The Canal District is a lot like Venice, but in a higher state of disrepair and without any semblance of law or order. The place makes the bazaar look like Disneyland. Tall stone buildings rise up along the canals, many of them dark and abandoned, others filled with squatters, gangs, and the usual back-alley scum. Not a nice place to visit, even for a six-foot six ogre.
The smell of mold and sewer was enough to gag me. Combined with the rising chemical effervescence from the lake runoff it actually made me a little dizzy. The lights of the city vanished behind us, replaced by ancient gas lamps that rose up along the cobblestone walkways, casting dim light through the eternally darkening gloom. Soon the gas lamps vanished as well, leaving us drifting along in almost total darkness. Then the thick, swirling fog of chemical vapor closed in around us and the night got deathly quiet.
I’d never been to Siva’s place before (I wasn’t thrilled about going there now) so I told Butch to call her on his cell phone and get directions. Butch snorted, noting the irony of the fact that the best way to reach a dark-elven necromancer was by cell phone.
“Just make the call,” I said in a hushed voice. “The last thing I want to do is run into the Greenblood gang, or worse yet a pool of wild magic.”
The Greenbloods are a notorious gang of goblins and hobgoblins that hide out in the Canals to avoid the law. They are an extremely violent group, and most of the murders in the undercity can be traced directly back to them. Wild magic is a whole different thing. Sometimes, when a spell goes bad it can kill the mage. If no one’s around to stop it, the power that the mage channeled can remain active and take on something of a life of its own.
Patches of wild magic are known throughout the Canals, but they move around. They are notoriously hard to find and even harder to reign in. If an unwary person stumbles into one, a million different things might happen, each more horrible than the last. I’ve heard stories about people being transfigured by wild magic, turning into strange abominations that lurk in the shadows of the Canals waiting for the chance to nab innocent passers-by and feast on them while they’re still alive. Others have been transported to different worlds, never to return.
“If I get killed, I’m suing you both,” Dwana whispered.
“Agreed,” I said.
“Remember all of this, next time you think about putting a curse on somebody,” Butch snarled from the back of the boat. He wore an exhausted but determined look.
Hang in there, I thought.
When we got deep enough into the district, I shut down the engine to avoid attracting unwanted attention. Butch and I started paddling. Dwana lost all semblance of beauty and elegance as she huddled down in the middle of the boat, trying to make herself as small and invisible as possible. The fog broke here and there, allowing glimpses of ancient crumbling buildings and the distant twinkle of fireflies and pixies in the darkness overhead. An oppressive sense of isolation washed over us, and I think we all knew that we were not in a good place. If something happened to us, no one would ever call the police. Even if they did, the police wouldn’t ever come. Not in that place.
Eventually the acrid smell seemed to fade a bit. Either that or the chemicals had sufficiently scorched my olfactory glands to the point I could no longer smell anything. Either way, the white mist gave way to a low-lying fog and the heavy rush of the ocean filled our ears. We were now beyond the western tip of the San Francisco peninsula, beneath the waves of the Pacific Ocean. Here, the canals gave way to swamp and the cavern wall rushed down to meet the floor.
I docked the boat at a long wooden pier that stuck out into the water. Butch located a flashlight in the cabin. He couldn’t carry it while using his crutches, so he passed it off to me. I took the lead as we headed down the narrow path into that dark, menacing swamp. Dwana went between us, with Butch taking up the rear.
A thick canopy of tree branches loomed overhead and the gloom deepened as we walked. The sounds of the swamp echoed all around us like sound effects from a horror movie. Frogs, crickets, the rush of water and the deep drumming of the ocean filled our ears. “If I hear a banjo start up, I’m goin’ home,” Butch said at one point. He was joking, of course. Nothing could have scared him off this close to a cure for Talia.
Finally, the gnarled woods gave way to a broad clearing and an old plantation house rose up in front of us. Brightly colored wisps lit up the lawn and a warm glow radiated out of the windows. “Thank God,” Dwana murmured.
