by Ari Marmell
“When?”
Nothin’ for it. Maybe I shoulda lied, but… “A few months back. Right around when Adalina woke up.”
“Months. A few months.”
Still no shouting, still no cursing. Shit, this was bad.
He pushed both hands into the armrests, leveraging himself up and outta the chair like a man twenty years older. “I trusted you. I called you mio amico.”
“I am your friend, Fino. I…”
But I was talkin’ to his back, and then to nothin’ at all. He vanished from the room, and a minute later the front door slammed shut.
“Celia,” Bianca said, “go after your father. I don’t want him leaving in this state.”
The girl swallowed a scowl and ran.
“Bianca.” I don’t like to think how close I sounded to begging. “You know how he got when his mother was concerned. I hadda be sure, hadda figure out what she was up to, before—”
“I understand, Mick,” she said, flat and distant. “I get why you thought you had to keep it from us.”
Not “why you had to.” “Why you thought you had to.” Oof.
Celia returned shaking her head. “He’s already gone, Mama. I can’t find him.”
Bianca nodded dully and stood. Her rosary dangled from a clenched fist, seemingly forgotten. “I’m suddenly very tired. Please stay as long as you need to recover, Mick.”
“Bianca…”
“Good night.”
Another disappearance, another closed door. Celia followed a moment later.
Left just me, and Adalina, still kneeling beside the sofa.
I drained the last of my glass of milk. “That went smooth. Don’t you think that went smooth?”
“What’s going to happen now?” She sounded miserable, poor kid.
“Look, your father’ll be back once he’s had time to cool off. I gotta keep diggin’ into whatever the hell’s going down, especially if it involves you at all, but I’ll find a way to make things right. You got nothin’ to worry about.”
She tried to force a smile, then gave it up as a bad move and just shrugged. “I’m not sure I believe that.”
“Yeah, I probably wouldn’t, either. I honestly don’t know, Adalina. Your, uh, peculiar nature may be a bigger deal than I thought. If the Unseelie are still interested in you—or interested again—I gotta figure they’ve tumbled to somethin’ about you I ain’t yet. And that it’s something others are gonna be interested in, too, if they catch wind of it. I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe, but… well, you may be lookin’ over your shoulder a lot more’n we’d hoped.”
Adalina squeezed her peepers shut tight, then nodded. “Thank you for telling me the truth,” she said, standing. “About this, anyway.”
“Wait. Whaddaya mean?”
She’d already turned away. “I always knew there were things you weren’t telling me, Mick. To protect me, or so I wouldn’t worry. I didn’t much care for that, but I accepted it.
“But now? Now I feel like I can’t trust you to tell me even when I need to know. To recognize when it’s time to stop keeping secrets.”
And with that, she was gone, too, leavin’ me alone, in the dark, in the living room of a family that used to call me friend.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I dusted outta there late the next morning.
I wasn’t near a hundred percent yet, but a good night’s sleep—well, a night’s sleep; wasn’t much good about it—had fixed up a lotta what ailed me. The rest just needed time, and a bit of luck-slinging with the L&G, which I wasn’t about to do around the Ottatis. They didn’t need me muckin’ with their fortunes any worse’n I already had.
And I needed to get away from them, figure how I was even gonna start makin’ things square. Especially with Adalina. Not trustin’ me could get her into all sortsa dutch, maybe more’n I could ever yank her out of.
Woulda been easier if I was someone who deserved that trust, but whaddaya gonna do?
Yes, I left on my own, which means yes, I knew where they were layin’ low. Somehow, askin’ Bianca to arrange a ride for me didn’t feel like the wisest course of action just then.
After hoofin’ it a few blocks, so I wasn’t in quite such a fancy neighborhood, I stopped in at the first clothing shop I could find that didn’t look to be completely outta my price range. Picked out a shirt to replace the one the Ottatis had wrapped me in while I was out (it didn’t fit that well), and a coat, to replace the ones the vampire’d shredded. And then a second coat because I figured I was gonna need a spare. (My sword drew some odd looks from the salesman, but I stared soulfully into his eyes and made him forget about it.) Got to the counter, found out they were still outta my price range, had a conversation with the salesman where we once again stared soulfully into each other’s eyes—I was gonna have to buy him flowers at this rate—and then they weren’t outta my price range anymore.
