Light was already fading as I walked along Summer Street. Joe reappeared when I made the bridge, far enough away from downtown so that people wouldn’t gawk at a flit, close enough to the Weird where he might be ignored. I could see a Guild security squad flying an open surveillance pattern above the Northern Avenue bridge.
“Feel like going for a walk?” I asked.
“Sure. Well, I’ll watch you walk,” he said as he fluttered along beside me at shoulder level.
“How do you always manage to find me, Joe? People had no idea where I was this afternoon, but you manage to show up in a subway car.”
He gave me a confused look. “I look for you.”
“No, I mean how do you look for me? How do you know where I am so you can show up?”
Joe pursed his lips. “I look for the nothing with the spot. You’re the only thing like that.”
“Thing?” I asked pointedly.
He laughed and twirled around again. “Everything is a thing. I look for the thing I want to know, and I find it and then I go. You used to have a flavor, but now you have nothing with a spot in it.”
“This is making my head hurt,” I said. If I ever needed to understand why people get so frustrated studying flits, this would be Exhibit One. Flits have an inability to clarify anything they think is self-explanatory.
“Right! That’s the spot!” he said.
The spot. Oddly enough, I think I understood what he was trying to say. It’s exactly how the doctors at Avalon Memorial have described the thing in my brain from the reactor accident: a dark smudgy spot that shows up on diagnostics but seems to have no mass. They have no idea what it is. Its physical shape tends to change over time. But it never goes away. The doctors, however inept I might consider them, have always had the courtesy not to refer to the rest of me as nothing. But that’s Joe. He doesn’t mean anything by it. It’s just his way of stating what, to him, is obvious.
I stayed on Summer Street, avoiding the Avenue since that’s where Keeva’s goons seemed to be focusing their attention. Occasionally, they would hover into view above us but drop back pretty quickly. We were basically walking a vague boundary line between neighborhoods, where people from the Weird and Southie stumble into each other, turn around, and go back to where they feel more comfortable. I made a point of keeping a steady pace and keeping to the open to avoid arousing suspicion.
Unfortunately, to get to where I wanted to be, I had to pass near the Kruge crime scene. There, the security agents had been keeping a constant post, watching everyone who walked by. And walk by we did. I felt a little ping as one of the guards tested my essence, but, given my physical condition, he must not have been impressed because no one followed us.
Turning off Summer Street, I strolled another few blocks, taking a roundabout path to bring me to the Tangle. It was getting near sunset and, as much as Joe made a damn fine bodyguard for his size, I didn’t want any TruKnights to see me after my earlier encounter.
Joe’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “Are we going to see this C-Note guy?”
“Not yet. Later, if you’re interested. Right now, I need to preserve some evidence.” We wound through alleys on the perimeter of the Tangle, damaged, sooty places glowing with essence in shades of blue-white and yellow and red. Joe seemed to think he was on a roller coaster as he rode their strange currents with a look of glee. My head had a constant buzz, annoying, but no more painful than my usual headache.
We finally came to the building where Crystal had hidden with Croda. Stinkwort became quiet, his face grim. Flits are sensitive to essence in ways no other fey are. They feel it more, and the nastiness that I felt in the old building probably only hinted at what he was feeling. We came out into the courtyard. Joe gasped when he saw Croda.
She was as we had left her, perhaps a little more menacing looking in the shadows of twilight. My senses picked up no new scents in the area, which gave me some assurance that the site hadn’t been compromised.
Joe hovered up near her face. “How sad. I remember her.”
“You knew her?”
He nodded with a melancholy air. “Yeah. She used to have a cave near Caerdydd in the old country. Loved baby rabbits. Used to eat them like popcorn.”
One thing about being socialized in the Convergent world was hearing something like that and being startled and not startled. Stinkwort was from a time and place where horror was mundane. I knew these things intellectually, but the reality is still disconcerting.
I reached down and tugged at Croda’s hand with the ward in it. It didn’t budge. I tried pulling from various angles, but she had truly become stone. I think if I’d had a sledgehammer, I’d still have had a hard time. I stood back and looked at her, trying to figure another way.
