“I must confess I, too, never imagined I would witness the day when a Pooka and a Gancanagh were responsible for maintaining order,“ Gretel admitted, eyes downcast.
I swallowed, disturbed by the idea of Albi doling out punishments—because that’s what the Adjudicators were all about; as representatives of a decidedly antiquated form of justice, the Adjudicators didn’t so much rule the Chancery as police it. They weren’t exactly the jury, but they were the judge and executioner. And with Albi on the bench, I had a feeling corruption was at an all-time high.
“But then,” Gretel went on, tilting her head, “I suppose they are merely figureheads answering to a higher authority.”
“And whose authority would that be?”
“A being unlike any I have ever encountered,” Gretel replied, scrutinizing my face as though my expression might betray me, somehow. “She calls herself Catha, and she’s very, very interested in you.”
“In me?”
“Indeed, even after we passed along our latest report, she adamantly refused to accept you were dead. It was she who chased off Scathach and imprisoned both Robin and his supporters. She who appointed such unfit replacements. You see, that is why I cannot help you, Ms. MacKenna. The truth is that this city is no longer the Chancery’s to supervise. Boston belongs to her, and her alone.”
Chapter 3
Roughly around noon, I found myself crouched outside a bodega watching a dark-skinned Latina woman hand over a roll of cash to an uncommonly tall, absurdly broad-shouldered man wearing a hooded jacket that hid his face. In exchange, the woman received a mason jar filled with a thick, inky liquid that reminded me vaguely of tar. She casually slipped the container into her purse, but I had no doubt something sketchy was taking place; nothing prosaic was ever bought with a wad of bills in a dingy dime store in the heart of Mattapan. Of course, the woman I was spying on wasn’t exactly ordinary, herself, so I supposed I shouldn’t have been surprised.
But she, at least, might be willing to help me.
Gretel, on the other hand, had proven far less amenable; while we’d spoken for a good long stretch following her initial revelations, she’d still refused my request for sanctuary. Worse, she hadn’t been able to answer my most pressing questions—like who this Catha person actually was, where she’d come from, or what her motives were.
Apparently, Catha cultivated an air of mystery around herself so thick that not even Gretel’s spies had been able to peer through it. Indeed, according to the Chancery’s litigator, Boston’s self-appointed overlord came and went as she pleased without warning, subject only to her own whims—which included the curious obsession with yours truly.
“She refuses to explain her actions, or her decrees,” Gretel had gone on to say. “Queries of any sort are either met with silence, or worse, violence.”
She subsequently had informed me that Robin had been overthrown in a bloodless coup only to end up beaten and jailed for sedition a few days later. Unfortunately, that was as much as Gretel had been able to tell me about the Redcap; where he’d been taken, or what they’d done to him since, was anyone’s guess.
“Catha expects us all to submit to her will and embrace subservient roles. And most have done just that.”
“But why?” I had asked. “What hold could she possibly have on ye?”
“On me? Nothing. My brothers and I are more like...independent contractors. We’re Fae-touched, but ultimately human. All but a few of the Fae exiles, however, submitted immediately. She has a power over them that neither I nor they can explain.”
“That is strange,” I acknowledged, wondering how the hell that was possible. Perhaps Catha was an agent of the Faeling royals? Or some outsider with the ability to manipulate the Fae to their own ends? Whichever, Catha should never have been able to waltz right in and take over without inciting a full-on power struggle. “Wait, what about Scathach? I can’t imagine her rollin’ over without puttin’ up one hell of a fight.”
“I would have said so, too. But no, the Huntress ran mere hours after Catha arrived. Before she left, she told me she couldn’t risk what would happen with ‘her’ here. It was my understanding at the time that she and Catha had a prior relationship of some kind. But beyond that, she refused to say. And you? Do you have any idea who Catha might be? Some specter from the Huntress’ past, perhaps?”