Yeah, I know. It ain’t a trick I pull much, but you do what you gotta do, right? Besides, the country was still in a depression. They shouldn’ta been charging so much, anyway.
Got myself a paper—no murders in the last day, or none the newshawks had caught wind of, anyway—and made my way back to the office, just to check on everything.
Nothing to check on. No mail of importance, no scrawled notes, no clients waiting, and if anybody’d tried to reach me on the payphone, neither Mr. Soucek nor any of the other tenants had taken a message.
Not that they often did.
I went inside, did some ritual salting and sweeping, waved the Luchtaine & Goodfellow overhead a few times, and felt a tiny bit better. So now what?
Still had no leads on the vampires, and I wasn’t any more eager to start diggin’ around random cemeteries than I’d been yesterday. Still no leads on Orsola, either, and after gumming up everything with the Ottatis, that wasn’t a topic I wanted to spend too long mulling over. Yeah, I’d have to, sooner or later, but right now I was votin’ strenuously for “later.”
What I could do, though, was do some sniffin’ around to determine if I could rule out any of my other suspects.
Which meant I was gonna have to bump gums with someone else who was real sore at me, but hell, rate I was going, trying to avoid everyone I’d irritated would mean just hibernating in my office for a decade or two. So I slung my new flogger on and headed back to the L.
Since I’d gotten a late start leavin’ the Ottatis, crossed town to get home, spent a long while puttering and dithering around the office, then crossed town again, it was already within spitting distance of evening by the time I got where I was headed. I stood soaking my Oxfords in a puddle left from last night’s rain, examining a swanky-but-not-too-swanky redbrick house that I’d never had much interest in coming back to.
Lights were on, but I didn’t see much movement, so I headed for the door. Got about halfway when it opened up and she came out to meet me, as slinky and “poured into her dress” as ever.
“Evening, Ramona.”
“Mr. Oberon.”
And us with no audience, this time. Yeah, this was startin’ off swell.
“So, um.”
“So?”
All right, direct route. “How’s about you let me take a quick look through your boss’s digs? Just so I can make sure he ain’t summoning vampires to Chicago or otherwise playin’ with dangerous necromancies? Y’know, for old times’ sake.”
If nothin’ else, I had the pleasure of knowing, just from watching her blink, that I’d completely knocked her for a loop.
“You know,” she finally said, “I genuinely can’t tell if you’re serious or not.”
“Yeah, honestly, me neither.”
She nodded, then stopped short like it was some kinda slip, and crossed her arms. “Either way, you must already know the answer to that.”
“Yeah, but I’m an eternal optimist. Ramona, please. I just gotta be sure, and I can cross him off my list and not bother you again. If that means sneaking in while you and Baskin are
out, you know I can pull it off.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure. We’ve improved security since you were here last, and I don’t just mean the bolts on the windows.”
“I’m sure you don’t. Ramona…”
“Please leave now.” She started back up the walk.
“They’re goin’ after my friends.”
“What?”
“They cut Franky up somethin’ bad. The L King’s dead. The Unseelie’ve been watchin’ the Ottatis, and I got no idea if it’s connected or not.” I shouldn’t have been spilling all this to her, but it was building up inside, and—even after everything—we still had a connection. I just didn’t know what kind, anymore. “I don’t really figure Baskin for my guy on this, I just hafta make sure! I’m not gonna lose anyone else over this, dammit!”
“And does that include me, Mick?” she asked—not softly, exactly, but less stiff or angry than I’d heard in a while.
“I don’t know.” And whether I was tellin’ her I didn’t know if whoever this was would come after her, or that I didn’t know if we were friends at all… Well, I didn’t know that, either.
