The Corvin Chance Chronicles Complete Box Set

by N. P. Martin

  "You never mentioned you were going on a date."

  I couldn’t help feeling uncomfortable under her glare. "It wasn’t exactly a date, and what’s it to you anyway?"

  "Nothing." She sat back in the chair and folded her arms across herself. "You can do what you like, I’m not your keeper."

  I went and sat on the edge of the desk. "Then why are you giving me third degree?"

  Dalia shook her head dismissively. "I hope you got some good information out of her at least."

  "I’m still working on that," I said shifting slightly on the desk. "Amelia isn’t the type to be rushed."

  Dalia sat forward slightly and seemed to sniff the air. "Isn’t the type to be rushed, eh? I can smell her scent off you, Corvin."

  Smiling slightly, I looked away for a moment. "Things may have gotten… heated."

  "I’m sure they did," she said, making a face. "I can’t believe you’re screwing an elf, especially when you suspect her uncle killed your mother."

  My feel-good buzz was well and truly dampened by now thanks to her persistent badgering. "Gimme a break, D, will you? I just needed to blow off some steam, that’s all."

  Dalia sighed as she pulled her hood down to reveal her pale face. "Fair enough. I just don’t want to see you get hurt. Those elves are dangerous."

  You’re telling me.

  "I’m being careful."

  "Mm. I’m sure."

  I started laughing as I shook my head. "You’re too much sometimes, D, you know that?"

  Even she was smiling now. "So what’s your next move, Lothario, besides waiting to get in bed with your new elf girlfriend again?"

  "She’s not my girlfriend," I told her. "And I was going to pay my pathologist friend a visit, if you want to come with."

  She stood up immediately. "Let’s go then, before I die of boredom sitting here."

  "Why are you here anyway? Don’t you have your own things to do?"

  "No, I just thought I would wait around on you coming off your date so I could give you a hard time about it."

  "You’re twisted, and for the second time, it wasn’t a date."

  "Maybe not." She placed her hand on my chest for a moment. "But you have feelings for her, I can tell."

  I tutted and shook my head as I walked away from her. "Let’s go. We’ll have to take me ma’s car."

  "Cool," she said seeming excited now. "I love that car. Can we drive with the top down?"

  "Sure, D, if it makes you happy."

  "It does."

  Although I had a driver’s license, I didn’t have my own car. Truth be told, I preferred to walk around the city, or grab a taxi, bus or train when needed. Cars make a person lazy, I find, so I tended just to use my mother’s old car when I needed it. In return, she used to insist that I fill the tank after I’d finished, which I was usually happy to do, unless I was skint, of course, in which case I would end up cleaning the flat or running errands instead. My mother was nothing if not fair.

  The car was kept in a private garage not far down the street, a garage that I would have to start paying for myself once the lease ran out in a few months. As we walked down the street, Dalia picked up her line of inquiry again.

  "So," she said. "What was she like?"

  "Jesus," I said shaking my head. "You’re relentless."

  Ignoring her further comments, I used the key I had to unlock the door of the garage and walked inside. My mother’s car was one of four other cars parked next to each other. Hers was a dark blue MIII Triumph Spitfire that was manufactured all the way back in 1967. How the thing was still running, I’ll never know. Sometimes I wondered if my mother used her magic to keep it from giving up the ghost. Or maybe she just knew a good mechanic. Either way, the car still drove well, if a little awkwardly at times.

  After we got in, I used the remote control sitting on the dash to open the garage door, then I started the engine and drove out to the street, using the remote again to close the garage door behind us. Dalia sat next to me looking like a kid about to go on their first fairground ride. She never did learn to drive, so she liked it when I took her for rides occasionally. It was a balmy night, so I didn’t mind having the top down.

  "So where we headed?" she asked.

  "North Circular," I replied as I headed east, enjoying the feeling of the warm wind rushing over me as I drove, as was Dalia it seemed, who tilted her head up to meet the wind, a look of innocence on her pale face for once. "Nice night for a drive, right?"

