Unshapely Things

by Mark Del Franco

  "You have a spell?"

  It didn't seem the time to express any doubts. "Yes."

  I paced on the sidewalk under the dragon lintel. It never helped to push Keeva.

  "He's home. I'll meet you there." She hung up.

  I let out the breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

  I debated whether to spend the money for a cab, then laughed. The end of the world was coming, and I was worried about my budget. I flagged down a black-and-white Town Taxi. MacDuin lived in the Charlestown Navy Yard, and the driver was all too happy to take me there. Any destination that forced a route through the winding streets of downtown automatically meant a hefty fare.

  I called Murdock. Loud street noise made him difficult to hear.

  "Where the hell have you been?" he said.

  "Long story. Your brother Bar still has Shay under surveillance, right? If he's with the big elf that acts like a child, pick them both up. And be careful. The elf is dangerous."

  "Okay. I'll get the long story?"

  "I hope so. Do you have this number on caller ID?"

  I heard him fumble with his phone a moment. "No," he said.

  So like Meryl to block her number. I gave it to him. "Call me if you get him, Murdock. And call me fast."

  "Done," he said.

  I put the phone away. Working with Murdock was a hell of a lot easier than with Keeva.

  We did a stop-and-go creep around the Common. As we reached the top of Beacon Hill, I steeled myself to start blurting directions. If the driver continued down the other side, we would run into one of the few streets that led into the Weird from downtown. I checked my watch again. The parade on the Avenue would be just reaching its peak, and the streets would be an inescapable traffic jam. He saved me the trouble of being annoying by turning off on a side street. Once off the Hill, we weaved through twisting streets to the Charlestown Bridge.

  As we turned into Charlestown, I pulled out the piece of paper Meryl had given me. The spell was simple, but long. As I mentally sounded through the words, I could hear the ancient cadence of the Celts, only darker, more primal-sounding. Meryl had provided a rough translation. It didn't have the rhythm of the Fomorian, but it still read like a paean to the world. It was a calling to forces greater than the individual, deep forces that bound together reality. The verses sang to the ancient elements of life represented in the five cardinal points of a pentagram.

  I could see now what Meryl meant by the oddity of the spell. Paradox seemed to run through it, giving an honoring to bindings yet asking for freedom; asking for release within the bounds of flesh. Yet, it had its own logic. Something wanted out, and out badly.

  Below the spell and its translation, Meryl had written two more spells. They were formal in the very ancient tradition of the Tuatha de Danann, powerful spells of binding. Next to each of them, she had drawn large question marks. They were spells that did the opposite of the Fomorian one. A layman might call them counterspells, but true counterspells were devised to defend against specific spells. Meryl's notes were informed guesses. Good ones, but guesses nonetheless.

  A queasy feeling crept into my stomach. Nothing that powerful had been uttered in over a thousand years, probably longer. No one had a reason to. And I didn't have the ability to give the words the power they needed. I hoped Keeva would have the strength to hold the de Danann spells long enough for them to work. The easiest course was to stop macDuin before he even began the ritual.

  The cab pulled into the parking lot of the Charlestown Navy Yard. I gave the driver a tip so big, I left him staring at his palm.

  The Navy Yard no longer retained its original function. Shipbuilding had left Boston long ago. The old buildings had gone derelict until someone had the idea of making them residences. Everyone thought the people who moved in were crazy to pay exorbitant prices to live in the middle of a crime-ridden neighborhood. They got the last laugh though. More development had spread around them, and the condos were worth ten times what the original owners had paid for them.

  Keeva was nowhere in sight. No one was in the area at all. Across the way, a few cars sat near the edge of the pier. Beyond them, boats of all sizes dotted the harbor. Their slack sails waited in the humidity for a breeze. I moved down the sidewalk to macDuin's unit. The door stood ajar. I didn't need instinct to call up my body shields. The familiar tingle spread over my head and chest. Comforting, but useless. I was tired and had little energy to do them much good.