“I can’t let you in to just toss the place, Mick. You know I can’t. But I can assure you, it’s not Daniel. He doesn’t practice even the most minor rituals without me knowing, and usually assisting. He’s not dabbling in anything remotely as powerful as what you’re implying, or anything necromantic. He wouldn’t even know where to start.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. I promise.”
And there it was. Did I trust a promise made by Ramona Webb? Could I?
Yeah. Maybe I was still just a tiny bit dizzy over whatever it was we’d had, or I’d been manipulated into feeling we had, or… whatever. But every instinct in me was tellin’ me, yes, I could believe her.
On this, at least.
Sure, maybe she was an even better liar than I thought, though that woulda been damn near impossible. And maybe Baskin had somehow managed to hide what he was doin’ from the succubus who lived in his house and helped with his magic, but that didn’t sound any more likely. For now…
“Okay. Thanks, dollface. As of now, he’s off my list.”
She smiled that damn smile, the one to make you think the sun’s forgotten the time and is tryin’ to rise again. I returned it, best I could, and started off down the block.
“Mick? Good luck. I hope you find who you’re looking for. And give Franky my best.”
It’s a good thing she walked back into the house without waiting for a reply, ’cause I sure didn’t have one to offer.
* * *
After that, there was nothin’ else for it. With Fleischer off the suspect list, I couldn’t think of any other locals who might be able to pull this whole thing off. So until I tumbled to a better lead, it was time to bite the bullet and start searching the cemeteries and other death-touched, vampire-friendly places.
One. By. Friggin’. One.
I roped Pete into it, when he wasn’t walkin’ his beat or otherwise on the job. An extra set of peepers couldn’t hurt, even if he didn’t really know what we were lookin’ for the way I did, and his badge got us into a few private boneyards without too much hassle. (Yeah, I coulda used my own mojo for that, but his way was quicker’n easier.)
Mostly, though, if I was gonna be stumbling around blind, I wanted the company.
We didn’t just start pickin’ at random, though. If nothing else, we could start with the graveyards nearest to where the murders had taken place, where Franky’d been bushwacked, where those poor mugs had been terrorized by contentious fruit. Those spots weren’t too close to each other, but we could at least poke pins in ’em on a map and then work out from the center, all methodical-like.
Didn’t help. Whether with my buddy the bull or on my own, I covered a couple days’ worth of cemeteries, plus the occasional mortuary, hospital, and murder scene. Found a lotta dirt, a lotta dead guys, a handful of mourners, and—on one occasion—a pack of small barghests in black dog form, feasting on a recently disinterred corpse. They ran, howlin’, when they saw me comin’, but their mere presence was a bad sign. A death omen.
Since we hadn’t had enough of those already.
But nothin’ that led me anywhere. Even the barghests, I decided after an extra close up’n-down of that particular cemetery, had been random. Drawn to whatever magics Áebinn was hunting, but no direct connection to it, or the vampires, or anything else.
By the third night of this nonsense, I needed a change of pace. So even though I had no cause to figure it had any connection, I decided I’d go and take a quick spin around the Field.
Yeah, yeah, I get it. You’re tired of hearin’ about the Field Museum. I won’t linger.
I had good reason. Lots of relics and old magics pass through the place, either ending up part of an exhibit or just stored away in the basement somewhere. Occasionally, one of ’em proves to be pretty damn powerful, or attracts the wrong sort of attention. The Spear of Lugh, just for instance.
So yeah, if some big bad artifact was the source of our problems, it could well have been there. That made it worth checking.
Mostly, though, I was just bored.
Found jack that was at all relevant. But I did spend a few minutes walkin’ the halls, examining whatever caught my fancy and thinking back over my last few visits.
Old artifacts and artwork, some of which made me downright homesick—by which I mean, it made me think of my Old World home, and those memories made me sick. Exhibits of these animals or that, locked in stasis: Foraging elk and grazing gazelle. Slinking tigers. Deer falling to wolves and zebras fleeing lions (all bloodlessly, of course, so it wouldn’t upset the kids). The taxidermists had given one of those zebras an expression that, to me, looked a lot more exasperated than frightened.