“I have no idea,” I admitted, utterly thrown by the idea that my former mentor would leave the Chancery—not to mention Robin—to the mercy of some foreign invader. “Of course, I wouldn’t say I knew Scathach all that well. She likes her secrets more than most. What I do know is that she’s been around a long, long time. From what I’ve been able to glean, she’s dealt with all sorts of sketchy people. Mercenaries, pirates, monster hunters, St. Louis natives...ye name it. Catha could be any one of the above, or none at all.”
“Ah, well that is a shame.”
“Aye, sorry.” I bit my lip, thinking furiously. “But wait, ye said there were others who resisted? Exiles who weren’t under Catha’s spell, or whatever it may be.”
“Yes. Many of them sided with Robin and were similarly apprehended. Those who continue to reject Catha’s authority, but either did not or could not fight, have gone...underground.”
“Does it get more underground than this place?” I asked. I cocked an eyebrow, finding it hard to believe anywhere was more clandestine than an unassuming business front which stood guard over subterranean tunnels, ornate bathhouses, a freaking speakeasy, and who knew what else. “Are ye tellin’ me there are more of these in town?”
“There are other safe houses in the older neighborhoods, yes. Not as expansive or well-stocked as this one, admittedly, but the first generation of Fae exiles were practical creatures. They built many such shelters when this city was young in the unlikely event mortals ever discovered their existence. Assuming they haven’t been compromised, those hideouts should provide adequate shelter.”
“Ye t’ink it’s possible they’ve been rounded up already,” I noted, catching her defeatist tone.
“No, but…”
“Ye t’ink someone will talk, eventually.”
“Despite my best efforts, the Chancery is an organization founded on principles of fear. Fear of exposure, fear of isolation, fear of exclusion. They were driven from their homes to a world that promised them nothing but pain and discomfort. Contrary to popular myth, the Fae are not social creatures by nature. They band together to wage war or to celebrate, but they largely disdain civilization. The Chancery as a concept was a concession made under unforgiving circumstances. You saw this for yourself, as I recall, when you prompted us to appoint the Huntress and the Redcap.”
“Without someone to answer to, your members were goin’ out of control,” I recalled. “But I’m not sure whether that answers me question.”
“The short answer is yes; I believe someone will talk. Someone hoping to curry favor or to avoid punishment, or perhaps even out of spite or malicious intent. There is no way to know for sure the reason why. The only question that matters is when.”
Part of me considered reaching across the desk to pat the old broad on the shoulder, if only to give her some momentary comfort. But the way she kept switching between collective pronouns made me wonder where her motivations lay—whether she was working for the new regime or rooting for the old. If the former, then she was committing treason of a sort simply by talking to me. After all, if this Catha really was in charge and she wanted me that badly, I was a sitting duck.
“To be clear, which side of the fence are ye on?”
“Pardon?”
“I’m askin’ where your allegiances lie.”
“I think that should be obvious. I’m a lawyer, which means I am on no one’s side. Alternatively, I am on everyone’s side.” Gretel’s eyes twinkled with amusement for a moment so brief I thought I might have imagined it. “It’s all about the argument, you see. A case could be made that it would be best for me—especially in the short
term—to hand you over to this Catha creature. On the other hand, behaving like you were never here also has merit. There are some among the exiles, like Paul, who would be very upset to learn you were taken. It could result in further, more violent action on their part.”
That made me frown. “D’ye actually believe this will all be solved peacefully?”
“It is not my belief, no. But it is my hope.”
“Hope isn’t the most reliable commodity,” I countered. “Personally, I prefer leverage.”
“As do I, but sometimes hope is all we have. Especially once one’s position of strength has eroded.” Gretel glanced at the clock on the wall and sighed. “Loathe as I am to admit it, very few of my people report to me anymore. Catha has...requisitioned them in her search for you and those few who continue to speak out against her. Which is why I’m afraid I must ask you to leave, and preferably before one of her lackeys discovers us.”
Gretel gestured for us to rise.
