Unfallen Dead

by Mark Del Franco

  Keeva’s eyes blazed white-hot as she leaned in toward Powell’s terrified face. “Listen to me, Powell. You’re legally dead. Know what that means? If I kill you, there’s no crime. If you don’t start answering questions, I’ll keep killing you until I get them.”

  Powell’s eyes bulged as she clutched at the hand at her throat. Keeva let out a burst of essence that made the druidess convulse. Powell dropped to the floor. “Start talking,” Keeva said.

  Tears poured down Powell’s face as she coughed. “I demand an advocate,” she said.

  Keeva tangled her fingers in Powell’s hair. Dylan pulled away from me with enough force to send the message he wasn’t going to be stopped this time. “Enough,” he said.

  Keeva ignored him. She yanked Powell’s head up. “I’ll see if we have to allow an advocate in for a dead person. In the meantime, think about your soul stone.”

  She released Powell’s hair, turned on her heel, and tossed the ward stone to Dylan. He caught it one-handed.

  “You’re welcome,” she said to him as she walked out.

  26

  “I demand the return of my soul stone,” Powell said.

  Dylan reactivated the protection barrier around Powell. “You’re not in a position to demand anything.”

  She stared for so long, I could almost see her evaluating her options. “I have information to trade that the Guild will want to know.”

  Dylan held the soul stone between his thumb and index finger. Its pale blue surface had an intricate series of depressions that looked like ripples in the sand on a beach. “So talk,” he said.

  “I want a promise in writing to turn over the stone before I will say anything,” she said.

  Dylan shrugged. “I’ll need more than that before I agree, assuming I do. Make it worth it.”

  Powell adjusted her clothing and resumed her seat. “A terrorist attack on the Seelie Court is imminent. Is that enough for you?”

  Dylan twitched a small smile at me. “I already know that. I also know the sun rises every day, the sky is blue, and you’re not telling me anything. The Seelie Court is under constant threat of attack.”

  Powell kept her expression calm, but she couldn’t hide her annoyance. “Bergin Vize is going to launch an assault against High Queen Maeve.”

  Dylan moved toward the door. “Bergin Vize, Powell? Are you sure? Next you’ll be telling me the Elven King hates Maeve and fairies have wings. You don’t have anything to trade.”

  He gestured for Murdock and me to leave.

  “He’s found a way into TirNaNog,” Powell said.

  Dylan opened the door. “And now we move into fantasy.”

  Powell jumped to her feet. “You have less than hours before it happens. Give me the stone, and I will give you the names of all the Boston operatives I know that you didn’t arrest when the pimp was attacked.”

  Dylan paused. “Now that’s out of left field. Why should I care about them?”

  Powell let a little confidence slide into her posture when she saw Dylan’s hesitation. “Because they’re part of it. Get me that signed promise. Now. And I will tell you what you need to know.”

  “How do you know this?” he asked.

  She smiled. “You will get what I know in exchange for the written guarantee and the stone. How I know the information will be a point of discussion if you bring charges against me.”

  Smooth and confident. She was already negotiating the next phase before we had even agreed to the first. If Viten was her mentor, lovelorn widows didn’t have a chance against him. Dylan appeared to consider what she said. He left the room without another word, and we followed.

  Keeva was nowhere in sight outside the holding cell. If I had to guess, she was talking to the legal department about a hypothetical situation of an officially dead person’s rights. The legal guys would smile, not ask real questions, and try to come up with a convoluted strategy to justify what Keeva wanted. Hypothetically, of course. I would win a bet that Rhonda Powell was not officially in the building. Yet. I knew how it worked. I had played that game myself when I was an agent. It didn’t occur to me at the time that it was a bit fascist. I guess it never does when you’re in charge of it.

  Dylan raked his hand through his hair. “She’s good. And she does know something. She connected the attack on the pimp with Vize’s operatives. That’s not public knowledge.”

  Murdock stared at him. “What about the murder charges?”

  Dylan shrugged. “One thing at a time, Detective.”