“You’n me both, bo,” I told it.
The banner I’d clung to when tussling with Herne the Hunter was gone, replaced by a new ad for a new exhibit. They were cyclin’ through ’em quick right now, tryin’ to catch the attention of folks who were in Chicago for the World’s Fair, hoping they’d spend a day at the museum before leaving town.
All the damage from a year ago was, of course, long repaired. The display case Herne had destroyed; the glass protecting multiple exhibits that Grangullie and Raighallan had shattered—or, like with the taxidermied carcasses of the Tsavo man-eaters, just knocked loose—with the magic of the Spear… All brand-spanking new. You’d never have known I’d been here.
I think, convoluted as that smarmy little redcap’s schemes had been, I was more frustrated now than I ever got on that case.
Screw it. This’d been a nice diversion, but that’s all it was. Time to move on.
To searching more graveyards. Oh, boy.
Where was a lunatic Unseelie with a Tuatha Dé Danann relic when you needed one?
* * *
It was the next day when a few of those alternative leads I’d been hopin’ for finally dropped on my head like a goddamn anvil.
I really gotta stop hopin’ for things.
After a morning of yet another trip-for-biscuits to a couple more graveyards, I stopped back by my office for a visit with a newspaper and an icebox full of milk. Or that’d been the plan, anyway.
Waiting by my door—or should I say pacing by my door, stomping like she was beating the carpet into submission—was a woman who woulda looked perfectly average if she hadn’t been wearing an old blouse, skirt, and shawl that were all at least two generations outta fashion.
Even with that cue, it took me a second.
“Lenai?”
“’Bout time you got back, you jackass! You think I have all day?”
I dunno if I’d ever seen her this young. Not a single wrinkle on her map. “What’s wrong?”
“Wrong? What’s wrong? We barely fended off a goddamn vampire, you lunkhead, that’s what’s wrong!”
Nobody else in the building was likely to hear her, even with the shouti
ng, but… “Why don’t we talk about this in my office?”
“Took you long enough to invite me in! I remember when people had manners!”
Since absolutely no good could come of the obvious retort, instead of making it, I unlocked the door and ushered her inside.
“Now,” I said, after hanging my flogger, offering her a glass of milk, gettin’ told off, and pouring myself one. “What happened?”
“I just told you what happened! How stupid are you?”
A big sip, and then, “Details, Lenai. What happened in detail?”
“I dunno. I guess the fucker finally tracked Franky to my place.”
Or else was after you, personally.
“Tried the door, tried the windows, multiple times. But the garlic and the crosses and whatnot seemed to do the job. It buggered off after about an hour.” In a softer grumble, she added, “I was afraid it might just decide to burn the whole fucking building down.”
“Yeah, well, I think they’re tryin’ to stay subtle.” Then, at her expression, “For vampires, anyway.”
“Well, what the hell are you doing about it, you cock-sucker?” In her heated flailing, she backhanded the coat rack, then clutched her wrist and glared at me as if it was my fault.
“Same thing I’ve been doing! I’m workin’ to dig up whoever’s behind the mess, find out what the hell they’re tryin’ to accomplish, and stop them!”
“Do it faster!”
Another sip of milk. Nice, warm, calming milk.
“How’s Franky?”
“He’s fine! I told you, it didn’t get in!”
“Ah.” Then, after realizing what she’d just said, “Wait, he’s still at your place? You’ve never let me stay longer’n about ten minutes.”
“He’s not well enough, you ass! He doesn’t heal as fast as you. And if the vampire’s still hunting him, it’s not safe for him out there.”
“I see.”
“And nobody fucking asked you!”
“Uh, nope.” This conversation was wrigglin’ out of my grasp like a greased kitten. “Nobody did.”
She ground her teeth at me—yes, at me—growled, “Fix it already!” and stormed out.
Well, I appreciated her letting me know. Hopefully, her defenses would hold long enough for me to, as she’d so politely requested, fix it.