by Ari Marmell
“Good. You want the spear? Be there at half past midnight. Don’t be late.”
“Now just a moment! You’re going to have to give me more than—!”
More than what, I dunno, because that’s about where I hung up on him. Then unplugged the payphone, just in case he had some means of knowing where to call back.
“That wasn’t at all suspicious,” Ramona growled as I returned to the flop. “Won’t he suspect some sort of trick?”
Well, I’d figured she’d be listening in as best she could, so…
“Nah. I mean, yeah, he will, but it don’t matter. He’ll be there. That’s what counts. C’mon.”
“Oh? I’m worthy of your attention now, am I?”
“No.” I slung my hat and flogger off the rack. “But I’m bein’ magnanimous.”
“Is this your idea of working with someone?” she demanded.
“Actually, it was your idea, wasn’t it?”
I could just about feel her fingers on my throat from inside her mind.
Wasn’t gonna let it stop me. I had to keep pushing at her. Was the only way I knew to keep myself from giving in and trying to make up.
“Where are we going?” she asked, all stone and ice, now.
“Got a few errands. Then Oak Woods Cemetery. I wanna be there by sundown at the latest.”
“Why?” she asked, though at least she stood and started gathering her things while she yapped. “I heard you say the meet wasn’t until twelve-thirty.”
“I wanna be there early enough to see everyone else who decides to arrive early. And I figure most of ’em will.”
“Them?”
She was right on my heels as I left the office. I almost turned outta reflex to lock the door, then shrugged and made for the stairs.
“Who’s ‘them’?” she persisted.
“‘Them’ is… Well,” I admitted, “‘them’ is… kinda everyone.”
“Oh, is that all? Convenient we’ll already be in a graveyard when it comes time to bury us. Should save the undertakers some work.”
“Yeah, well, I do my best not to inconvenience others. You comin’ or what?”
“Yeah, yeah. Tell me, have you figured out how you’re going to avoid handing the spear over to a bunch of homicidal monsters? Or are you playing that by ear, too?”
Damn, she just had to have the last word, didn’t she?
* * *
The grass sprawled in all directions, an endless carpet that—at this time of year—probably woulda looked kinda wan in daylight, but gleamed in the drizzle and the glow of the cloud-veiled moon. And it did seem endless: place wasn’t far shy of two hundred acres, stretching on for block after block between Sixty-Seventh and Seventy-First. Headstones in white, grey, rust, and black marble modestly bedecked the grounds between massive granite mausoleums and monuments with angel- or cross-topped spires reaching toward heaven. Wet, pungent breeze offa Lake Michigan rustled the leaves in a large copse’s-worth of thick, lush trees, and sent ripples over the much smaller waters of the cemetery’s four memorial lakes.
It’s a nice place, is what I’m gettin’ at. Woulda been real peaceful, if we’d been here to visit a graveside or stroll along the pathways or unwrap a picnic supper.
Instead, Ramona, Pete and I were crouched on the roof of the Fuller Tomb, largest in Oak Woods. Inside was a large sheet of granite, inscribed with the usual names and dates. The rest of the place? Had the blocky bases and ornate pillars and corrugated roof of the so-called Classical Greek. After the museum and City Hall, it just felt appropriate.
From up on top, on the western shore of Symphony Lake, we basically had a slant on the whole graveyard. Or at least I did; I didn’t think there was enough light for Pete to see, and I’d thrown in the towel on tryin’ to figure out exactly what Ramona did or didn’t need.
She shivered a touch in the soft wind and softer drizzle, but most of us coulda put on that particular show if we wanted. Wasn’t proof of mortality. My cop buddy wasn’t acting quite as chilly, but that coulda been because he hadn’t stopped twitchin’ since I called him and told him when and where I needed him to meet me. He seemed to be tryin’ to read every headstone at once, and his hand clutched his piece like a security blanket.
Square, he probably didn’t need to be here. Wasn’t a lot he could do to back me up if things went sour, and it might be putting him on the firing line. On the other hand, I wanted to make a pretty clear statement to the Unseelie—and I didn’t want him off on his own if those bastards decided they didn’t care for what I had to say tonight and went lookin’ to take it out on someone.
