Unquiet Dreams cg-2

by Mark Del Franco

  “Can you give me an example? What about real estate?”

  She gave me a sly, knowing look. “I see. You are here about Ryan macGoren and Gerin Cuthbern. They have been trying to buy Alvud’s properties in that neighborhood.”

  I kept my face impassive at the mention of Gerin Cuthbern’s name. In my business, you always want to look like you already know everything, but this was news. Still, you used what you could on the fly. “I know why macGoren wanted the land. But I don’t understand why Cuthbern was interested.”

  “Because macGoren wanted it. Alvud was short on cash, but he was concerned that macGoren would force people out of their homes if he sold the land. Gerin and Alvud were old friends. Gerin was just as suspicious of macGoren’s motives. He offered to fund Alvud’s project by buying the land and keeping it out of macGoren’s hands.”

  “You’ll pardon me, Marchgrafin, but how does someone of Alvud’s stature need cash?”

  She smiled grimly. “People often make that mistake about monarchies. Titles do not automatically mean money. Alvud spent a great deal on his causes. He saw wealth differently than some people.”

  I looked at the fine cut of her clothing, the quality of the material, and decided to push the line. “Differently than you?”

  She gave me a low laugh. “Aren’t you the brash one? Yes, I have money, but if my family caught wind of my giving it to Alvud’s causes, the flow would stop instantly. They don’t share our politics. That’s as personal a question as I will answer. What else would you like to know?”

  “Do you think macGoren wanted the land enough to kill?”

  Eorla sighed and shook her head. “In another world, maybe. That’s the way things used to be in Faerie. You fought for what you wanted. But here, in this place, I doubt it. In my life, I have seen people kill for a crust of bread. My husband wasn’t killed. He was savaged. Only a madman would do this. I think Ryan macGoren is an aggressive businessman. I don’t think he’s a madman.”

  “What did the Marchgraf need the money for?”

  “A drug rehab program. If you have a drug lord who was going to lose his territory and his client base, I believe you have your motive.”

  I tried to smile, but it was awkward. “I tend to agree with you. The Guild seems more at a loss than we do.”

  Eorla nodded in slow agreement. “It’s always about territory, isn’t it? Who owns it; who uses it; who wants it. Gerin has offered to buy the property from me and deal with macGoren. I may agree to that. That place was Alvud’s interest, not mine. I would prefer to work through the Guild.”

  I smiled. “Gerin will work against you.” It didn’t feel like telling tales out of school. Eorla wasn’t stupid.

  “Precisely. He preferred Alvud over me because Alvud personally worked to solve problems. He liked to meet the people he was helping and left the politics to me. My skills have always lain in that direction.”

  “You must have made a formidable couple,” I said.

  A melancholy smile flickered on her face. “I shall miss him terribly.”

  “I truly am sorry for your loss.”

  She sighed and looked into the fire, then back at me. “My grief has not reached me yet. The idea that I shall never again hear my husband’s voice in this world is beyond my comprehension. When the time comes, I will mourn him deeply. Now, though, I keep seeing his smiling face as he kissed me and left our last embrace.”

  I felt the sound of her voice in my chest. To have lived with someone for centuries spoke of a relationship I could not even begin to fathom. I reached out and squeezed her hand, amazed that I did. One doesn’t touch an elven noble without permission. She didn’t object, even placed her other hand on mine. Despite what she had said, she was grieving already and sharing it with me. The Consortium needed more people like her and her husband.

  I stood. “I’m sorry to intrude.”

  She looked up at me, her eyes deep and glimmering. “Vize is a fool, Connor Grey. Dangerous, but a fool nonetheless. Do not let revenge consume you. Men like Vize make many enemies. Let the Wheel decide his fate.”

  Hearing that was a nice surprise. Other than her offense at Nigel’s remark about Vize—which could have been playacting—I hadn’t had a sense of how she felt about her radical countryman. “And if the Wheel includes me in his fate?”

  “Then that is the Wheel of the World. If that is Its will, you do not need to seek It. It will seek you. Remember that.”