  I slid along the inner wall of the entryway and tilted my head to listen inside. I could see part of the foyer where an area rug lay askew. Without taking my eyes away, I reached down and slipped the dagger from my boot. An open, unattended door is never a good sign.

  I tapped the door with my toe, and it fell back against the inside wall. A faint current of air-conditioning radiated against my face. I could see the entire entryway, a mail table with fresh-cut flowers, small oil originals above it, anatne archway to the living room beyond. To the left, stairs led to the second floor. I could hear no signs of movement.

  I eased into the entryway. Something glistened on the third step. I didn't need to be a hematologist to recognize fairy blood. As I moved closer, I could see another spot on the railing near the top. I leaned forward and closed the front door. Without knowing who had left the trail of blood, I didn't want any surprises coming in behind me.

  I darted a look into the stairwell. The landing was empty. Testing each step for noise, I made my way to the second floor. More bloodstains showed on the walls and floor. In a technical sense, I was contaminating a possible crime scene, so I did my best not to disturb anything. The bedrooms on the second floor were empty. The blood trail continued up.

  As I crept up the last flight, the top floor came into view. The stairs led to a room that stretched from the front of the building to the back. Great beams crisscrossed the ceiling. As my eyes came level with the floor, I looked under a couch that had been positioned against the railing. Someone lay on the floor, a man by the look of the bare feet facing me. I could see no one else in the room. Unless someone was lying on the couch, the townhouse was empty except for me and the prone figure.

  I walked up the last few steps and almost slipped on a broken ward stone on the floor. I picked up a large chunk of it and recognized it as the same material as the wards from the other murders. Whatever purpose it had served had been destroyed with the stone. Coming around the couch, I stopped in surprise.

  MacDuin lay on the floor. He had been stripped naked and pinned to the floor like a butterfly. Ward stones held his wings flat, just like the other victims. His chest had been split from collarbone to abdomen and wrenched open. It had been done with such force that his lungs were splayed to the sides, and the heart appeared to have been torn out instead of cut.

  I edged around the body to get a closer look. Too late, I felt a tingle across the nape of my neck. Even as I pulled back, the field of another ward stone grabbed me, and I froze in place. I let out an angry sigh, cursing myself for stupidity. I had taken the lack of any sensation of a ward as a sign that there were none.

  The wards on the wings were too small and far away to be the culprits. The ones at the other murder scenes had been keyed to each other to hold the wings back. Even given my recent propensity for walking into traps, I didn't think it was too much to assume these stones were any different, but obviously I was wrong. I tried rolling my eyes to the extreme, but couldn't place the offending stone and only hurt my eyes.

  I stared into macDuin's face. He hadn't gone easily. An open cut on his cheekbone looked like the result of a punch. It had probably thrown him into the ward field I was in now, and the rest had been by the book for the murderer.

  In the dead silence, a familiar sound caught my ear. French doors at the back of the room led to the balcony. The distinctive hum of fairy wings in motion whirred from the same direction. Most fairies dampened the noise unless they didn't care if someone heard them coming. I let out a sigh of relief when Kee
va fluttered into view. She brought herself down onto the balcony with long practiced ease. She reached for the door and paused when she caught sight of me. Her lips compressed into the thin line that I had learned long ago meant annoyed condescension. She opened the door.

  "Well, well, well, don't we make a pretty picture?" She held her arms loosely at her sides, waiting for me to respond. "Can't talk?" She paced near the door, making exaggerated thoughtful poses. "Let me see, what could have happened here? Could it be the great Connor Grey is trapped?" She gave me a sideways smirk. I tried to throw as much anger into my eyes as I could under the circumstances.

  "Imagine my surprise when I find my dear, beloved boss sliced open and a former, troubled employee poised over him with a dagger. I do wish I had a camera." She stopped moving and faced me again. "You do know how much macDuin would have loved this moment." She leaned forward with just her upper body and peered down at the body. "He doesn't seem to be enjoying it though. Pity."

  She looked at me again and shook her head. "I have to hand it to you, Connor. You do know how to be in the right place at the wrong time. MacDuin said you would spoil everything. He wanted to frame you for the other murders, you know. And now here you are, conveniendy located next to another body. Maybe I'll pick up on that little aspect of his plan."