“Why in the name of sanity,” Ramona asked through chattering teeth, “did you pick this of all places?”
She was asking mostly as a way of letting me know she wasn’t happy, without actually complaining. I was wise to that, see, ’cause we’d been over it already. Twice.
I already knew the place. I knew they could find it. I knew it was open enough that I’d see ’em all coming, but with a good deal of cover and places to hide if unpleasantness ensued. And, at this time of night, it was somewhere I could be real sure that there wouldn’t be humans around to get swept up in said unpleasantness.
I firmly decided not to noodle over what could happen in a cemetery, though, if any of the factions included a necromancer among ’em. They probably didn’t…
“Hey,” she said suddenly, leaning out toward the edge. “You hear something?”
Yeah, I did. Wasn’t anywhere close to the twelve-thirty meet time; last I’d checked, it was only just comin’ up on ten. But it’d never been a question of whether they’d show up early; just how early, and in what order? If we didn’t have a full house by eleven, I’d have been gobsmacked.
My gob remained unsmacked.
The Seelie showed first. Paranoid as they hadda be, with strangers and the Unseelie—and, uh, me—in the mix, I couldn’t say I blamed ’em.
They arrived in a small procession of cars that I assume were driven by charmed mortals, since I had no cause to think Áebinn or any of her crew were any more fond of flivvers than I was. Or maybe they were something else entirely, just dolled up to look like cars. The one at the forefront sure seemed to be a long-base Duesenberg Model J, deep cherry, extended hood cutting across the darkened cemetery driveway like a ship’s prow. I couldn’t help but notice, though, that the growl of the engine was less an engine and more an actual growl.
So, yeah. Maybe a flivver, but I wouldn’t bet my bottom dollar on it. I suppose I coulda poked through the illusion, taken a gander at what was inside, but it felt like a real potent glamour. Woulda taken a bit of power, and I didn’t know if I was gonna have any to spare before the night was through.
They climbed outta this vehicle and that, and clustered at the gate, until there were at least a dozen of ’em congregated there. Then they slipped the lock and marched in, a miniature parade along the twisting pathways, Áebinn all haughty and queen-ish in the vanguard. Raighallan followed behind, openly sporting a pair of big brass Elphame pistols. The rest of the Seelie “cops” came after, and all of ’em were alert, steady, and very armed.
“Is this an investigation or a war?” Ramona asked, whispering softer than a landing snowflake, lips so close they actually brushed my ear. If I’d shivered right then, it wouldn’ta been from the cold.
“Same thing, to them,” I answered.
“Peachy. Any chance we might get accidentally shot in the crossfire?”
“Nah,” Pete answered before I could. “It won’t be by accident.”
Well, he wasn’t wrong.
They were yappin’ as they approached, and why not? Wasn’t as though they were trying to be real sneaky in the first place.
“…revolting little toad,” Raighallan bitched as they stepped into hearing range.
“That and more,” Áebinn said, not looking back over her shoulder. “And if this tip proves false, I will allow you to express your distaste for him in unmistakable terms.
But he knows we’re not terribly fond of him, and what sort of consequences we can bring about should his information prove deceptive. I think it a good possibility that this is legitimate.”
Good boy, Franky! I dunno what he’d told ’em that had kept ’em gallivanting around all day and only showin’ up here, now, but he’d really come through. I was gonna have to make sure nothing happened to him as a result.
Probably meant I really shouldn’t beat the stuffing out of him, too. Suited me fine. You may not buy it, given some of what I’ve told you, but I don’t actually enjoy roughing the guy up.
Áebinn and her bootlicker weren’t saps. No matter how fond of ’em I wasn’t, I’d needed to remember to never make the mistake of thinking they were. Soon as they got near Symphony Lake, half the group spread out, vanishing behind trees and headstones, creeping like they owed the clouds money. Every couple ticks, one or two would pop up from what coulda been a real convenient hidey-hole or ambush point, to wave their bosses the all-clear.