  Murdock breathed out sharply through his nose. “If you have time, right? After the Guild takes care of its robbery and extortion charges, and some story about a terrorist attack, then maybe you’ll look at making her accountable for non-fey murders.”

  Dylan threw me an irritated look. Like I was responsible for Murdock’s annoyance and not the Guild status quo. “Some people would at least be satisfied that she’s in custody,” he said.

  Murdock shook his head. “It’s not the first time I’ve heard that one. I’m not some people. Some people would consider that two humans wouldn’t be dead today if the Guild had focused first on Viten’s fraud charges against a human woman ten years ago instead of his fey murder charges in New York. I’ll send our files over. Nice working with you.”

  He gave me a twisted smile and walked to the elevator.

  “Someone’s annoyed,” Dylan said.

  “Just because he knows how things work doesn’t mean he has to be happy about it.”

  “Like it’s my fault,” Dylan said.

  “If you’re not part of the solution . . .” I left the rest of it hanging. I didn’t want to get into it with him. Dylan had a Guild mind-set, one I knew well. We’d argue about it at some point, but right then I had only one thing on my mind. “When are you going to release Meryl?”

  “You shouldn’t be here without Detective Murdock. Let me show you out.” By the tone of his voice, he was talking for the guards’ benefit. Which meant he didn’t trust them.

  He pulled me away from the agents. “I need to play that carefully, Con. It’s going to take us a while to discredit Powell’s story about Meryl. Ceridwen won’t let her go easily.”

  A wave of anger made me feel hot. “You have an innocent person locked up, Dyl, and you want me to wait while you play politics?”

  He squeezed my arm. “Don’t be dense, Connor. If we don’t clear Meryl the right way, Ceridwen will find another excuse to hold her.”

  I steadied my breathing to calm myself. “What can you do, then?”

  He dropped his hand. “We’re missing something. I think it’s time we went back to square one.”

  “The Met robbery,” I said.

  “It happened before both the murders and the Guild robbery. It was the start of whatever her plan is. Let’s look at the file again.”

  The elevator doors opened on an empty Community Liaisons floor. Sundown was the traditional time for Samhain dinner, so the staff left early. Even so, Dylan closed the door to his office.

  Files and evidence bags covered the desk. Dylan flipped open a folder and removed the insurance photos of the stolen Met items: the three fibulae, the torc, and the ring. With his usual tidiness, he lined them up by age of item. “They span centuries. The ring is fourth-century Saxon, and the torc is sixth-century Norse. The three brooches are all fairy circa fifth century, but from three different clans.”

  I leaned over the desk for a closer look. “There’s no connection over that time period. They could be purposely random to hide the one item she really wanted.”

  Dylan slid the ring photo out of the line. “Okay, let’s pull the Saxon ring. Its value is in its antiquity. The Teutonic Consortium would never let a true ring of power sit in a museum without making some claim to it.”

  I had already dismissed the torc and ring as irrelevant. They were used to entice Belgor, which Dylan didn’t know. Powell was smart. She wouldn’t have risked losing them if her plans went wrong. The fact that
she did lose the torc and hadn’t tried to retrieve it was proof enough. I wondered about the ring, though. Belgor mentioned it was part of his payment yet not where it ended up the night he was attacked. He probably still had it, a nice antique that would be easier to off-load than the torc. Of course, I couldn’t tell Dylan all that. Not yet. Old partner and former Guild agent I may be, but at the moment I had the torc in my kitchen. Ceridwen would relish charging me with obstructing a Guild investigation and possession of stolen property.

  I pushed the photo aside. “Let’s pull the torc for the same reason.”

  That left the three fibulae—an apple tree, a mistletoe branch, and a horned serpent. Mystic symbols of life and the afterlife. A thrill of realization swept over me. “Put them back, Dylan. Put all of them back.”

  He lined up the photos again.

