”

  Oh. Well, when she put it like that, it at least made sense. Didn’t make my aching back feel any better, but hey—apologies weren’t exactly FDA approved. Not that she’d offered one. “We fled,” I explained. “I found Christoff and his kids and a friend got us out before they could find us. I tried to call Agent Jeffries, but he didn’t pick up. Then t’ings got a little…hairy.”

  Oh, puns.

  Christoff shot me a nonplussed look but said nothing. Hilde chewed over my explanation and nodded, stepping out onto the fourth floor the instant the door opened. “His phone was destroyed. We’re working on it. Anyway, come on, Leo will want to talk to you.”

  “Oh, aye, I need to talk to him, as well,” I said, hurrying to keep pace with her. “I found out who your killer is, after all.”

  Hilde jerked to a halt so quickly I bumped into her, bruising my hip in the process.

  “Motherfucker,” I hissed, rubbing my side. “What d’ye do that for?”

  “Did Miss MacKenna just say she found our killer?” Jeffries asked, rising from one of the waiting lounge chairs.

  “Aye,” I replied, turning to face the Special Agent in Charge, prepared to brief him on everything I’d found out since we last saw each other, but the look on his ravaged face stopped me; his eyes were red-rimmed, and he looked every bit as old as the grey in his hair would suggest.

  I realized from Hilde’s expression that she hadn’t stopped because of anything I’d said; she’d stopped because she’d seen her boss, shoulders bowed, looking down at his feet like a man carrying a burden he couldn’t handle. Her hands were balled into fists at her side. “What is it, Leo?”

  “It’s Warren. He survived the surgery,” Jeffries explained, “but he didn’t wake up. He’s in a medically-induced coma.” Jeffries tucked his shoulders back and lifted his chin. “So, Miss MacKenna, how about you fill us in on everything you know about the soon-to-be dead men who attacked us. Then you can fill me in on who we’re after for the murders, and we’ll sort him out, too.” He locked eyes with Hilde. “Off the fucking books, as Temple would say. I’m beginning to see the method to his madness.”

  I nodded, dumbly. Jeffries knew Nate Temple? But now wasn’t the time. “Aye…I can do that.”

  And I would.

  Because if I didn’t, the look in Jeffries’ eyes told me I’d be added to his off the books checklist.

  I was secretly happy that the red tape had just gone up in a blazing inferno, and that the Sickos were finally ready to do things my way.

  Because why play touch when you can tackle?

  Chapter 29

  I told Jeffries and his team everything I knew while we snacked at the hospital’s cafeteria, though admittedly I had to leave out a few details—like how I’d consumed a hyper-hallucinogen that had sent me soaring through the cosmos to another dimension under the supervision of a stoner bear named Starlight. Or, you know, how I’d beaten the living hell out of a former cop in a sanctified fight ring in Alaska. But, by the time I was finished, they had all of the relevant details. Lakota and—to my surprise—Robin joined us quickly enough to catch the tail end of my explanation.

  “So how do you know Jack Frost is our killer?” Lakota asked, settling in beside Hilde and popping a crouton from her salad into his mouth. The kid shook his head, a lock of shoulder-length hair falling in front of his eyes. “I can’t believe how often I end up saying fairy tale shit like that,” he confessed, once he’d swallowed.

  “Call it an anonymous tip,” I replied. “I don’t expect ye to string him up without vettin’ him for yourselves, first.”

  “It’s possible,” Robin interjected. “He came to town in the last couple months, stirring up trouble. He’s kept a low profile since, though.”

  Lakota shrugged. “If he’s our guy, I’ll know. Leo, too. Not even the Fae can lie to him.” The kid leaned in close to Hilde. “Do you wanna kill a snowman…” he sang in a pitch perfect impersonation of Anna from Frozen.

  Hilde scowled.

  “You’re no fun,” Lakota said.

  Robin ignored Lakota entirely, fixated as he was on Jeffries, who seemed too grief-stricken to bother explaining his gift. “Jeffries can tell when someone is lyin’,” I told the redcap, making sure Christoff heard me as well—it wouldn’t do to have the older man go and say something that contradicted what I’d told them. “Well, most people,” I added.

  Robin grunted. “That explains a lot, actually.”

  My eyes narrowed. “Why, what d’ye do?”

  “The Fae saved us,” Jeffries interjected, catching my eye. “Without him and Hilde covering our retreat, we’d have all been goners.”

  “Huh,” I said, glancing sidelong at the redcap. There was something different about him, I realized, aside from the fact that he’d changed from his suit and fedora combination back into Red Sox gear—which I appreciated. He looked beefier, somehow, his beard bushier, cheeks ruddier. Before I could analyze him too much, however, he and Christoff rose as one and walked off together without so
much as a word.