“What, pray tell, are you trying to do?” Stinkwort asked.
“I need the ward in her hand. I need to know what’s on it.”
“Why don’t you just play it?”
“My baseline essence isn’t strong enough. I wanted to avoid calling up more if I could.”
“Is that all? I’ll do it.” He landed on her hand and sat down. A subtle pink glow surrounded him as he let his essence flow. It spread down and wrapped the ward.
“…you’ve gone too far, and I…” crackled through the air. Shots of Stinkwort’s essence glimmered all through Croda, grabbing at bits of the recording that seemed to have flowed out of the ward and into her body. Voices echoed from different angles of her body, sometimes faint, sometimes clear, too often indecipherable.
“…C-Note. Float is more than you…” By the accent, I’d peg that as Kruge.
“…telling you to stay out of it, Kruge, I’m warning…if you’d only stopped following…” Rough, guttural, had to be C-note.
Kruge, again. “…and you. That glamour doesn’t fool me. I’ve seen enough to…to see right through it…worse than I…I’m stunned you would…”
Then a vaguely female voice that must have been Croda. “…it’s him, sir, know it by the feel…”
Kruge: “…macGoren. Manus will hear…messenger. Leave him…”
C-Note: “…too much. You leave me no choice…”
The sound of something falling, maybe a chair, then Kruge: “…run, Dennis. Get out of here…No!..”
A crackle of essence-fire, followed by a jumble of voices.
C-Note: “…no witness. You’ve forced me…”
Kruge: “…stop! stop!..” A substantial amount of hissing played out, the unmistakable sound of essence-fire, then an anguished shriek that had to have been Kruge. Another scream that I took to be Croda. Struggling sounds came next, and the discharge of more essence-fire.
Then Croda again, her breath ragged as she ran: “…children, got you…”
A girl screaming. It had to be Crystal, her voice coming through hysterically. “…Denny! Denny! Say something…”
“…hush, hush. They’ll hear…Denny…his spark is gone, child…”
More sobbing and the pounding of Croda’s loud footsteps and heaving breath.
“…in here. Hide and quiet ’til night. Hush, now, hush…No! No! He’s coming!..he’s found…”
The metallic screech of the roof coming off the storage shed. Screams from Crystal and Croda, the latter quickly drowning out the former as the troll died. A constant sobbing, very loud, as Crystal crouched right up to the ward stone behind Croda.
We could hear the essence fight Crystal described, the sound of static and bursting of stone, garbled voices, then one phrase at a distance in a new voice: “I will have it.” Ryan macGoren. I recognized him clearly. Then the sound of wind and Crystal’s sobs fading out.
Joe released his essence, and the glow faded back into him. He had a pale cast to his skin that could not have been from what was for him a minor expenditure of essence. “That was awful.”
I nodded. The anguish in Croda’s death cry had sent chills up my spine, and Crystal’s sobs were gut-wrenching. I looked up at the troll’s face, now tw
isted forever in pain. “We have to hide her, Joe. I’m betting C-Note didn’t realize she had a recording ward or that Crystal was hiding with her. If he did, he wouldn’t have left her here. I don’t want anyone else stumbling in here.”
I dragged pieces of the storage shed roof through the debris and leaned it against Croda. It felt rude to do, but at least it caused significantly less damage than what I had intended by breaking off her hand. I had no idea how trolls felt about their dead, but now I wouldn’t have to find out if breaking her would have been some kind of sacred violation. Somewhere, Joe found an old tarp sizable enough to cover most of her. Between that and the roof sheeting, at a glance no one would notice she was there.
“Let’s get out of here,” I said. In silence, we made our way back. Night had fallen, and I felt it was worth the risk to go directly down the Avenue. I just wanted to be away from the courtyard as quickly as possible. Walking through the Weird, I could see angry faces glaring up at the hovering Guild agents. I could not believe how many Keeva had sent.
When we reached my building, an agent stood guard at the door. He stepped out from the building as soon as we turned the corner, but relaxed his posture as we drew near.