  I tapped each photo in turn as I talked. “They are all connected. The ring is an ouroboros—a guardian of eternal life—and it matches up with the horned-serpent brooch, which is a symbol of Cernunnos, the lord of the life cycle. The torc is another Cernunnos symbol—the sign of rule over the life cycle. The mistletoe and the apple tree are talismans to the land of the dead, which is also the land of the ever-living. It’s all circular. She’s trying to make some connection between life and death.”

  I crossed my arms in triumph. “I don’t believe a word she says, but I think she was telling the truth about Viten. She misses her boyfriend. She was trying to get into TirNaNog through any means she could except killing herself.”

  Dylan nodded slowly and pointed. “The apple-tree brooch. It must be a real silver branch that will grant her passage if the veil thins.”

  “That’s the obvious one. The mistletoe and the serpent could be genuine, too.”

  Dylan leaned back in his chair. “What about the dagger from the Guild storeroom? She stole it—twice.”

  “That, my friend, she specifically wanted for some reason. It’s not connected to the museum pieces in any way I know. Powell knows something about it we don’t.”

  He looked skeptical. “She’s not going to tell us.”

  Dylan was using the ward stone from Powell’s jacket as a paperweight on a pile of notes. I hefted it in my hand and put as much evil in my grin as I could. “I know someone who knows more about ancient artifacts than the two of us combined. You have her locked up.”

  Dylan closed his eyes melodramatically. “Why do I have the feeling this is going to be trouble?”

  Amused, I shrugged. “Trouble’s Meryl’s other main forte.”

  27

  The door to the cell room opened with a groan. On the bed, Meryl lounged, reading a book propped against her knees. Without looking up, she held out her index finger and continued reading. Dylan and I waited until she closed the book and dropped it on the bed. “Hey, guys, what’s up?”

  “It’s a breakout,” I said.

  She swung her feet to the floor. “Can we wait until after dinner? I ordered the lobster.”

  Dylan shook his head. “You are an odd person.”

  She grinned at him. “That never gets old.”

  I showed her the quartz warding stone. “Look familiar?”

  She grabbed it. “My amplifier! Where the hell did you find it?”

  “Rhonda Powell. She was using it to impersonate you.”

  Meryl passed the stone back and forth between her hands. “I can’t believe I bought that bitch lunch.”

  “It has your essence all over it. Powell used it to get into the Viten evidence room. That’s why it looked like you opened the door.”

  “We have her in custody,” Dylan said.

  Meryl scrunched up her face and closed one eye. “Does this mean I can’t have the lobster?”

  I took the chair nearest the bed. “The Guild insists on it. Dylan thinks he should wait to release you until Powell’s discredited.”

  She pursed her lips, then blinked a few times. “Okay.”

  That threw me. “Okay? Meryl, it’s ridiculous.”

  Indifferent, she stretched back on the bed. “I’m getting paid while I sit here and read, Grey. It’s even better than jury duty because they feed me and the food is good. Did I mention I ordered lobster for dinner?”

  “Odd, odd person,” Dylan muttered

  While Dylan spread the museum photos on the table, I explained the setup at the Ardman townhouse that had led to Powell’s capture.

  “I hate to say it, but Keeva does know her shit,” said Meryl.

  I laughed. “You should have seen Powell’s face when Keeva crushed the fake soul stone.”

  Despite his discomfort with the way Keeva handled Powell, amusement crept onto Dylan’s face. “I did get a little satisfaction at that. But it was more satisfying seeing the look on Ardman’s face when I gave her soul back.”

  Meryl looked impressed. “You know how soul stones work?”

  He shrugged modestly. “It’s an old interest.”

  I pulled a chair to the table. “Anyway, Meryl, since you are being paid as you say, maybe you can earn some of it and get yourself out of here.”

  I ran down my theory regarding the Met items. Meryl examined each photograph and played with their layout. She likes to pretend she doesn’t care, but a good puzzle is red meat to her. Finally, she nodded. “I think you’re right about her getting into TirNaNog. If the veil opens, it’s an opportunity she wouldn’t want to miss. But she’s not going for a visit.”

  She slid on the bed to lean against the wall. “You’re missing the obvious question: Why kill everyone related to the Viten case if Viten is dead?”