We hurried up the path towards the house. As we got closer, the building’s appeal rapidly diminished. Upon closer inspection, the brightly painted white siding was chipped and thinning through to the wood. The floorboards on the porch were rotten and cracked. They creaked as we stepped up to the front door. I reached up to knock, but before I could, the door handle twisted and a zombie opened the door.
Yeah, I said a zombie. The creature had been a dwarf once, I think. Its skin was dark like Siva’s and its beard was gray. The dwarf-zombie’s eyes were white slits between heavy lids. The hairs rose up on the back of my neck as I saw him. Dwana let out a whimper. Butch took a step back.
“This way,” the dwarf said in a voice like gravel. It turned and started walking into the depths of the mansion.
“Uh-uh,” Dwana said, shaking her head. “I’m not going in there.”
“Suit yourself,” I said. “Stay out here.”
I stepped inside and Butch followed me. It took Dwana all of three seconds to decide to join us. The slow, ambling zombie turned the corner at the end of the hall and we followed after him. The doors along the hallway were all closed, but we passed a sort of living room with ancient hardwood furniture and Victorian décor. It was surprisingly nice, but only added to the creepy lost-in-time atmosphere of the place.
At last, we arrived at the library. The zombie stood next to the door waiting for us to enter. We stepped nervously around him, and he went ambling back down the hall. Siva was waiting for us. She had obviously been expecting us, but she didn’t even glance up as we stepped into the room. She was working at an old desk under the light of a lantern. She was writing in a leather-bound journal of some sort with an old-fashioned quill pen. When she had finished, she placed her pen in its cradle, closed the book, and raised her eyes to greet us.
“So good to see you again, Steward,” she said.
I nodded. “You as well,” I said reluctantly. Siva and I had crossed paths once or twice but I never really understood what she was, until I saw her home. Dark fae. It doesn’t mean as much until you sense the dark magic swirling around you, and feel the hairs rise on the back of your neck. There was something watching us in that house, something malefic. It wasn’t just the dwarf zombie either, although that was more than enough to send chills crawling up and down my spine. I wondered what else she had creeping around that old mansion. I decided I didn’t really want to know.
“Is this the perpetrator?” Siva said in an accusatory tone, staring hard at Dwana.
“Yes,” Butch said. Dwana shrank next to me.
“Bring her forth.”
I put my hand on Dwana’s back and guided her across the room. Siva reached out to take her hand. “Fear me not, child. If you must fear, then fear the path you have chosen.”
Dwana let out a gasp. She tried to pull her hand away but Siva held her in a firm grip. Siva had cut her, I realized as a trickle of blood ran along Dwana’s palm. Siva snatched an empty vial from her desk to catch the warm, crimson liquid. Dwana let out a painful moan as Siva squeezed her hand. Then Siva abruptly let her go and held the vial up, swirling it in the dim light.
Dwana took a few steps back. I saw the flight instinct on her face and I put my hand on her shoulder to calm her. “You’re safe,” I said, trying to sound reassuring. Truth was, I wasn’t sure any of us were safe. Siva smiled and tipped the vial to her lips. She swallowed the blood in one swift movement and then closed her eyes, savoring the flavor as if it had been a glass of fine red wine.
A moment passed, and
the silence was deafening. We all stood there uncomfortably, watching Siva sway back and forth, her tongue gliding out to taste the drop of blood that stained her lips. Then she suddenly went straight and her eyes flashed open.
“What are you playing at?” she said in an angry voice. Dwana shrank.
“What’s the problem?” I said. “Can you reverse the curse or not?”
“Not like this,” Siva said in a seething voice. “What game do you play, child?”
Dwana turned to run but I caught her and held her in place. “What’s going on?” I demanded.
“She deceived you,” Siva said, glancing back and forth between the two of us. “She is not the culprit. Begone from my sight. Do not come back until you have the right one.”
“I don’t understand,” Butch said. “She confessed. It was Dwana!”
“Begone!” Siva shouted again.
