Unquiet Dreams cg-2

by Mark Del Franco

  I cleared my throat. “What happened?”

  “We hid in there. We thought no one saw us. There was a loud sound like a big wind, and Croda pushed me down behind her. The next thing I knew, everything was flying apart. Sunlight was coming in, and Croda was screaming. Something reached in and grabbed Denny. Croda stopped screaming, but I could hear fey-fire. I couldn’t see very well, but it looked like two people were in the air fighting. I think one was a fairy dressed in black, and the other was the troll from Unity.”

  I looked over her and frowned. “A troll? In the air? In daylight?”

  She nodded. “I don’t get it either. The troll had Denny, then the guy in black grabbed him away and flew off. I waited until I didn’t hear anything anymore. Croda told me if anything happened to her, I should find Moke and tell him what happened and that he would take care of me. So that’s what I did. I’ve been there ever since.”

  Murdock was standing on the opposite side of Croda from me. He moved nothing but his eyes, examining the frozen figure. She looked like a statue with clothes on. I started doing my own exam. “She’s petrified,” I said for his benefit. “Literally. As best I know, trolls don’t just turn to stone when exposed to sunlight. They’re attuned to stone. They call it the bones of the earth. It’s their fey ability. When they’re exposed to sunlight, their bodies become hyperconductors and immediately begin absorbing minerals from everything nearby. The sun acts as catalyst for a petrification process that happens in minutes.”

  “Sounds painful,” said Murdock.

  I nodded. It had to be. Effectively, she had mineralized, every cell in her body turning solid with compounds of iron or carbon or silica or whatever other elements were in the soil. The land we were on was an old industrial area. All kinds of chemical waste were below us. She glittered dully in the afternoon light, like a dirty cut gemstone in muted shades of white, black, red, and blue. I couldn’t help thinking she was sadly beautiful in death in a way she could never be in life.

  “…run, Dennis. Get out of here…” a male voice called out. Both Murdock and I jumped back. Crystal screamed and ran. The voice had come from Croda.

  “What just happened?” Murdock said.

  “Give me a minute,” I said. I let my eyes roam over her, trying to find something out of place. Squatting down, I looked behind her and found the source of the voice. In Croda’s left hand, the one hidden behind her back, was a small obelisk that fit almost entirely in her palm.

  Murdock came around to my side. I stood and looked at Croda. “She has a ward stone fused into her hand. It must be a recorder. Her whole body is a ward stone now.”

  Wards can be charged with essence and spelled for all kinds of things. The ones back at my apartment worked like alarms. Some can immobilize anyone that comes within their fields. And some can work like glow bees, only they can record a lot more. To listen to them, you just have to hit them with the right amount of essence. I must have touched Croda, and my body essence triggered the recording. I placed my hand on her arm. I could hear a faint whisper, but nowhere near the clarity of the first time.

  “What’s wrong?” said Murdock.

  “I don’t know. Who knows what her body structure is now. The connection must be intermittent.” I looked at him. “I hate to say it, but we need a stronger fey to pull the data off the ward.”

  Murdock looked around the courtyard. “Where’s Crystal?”

  I didn’t have to look. Her fear was so strong, I could sense her essence through the building passage. “I’m pretty sure she’s hiding in the backseat of the car.”

  “At least the car is still there,” he said.

  I laughed and shook my head. We picked our way out of the shed and walked back to the shattered building. A glitter of light caught my eye, and I stepped to the side.

  “You find something?” Murdock asked.

  He joined me near the edge of the courtyard. Sitting on the ground, half-covered in dirt, was the round, reflective helmet of a Guild security guard. It must have been knocked off in the fight. “I think we know where Crystal’s fairy in black was from anyway. Got any gloves on you?” I asked.

  Murdock patted his coat pockets and came up with one. I slipped it on and picked up the helmet. Definitely Guild issue. There were no identifying marks on it, though. There didn’t need to be. The inside of the helmet retained the essence of the wearer. I looked at Murdock. “We have a problem. Let’s get out of here before we’re seen.”