  “Revenge,” said Dylan.

  Unconvinced, Meryl rocked her head from side to side. “Think it through. She’s had ten years to do that, but she didn’t.

  Now she has a chance to visit her dead lover. Why risk getting caught by taking revenge on the people who brought him down? The only reason that makes sense is if Viten is alive.”

  “It’s Samhain,” I said. “If the veil opens, he can come here.”

  “Right. But he would only be able to stay for the night until sunrise. That’s when the veil closes,” she said. “Why not use a soul dagger and accomplish something bigger?”

  Dylan arched an eyebrow at her. “The Breton knife is a soul dagger?”

  Meryl grinned. “It seeks living essence. That’s why I had it warded the way I did—to keep it from stabbing anyone who walked in the room.”

  I looked from Dylan to Meryl. “I’m lost.”

  Dylan shook his head in amazement. “It works like a ward stone. It absorbs essence—life essence especially. I didn’t make the connection because the knife is so old. I had no idea those kinds of blades were used that long ago. Powell captured the life essence of her victims.”

  Meryl stretched out on her side. “She essence-shocked them, then trapped their life essence in the Breton dagger.”

  “I get it. I don’t get why,” I said.

  Meryl leaned forward with an avid look. “Winny wasn’t going to visit Viten. She was mounting a rescue. She was going to try to pull him out of TirNaNog. With everyone involved in the case dead, they could live happily ever after.”

  Dylan gathered the photos and put them back in the folder. “The living can enter TirNaNog with a silver branch, but the dead can leave if they acquire enough soul essence. All Viten had to do was kill a living person with the dagger. The feedback from the souls in the blade would revitalize his own soul enough to win release from TirNaNog.”

  My head bopped between them like a Ping-Pong ball. “Okay, I guess I’m the class dunce. I never heard of any of this.”

  Dylan stood by the door. “Some people actually read a book or two after training, Con, and not just when they have a specific need of the moment.”

  Meryl cocked her head. “Really? He did things in the need of a moment? No long-term investment?”

  Dylan shifted his eyes back and forth between us. “Uh . . . I don’t think I’m touching that one. I’m going
downstairs to talk to Powell again.”

  Meryl pulled herself to the edge of the bed. “Downstairs? You have her downstairs? Where downstairs?”

  Dylan paused in thought. “This side, fourth cell down.”

  Meryl leaped to her feet. “Idiots!”

  She knocked Dylan aside, tore open the door, and ran past the startled guard. The guard hesitated, uncertain whether to pursue her.

  “We got it,” I said. Meryl was already down the hall and going through the stairwell door. Dylan and I jostled each other chasing after her. “She’s going to beat the hell out of her, you know,” I said.

  “Wouldn’t be the first time that happened today, would it?” he asked.

  We hit the lower level in time to catch Meryl struggling with the guards outside Powell’s cell. The two Dananns had her arms pinned to her sides. I knew that determined look on her face. She glowed with a rich green light and released a burst of essence. The guards fell, stunned. Meryl kicked open the door and rushed inside. We reached the cell. Hands on her hips, Meryl stared at the empty space within the essence barrier. Powell was gone.

  “How did she get out?” Dylan said.

  Meryl pointed down. “Trapdoor in the floor.”

  Dylan gaped. “How the hell would she know that? How did you?”

  Meryl rolled her eyes. “She was chief archivist before me. Winny showed me half the secret doors in this place.”

  Dylan released the barrier. Meryl crouched and pressed five floor pavers in sequence. Essence flared around the edges and vanished. A dark hole appeared. She sat down and swung her feet into the opening.

  Dylan grabbed her shoulder. “Whoa! Where do you think you’re going?”

  The glare Meryl threw at his hand could have shriveled it. He judiciously removed it. “After her,” she said.

  “We’ll go. You’re under house detention,” he said.

  Meryl glowered at him. I’ve seen that look, too. “I know these tunnels. You don’t. You either come with me, and I let you pretend I’m still in your custody, or get the hell out of my way.”