“It is all fine, Bertha,” a smooth, female voice with a hint of a German accent declared from behind the imposing nurse. “I will take care of this man and whatever troubles he brings.”
“As you say, Dr. Fremd. You want me to start some paperwork?”
“No. I will attend to that, too.”
Bertha gave the tall, very thin woman wearing the rounded glasses a nod, then, with a last suspicious glance at me, headed down the corridor. She no doubt believed that the doctor was dealing with a bootlegger or some other miscreant.
“Dr. Fremd.”
“Mr. Medea. It has been some time.”
There was a hint of gray in her bound blond hair. When I’d last met with Margaret Fremd, she’d been at least ten years younger. She was still an attractive woman, but there were now lines at the edges of her eyes. Her expression hadn’t changed in a decade, though.
“Some time, yes. I have a patient.”
There was an almost imperceptible flickering of the eyes. “One of those?”
“No. Just a friend who was mugged.”
“‘Just a friend who was mugged.’ How different for you. Will he need to be overnight?”
“I think so. Maybe a few days, even.”
She adjusted her jacket. Margaret Fremd had studied at both Heidelberg and Chicago, but as a female physician, she’d had few options. Of course, there were other reasons for her choice of hospitals, not the least of which had ties to something that’d happened in Germany. She’d been here the last time I’d spoken with Williams. He’d made her our liaison.
Dr. Fremd adjusted her glasses. “You will need help with him, Mr. Medea?”
“No.”
“Bring him here, then.”
I nodded and quickly returned to the Packard.
“Who was that?” Claryce asked.
“Someone who can watch over Barnaby.” I hefted him out of the car, then carried him toward the hospital.
Dr. Fremd was waiting for me . . . along with a bull of a man who made Bertha look tiny.
“My associate will take him,” she ordered. Eyeing Barnaby, the doctor asked, “How long ago did this happen?”
“A few hours ago. Will there be a problem?”
“Of course not. I suggest we put him in the fifth room, Jackson.”
“Yes, Margaret.”
As he carried off Barnaby, Dr. Fremd stared at me over her glasses. “Are you renewing your relationship with the hospital, Mr. Medea? I would like some warning if you are.”
“No. This was unexpected.”
“So was what happened with your last ‘friend’ you left with us. We cannot afford a repeat of that. The hospital faces trouble enough without your ways interfering.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll try to avoid bringing any trouble. I swear.”
She gave a faint nod. “The woman with you. It is her, is it not?”
Glasses or not, the doctor had damned good eyes. “Yes.”
“I see.” She took off her glasses, and only then did I remember what I’d learned the first time we’d met. Margaret Fremd had grown up believing in fairy tales, only to find out the true story was darker than anything the Brothers Grimm had ever collected. “Do your best to keep her safe this time, yes?”
Before I could answer, she turned and shut the door behind her.
I headed back to the car. Claryce watched me as I seated myself. “Will he be all right there?”
“There’s no place safer, I think.”
“How long have you known her, Nick?” After I told her, she nodded. “I thought it was even longer. Does she know who you really are?”
“Dr. Williams—he founded the hospital—told her.”
Claryce studied the building. “Does Kravayik know this place?”
“Yes. I had to bring him here once.”
“How long has the hospital been here?”
I thought about it. “I believe 1891.”
She leaned back. “Back in 1891.”
As I started up the Packard, I wondered why she was interested. Only when I’d turned the car around and headed back for her apartment did I think about the fact that Claryce had actually still not truly fathomed my existence. I looked only a decade or so older than her; that made everything I said—even everything she’d seen—secondary.
But now . . . now maybe she was digesting the enormity.
And not liking it.
CHAPTER 19
There was a car parked near Claryce’s apartment. A familiar black Ford Runabout.
Cortez.
“What’s he doing here? And at this time?” I muttered.
“Is that Cortez?”
“None other.” There was no chance of avoiding him seeing us unless he’d fallen asleep, which I doubted the good detective would do. Cortez was one of the sharpest, most dedicated men I’d known in centuries. Unfortunately, that meant that he often got too close to the truth where I was concerned.
Sure enough, Cortez climbed out of the Ford even as we neared. Unlit cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, he waited while we parked.
As we headed toward Claryce’s building, Cortez stirred from his location. Plucking the cigarette out, he called, “Nick Medea! And the lovely Miss Simone, good!”
“Not exactly a good night for visiting, Cortez. That is what you’re doing . . . visiting?”
“Yes and no. Mostly, I’m here to ask a few things of the lovely lady here, you know?”
I peeked past him. He’d come alone, which meant the questions might be a little more personal than we wanted. “Do you ever go off duty? When’s your Maria and the children ever see you?”
He frowned. “She asks me that, too, sometimes. I do miss them when I’m not home, you know? I’ll be getting home to them after I finish up here.”
“What did you want to know, Detective Cortez?” Claryce asked, not once hinting in any manner that he should come inside with us.
Cortez chuckled. He put the cigarette back in his mouth for a moment, then commented, “Miss Simone, I’m trying to trace one Dr. Alexander Bond. Found out from a fellow employee at Delke that you’d dealt with him about a piece of property.”
