I turned down a lane that led to the loading docks by the harbor. The sea informed everything about life in Boston, from the way the streets were laid out and named, to the establishment of particular neighborhoods, to the smell of the air. The city’s seafaring heyday lay in the past, but it was still a port with dank buildings on crumbling pilings, brownish green water lapping against skeletal barnacles, and the ever-present tang of rotting fish.
The Weird sat in isolation from the rest of the city, bounded by the interstate to the west, the working area of the port to the south, and the channel to the north. Old Northern Avenue ran through it like a fetid artery feeding into a series of subneighborhoods—dwarf and elf gang turfs, the bar strip, the squatter warehouses—and ended in the Tangle, a chaotic mishmash of the worst the Weird had to offer.
People down in the Tangle didn’t bother anyone as long as no one bothered them. The people who made eye contact with strangers were either looking to kick ass or get theirs kicked. Etiquette dictated that entering the Tangle meant you were not visible. Wanted criminals walked its streets and byways, and no one said a word. Law enforcement feared the place and left it alone. That I was safer among the most dangerous people in the city than I was in my apartment up the street said a lot about my life.
The lane ended on a broken wharf, ancient planks of wood thicker than my arm running parallel to the shore. The occasional boat docked, but its business was more likely to be unregistered with the harbormaster’s office. I turned south toward the working port area, acres of windswept land piled with discarded shipping containers.
Strange things happened so close to the Tangle. Mechanical devices didn’t work well. The landscape seemed subject to random change. People disappeared. The city had ceased operations along that section long ago. “Abandoned the place” was a more accurate description.
Something scurried in the deep shadows of the containers. Its stealth would escape the notice of most people, but I sensed its body signature. Druids had the ability to sense essence, the powerful energy that ran through all living things. My ability was more acute than most. In addition to the Dead fairy in the air, two vitniri tailed me. The lupine men kept out of sight, marking a perimeter around me. More bodyguards I didn’t ask for.
Coming out of a narrow gap between stacked containers, I paused to watch the gantry cranes across the Reserve Channel. The giant steel towers stood several stories high like skeletal beasts grazing on the tanker ships below them. The stark brightness of phosphorus lights illuminated their movements, dockworkers moving like ants beneath their massive supports.
On my side of the channel, different lights flickered, the blue and red of emergency vehicles. Police officers and EMTs wandered along the wharf or leaned against their cars. No one seemed anxious or concerned except a lone figure standing on the edge of the wharf, hands on his hips as he stared down at the water.
“Hey, Leo,” I said.
Murdock cocked his head at me, the annoyance on his face slipping toward relief. “After this afternoon, I wasn’t sure you’d come out of your secret lair, Connor.”
“It was a tad quiet in the Batcave.”
He gestured at the water. “Well, riddle me this. I have no idea what’s going on or what they’re saying, but that’s a dead body if I ever saw one.”
Several feet below us, a Coast Guard skiff was pulled up to a decrepit floating dock. Two cadets lifted a naked woman onto a tarp on the dock, her skin bone white and mottled with gray spots, eyes a milky glaze that stared unseeing at the lightening sky. Three pale-skinned women treaded water near the skiff, thick cascades of their deep green hair floating around them. They shot angry stares at Murdock and me as they swam back and forth in the water.
“Those are merrows. They’re sea fey,” I said.
Nonplussed, Leo cocked an eyebrow at me. “Yeah, I got the sea part. I’m more interested in why they’ve got a dead body and almost drowned anyone who came near them.”
I crouched near a piling. The merrows chattered among themselves, arguing, maybe. Their language was hard to decipher. Their soft voices rose and fell in clicks and whistles I didn’t understand. “They’re reclusive. They tend to spend most of their lives out at sea and don’t trust outsiders. They haven’t had a lot of good experiences with humans. I’m not sure what they’re doing with the body.”
I swung my leg over the side of the wharf and held my breath as I stepped onto an ancient wooden ladder. It held my weight. Murdock followed me down, waiting a judicious few seconds so that we weren’t on the ladder at the same time.