  “I will,” I said with a bow.

  “Good luck.” She dismissed me by turning to the fire. Normally, that kind of treatment by a royal ticks me off. It fit Eorla, though. She would have been exactly who she was with or without the title.

  I pulled my collar up around my neck as I stepped out of the consulate. The air had gone chilly, and the October sky had become a hard, white sheet. After the warmth of the receiving room, I felt even colder. I walked east toward downtown with my hands jammed in my pockets.

  Manus ap Eagan was not worried about a real estate transaction. With macGoren’s public promotion for the Seacorp development, Eagan already knew about it. He obviously suspected something more, or he wouldn’t have asked me to look into it. I had to agree with Eorla Kruge, though. MacGoren had nothing to gain with Kruge dead unless he hoped to take advantage of a grieving widow. But if he knew Kruge, he must have met Eorla. She was not a woman you could take advantage of easily.

  My cell phone began vibrating with saved messages as soon as I was a few buildings away. I had set the ring to vibrate, but it hadn’t gone off inside. The consulate probably had signal jamming in the building. Three messages had come in with a Guildhouse number, so I called to pick them up.

  “Connor, it’s Keeva. We have a situation. Get yourself to a secure location and call me immediately.”

  That didn’t sound good. The next message came up.

  “Connor, call me, dammit.” Keeva again. She actually sounded concerned.

  The next message was from a different Guild number.

  “Hey, it’s me. Just checking if you were dead. If you aren’t, call me. If you are, call me anyway.” Okay, for Meryl to put in a check-in call, something definitely was up.

  I was only a couple of blocks from the Guildhouse. At the end of Commonwealth Avenue, I entered the Public Garden, a turn-of-the-century Victorian walking park surrounded by intricate cast-iron railings. Even at the tired end of fall, it manages to look attractive. The formal paths wind through a strange collection of statuary as well as landscaped flower beds and specimen trees, all now dormant.

  I decided to call Keeva first. As I hit dial, my shields sprang up with such force, I hunched forward in pain. Simultaneously, a bolt of essence grazed my shoulder, and I spun off my feet. I could feel heat across my back, but no direct pain, so I didn’t think I was on fire. I rolled to my feet and ran for cover behind a tree as another bolt flew past me. I ducked down as tree bark splattered through the air.

  I felt a cold pressure slam into my forehead, a forceful sending. Where are you? Keeva’s voice reverberated in my head.

  I couldn’t send my thoughts back. One of the many things I couldn’t do anymore, my mental sendings just went astray. A bolt hit the tree as I realized I’d dropped my phone when I got hit. It lay about ten feet away. Another bolt struck, and the tree groaned and crackled. It hit close enough for me to recognize what it was—elf-shot, the expression of essence that the elves used. I dove away in a tumbling roll and grabbed the phone. Essence struck around me from two directions now, and I scrambled on my back trying to find the source. I wedged myself between a statue and the fence encircling the park.

  More fey-bolts shot around me, but the bane of the fey proved itself in my favor. Between the bronze in the statue in front of me and the iron in the fence at my back, the shots warped around me and went wild. I had landed in a safe zone between conductive metals. I called Keeva.

  “Where the hell are you?” she said when she picked up.

  “Under fire
in the Public Garden.”

  “Give me your exact location.”

  “I’m behind the statue of…” I twisted to see whose statue I was under. A fey-bolt struck it in the neck, and the head toppled down next to me. The abolitionist senator Charles Sumner stared eyelessly at me. “I’m behind the headless statue.”

  “Security’s on its way.”

  The bolts of essence intensified. Whoever was out there was getting closer. I recognized a new noise, the loud hum of Danann fairy wings. In moments, more fey-fire rained down, only this time scattering in a pattern around me. Bolts stopped striking near the statue. Something dark swept overhead. Seconds later, a Guild security agent landed next to me, his featureless helmet tilted down at me. Without a word, he grabbed me by my shoulders and hauled me up. He spun me around, wrapped his arms around my chest, and launched us into the air. Several more security agents above us laid down a covering fire of essence to block another attack. We rose above the park, but I lost sight of my defenders as we swept behind the line. Below, I could see several people running, mostly humans getting out of the way. Here and there, shots of essence raked through the park from figures dressed in black and red leather. TruKnights.