  She slipped a knife from her belt and hefted it in her hand. Glancing at me once, she paced again without speaking. A bead of sweat slipped down my spine. I watched her move back and forth. She looked down at her knife again. She knew. She knew about Corcan. But macDuin was dead. Someone else had to be controlling Corcan. A new dread gripped me, and I pressed as hard as I could against the ward-spell.

  "No," I said. It came out strangled and the spell bore down around me again.

  Keeva smiled broadly. "Very impressive. I think it's time to put you out of your misery, don't you?"

  She direw the knife. My heart hammered in my chest as I watched the hilt leave her hand. The knife flew at me with nauseating slowness, light catching the blade as it soared across the room. It's been said that the doom of the world can rest on the edge of a knife. For once, I believed it. The knife whistled past my ear and stuck into a beam somewhere above me. A loud report rang out as something fell. I stumbled free and almost landed on macDuin.

  I turned in confusion. Another ward lay broken on the floor. I spun back to Keeva. She just stood there with her arms crossed and a smile playing on her lips.

  "That... wasn't.. .funny!"

  She shrugged. "Sorry. I couldn't help myself."

  I put my dagger back in its sheath and slipped it into my boot. Given my condition, it wouldn't be much help against Keeva anyway. "What the hell happened here?"

  She walked over to macDuin and squatted by his side. "He was like this when I got here. Heart's gone." She stood, wiping her hands on her thighs.

  "Why did you let me walk into a trap?"

  She poked me in the chest. "I didn't let you do anything. The front door was open when I got here, and I thought you had done something stupid like go inside. I got rid of the ward at the top of the stairs, but the angle was bad for the other one, so I went around to the balcony. I'm surprised you didn't sense it."

  I rubbed my nose. "I've been having trouble smelling anything."

  Keeva bit her lower lip and looked away. "Promise you'll let me explain?" I cocked my head to the side in confusion. She reached out and placed her hand on my forehead. I felt an odd shifting of pressure, as though I had ridden in a fast elevator and my sinuses were catching up a second late. I could breathe again. I sneezed and gagged once very hard. Between macDuin's exposed organs and the killer's essence, the stench in the room was overwhelming. I grabbed Keeva's arm.

  "What the hell did you do to me the other night?"

  She wrenched her arm away with no trouble and stepped away from me. "I saved you a trip to the hospital. When macDuin realized you knew Gethin's essence, he wanted me to block you. I refused, so he sent his henchmen after you. You should thank me. I got them and macDuin off your back."

  "Gethin? Then he knew Gethin is here?"

  She looked at me in confusion. "Of course he did."

  "I thought Lorcan was using Corcan to commit the murders."

  She shook her head. "Wow. No, Connor. You're way off. Corcan didn't commit the murders. Gethin did. I thought you figured out the ritual? Gethin's dying from genetic defects. MacDuin told me he had a spell to cure himself. He's more fairy than elf and was murdering the prostitutes for their hearts. He needed them to purge his elfin essence. As best we could tell, he needs Corcan as a final purging vessel to accept his elfin essence."

  "Then why was macDuin trying to end the police investigation?"

  She stared at me in confusion. After a moment, she nodded. "Connor, Gethin's name is macLorcan. MacDuin and Gerda Alfheim had an affair during the war. He's macDuin's son."

  Stunned, I lowered myself onto the couch. The image of macDuin laughing at me in the basement of the Guildhouse rose in my mind. He had realized I didn't know. And he didn't tell me. And he had intended to frame me. I looked over at the body and tried to feel bad he was dead.

  "I can't believe this. He was willing to let people die just to protect his son?"

  "MacDuin was trying to stop him, Connor. He didn't want anyone to know. He was afraid the press would find out the killer was a son he had with a radical activist. Connecting him with Gerda Alfheim would bring his old war collaboration ties out again. He really had put all that behind him, but his reputation would never have recovered again. Especially not with Maeve. With the Fey Summit winding down, she can't afford anyone being suspicious of her motives."