It didn’t take much prodding. We were all eager to go. Butch and Dwana stepped into the hall and I turned to follow them.
“One moment, please,” Siva said behind me. “I have one more thing to discuss with you, Hank.”
I turned back to face her, frowning. “What’s that?” I said suspiciously.
“I’ve seen your future, Steward,” she said. “Dark times lay ahead.”
“Dark times always lay ahead,” I said skeptically. “It’s the nature of the universe.”
“Perhaps, but this is like nothing you’ve ever faced. I see dark clouds moving over you and blood flowing like a river. There will be no shelter from this storm.”
I was understandably skeptical, but I decided to play along. “Then what should I do?” I said.
She sighed softly. “Your life has prepared you for this. The universe has trained you in solitude and sadness. Your challenges have made you strong, so that you may survive what’s to come.”
I felt a chill move down my spine. I could tell from the tone of her voice that she was only hinting at all that she knew. “Well, if there’s nothing I can do about it, why bother to warn me?” I said. “Whatever this thing is, I’m just supposed to wait for it to happen?”
“I can tell you no more,” Siva said. “You have been prepared, and now you have been warned. Remember in your darkest moments, what it is that you are.”
I found Butch and Dwana hovering just beyond the door. They were either afraid to leave me alone with Siva, or afraid to leave the mansion without me, probably both. I led the way back through the mansion with Dwana practically clinging to me. Butch ambled along behind us on his crutches, still trying to make sense out of it all. I didn’t speak again until we were back on the boat. As we pushed away from the pier, Dwana broke down in tears.
“Why’d you do it?” I said.
She bent over, burying her face in her hands. “I just wanted to make it right,” she said desperately. “I just wanted everything to go back to the way it was.”
“I don’t understand,” Butch said. “Why didn’t it work?”
“Because Dwana didn’t put the curse on Talia,” I said in a frustrated voice. “Somebody else did.”
Butch frowned, turning to stare at her. “But why? Why would you confess if you didn’t do it?”
“Because I didn’t know she could tell the difference,” Dwana said. “I thought she was just trying to get a confession, so I confessed!”
Butch frowned, considering that. “You confessed because you thought that was what Siva wanted? You were willing to accept the consequences for something you didn’t even do?”
Dwana burst into tears again. “I look like a fool,” she said. “I already look like a fool for falling in love with you, and now it’s even worse.”
“Ridiculous,” Butch said. “What you did was brave. Foolish, but brave.”
“Really?” she said, raising her eyes. Her mascara was running all over the place and she looked like a wreck. Gone was the elegant creature who had sauntered into my office a couple hours earlier. Butch put his arms around her and hugged her.
“We’re going to get Talia back,” he said. “It’s going to be okay.”
I saw them hugging and experienced a moment of worry. Then I saw how miserable and broken she looked and I knew that Butch wasn’t falling for her, he was just being a big brother. I started up the engine and gunned it. I wasn’t worried about being noticed on the way out of the Canals.
Back at the Mother tree, we put Dwana in a taxi and then went back to the jailhouse to analyze our situation. Butch and I sat down at my desk. I opened up the bottom drawer and pulled out my old bottle of Scotch. I don’t drink hard alcohol often, because it’s hard on my system, but I keep some of the good stuff for special occasions. I poured two shots and offered one to Butch.
“What’s this for?” he said. “You’re not giving up on me, are you?”
“Not at all,” I said. “I guess I’m just feeling a little sentimental, this being our last case and all.”
He got a distant look. “I hadn’t thought of that,” he said.
“It won’t be the same without you around.”
“Ah, you’ll get on fine.”
“I suppose, but you’ll be missed.” I raised my glass. “To my best and only deputy. May your life be long and boring.”
“Thanks, Boss.” He laughed and tossed the shot back. I swallowed the Scotch and then stared at the empty glass, feeling the warmth moving through my veins.
Butch glanced at the clock on the wall and set his glass down. “I guess I’d best be goin’,” he said. “Need to check on Talia.”