“Hold on,” I protested as I rose and hoisted the gig bag over one shoulder, still miffed at the thought of being turned out despite Gretel’s seemingly legitimate reasons for doing so. “Ye never said what Catha wants from me.”
“I confess I have no clue what she wants from any of us, beyond compliance. But I cannot imagine it would end well for us if she were to learn the Chancery harbored you for any length of time. Catha is exceedingly prone to violence, and her temperament is not what I would call even-keeled.”
“So, ye aren’t goin’ to tell her I stopped by?” I asked, suspiciously. “Once I’m gone, I mean?”
“Of course not. It would hardly be in my own self-interest to admit I allowed you to come and go unmolested. Besides, I owe you a debt for what you did for us in a time of need. You may consider this conversation, as well as my silence, a balancing of the scales.”
“Gee, t’anks,” I replied, rolling my eyes for good measure. “Tell ye what though, next time I agree to help ye, I’ll be sure to stipulate what currencies I do and don’t accept. Like favors the Chancery can’t refuse no matter the circumstances, for example.”
“It is not that simple,” Gretel admonished as we stepped out into the hallway. “I cannot risk jeopardizing my role here. As the sole remaining voice of reason, I am the Chancery’s last line of defense should Catha decide to take a more...active leadership role. If she were to declare war on the human race, for example.”
“Jesus, would she do that?”
“If provoked? Perhaps.”
“What about your brothers?” I asked as we passed a familiar office door. “Shouldn’t they be here?”
Gretel hesitated, stalling in the middle of the hallway. “Hansel the Younger has been away for some time now. He was looking into one of his pet projects with the help of an assistant. I’ve sent word for him to stay away for his own safety. Hansel the Elder is, I expect, sharing a cell with Robin.”
“He what, now?”
“My brother may have wronged you in the past, Ms. MacKenna, but he has always been an advocate for this institution. He has put his whole life into it, and more besides.”
“How much more?” I asked, suspiciously.
“Hansel is bound to the Chancery, as I am. Our well-being hinges upon its existence. That is why I am as you see me,” Gretel admitted, smiling sadly as she ran her hand down the front of her robe, showcasing her aging frame. “Without him by my side, the burden is mine alone to bear. And, as a result, I require a great deal of rest.”
I caught the barest whiff of a burning candle as she spoke—the mild sensation of dry leaves brushing against my skin—and realized I’d sensed her waning power. She was fading. Without intervention, I suspected Gretel would burn through her reserves until there was nothing left but ash.
“Are ye dyin’?”
“Death is an inevitability. But no, I am not sick, if that’s what you mean. Merely paying the price for a deal made a long, long time ago. Now, come, before we are discovered.”
I trailed behind the old lady as we approached the door, wary of stepping on her robe or having to catch her mid-faint; despite her assurances, I knew now what it cost her to soldier on. I felt a stab of pity for the woman; while it was true she hadn’t been extremely helpful, Gretel had done a great deal more than others might have in her place. It didn’t make us friends, or even allies, but that didn’t stop me from hoping she’d recover when this was all over.
“What d’ye t’ink I should do?” I asked, breaking the subsequent silence moments before we hit the door. “About Catha, I mean.”
“As I see it, you have the same options that the former Adjudicators had,” Gretel replied, thoughtfully. “You may either run so that you might live to fight another day as the Huntress did, or you may follow in the Redcap’s footsteps and oppose this invader.
“Except Robin’s little sit-in failed, and I’m no pacifist.”
“So?”
“So, what if takin’ on Catha means violence? Isn’t that somethin’ ye hope to avoid?”
“Despite what idealists have to say on the subject, I believe violence is always a solution. I also feel it is often the messiest and least satisfactory option among many others.” Gretel laid a skeletal hand on my shoulder as we reached the door. “I truly wish things were different, and that I could offer you a place here. But I am afraid I cannot in good conscience pay you what you are owed with the lives of those I would be endangering. Selfishly, I must admit I hope you will find a way to return things to the way they were without resorting to bloodshed, for all our sakes.”