  "The best. Let’s take O’Connell Street. I like it at night."

  Traffic was thin, so I turned up Dublin’s main thoroughfare, also known as O’Connell Street. It’s a wide street, similar in some ways to Paris's Champs-Élysées, which I did some busking in a few years ago. O’Connell Street is usually filled with tourists, mainly because of its history, the many statues of political leaders that line the street, and of course the General Post Office building, which was famously the headquarters of the Republican leaders during the 1916 Easter Rising. It’s a grand building to be sure, with its six fluted Ionic columns and granite exterior. Dalia couldn’t help staring at it as we passed. "There’s a lot of history in this small city," she mused.

  "Yes," I said as I struggled to change gears in the small car. "There’s a lot of history in this whole island, most of it blood-soaked."

  "It’s what makes us who we are."

  "True, although I thought being a Demi-Fae would’ve had an effect on your sense of identity these days."

  She turned her head to look at me, seeming offended for a moment. "It has, but I’ll always be Irish. Even the Fae and the Sidhe still consider themselves Irish in a way. Most of them were conceived here, albeit in the Otherworld…"

  "You ever meet any of the Sidhe?" I asked her as we passed the Monument of Light, also known as the Spire of Dublin, a large, stainless-steel pin-like sculpture that stands nearly four-hundred feet in height, erected to replace Nelson’s Pillar, which was blown up by Irish Republican activists in the sixties.

  "I’ve met a few," she said. "They tend to keep to their own kind. They’re worse than elves that way, even though elves do tend to fraternize with the lower classes on occasion… as you well know." She coughed and looked away.

  I threw her a look. "Whatever. What did you make of the Sidhe then? Are they arrogant one percenters?"

  "Well, they’re practically Fae royalty, so yeah, most of them look down their nose at you."

  "I’ve never met one. I’m not sure I want to either, if they’re just entitled assholes."

  "I’m sure they aren’t all like that."

  "Me ma said the Sidhe are as powerful as you can get. Maybe they could help us with Iolas."

  Dalia shook her head. "The Sidhe don’t involve themselves in mortal affairs. They’ll just tell you to piss off. Anyway, what would you expect them to do, assassinate Iolas? You don’t even know if he’s guilty yet or not."

  "Oh, he’s guilty all right."

  "I mean of your mother’s murder."

  I said nothing as I turned onto Parnell Street. My certainty over Iolas’ guilt had waned somewhat, though I wasn’t sure if this was down to a lack of evidence or the fact that I was now friendly with his niece. I still felt in my gut that he was involved in some way, I just wasn’t sure how yet. I was hoping Davey Carvell, the man we were on our way to see, could shed some light on things for us.

  "What are you expecting this pathologist guy to do?" Dalia asked, as though she had just read my thoughts. "I mean, your mother’s body has been in the ground for over two months now. Surely, he would have to examine the body to find anything out."

  "I know."

  I felt her staring at me as I kept my eyes on the road. "I hope you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking, Corvin."

  "I don’t like the idea any more than you do," I said. "But if it comes to it…"

  "Jesus Christ, Teresa is probably turning in her grave listening to this."

  "She would want me to
do whatever it takes to bring her killer or killers to justice. You know how big on justice she was, that’s why she stayed with the Council."

  Dalia puffed her cheeks out and shook her head. "And they say the Seelie Court is dark."

  "This hardly compares. Let’s just speak to Davey first and see what he says."

  It wasn’t long before we arrived at the North Circular Road, and I parked the car outside a two-story red brick Georgian house. We both exited the car and walked up a pathway to a set of steps leading up to a red front door.

  "Isn’t it a bit late to be calling?" Dalia asked.

  "He mostly works at night since he retired from Trinity." Davey used to be a lecturer in Irish Folklore at Trinity College. I took his class while I was there, on my mother’s recommendation, which is how I got to know the man. It was Davey who turned me on to the truth about Irish history and Ireland’s pivotal role in shaping western civilization centuries ago.