Bodies in the water were one of the most unpleasant crime victims to deal with. Water did strange things to bodies, turning them into macabre versions of their former selves. With a body on land, insects were the primary living creature to deal with. With a drowning, just about anything in the sea might have something to contribute to the disintegration of a dead body.
Beyond signs of early bloating, the woman didn’t appear to have any major injuries. “How does a sea fairy drown?” Murdock asked.
I crouched, taking a deep breath. The body gave off a rancid odor of rot mixed with the sea. “They’re not fish, Leo. They’re mammals like you and me. They hold their breath when they dive.”
Murdock pressed his hand against his nose. “Her hands are pretty mangled.”
I held out my hand. “I need a glove.”
Murdock handed me a latex glove from his coat pocket. I pulled the glove on and lifted the woman’s arm. The hand bent at the wrist. The flexibility coupled with the smell told me she had gone beyond rigor mortis, which meant she had been in the water a while. The ends of her fingers were torn and ragged. “Could have been something nibbling at her,” I said.
Murdock leaned in closer. “The damage looks uniform on all her fingers. She was scratching at something.”
I lowered the arm. “Maybe she got trapped under something.”
Murdock swayed from side to side over the body to get a better view. The motion caused the dock to rock, something that my inner ears did not care for at all. “I’m not seeing any bruising. If she were trapped, whatever held her would have left a mark.”
At her stage of decomposition, bruises would have shown up as dark gray blotches. “And also would make me ask why she stopped being trapped.”
Murdock eyed the merrows treading water near the dock. “Maybe they know.”
The merrows circled and thrashed but kept their distance. I stepped to the edge of the dock. It dipped below the surface of the water, and my shoes got wet. I moved back a little. “My name is Connor Grey. Can you tell us what happened?”
The merrows exchanged more angry glances and chattered in their own language.
“Do you speak English? Gaelic?” I asked.
One of the women peered up at me. “Whom do you speak for?” she asked in Gaelic.
“No one. I’m helping out the police,” I answered.
She made a guttural sound deep in her throat. “Need Guild.”
I translated for Murdock. “That’s going to be a problem. Since your stunt in Park Square, the Guild has pulled most of its investigators out of the Weird,” he said.
“The Guild cannot come,” I said to the woman.
She slapped the water, sending a spray that landed on my legs. “Guild must come. Guild matter.”
“Ask her to come with us, and we’ll see what we can do,” Murdock said.
I translated his suggestion into Gaelic, but she wasn’t having it. She spoke to her companions, and all three began whistling and slapping at the water. I smiled up at Murdock. “I think she said no.”
Frustrated, Murdock stepped forward. With the weight of both of us, the dock sank beneath the water. I lost my balance and grabbed Murdock’s arm. The water dragged at our feet, and I slipped onto my knees. Murdock lost his balance, tripped over me, and we went over the edge.
I came up for air, spitting water and wanting to vomit. I did not want to think about what was in th
e harbor water, especially that close to the Tangle. I didn’t know how the merrows survived in the polluted stew. Murdock came up swearing like I had never heard him do.
“That was not my fault!” I shouted.
He grabbed the edge of the dock. I waited as one of the laughing cadets helped him out. When he was far enough back to keep the dock from submerging again, I swam closer, and they pulled me out.
Anger etched his face. “I’m sorry,” he said.
I wiped at my forehead, trying not to laugh. “Don’t worry about it. Unless I get plague or something.”
“They’re gone,” he said.
I faced the water. Bubbles spiraled and trailed along the surface, but there was no other sign of the merrows. “We probably scared them.”
“How long can they stay under?” he asked.
I shook my arms to shed some water. “An hour or so.”
He slicked his hair back and held his hands against the back of his neck. “Do you know anyone who speaks their language?”
“There are a couple of people I can ask,” I said.
I climbed the ladder back to the wharf. A light breeze made me shiver in my wet clothes. Murdock swung over the pilings next to me. “You doing okay?” he asked.
“I’ll dry,” I said.
“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 sitting 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.”
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