And then a couple of ’em started climbing a nearby mausoleum, scrambling on up with fingerholds you couldn’ta seen, let alone used, and I got wise that we didn’t have a lotta time. Ramona and me were on the tallest mausoleum around, but eventually they’d get to this one—or they’d climb one of the ornamental spires and see us from above.
Either way, last thing I wanted was for them to assume we were waitin’ to bum-rush ’em and start squirting metal.
Ah, well. Woulda been nice to stay unnoticed until everyone showed, get a good slant on who—what—I was dealing with, but it wasn’t essential. I shifted my feet on the granite, ready to stand and announce myself when they got closer.
Turned out I didn’t have to, though.
The Seelie heard ’em coming same time I did. They spun like they’d choreographed it, comin’ to rest facing east, heaters and blades drawn.
The next bunch of guests came wading and swimming, cutting through Symphony Lake with barely a ripple. I dunno if they’d been shadowing Áebinn and company, or if they’d gotten wind of the rumors Franky’d been planting on the grapevine, but either way, they’d come. All fishy complexions and weedy beards.
No way for me to know if these bagienniks were part of the same faction the rusalka’d been bossing around or not, but the fact they were in Chicago right at this moment said they were hunting Gáe Assail either way.
Also either way, neither group was too keen to see the other. Ugly whispers and ichthyoid racial slurs were punctuated by the click of gat-hammers while the bagienniks burbled and hissed at each other like a really angry teakettle.
“Scram, slimebags!” Raighallan shouted, voice rising above the others. “You got no business in Chicago!”
One of the others, who I figured to be the leader on account of—well, on account of him answering, since the damn scaly things all looked the same to me—shouted back.
“Youuu ruuule here, maybe, but city is not youuurs.” I’d have had to gargle a whole mug of ketchup to sound like that.
Áebinn raised one perfectly slender hand.
“They’ve not broken any of our laws yet, Raighallan. Leave them be. Until,” she added, now addressing the water and its occupants, “they make even the tiniest flicker of a move to interfere with us. At which point you have my permission to spend the rest of the night fishing.”
Raighallan and several of the other aes sidhe snickered nastily.
The foreigners gurgled to themselves some more.
All of which was fascinating, but not so much I didn’t hear the next group of footsteps crunching and squishing along the cemetery roadway. Way too loud and clumsy to be Fae—’cept maybe a troll or the equivalent—I figured instead it hadda be…
Yep. Seven or eight humans, all wrapped in long coats and most of ’em carrying heaters only about, oh, half the size of a bus. No sign of Bumpy himself, but I recognized his witch, Gina—the only skirt in the group—and even if she hadn’t been there, I’d have known the type.
Guess Pete’s snitches had come through, too. I mean, he told me they would, but still.
As for the man himself, he clenched up when he saw the trouble boys, tensed in a way he hadn’t even when the spitting fish-folk had arrived. I could about hear his hand stretching out for his gat. Say this for Pete: he’s consistent.
“Awright!” shouted the apparent leader of the crew, waving his Tommy in a way that was almost obscene, “Everybody grab some air! I wanna know what the hell… you…”
Gina whispered frantically in his ear, tugging on his shoulder, while pretty much everyone else there just studied him as if he was some mildly surprising but basically uninteresting bug. He didn’t look nearly as scared as he oughta be—as he woulda been, if he’d really understood what kinda brodie he’d just committed—but at least he closed his head and stopped tryin’ to blow out an imaginary fire with his piece.
Got nice’n quietly tense for a while after that, Seelie watchin’ outsiders watchin’ mobsters watchin’ Seelie. Some of ’em jumped and twitched at every little movement; others stood so rock-still they might as well have been added to the collection of monuments and statuary. Aes sidhe demanded to know how bagienniks had found out about this place, where they’d gotten their info, why they’d come. Bagienniks hissed and gurgled at aes sidhe, offering nothing that could ever be mistaken for an answer. Humans demanded to know who everyone was, what the hell was goin’ on, and were roundly ignored. Only total commonality was that nobody was even marginally relaxed. Whole thing was a tinderbox in a powder keg in a frying pan.