  “What’s that about?” Hilde asked.

  “Employee meetin’?” I suggested. My guess was Robin had something to say that he didn’t want the FBI to overhear. Or maybe he wanted to apologize for his organization’s role in keeping Christoff and his children “safe” by keeping them locked up. Either way, I found myself fascinated by their interaction now that I knew both their backgrounds; it turned out the two men weren’t all that different. Both had left war and their pasts behind to start new lives. Perhaps that’s why Christoff had hired Robin in the first place—maybe he’d seen something of himself in the would-be spy.

  The two of them returned shortly thereafter. Christoff shot me a look that said we’d talk later—which of course every FBI agent in the room also read. I sighed. For spies, neither he nor Robin were particularly subtle.

  “Spill it,” Hilde said, as soon as they’d sat down.

  “They know where his wife is,” Lakota said, staring at them. “Or think they do.”

  Christoff’s eyes widened, and Robin stared up at the ceiling as if he hadn’t been paying attention. Worst. Spies. Ever. “So, does soul-gazin’ let ye read minds, too?” I asked Lakota, ignoring the two men.

  Lakota shook his head. “No, I’m just good at my job. His energy,” he pointed to Christoff, “or whatever you want to call it, was erratic when he first sat down, which made sense. His wife has been taken. But the minute they sat back down, his energy had changed. He’s more resolute, now. He has a direction. My guess is the Fae knows something about where his wife is and told him.”

  “Is that true?” Jeffries said.

  Christoff bowed his head. “I am sorry for your loss, Agent. But this is my problem now, not yours. Please, leave me to my work.”

  Jeffries studied the older man. “You believe what you’re saying. But there’s a lie in there, somewhere…you don’t know if you’ll be able to take them on by yourself. Is that it?”

  Lakota nodded, pointing to Christoff’s chest. “Got it in one.”

  Jesus Christ, what a scary duo those two made. Between the human lie detector and the soul decoder, it was a wonder any bad guy ever got away with anything. “Well, he won’t be by himself,” I interjected, finally, sensing the mood at the table. “He’ll have backup.”

  “I’m going,” Robin said. “I owe the man a favor. And my kind honor that.”

  “If you know where they are,” Hilde growled, “then I’m going, too. I owe them. For Warren.”

  “Guess we’re doing this together,” Lakota said, swiping at his bangs.

  “No, we’re not,” Hilde replied. She leveled her gaze at Lakota, then swung it around to her boss. “You two should track down Frost, see if Quinn is right before the bastard has a chance to hunt down anyone else.”

  Lakota frowned. “You think we’d be liabilities,” he accused, finally.

  Hilde reached out and flicked his ear. “What did I tell you about using your abilities on me?”

  Lakota rubbed at his ear, glaring at her. Jeffries watched the exchange with a hint of amusement; it was a welcome change. “She’s right, though,” the Special Agent in Charge admitted, “we would be a liability. How about it?” he asked Christoff. “Do you think the four of you will be enough?”

  Christoff frowned, realizing now that there was no point lying to the man. “I do not know. It will be difficult. But, with four, maybe.” He shook his head.

  Jeffries grunted. “Close enough. Alright then, it’s settled. You four will go after this man’s wife. Lakota and I will see what we can track down about this Frost character. Hilde,” he met his partner’s eyes, “make them pay.”

  Robin coughed and held up a hand before Hilde could respond. “If Frost really is the one behind these murders you say have been taking place, my people will want to know. To judge for themselves. My organization likes to keep things…tidy, here in Boston. I would urge you to consider coordinating with them before you make any moves.”

  “The Chancery, you mean?” Jeffries asked.

  Robin nodded, though it was obvious he had little else to say on the subject of who he worked for.

  “So, you’re saying that, if and when we find him, we’ll have to turn him over to you?” Lakota asked. “Well that’s a shitty deal. How do we know he’ll end up paying for what he’s done?”

  Robin locked eyes with Jeffries. “If he’s guilty, he’ll pay. My kind still believe in cruel and unusual punishment as a deterrent.” Jeffries didn’t break eye contact, so Robin let out a sigh. “Think of the worst thing you would personally do to him for his crimes—what you would do if no one was watching you do it and you could get away with it.” After a few moments, Jeffries nodded. Robin’s face slowly morphed into a feral, wicked grin. “That’s just our interrogation level.”