“I’d prefer that, as well.”
Gretel hesitated before writing a note on a pad she pulled from the pocket of her robe, which she then tore it out and passed to me. “Presuming you intend to try, of course, I believe you will need allies. If you hurry, you might find one there.”
It was the advice and scribbled address that had eventually led me to this corner store—arriving just in time to spot a familiar face through the murky glass. Unfortunately, the face wasn’t that of an ally, but of an old acquaintance I’d avoided ever since I bargained away her freedom so Max and I could go after Frankenstein’s monster.
Short and well-built, Detective Maria Machado wore plainclothes—a pair of dark denim jeans and red blouse emblazoned with floral designs that accentuated her tan skin and dark brown hair. Despite how long it had been since I’d seen her, she looked younger in the brighter colors. More herself, somehow.
As I watched, the detective slapped the dealer on his broad shoulder, slipped on a navy windbreaker, and headed for the door. I crouched lower, willing Maria to ignore me so I could follow and see what she was up to. Maybe then I could corner her; Maria and I had never been what you would call close even before I’d gone AWOL for eighteen months, which meant I might need some leverage if I wanted her help—like finding out whether or not what she’d just done was legal, for example.
Once I was sure she hadn’t spotted me, I broke away from my hiding place, trailing far enough behind that I could duck out of sight behind another building should she turn around for whatever reason. I also adjusted my outfit using the seiðr magic I’d learned in the Norse afterlife, employing the transformative properties that Nevermore—the name I’d chosen for the armor I’d bargained for in exchange for tracking down Hilde—possessed. The effect was immediate; within seconds my spring attire included a baggy university hoodie and a nondescript ball cap. I adjusted the cap, donned the hood, and tweaked my gait to that of a dogged, plodding march.
Stealth Quinn, activated.
Regrettably, I managed to follow the detective for only two blocks before I lost her. At first, I couldn’t believe my eyes; Maria hadn’t slipped between buildings or stepped out of sight. Instead, she’d vanished into thin air so abruptly that even a couple passing on the opposite end of the street noticed; they began talking animatedly amongst themselves, gesturing with such exuberance it was as though they’d seen a world class magician pull a tiger out of
a hat or reattach a limb. Personally, I wasn’t so much impressed as I was ticked off.
How the hell had Maria pulled that off in broad daylight? And, more importantly, where had she gone? I muttered an obscenity under my breath and began scanning the street only to feel the sagging bulk of my gig bag yanked sideways, followed by the press of what felt like a muzzle against my spine.
“Don’t move,” an accented voice snarled just behind my ear, “or I’ll have no choice but to kill you.”
Chapter 4
I froze out of reflex, hands raised to show I wasn’t armed, and yet the barrel dug deeper into the base of my spine as though I’d done something I shouldn’t have. It hurt enough that—for a brief moment—I considered taking the risk and confronting my unknown assailant. I was a goddess, after all. What was a gun to a deity? Unfortunately, I hadn’t yet tested the limits of immortality, and being able to survive being shot in the back wasn’t the same as being able to walk away from it. An eternity was an awful long time to live without full use of one’s legs.
“I didn’t move, damnit,” I hissed through gritted teeth. When the gunman didn’t reply, I sighed. “What d’ye want, then? I don’t have any money.”
“I do not care about that. I want to know why you were following Detective Machado.”
I stilled a second time, my heart racing. The speaker’s voice, no longer laced with threat, was achingly familiar. I desperately wanted to turn, to find the face that went with it, but I couldn’t risk it. Not yet. Not until I knew for sure that it wouldn’t leave me paralyzed from the waist down—or worse.
“Max,” I said, his name falling like a prayer from my lips, “is that ye?”
“How is it you know my name?”
Moonshine: Phantom Queen Book 11—A Temple Verse Series (The Phantom Queen Diaries) Page 3