Claryce crossed her arms. “I’m not really an employee of Delke anymore.”
“But you did see this Dr. Bond?”
“What do you want to know about him, Cortez?” I asked.
He started to reach into his coat pocket for his Luckys. I shook my head before he could get far. “Say, that’s right. The property the people at Delke spoke about is right across from that place we discussed. You know, the ‘Murder Castle.’”
He had a good memory. “Coincidence.”
“‘Coincidence.’ Ha! You know what my Maria says about coincidence? She says there’s no such thing. Isn’t that something?”
I kept my expression neutral. “Sure is.”
Cortez shrugged. “Anyway, is there something you can tell me about him? Did he mention going anywhere or say any name?”
“Nothing, Detective,” she answered honestly. “I’m sorry.”
“No, you should be very happy. Happy you’re alive, you know? I suspect the doctor of murder.”
We tried to look startled. Evidently we succeeded enough.
“You know that body I asked you to see,” he said to me. “The others I talked about, too. I asked around, find this name popping up. Buys some old books from a place that gives me the heebie-jeebies. Picks up an antique knife from another. A couple of odd things here and there. Leaves his name all over, like he’s daring someone to put it all together.”
I had no doubt that Bond—Holmes—had been doing just that. Either he’d been mocking the city that’d once been his killing ground or he’d been daring any of his potential enemies . . . both human and Feirie.
And despite the fact that I’d never come across Holmes before all this, I couldn’t help thinking that maybe he’d left the clues for me, as well. He seemed to know me, know what I was and about my link to the dra
gon. I was sure I could lay the blame on someone from Feirie, maybe especially this Lysander.
“So, this meeting you had with Dr. Bond, Miss Simone, that was the only contact?”
“With Dr. Bond? Other than the initial telephone call, yes.”
I noticed the way she phrased it. Not exactly a lie.
“Keep an eye on her, Nick Medea. I mean it. No baloney, Bo. With things all heating up between the gangs, we don’t need no madman trying to be the next Beast, you know?”
“No. Definitely.”
My, we are all paragons of virtue, ever the truth dripping from our lips. . . .
Shut up!
“That’s all, then.” Cortez tipped his hat at Claryce, started to turn, then seemed to remember something. “Oh, Maria would tan my hide if I forgot.”
From another coat pocket, he removed a small medallion. He gently placed it in Claryce’s palm.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“A gift from my Maria. She said she wanted you to have it.”
Claryce looked from Cortez to me. “I’ve never actually met her. Why would she do this?”
He looked very apologetic. “My Maria, she . . . she has these feelings. She prays for people she’s not met. You already know that. Sometimes she gives them things, too. Medallions. See that woman on the top? That’s our Lady of Guadalupe! Maria and I, we take the children to her church at least twice a week . . . well, Maria does. I manage Sunday, mostly.”
“Thank you. I mean that.”
He gestured at me. “Nick here should appreciate the other side, you know? Don’t know where Maria got it. Think she had it made. She does things like that.”
Claryce turned it over. “I can’t make it out.”
“Nick will recognize it when he sees it. Saint Michael the archangel!” With that, Cortez tipped his hat at both of us and headed off.
I did a good job of acting unperturbed as the detective drove off. Claryce handed me the medallion. I summoned the dragon’s vision, and sure enough, the other side had Saint Michael in all his blazing glory. The image was stylized, so it pretty much looked like every other image of an angel I’d seen.
“Coincidence?” Claryce asked.
“You know how I feel about that.”
“I know. That’s why I asked.”
She headed toward the apartment. I followed, but not without a glance to each side.
“I am here, Master Nicholas,” Fetch muttered from my right.
“Not looking for you.”
He sniffed the air. “No hint of goons, Master Nicholas. All’s copacetic.”
I just nodded. I doubted he’d be able to smell an angel . . . especially one like Michael.
I called Dunning the next day to see if there was any clue from past visits to Joseph, but learned nothing new. I then called Provident to see if there was any change in Barnaby’s condition.
Fremd wasn’t there, but someone else familiar to the case answered.
“This is Jackson, Mr. Medea,” he said in that deep voice. “Your friend is still unconscious, but breathing well.” Jackson then went into medical detail well above my knowledge. I’d spent a lot of time patching up the wounded during my centuries, but I’d never bothered to learn any of the Latin lingo.
“Will he be fine?” I asked when he was finished.
“I still have another year of study before I can say it officially, but yes, sir, I believe he will.”
I tried to imagine an imposing figure like Jackson as a healer. In the old days, his lot in life would’ve been determined early on, most likely as a soldier or something due simply because of his strength. Now, though, entire new avenues were open to anyone who had a good head on his shoulders and who was willing to take a risk.
After thanking him, I hung up.
Claryce entered the room, looking far too fresh considering she’d only gone off to bed about four hours earlier. “Find anything?”
“No sign of Joseph, Barnaby will be okay, and it’s true, you can’t judge a very large book by its cover.”
“I don’t even want to know what that means.” She’d changed into an outfit akin to the one she’d worn yesterday, only green and clearly warmer. “What do we do next?”