  Something about the way Robin had said it made the hair on the back of my neck stand up—almost as if he were speaking from personal experience. I shivered and hunched forward, resting my elbows on the table. “Robin, are ye sure the Chancery will be up for it? After, ye know…” I left the rest hanging. If Robin didn’t want to fill in the FBI on the Chancery’s mission statement, I sincerely doubted he wanted them to know about their recent schism.

  Robin waved that away. “It’s been dealt with. They found out who was responsible for letting Mordred out, and are planning to deal with the man, personally.”

  “I hope that doesn’t mean one of our citizens will end up receiving one of those cruel and unusual punishments you described,” Jeffries said, eyes narrowed.

  Robin sucked his teeth. “I can’t promise anything. The man has caused a lot of problems for us, not to mention for our kind on the other side. He’s killed more Fae than anyone in centuries, and that’s got a lot of us scared. Many feel that he must be held accountable for the havoc he’s created.”

  “Sounds impressive. Who is he?” I asked, brow furrowed. You’d think I’d have heard of someone wantonly killing Faelings, especially on the scale Robin described. I mean, the world was a big place, but I’d always assumed Boston was the epicenter of Fae activity in the mortal realm—and yet lately, it seemed more like the last exit on the information highway.

  “Nate Temple,” Robin said, eyes darkening. “He calls himself King of St. Louis, now… but we call him The Rider. Wylde. Many other names, but wherever he goes, death follows.”

  I tried to keep my expression neutral, but only barely managed it. Nate Temple? A mass murderer? It didn’t make any sense. This was the same man who’d bailed Callie out in Kansas City more than once. The man Othello worked—and had nothing but praise—for. The man Hemingway—one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse—routinely worried after and aided like a surrogate father. Hell, even I had reason to thank him; he’d even sent his friends to help me save the lives of trafficked women while I was in New York.

  Really, the only negative thing I had to say about him up until now was that he was a spoiled, Uber-stealing brat.

  “Temple, huh?” Jeffries asked in a very troubled tone. “I’ll admit, I could see it. Years ago, while working in St. Louis, I swore never to betray him. But, from what I hear, things have changed. He’s changed. Some say he’s become tyrannical. On the other hand, St. Louis crime rates have also dropped considerably, as a result.” Jeffries shook his head. “Not that you’ll take my advice, but I think your kind would be better off leaving him alone. The last time we spoke, his fiancée was on the hook for murder…” Everyone leaned forward at that, the room suddenly silent. “I heard from a reliable source that he personally executed her for her crimes, in front of witnesses and friends. Nothing we could prove, obviously, but then…” he murmured, trailing off. “None of us are what we once were. We’re all stained, to some degree.” Sensing all eyes on him, Jeffries cleared his throat. “Idle thoughts. The musings of an old man.”

  I stared at Jeffries, no longer having to hide my horrified expression. “I’m sorry, rewind. He did what?”

  Robin nodded. “W
e heard a… similar story,” he interjected. “To be honest, I’m not sure what my superiors are planning, but there will be a reckoning, I’m sure. Until then, however, they will want to be involved. In fact, if you need help finding Frost, call this number,” Robin said, sliding an embossed business card I recognized across the table.

  “Hansel, Hansel, and Gretel,” Jeffries read. “Seriously?”

  “They keep meticulous records,” Robin insisted. “Trust me, if you need a place to start, they’ll point you in the right direction. We are always happy to comply with law enforcement,” Robin said, one corner of his mouth going up.

  Jeffries grunted. “When it suits you, yes, I see.”

  Christoff rose, impatient to be on his way, with or without help. “Is time to go,” he said.

  “Aye,” I replied, snagging the rest of my deli sandwich to go; I desperately needed something in my stomach besides alcohol, wildflowers, and dirt. “Let’s go find your wife,” I said, realizing I had more pressing things to do at the moment than worry about Nate Temple; though, at some point, I knew I would have to discover the truth for myself.

  Would the real Nate Temple please stand up?

  “Alright,” Hilde said as she stood, thrusting her chair violently back under the table, her expression flinty, “let’s hunt some bear.”

  “Aye,” I said, my mouth half-full. “That, too.”

  Chapter 30

  We were thirty feet from the exit when someone grabbed me by the arm, causing me to lose my grip on what little remained of my sandwich. It fell to the floor, its contents spreading across the tile. “Seriously?” I asked, before whirling around, prepared to lay a beat down, only to find myself staring at a badge dangling around a familiar neck.

  “I asked you to find me when you got here,” Jimmy said, glancing over my shoulder at my three companions—an FBI agent, a bartender, and his boss—in contempt. I frowned. I mean, they weren’t exactly the most illustrious posse I’d ever had, but I’d hung around with worse.