“Get some sleep,” I said. “You haven’t slept in two days.”
“You ain’t either, Boss. Don’t deny it, I can tell by lookin’ at ya.”
“Not much to show for it,” I said grimly. “I’ll call you in the morning if I come up with any ideas.”
Butch left me sitting alone at my desk, staring into that bottle. I was tempted to tip it back and take a few good swigs, but I also knew how my guts would feel in the morning if I did. My body isn’t designed for human food and liquor so I have to be moderate, especially when I’m working on a case. At the moment I was working on two. The fact that I’d come this far and still didn’t have a clue about either one made me want to break something.
I’d found Castle’s killer and exposed the crime ring, and I had brought Malone to justice. As nice as that was, it didn’t help with either of the cases I actually wanted to solve. I felt like a first rate failure. And then I noticed the message flashing on my phone and my heart sank a little further into despair. Reluctantly I pressed the button and listened to the message:
“Hank, it’s Annie. It’s almost nine. When were you going to pick me up? I’ll be waiting for you.”
I took a swig from the bottle and slammed it down on my desk, grimacing as the liquor burned its way to my gut. I dialed Annie’s number. She didn’t answer. I hung up and dialed again. The third time, I decided to leave a message.
“I’m sorry I missed our date tonight, Annie. I was helping Butch with his problem and things just got a little out of control. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. I’ll take you out to dinner tomorrow just like you wanted. Call me.”
I punished myself by taking another swig, and felt the alcohol burning a hole in my gut. A few more, I thought, and then it won’t hurt anymore…
I slept until noon and got up feeling so groggy that I could have slept the entire day. Unfortunately, I had far too much to get done. I stumbled into the bathroom, downing some antacid tablets to ease the churning in my gut and then took a cold shower. The temperature wasn’t by choice. The heat had gone out again. The utility services in the Mother tree are unreliable at best.
I had promised Gen that I would go down to the undercity police station and give her a statement, so I made that my first priority. It took about an hour to tell the detectives my whole story. When I was done, Gen thanked me and informed me that she’d gotten signed confessions out of Malone and both the Kevyles regarding their operation, but s
he hadn’t gotten a bite on Flick’s murder. She didn’t have any more clues than I did. In fact, she was hoping I might have come up with a lead because she had nothing.
“Sorry,” I said. “The whole case is still up in the air. What about the Kevyles? Are they going to prison?”
“Doubtful,” Gen said with a hint of remorse in her voice. “It’s between the lawyers and the police chief right now. I suspect they’ll settle for a fine and a few months of probation. Maybe even community service. If the chief prosecutes for more than that, the Kevyles will sue all the way to the Elders.”
That wasn’t surprising. The Kevyles had money and fame. I doubted even the Elders would give them more than a slap on the wrists. “What about Malone?” I grumbled.
“Hard to say. He put in years of service, so leniency wouldn’t surprise me.”
“Leniency?” I snarled. “Malone’s a murderer! And a crooked cop on top of it! You people gave him power and authority and a position of trust. He used that for profit, and for murder. You need to get your priorities straight.” I was practically shouting at that point, and I took a deep breath trying to calm myself as I noticed half the department staring at me.
“I can’t argue with you,” Gen said, “except that it’s not my call. Malone will go before a judge and probably plead his case to the Elders before it’s all over. They’re the ones to make that decision.”
There wasn’t much more to say. I needed some fresh air, so I thanked her for keeping me updated and I took off. I decided to walk around for a while and stew in my anger. I left the undercity through the nearest access point and stalked up and down the hilly San Francisco streets for an hour, staring at the sidewalk, completely oblivious to the traffic and noises around me. In my mind, I retraced every step I’d made from the moment Flick had called me. I re-imagined the crime scene and my confrontation with Malone on the beach. I recalled my visit with Nya. I went over it all step by step, looking for some missed clue.
Death in the Hallows (Hank Mossberg, Private Ogre Book 2) Page 15