“Good evening, Director Grey. We’ve had no activity since this morning,” he said.
“Thanks,” I said, trying not to sound annoyed. He was just following orders. Keeva and Nigel were to blame, not him. I went up the stairs, and another guard waited outside what was left of my door.
“Good evening, Director Grey. Your apartment is secure,” he said.
“Yeah, I heard,” I said. Joe flew in ahead of me and went directly to the kitchen cabinet where I kept cookies. I surveyed the shambles of my living room. Truth to tell, it was only slightly worse than usual. My apartment door lay to the side of the entrance, the hinges sprung and a big dent across the middle. I picked it up and turned to the agent.
“Nothing personal, but if you have to be here, I’d prefer you stood down the hall.”
The agent looked down the hall, gave a curt nod, and walked away. I propped the door in the opening. Even before I went into my study, I knew what I was going to see. My computer was in considerably more parts than one would think possible. At least they hadn’t destroyed my books. I slid my hand down the side of the filing cabinet and retrieved my laptop. I had backup files hidden in the kitchen. I’d had more than my share of destroyed computers, so I’d learned to plan for them. I’d have to reload my video games, but at least the data would be intact.
Joe sat on the edge of the counter eating Oreos. Before he even asked, I poured him a glass of milk. He refuses to touch my refrigerator, so I humor him.
“I’m hitting the shower,” I said. Cheeks bulging, he nodded and waved.
Hot water soothed aching muscles. Between wrenching my shoulder and rolling around in the Public Garden, my body was not happy. I had just gotten over some major injuries in the past few months, and some of them throbbed with remembered pain. In the midst of my shampoo, I caught Gerin’s sending about the Bosnemeton meeting. He certainly waited until the last minute. I’d barely have enough time to dress and get to Thomas Park in Southie before it started. I didn’t particularly care for the sound of an old man’s voice in my head when I was wet and naked either.
“I’ve got to go to the Bosnemeton,” I said to Joe as I pulled on a black sweater and jeans. I had to rummage to find my druid meeting robe. It’s bleached muslin, not my favorite color. I always feel silly wearing it, but as High Druid, Gerin insisted on traditional garb.
“I’ll come, too,” said Stinkwort.
“You know Gerin will have the place warded against everyone but druids.”
He pouted. Flits can pretty much get in anywhere they want. The only exceptions I know are druid Grove meetings, the odd Unseelie Court warding they run into, and the first day of new security at the Guild. They break the latter pretty quickly. Some people thought that was a problem, but I didn’t. As a species, flits were exceedingly loyal to the Seelie Court at Tara, and not one had ever been accused of being a spy. “Fine. I’ll wait outside.”
I moved the door and, once in the hall, replaced it. Pointless, but it made me feel better. Down on the Avenue, I hailed a cab. It was the only way to get to Southie in time, and though I wasn’t rolling in cash, I had a little extra to spend this month. Joe entertained himself by squeezing in and out of the cash slot in the Plexiglas barrier between the front and backseat. The cab driver tried hard not to be fascinated.
I pulled out my cell and called Meryl.
“You’re in a cab,” she said.
“Do I want to ask?”
“They started tracking you a little over an hour ago on Old Northern. The security monitor says you just left your apartment, freshly bathed and got in a cab.”
“It says I bathed?”
She giggled. “Naw. I threw that in as a guess. What’s up?”
“I’m on my way to the Bosnemeton.”
“You’re late. Gerin’s doing the ‘we are separate, but one’ crap.” I rolled my eyes. If I hated Guild politics, druid politics could be even worse. The roles of men and women were still being adjusted, and Gerin was an old conservative.
“How’d you like to go dancing later?”
“Sure. Who’s asking?”
“Funny. Ever hear of Carnage?” It was a rhetorical question, I knew. I had given up trying to stump her with questions about anything and had almost reached the point of just assuming she knew everything about everything. It’s a thought pattern, I am sure, she would like to encourage.
“You want to go to Carnage?”
“You know it? I have a little business to take care of there with Murdock, but it shouldn’t take me that long. I thought you might enjoy going.”