  It took three more knocks before the door was opened. When Davey—a smallish man in his late sixties with a shock of white hair—appeared at the door, he did so wearing a white butchers apron that was splashed with bright red blood. He also wore surgical gloves and held what looked like a bone saw in his hand that still dripped with blood. Dalia and I just stared at him a moment as he stood staring back at us like it was completely normal to answer the door looking a serial killer.

  "Come on, Davey," I said. "We could’ve been anybody standing here."

  Davey smiled, his whiskey eyes sparkling as usual. "Sure it’s just a bit of blood," he said. "I was expecting you long before now anyway, young Chance. Come on in, and don’t slip on the blood on the floor there…"

  Chapter 16

  Davey Carvell was once an official Dublin City coroner, but he retired from that position over a decade ago to teach his favorite subject at Trinity. He still worked as a pathologist, though, just not in any official capacity. These days he only dealt with the bodies of the Touched when friends and relatives didn’t want their loved ones going through official channels, especially if the dead person in question died from foul play or through the use of malicious magic. A normal pathologist wouldn’t know about such things, so bodies were often brought to Davey so he could point people in the right direction when it came time to investigate the circumstances of the death, and of course to catch the killer.

  Davey’s house was a messy bachelor pad, with stuff piled everywhere and books stacked in every free space, creating something of a maze around the house. Dalia seemed to be somewhat captivated by it all as she looked around with wide eyes.

  "You caught me in the middle of something," Davey said as he led us down the hallway to a door at the end. "Come down to the basement with me. We can talk as I work."

  We both followed him down the steps to the basement. The room was large and brightly lit with halogen lights. The walls were covered with shelves that held all manner of glass jars and bottles, many of them seeming to contain parts of once living things that were now soaking in formaldehyde. In the center of the room was a stainless-steel pathologists table with a drain underneath it to catch the blood. On the table was the body of a large hair-covered beast that was still human in shape. "Is that what I think it is?" I asked.

  "A werewolf, yes," Davey said. "Brought in last night by members of his pack."

  Dalia seemed fascinated as she walked close to the table and began to peer inside the open chest cavity. "The heart is so big," she said.

  Davey stared quizzically at her for a moment, then threw me a look as if to say, "She’s a strange one, isn’t she?"

  "This is Dalia," I told him.

  "Pleasure to meet you Dalia," Davey said. "I was just about to remove the heart. Would you like to help?"

  Dalia looked up slowly, her eyes wide. "Can I?"

  "Of course. Come around here and I’ll show you what to do."

  I shook my head as I stared around the room, wondering what kind of creatures all those jarred body parts belonged to. There were as many different types of supernatural creatures roaming around Dublin and Ireland in general as there was native, Untouched wildlife. Being something of a naturalist, Davey liked to collect parts of the creatures after he had finished studying them. He even hunted them occasionally, when the need arose.

  "So what happened with this guy?" I said as I stood by the end of the table.

  "That’s what I’m trying to find out," Davy said as Dalia stood next to him, ready to plunge her hands into the werewolf’s chest cavity. "His pack leader says he was poisoned with silver, though I’m not sure that was the case."

  "He was killed by Fae magic," Dalia stated. "I can still see it in him."

  Davey looked surprised for a second. "You know what, my girl, I think you’re right about that. That would explain the lack of blood and tissue under the fingernails, meaning this boyo didn’t put up any fight."

  "He was glamored," Dalia said. "I’d say by a Fae of the Seelie Court. They like to kill things for the sake of it sometimes."

  "As you appear to be from the same Court, I hope that’s not the case with you, young lady."

  Dalia shook her head. "Not my thing. I prefer the darkness of the living, not the dead."

  "Well, that’s… reassuring, I suppose." Davey smiled at her like she was strangely sweet, which she was. He handed her a scalpel, which Dalia took like it was some sacred object, holding it up in front of her as though she was entranced by the light reflecting off the steel. "Just cut where I tell you to, then we can remove the heart. I’ll add it to my collection then."