  I hurried into the building, with Murdock on my heels.

  “What? What did you find?” he said, as we came out on the other side.

  “Crystal?” I called out. She poked her head up inside the car. I turned to Murdock.

  “You need to make that safe house call now. That kid’s got a target on her a mile wide,” I said.

  “What the hell are you talking about, Connor? Whose helmet is that?”

  I looked up and down the street but did not see anyone. That didn’t mean there weren’t ears to hear. “Not here.”

  We got in the car. “Don’t back up. Take us out to Drydock Ave and loop around the Weird. I don’t want anyone on Harbor Street to see us if we can avoid it. Crystal, keep your head down.”

  Murdock drove quickly up the service road. Unfortunately, it took us deeper into the Tangle. The buildings loomed in, soot-stained and ominous. Years of fey occupation had left their imprint. What had once been standard industrial buildings had taken on grotesque flourishes. Gargoyles hugged lintels and rooftops. Windows had become leering portals of twisted stone. An odor permeated the car, acrid and chemical, evidence of spellcasters. My head started ringing like it did whenever I was near a scrying. From the pain, several people must have been trying to read the future. I closed my eyes against it, but it didn’t help. The pain was inside me. A few moments latter, it subsided and was gone. I opened my eyes. We were out of the Tangle.

  “Take me home,” I said.

  We didn’t speak the entire way. When Murdock pulled up in front of my building, I hopped out and went around to his side of the car. “Get Crystal into hiding, then call me. I’ll fill you in.”

  “You’re not going to tell me now?” he asked.

  I made my eyes shift significantly to Crystal, and Murdock got the message. I wasn’t about to get her more involved than she already was. “Call me later.”

  I leaned down to look at Crystal. She was clearly terrified. “You did good, Crystal. Just listen to Detective Murdock, and you’ll be okay.”

  “Thanks, dude,” she said softly.

  I tapped the door. “Call me,” I said to Murdock.

  “Will do, ‘dude.’” He gave me a quick nod and pulled away.

  I looked down at the Guild helmet still in my hand. Something dangerous was going on that I didn’t have a handle on. Odd people were crossing paths. It seemed too bizarre to be just about drug runners out of the Tangle anymore. Whatever was happening wasn’t going to like seeing the light of day. And the one thing I knew was key to putting it into place, was figuring out why Ryan macGoren’s essence was inside a Guild security helmet at a murder scene.

  Chapter 12

  After doing the digging on macGoren’s business, I decided to see if I could get the other side of his story. Kruge obviously wasn’t going to talk, but I thought someone else might. I hoofed it up to the subway and rode it into Copley Square.

  The Teutonic Consortium consulate looks completely out of place in the Back Bay neighborhood near the square. I don’t doubt it’s just the way the Consortium likes it. It’s a Bauhaus concrete structure in the middle of Victorian town-houses on Commonwealth Avenue. Out front stands a two-story statue of a grim-looking Donor Elfenkonig, the Elven King, dressed in light battle armor, one hand holding a sword, the other a staff. The staff used to be a niding pole, which is essentially a cursing staff. A horse’s skull sat on the top, not so subtly pointed at the Ward Guildhouse several blocks away. Because of the Guildhouse’s own protections, it never had much
effect, but it annoyed the hell out of a woman who lived directly across the street from the consulate. She sued and would have never have won in court, but she did in the media. The Consortium might be guilty of many things, but even it didn’t want to appear to be cursing a retired old lady. They removed the horse head to stop protesters from hitting it with paintballs.

  I walked into the lobby for the first time in years. Unlike the Guildhouse, the consulate had been decorated to impress. In contrast to the austere exterior, wooden panels carved with intricate forest scenes lined the lobby walls. Depending on your politics, you either thought they looked like dramatic pastorals or jackboot Disney illustrations. The bunnies were pretty tough looking. Overstuffed seating arrangements filled the rest of the room, soft velvets and earth-toned brocades. Near the inner door to the main offices, photographs of Consortium notables hung with grandiose descriptions of their contributions to the world.