  The security agent flew me away from the fight, over the final block toward the Guildhouse. As we rose above a hotel roofline, I could see the area in front of the Guildhouse cordoned off and more security agents stationed both on the ground and in the air. The agent brought me in close, avoided the front, and landed us on a balcony of one of the highest turrets, the landing platform for the security division. Without a word, he took off again. I stepped into to a large room and found more security agents preparing for duty.

  “Someone will be coming for you, sir,” a young Danann said as passed me and ducked into an adjoining room. I went to the door and watched him lifting boxes from the floor. A line of lockers covered one wall with a gym-style bench in front of them. Above, a number of helmets sat on a long shelf.

  “Are those helmets always there?” I asked.

  The Danann straightened up. “You’re not supposed to be in here.”

  “I’m not ‘in here.’ I’m at the door.”

  He moved toward me. “Well, step back. We’ve had some problems, and no one’s allowed in without permission.”

  I nodded at the helmets. “One’s missing, isn’t it?”

  He placed his hand on my chest, not threatening, but with enough pressure that told me to step back. He looked out the door. Apparently, after satisfying himself that no one was within earshot. “How do you know that?”

  “When did it go missing?”

  “Four days ago.”

  I nodded. The timing was right. “Do you know whose helmet is missing?”

  He spoke without looking at me, checking on the room instead. “They’re not assigned. People just grab them. The landing bay is shielded. The helmets register when they leave and when they return, so we don’t have to keep a head count in an emergency. Someone took off from here four nights ago and didn’t return. It was the middle of the night, not a regular shift change, and no record of a security call.”

  “How’d they get in?”

  He shrugged. “The ready room door is warded, but anyone with the right security level is allowed in.”

  “And it’s a pretty high level if I remember.”

  He nodded. “Look, I don’t know how you found out, but we’re keeping it internal for now. It’s not going to look…hey!”

  He shoved me and ran for the landing bay. About a hundred feet out from the bay, security agents jostled for space as they came in for a landing. One group in tight formation carried someone, and another swept in from above too quickly. A flurry of wings and bodies bumped and pushed together. Whoever was carrying the passenger lost his grip. I watched horrified as I recognized Nigel Martin falling through the air. Agents dove after him.

  With my senses on hypersensitivity, I saw a plume of essence ripple the air around Nigel. His descent slowed as he spread his arms. Like a bad joke, the agents attempting a rescue shot right past him. Nigel righted himself and rose, levitating the remaining distance to the building. He stepped onto the platform like he had just stopped by for a cup of tea. Within moments, agents swarmed around him in concern.

  Not realizing I was holding my breath, I exhaled in relief. I should have known Nigel would pull that trick. It takes enormous control and energy, but high-level druids can do it. I had managed to get myself only a couple of inches off the ground before my accident, but then, I was still young by druid standards. Nigel had age and ability.

  Looking bemused, he pushed his way through the anxious crowd. “I’m fine, gentlemen,” he said. He stopped short when he saw me, a curious expression on his face. “Connor, good to see they didn’t drop you, too. I imagine your luck would not have extended to the spontaneous return of your abilities.”

  You could have heard a pin drop. The security guards pulled away from him. It took a moment for me to realize my mouth was hanging open, and I clamped my jaw shut.

  “That was a horrid thing to say,” Keeva said behind me. I turned. She stood at the door, wearing her signature black jumpsuit, her unglamoured wings fully open and shimmering with white and silver light. She stepped to my side. “Are you all right?”

  I removed my coat and examined the scorch across the back. “Yeah. Could use a new coat, though. Thanks for the backup.”

  “Part of the job,” she said and looked significantly at Nigel. “That goes for both of you.”

  “What the hell is going on?” I asked.