  "You were helping him."

  She smiled. "I did more than help. I caught the bastard. Two days ago. MacDuin was keeping him locked up here until after Midsummer so he couldn't kill anyone else and complete the ritual."

  Now I understood the sensation of more wards in the house. A closed door at the back of the room vibrated with blocking wards. I went over to it. "This is where he kept him?" Keeva nodded. I opened the door. Inside was a small alcove room with just a bed. Above it was a window with a shattered frame. Gethin must have gone out that way and set the trap for macDuin. That wasn't what grabbed my attention, though. A pentagram was painted on each of the four walls and centered on the ceiling was a fifth. Gethin had drawn them in his own blood.

  Realization swept over me. "We have to leave right now. I know where he's going to do the ritual."

  Keeva gestured at MacDuin. "The ritual is over, Connor. Gethin got his last heart from his own father. He's probably fully fairy by now."

  "Think, Keeva. The hearts are not here. This is about more than healing Gethin. Didn't you wonder about the pentagrams?"

  I handed her the spell Meryl had given me. The color drained from her face as her eyes moved down the page. She gave the paper back. "This isn't the spell macDuin showed me. Where do you think Gethin is?"

  "Castle Island. Shay was going to take Corcan there for the fireworks. Gethin must be meeting them."

  She strode onto the balcony, shots of light beginning to course into her wings. In the gathering dusk, she glowed above me as she lifted into the air. I stepped beneath her, and she hooked her hands under my arms from behind. My stomach dropped as my feet left the tiled flooring. We soared above the building.

  The setting sun smeared streaks of orange and red across the horizon. To the east over the harbor, the sky had faded to a flat gray. Too anxious to wait for full nightfall, people were already shooting off cheap fireworks, little bursts of color to the south over the Weird and South Boston. We made straight for them.

  Black clouds sprang up in the east, lightning flickering among them. A gust of wind hit us, and Keeva veered sideways. Reacting to my fear, my body shields materialized. Keeva almost lost her grip on me as the shields made me harder to hold. She dug her fingers painfully into my arms as I tamped the shields back down. We were out over the water, the downtown skyli
ne slipping past. The surface of the harbor shimmered in a haze of white foam. A stronger gust of wind battered us, and we dropped a dozen feet before Keeva recovered. We skimmed near the surface of the water, where fish were running in all directions, sending up a frenzied spray. People on boats scrambled to pull in their sails.

  Keeva began chanting, trying to use the wind's energy to work with her. Her flight stabilized as we shot over the Weird. Old Northern Avenue was a blaze of color and movement. People jammed the length of the street, dancing and flying in celebration. Keeva kept us just above the fray, weaving in and out of other fairies. We joined a small convoy of people flying out to Castle Island for the fireworks. Away from the distractions of the Weird, apprehension replaced excitement on faces turned toward the dark cloud bank that had spread rapidly over the harbor.

  Castle Island came into view, its shores lined with hundreds of people. Fort Independence spread out below us, its five sides of granite rising thirty feet above the crowd. It was the biggest damn pentagram in the city. A green parade ground should have been visible at its open center, but a sallow haze of light glowed instead. The essence that radiated off it pulsated with malevolence.

  "I can't get through that," Keeva yelled. She banked to the right and brought me down in the parking lot. On the opposite side, more people filled the causeway that looped around Pleasure Bay. Keeva and I pushed our way through the crowd.

  I pulled out the cell phone and called Murdock. "Where are you?" I said.

  "I'm at the front gate of Fort Independence." I closed the phone. Someone let off firecrackers, and the crowd roared its approval. I grabbed Keeva's sleeve and pointed at the fort. I had to yell to be heard. "Front gate!" She nodded once and grabbed me again. We launched over the crowd and flew up the hill. Coming around the nearest rampart of the fort, I could see Murdock scanning the crowd, his hand resting on his holstered weapon. Keeva dropped me right next to him.

  It says something about the world we live in that Murdock didn't blink an eye at my arrival. "What's going on?" he asked.