  I stepped up to a reception desk behind which sat two male elves and a dwarf, all dressed in the same style plain gray tunics.

  “Guten Tag. I would like to speak with someone to arrange a meeting with the Marchgrafin Kruge, please.” I knew better than to ask directly for the widow Kruge. That would have shown a distinct lack of ignorance of her status.

  All three looked at me sharply, and one of the elves chanted under his breath. I could feel a protective shield build between us. No surprise. The Consortium had pulled Eorla Kruge from her estate for protection before I even left her husband’s murder scene.

  “Name, please?” said the other elf.

  “Guild Director Connor Grey.” I pulled out the Guild ID, which I still had from yesterday. I was definitely moving in the wrong circles again.

  The elf took the ID and muttered over it, checking for the Guildhouse essence seal. He told the other two in German it was authentic. “Please wait, sir,” he said as he picked up the phone.

  And I did, a long hour before another elf arrived from within the building. He was tall, dressed as security in red and black, and had a billy club on his waist. “I am the Marchgrafin’s assistant. How may I help you?”

  I stood to face him. He didn’t look like a keeper of business calendars. “I’d like to see the Marchgrafin.”

  “She is in mourning, sir, and not to be disturbed.”

  “I understand. I need a few minutes of her time on an urgent matter related to her husband.”

  “She has had many such requests,” he said.

  “From Guild directors?”

  He didn’t respond.

  “You have my credentials. Perhaps you would prefer to call Guildmaster Eagan to confirm my mission further?”

  His face made it clear that he didn’t like the subtle threat to go over his head. He walked to the reception desk and consulted with the other two elves. They cast looks at me several times. A few moments later, they stopped talking as the security agent considered. I hoped he didn’t call Eagan. The Guildmaster would back me up, but I hated having to get an adult’s okay. The agent picked up the phone and dialed. He spoke for a bit, then hung up and ignored me. I overheard enough to understand he called a superior rather than Eagan. Another twenty minutes went by, and two more security guards arrived. The first came back over to me.

  “Are you armed, sir?” He didn’t call in two more agents because he thought I was defenseless.

  “Of course,” I said.

  “We will extend your rank the courtesy of retaining your weapon, but you may not draw it or appear to do so. You will not be allowed within twenty feet of the Marchgrafin. If you hesitate to follow any directives issued by any of the Marchgrafin’s assistants, the consequences shall be swift and severe. Is that amenable to you?”

  I smirked. “Amenable’s not the word I would have chosen, but sure, that works for me.” I couldn’t help myself. The Consortium is so damned officious. He led me through the inner doors, and the other two agents fell in behind us. My head began to ache as they chanted, little nosey cantrips testing my defenses. For once, my missing abilities worked in my favor. The lack of even minor defenses conveniently sent the message that they weren’t worth my trouble and probably was giving them a minor anxiety attack.

  We rode an elevator in silence to the third floor. When the door opened, another set of security guards guarded the floor lobby. They were not taking any chances with Eorla. We walked down a long, stately hallway of pilasters and landscape oils and several closed doors. They led me into a large receiving room, easily thirty feet long and half as wide, a library lined with books I’m sure no one ever read. A healthy fire kept the room a little too warm. A single chair faced me across the wide floor, but I was not offered one of my own. Two of the guards entered with me, and we all waited while the third disappeared without saying anything.

  A door at the far end of the room opened, and I was surprised I did not have to wait long for the Marchgrafin. She swept into the room with the first security guard at her heels. There was no mistaking who was in charge. Here we were in her element. I could feel the resonance of Power before she even reached me, some of it from her rings, but her personal essence was considerable.

  Apparently, she had not been given the dictate of twenty feet because she continued walking past the chair. The security guards behind me immediately stepped in front of me to block me from her.

  I smiled at her. She did not change her expression, but stared at me for several moments.

  “Leave us,” she said without moving her gaze.

  Behind her, the first security guard stepped forward to stand by her side. “We have orders, m’lady.”