  Once Davey had shown Dalia exactly where to cut, she gleefully went to work as Davey turned his attention to me. "I was very sorry to hear about your mother, Corvin."

  "Thanks Davey. That’s actually why I’m here."

  "I tried to obtain her body, but the Council blocked my request."

  "Iolas, you mean?"

  "Yes, probably. Any idea why?"

  "Maybe because he killed her."

  "What?" He seemed shocked. I didn’t really expect him to know much about Iolas or his relationship with my mother. Davey mostly kept to himself and stayed out of Touched politics.

  "We have no proof he did it," Dalia interjected, then gestured down at the werewolf, her hands now bloody. "I think I’m done."

  Davey leaned in for a look and then nodded. "Okay, you can lift the heart out now, and put it in that dish over there."

  Dalia plunged her hands into the gore once more and firmly gripped the exposed heart. After a bit of pulling, she extracted the organ, and with dripping hands, she placed it inside a steel dish, looking very pleased with herself as she did so. "What now then?" she asked Davey eagerly.

  "I was going to extract the brain," Davey said.

  "Awesome," Dalia said. "Can I use the saw?"

  Davey smiled at her once more. "I like your enthusiasm. Maybe you should become my apprentice."

  "I was going to become a surgeon before I was taken by the Fae," she said. "I did four years at med school."

  Davey nodded. "Sounds like you might be suited to this line of work then."

  "Do you mean that?" For all that she had been through, she could still manage to look innocent when she wanted to.

  "Well," Davey said, thinking it over. "As I’m getting on a bit these days, perhaps it’s time I thought about passing the mantle to someone younger."

  A wide smile spread slowly across Dalia’s face, which made me smile as well. "Don’t fuck with me on this. I could totally be your apprentice."

  Davey looked at me and I shrugged. "As you said, she’d be suited to it."

  "Sleep on it," Davey told her. "Then come back to me."

  "I don’t need to sleep on it," Dalia said. "I’m your new apprentice. Where do you keep your saw?"

  "Over there. You know how to use one?"

  Dalia nodded. "I worked with cadavers in med school."

  "Splendid," Davey said. "Work away then, my girl. I’ll supervise from a distance wh
ile I talk to Corvin."

  Dalia looked like she barely heard him as she went about retrieving the saw, even finding a spare apron to put on before she plugged the saw in and went to work, looking for all the world like she had been doing the job for years.

  "Eager, isn’t she?" Davey said to me after washing the blood from his hands in the nearby sink.

  I chuckled to myself. "She’s eager all right, is Dalia."

  When Dalia started up the saw, Davey watched her for a bit until he seemed satisfied that she seemed to know what she was doing, then he turned to me and said, "So what brings you here, Corvin?"

  I reached inside my jacket and took out my mother’s autopsy report, handing it to him. He took a minute to read over it before handing it back to me. "I see now," he said. "You think your mother was killed by magic."

  "Don’t you?"

  He nodded. "I agree with you, all indications seem to point to that conclusion. This is precisely why I wanted to examine her body afterward."

  "And precisely why you weren’t allowed to."

  "Perhaps," he said. "Though the Council aren’t always forthcoming in these matters. In my experience they don’t like the hassle of a full investigation, preferring to sweep matters under the rug if they can. It’s all politics, though I’m sure you know that by now."

  I nodded. "At this point, all too well."

  "So what would you like me to do then?"

  I took a deep breath before answering, just as Dalia was using a chisel to loosen the werewolf’s skull. "I want you to examine her body, Davey."

  Davey stared at me a moment. "I see."

  "Is it too late, do you think? Would you still get a magical fingerprint?"

  "That largely depends on how strong the magic was that was used," he said, glancing over at Dalia as she finally removed the top portion of the werewolf’s skull, which she carefully placed to one side.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Strong magic will reside in a body for quite a long time," he explained. "Making it possible to trace the source of the magic itself."