“I want to go check where Holmes’s old lair used to stand. He wasn’t near there just for us. At the very least, there’s something about the vicinity.” I cleared my throat. “If you could—”
Her eyes flared with fire worthy of the dragon. “Don’t say another word! I’m going with you, and that’s that.”
I considered knocking her out, but didn’t want to leave her helpless in case Holmes sent some of his human goons looking for us. True, I could’ve left Fetch with her, but I needed him with me when I returned to West Sixty-Third Street. “All right. Just . . . always be careful.”
“You, too. You’re not exactly immortal, remember.”
No, far from that, are we? my constant companion interjected snidely. Do try to watch our back, yes? I may not always be there for you. . . .
I gave him no response. Then, I noticed Claryce eyeing something in her hand. “Is that the medallion?”
“Yes. You know . . . it does give me some comfort, I’ve got to admit.”
Several rather unsaintly comments came to mind, but then a notion occurred to me. “Before we head to West Sixty-Third, I want to make a stop in Saint Michael’s.”
“You need to discuss something with Father Jonathan?”
I scowled. “No. I’m hoping to speak to his superior.”
Father Jonathan was busy with church matters, which made the situation easier. He gave me just enough time to tell me that he’d only thought he’d seen the ghost once and that was a rather questionable sighting.
Fetch waited outside in the Packard. Alone now with Claryce, I studied the altar, then eyed the image of Saint Michael. Of course, it didn’t match either of my suspected Michaels, but that didn’t matter.
“Okay, Michael,” I muttered. “We’re in your home now. I appreciate your help, such as it is, but I’d like to finally have one face-to-face with you . . . with whichever face you want to wear, just so long as you’re here. What about it?”
From the front pew, Claryce gave me a look of reprimand. I just arched my brow at her. Sure, it was a long shot, but I saw no reason not to take the chance. I couldn’t help wondering if my constant praying here had been one reason why Michael’d taken a hand in some situations. Still, that help had been spotty at best, certainly not reliable. I wanted to know why.
“In all the years you’ve prayed here, I have never seen him, Georgius.”
I didn’t even look to my right, where Diocles’s voice had risen from. “Maybe you’re just not high on Heaven’s list right now.”
“Perhaps, but I would think you would be.”
That made me laugh, even though it wasn’t at all funny. “I’m probably lower on the list than you are.” Still, I felt a little foolish having tried now that Diocles was also present. “But yeah, probably not going to hear anything . . . as usual.”
“Nick . . . who’re you talking to? Is that . . . Diocletian?”
“She need not be so formal about me. Tell her ‘Diocles’ will do.”
Now I finally looked at him . . . and the wall behind him, of course. “She can’t see or hear you. Doesn’t matter what you want her to call you.”
“Nick . . .” Claryce stood. “I don’t know about hearing him, but I think . . . I think . . . is he to your right . . . just beyond arm’s reach?”
He was . . . and I didn’t know who looked more perplexed, the emperor or me. “Yeah, that’s about right. Exactly what do you see?”
“Just a general shape. About your height. I have to keep focusing on it, but it’s definitely there.”
“She does see me!” Diocles declared almost jubilantly.
“Calm yourself. She sees a blob. Nothing more.” First the priest, who, being attuned to this place, had made some sense, and now Claryce.
<
br /> “I thought I saw something once, when you first brought me here to hide me from Oberon’s men, but this . . . this is definite, Nick.”
I rubbed my chin. “How do you feel, Diocles?”
“I am dead. I do not feel.”
“Comedian. Is anything different? Even from when we talked in the cemetery.” I hated mentioning Saint Boniface in front of Claryce. Fortunately, she seemed too intrigued by her first run-in with a ghost.
He shimmered. “I think I can . . . manifest . . . better. It is not exactly like when the creature who shares your body sought the card in the cathedral. That was a different sensation, almost as if I lived for a moment.” Diocles abruptly sighed. “If only for a moment.”
The longing in his voice as he said the last disturbed me. I had my resentments where he was concerned—“resentments” a kind term considering he’d ordered my head lopped off—but for an instant, I felt for him. Even in my current condition, I didn’t exactly feel alive anymore, but that hardly compared to his condition.
“And now?” I pressed when he just stood there.
“And now . . . and now I feel as if more energy coalesces in me.”
If anything, his answer only worried me. I could think of just one reason why he might be growing stronger. Joseph’d talked about it in his own frustratingly mad way.
The Frost Moon’s wake was affecting things more and more. It wasn’t even close to starting to fade yet.
That was why Holmes had kidnapped Joseph. Joseph knew such things, even now. Holmes had something in mind that had to happen when the wake’s effect was strongest. If he waited any longer, he wouldn’t have access to the energies he needed.
I could only imagine just what he had in mind.
“Think hard, Diocles. Has this felt gradual, or was it in spurts?”
He smoothed his robes as he thought. It occurred to me that he was actually trying to look a little neater for Claryce even though she could only make out a shadow.
“It comes . . . as waves. Yes. Waves. That’s it.”
“Right now. Is it receding or rising?”
“Receding, but barely. Now that I think of it, it is strongest in the afternoon, then around midnight.”
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