  She merely shifted her eyes at him. It didn’t take a genius to understand a sending argument was going on between them. The guard lowered his gaze and flushed. “As you wish, m’lady,” he said with a curt bow. He spoke to the other two guards in Old Elvish, telling them to take up positions outside the door. I found it amusing that they assumed I spoke neither German nor their own language. Once they had vacated the room, Eorla nodded and turned away from me.

  “Let’s sit by the fire,” she said in a firm voice that said she was used to directing.

  As I took a side chair from along the wall, I realized she was pulling her own chair forward. “Here, let me,” I said.

  “I’ve moved more than enough chairs on my own.” Not bitchy, just matter-of-factly. I liked that in a royal elf, though I hadn’t expected that from Eorla.

  We settled before the fire facing each other. She was quite beautiful, beautiful in that uncanny way a woman can be where you can’t quite believe anyone can look that way. Her haughtiness enhanced her attractiveness, though she was clearly a woman who drew her strength from who she was, not what she looked like.

  “I know you are here-born, as they call it, Connor Grey, yet I sense something ancient about you. You have an old weapon with you?” she asked.

  Without hesitation, I pulled my dagger from my boot. It really was ancient, a gift from my mentor Briallen, and had already saved my life once. It had a worn and stained sheath, but the hilt shone like newly forged silver and gold, with a large ruby on the pommel. Without hesitation, I held it out to her. If I had anything to worry about from Eorla Kruge, the blade wouldn’t help me.

  When she reached for the dagger, a few runes on the old sheath glowed a light blue when the field of her essence came near. Her hand hovered over the pommel, then closed into a fist without touching it. “It has been many years since I held a blade. I do not think now is the time to start again. Can you turn it for me?”

  Eorla leaned forward and examined the dagger as I displayed it from several angles for her. As I pulled the blade out slightly, she grabbed my arm. “Don’t. I sense it has an edge that yearns for blood. It is an undaunted weapon. Draw it only with purpose. I have seen it once before, a long, long time ago, in a very sad time.”

  “I just thought you’d like to see some of the inner engraving.”

  She leaned back in her chair. “Thank you. Why do you c
laim to be a Guild director?”

  I shrugged. “It was more a half-truth. Would they have called you otherwise?”

  “If I knew you were here, yes. It’s not every day one gets to meet the man who almost killed Bergin Vize.”

  I hesitated before responding. In Germany, many people considered Vize to be a hero. The guards might have been uncomfortable leaving Eorla alone with me, but now I felt uncertain being left alone with her. “He almost killed me, too.”

  She nodded. “I know. Why are you here?”

  “A young human boy was murdered the same night as your husband, and I believe the deaths may be related.”

  The corners of her lips pulled down. “I was not told of this.”

  “The Guild thinks he’s not worth the trouble. I was hoping you could tell me anything regarding your husband’s murder that might help?”

  A bitter line crossed her face. “This division between fey and human is exactly what Alvud fought against. The night he died, Alvud said he had a meeting with a troll. I know the Guild is focusing on a troll woman that worked at the Unity offices. They do not seem able to uncover any new information. Are you saying you have?”

  “I found some blood evidence in my case that may have been your husband’s.”

  Eorla frowned. “I can’t tell you how odd it is to have someone say that to me.”

  “I’m sorry. Can you tell me who might have wanted the Marchgraf dead?”

  “I told the Guild a drug dealer made threats against Alvud. He was quite concerned about it.”

  Keeva hadn’t mentioned she was looking at drug dealers in addition to Croda. “Did you tell the Guild that?

  “Of course.”

  I had two trolls working drugs. Moke wanted C-Note out of the way enough to pit his gang against him. Framing C-Note for Kruge’s murder certainly wasn’t beyond belief in a drug lord dispute. C-Note wanted control of the Tangle enough to kill the head of the TruKnights.

  “What about business associates?” I asked.

  Eorla considered for a moment. “My husband had many businesses, Connor Grey. None of them seemed worth his life.”