  Keeva looked around her. Half of the people in the room still had their helmets on. I could surmise what she was thinking. No telling who was listening.

  “Let’s go to my office,” she said and left the room. I fell in behind her, and Nigel followed us into the hall. Keeva had left some underling holding the elevator for her, and we stepped in.

  Keeva punched a floor number on the panel, anger on her face. “We had simultaneous attacks on Guild directors. Gerin and Ryan are at Avalon Memorial.”

  The elevator doors opened. We cut across to the opposite side of the building, not speaking with any other people, and rode another elevator up to Community Liaison. Once in her office, Keeva strode around her desk and sat down, gesturing for us to sit.

  “Gerin was meeting with Ryan when they were attacked by one of the human xenogangs. A flamethrower.” She grimaced. “They had a flamethrower. Gerin has minor burns.”

  “How’s Ryan?” I had to ask. I wanted to know for my own reasons, but Keeva didn’t need to know that. Yet.

  “He’s in surgery.” She paused for a moment. I had to hand it to her. She was demonstrating enormous control.

  I looked at Nigel. “Where were you when this was happening?”

  He arched an eyebrow. “I was with Manus ap Eagan.”

  With a heavy sigh, Keeva dropped her head back and looked at the ceiling. “There was an attempt to break through the gate at the Guildmaster’s home. The last report we had on the dwarf director was that he had not left the Consortium consulate in days.”

  “Convenient for him,” Nigel said.

  “That’s what I was thinking,” Keeva said.

  “Why would you think the Consortium is involved?” I asked.

  Keeva and Nigel exchanged glances, but it was Nigel who spoke. “The dominant gang causing trouble in the city consists of elves, and it’s run by a troll. Can’t you put it together, Connor?”

  “Are you saying the Consortium is behind this?” I asked.

  Nigel nodded. “I’ve been monitoring their movements since the Fey Summit last spring. The Consortium is planning something. I think this is a trial run to test the will of Seelie Court.”

  I looked from one to the other. “Alvud Kruge is dead,” I said.

  “Your point?” Nigel asked.

  “Marchgraf Alvud Kruge, Nigel. Do you really think the Consortium would kill one of its own people, married to a royal famil
y member?”

  “Kruge was hardly an ally of the Elven King. I don’t put anything past the Consortium,” he said.

  I couldn’t believe they were so obsessive about politics that they were missing the obvious. “He was killed by a drug dealer, guys. The gang that attacked me were TruKnights. They’ve been trying to take over the Weird.”

  “There’s not a gang in the Weird delusional enough to take on the Guild,” said Nigel.

  “Apparently, this one is,” I said.

  Keeva looked at Nigel. “Let’s assume you’re right, Nigel. Given Connor’s attackers and a few of the others, would the Consortium recruit out of the Weird?”

  He nodded. “It would make excellent cover for them.”

  Keeva turned her screen back. “I agree. I’m putting security sweeps down there until after Kruge’s funeral at least.”

  “You can’t hold a neighborhood responsible for the actions of a rogue gang, Keeva,” I said.

  She didn’t look up. “It’s just a visible presence until we know more.”

  “Keeva, I know what you’re really suggesting. You can’t put an entire neighborhood under martial law without more reason.”

  “Caution is enough right now, Connor.” She began typing.

  I looked at Nigel in disbelief. “You can’t condone this.”

  Nigel stood and went to the door. “I do. These are troubled times that call for strong measures. Despite agreeing to a cease-fire, the Consortium has not changed. They still seek the destruction of the Seelie Court. Do you need anything from me right now, Keeva? I have security plans to work out with Gerin. I think you should see them.”

  She shook her head without looking up. “Thanks. I’ll send you and Manus updates.”

  Nigel hesitated. “Connor, Gerin will be calling a meeting of the Bosnemeton tonight. Remember the path you once sought.” He bowed his head and left.

  She ignored me as she read whatever she had typed, probably an email by her body language. She clicked the mouse, no doubt sending a squad of security agents to the Weird to hassle anyone who spelled funny.