And that’s when the fire showed up.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A in’t as if I hadn’t known they were coming—I’d invited ’em myself—but that didn’t make me any gladder to see ’em. They trooped into the faint light from Oak Woods’ shade-shrouded south side; God forbid they use the same gate as everyone else, right? For a few minutes, they were nothin’ but darker against dark, motion without source, silent except for the occasional harsh, rasping breath or low, malevolent chuckle.
If I ever forget myself enough to make fun of you lot for being scared of the Unseelie, remind me of this moment, savvy? Should shut me right the hell up. Ramona seemed to be having some trouble keeping her breathing anywhere near to calm or even, and I ain’t entirely certain Pete was breathing at all.
Bumpy’s pet witch paled enough to hide behind moonlight, and the whole crew began to back up. Sure, they had their gats up’n ready to shoot, but their peepers were mostly wider than the barrels, and I think the sound of their own guns mighta sent ’em packing. The bagienniks also retreated, not near as far, but back into the deeper waters of Symphony Lake. Wasn’t much of a sanctuary—not all that wide or deep—but I guess they felt safer.
For their own part, the Seelie might as well’ve forgotten either of those groups existed. They only had eyes—and scowls, and snarls, and curses, and heaters, and wands; a few even hissed like snakes—for the newcomers.
Redcaps bubbled outta the darkness, as if they’d just shrugged it off. Short and hunched shorter, spread out in a wide front, they plodded heavy-footed across the grass. Now and again one of ’em would stop long enough to dig a finger through the soil covering a relatively fresh grave, licking the filth clean as they resumed their advance.
I knew one of ’em was Grangullie, but damned if I could tell which from here. Other’n the fact that some carried gats and some meat cleavers, they all looked alike.
Téimhneach appeared just a few seconds later, the night spitting him out like unwanted gristle. A black dog padded beside him, near shoulder height. Damn thing had paws the size of hubcaps, blinkers that blazed a hellish green, and a maw full of jagged teeth that gleamed sickly in the glow.
Capone and his people’d buried men in concrete that was less thick than the tension in the graveyard that night.
Áebinn, Raighallan, and their people barked orders, cited laws, made threats.
Téimhneach and his said nothing, le
tting their postures and their vicious grins and their unsheathed weapons do the threatening for ’em.
Everyone else, even those who didn’t really need to breathe, held their breath.
Nobody wanted to be the one to set it off. The politics between the Courts, even when—especially when—it comes to open conflict are… let’s go with “intricate.” Every one of ’em wanted to tear into the other side, but nobody was quite sure of the repercussions of drawing first blood.
Figured that was my cue, if ever there was one. Everybody was wound, but if I got their attention now, I could head off any ugliness. Still wasn’t sanguine about startin’ up before I was sure everyone was here, but no help for it. I stood, raising a mitt and drawing breath to shout for attention…
Then one of the redcaps pulled a brass piece, plugged a bagiennik in the forehead, and all hell broke loose.
Do I gotta explain it? While it ain’t exactly diplomatic, attacking a Fae outsider don’t carry the same possible consequences as rubbing out a local. On the other hand, it’s vicious enough that the Seelie “police” are allowed—some’d say obligated—to get involved.
The Seelie were grinning as vicious and ugly as the redcaps as the two sides smashed into each other, and the only thing that surprised me about that was the fact that it surprised me at all.
Bursts of blinding light and waves of smothering darkness swept the rival forces. Phantom howls and distracting shrieks; indistinct swarms of smoke and shadow; fires of every hue, burning or freezing or simply clinging; claws of dragons and serpents from the lake and free-floating agony without apparent cause. Aes sidhe and redcaps appeared where they weren’t, disappeared where they were, taunted and laughed and stabbed from three places at once.
It was all illusion, of course, or nearly all. But our illusions are real enough, if you believe, and even if you don’t, it ain’t easy to figure which ones got real fire or real knives hidden inside.
Good fortune and bad swept back’n forth between the two groups in almost visible tides, an eldritch tug-of-war between ancient man-children to whom chance was just another toy they didn’t wanna share.