“Uh, yeah, I know it. I’ll go.”
“Good. It’s a date.”
“It’s not a date. It’s a field trip for me to be amused at the sight of you in a dance club.”
“Ha-ha. I’ll meet you after the meeting.” We disconnected.
I called Murdock. “I’ve got a line on C-Note tonight. Do you want in?”
“Depends. Are we investigating the Kruge murder, which is not our case, or the Farnsworth murder, which is?” he said.
“Yes.”
He chuckled. “True. I was just checking to make sure you were still on the case. I do have to justify your consultant fee, you know.”
“Stickler. Swing by Thomas Park in an hour or so and pick me up.”
“Will do.” He disconnected.
I dropped my head against the seat, wondering if I had a security agent following in the air. Nigel had made no secret of the Bosnemeton meeting in front of Keeva, so I didn’t quite see the point. Every member of the Grove in the city who could be there would be there. Gerin liked nothing more than to strut his stuff in a crisis, so this meeting would be the usual boring posturing. I would have skipped it if Nigel hadn’t taunted me. It felt a lot like reverse psychology, but I wasn’t going to give him a point to score later by not showing up.
I had trusted Nigel with my life, and now I felt that trust misplaced. Was I really just a soldier to him? A pawn in his political games? Wasn’t I more than that to him? I thought he cared. To think otherwise would be a blow. Not to my ego. My ego was still tougher than it should be. It hurt, though. And confirmed for me all the more to work the cases Murdock called me for. I had a pretty good idea now what it was like to be dismissed because of powerlessness. If I could ease that pain for someone else, like some poor kid who died in the Weird, maybe it would ease my own a bit. I thought a lot of people cared about me until my accident. Some did, including the little guy in front of me who was trying to fit the door lock in his mouth.
“Stop that. It’s got germs all over it,” I said to Stinkwort.
He made a sour face. “And you have no idea how it tastes.”
Chapter 14
The cab let me off near a side entrance to Thomas Park in Southie.
I stood on the sidewalk pulling the robe over my head. I wasn’t alone. Only the more conservative druids like to walk around in their robes, so almost every meeting of the Grove seems to begin with a dressing room on the sidewalk. I walked up the steps into the park with Joe by my side.
The Bosnemeton grows on one end of the park on a hill overlooking Boston and the harbor. During the American Revolution, the Continental Army fortified the hill and scared the British all the way to Canada. While a nice New Englandy tower went up to commemorate the event, no one realized at the time that druids had planted oak trees at the other end of the new park. Before anyone knew it, a sacred grove was born, and the first fey/human court battle began. Eventually the whole church and state tussle went away and an uneasy truce was called. So now the druids can hold meetings of the Grove as long as they don’t annoy the neighbors, and the neighbors don’t go into the Grove.
You never approach a druid Grove directly, but trail along a winding path. Once you start on the path, you must enter the Grove before turning back to the world. I started on the way, nodding to the warders who always took a post outside to keep tourists away.
My sensing abilities kicked in on their own as I neared the entrance. That happens sometimes. All the ambient druid essence in the air, not to mention the Grove itself, can enhance abilities. On the final approach, I could see a thin layer of an airbe druad. It’s an essence barrier—literally a “druid hedge”—much like a body shield, only created by spells. Druids are particularly adept at making them. The skill used to come in handy during battles to protect fighters. The one on the Grove was mostly for privacy, and held a warding that prevented non-druids from entering. As I passed through it, Joe hovered outside, his eyes roving over the haze for a break in the spell. He never finds one, but he always tries.
Majestic white oaks encircle a single tree in the center of the Grove, a few curled leaves clinging to their stark limbs. The meeting had already begun. Gerin Cuthbern stood beneath the central tree wearing his long white robe and the double torc around his neck that symbolized his rank as High Druid. Senior druids who act as Elders of the Grove stood next to him including Nigel and Gillen Yor. Gillen makes me smile. He’s a short, cantankerous sort, who looks like he dresses in whatever oddments might have been handy when he rolled out of bed. At meetings, his robe always looks like he gave up putting it on halfway through.
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