I hadn’t forgotten that he was the one who had left me the small memento from Galerius. I’d wondered where he’d gotten himself and now I knew. He was out hunting those who’d managed to escape into the mortal plane. Lon had remained pretty strong despite his lengthy time on this side of the Gate, but that didn’t matter. Something had to be done about him.
I had another thought. “I’m not going to find Louise Crying Wolf around there, am I?”
“No. I have had a word with her. She will steer clear from anything involving the Gate and my former home . . . at least for now. She is strong-willed. I trust you do not think I have ultimate control over her. She lends me her talents as a bodyguard I can trust not to sell out, but that is it. Still, for now she seems less enamored with the idea of Feirie being part of her spiritual journey.”
I thanked Laertes for the warning and the information, then hung up. After a few seconds of consideration, I knew what I had to do.
“Fetch.” I only whispered his name, but as I’d expected he heard me and quietly came running.
“Master Nicholas?”
“Stay with her. I need to go somewhere.”
His ears flattened. “But—”
“It’s Lon.”
If anything, his ears got flatter. “Aye. I understand. Have a care with that one. He’s crafty even for one of those.”
“I know.” As silently but as quickly as I could, I slipped out of the apartment. I felt some guilt, but this was a situation I honestly believed I was better off dealing with alone.
After double checking to make sure I didn’t have any tails, I drove off. The address I’d been given by Laertes was near the South Side, pretty much in Capone territory. I’d know Lon long enough to understand that he’d stick in the same neighborhood until he was sure he’d cleared it of all “traitors.”
My hope was that Capone was spending his time at present at some place like the 226 Club on Wabash and not near where I had to go. That would also mean that most of his boys would be in that vicinity, too, making my job easier.
The area where Laertes said Lon had been hunting wasn’t much to look at, which was probably why he’d chosen it. Wyld always sought out locations least likely to appeal to their own kind . . . which ironically meant that it had the opposite effect. What they’d done was put themselves exactly where a hunter like Lon would expect them to be.
I don’t know what I thought I’d find, but a bust in progress wasn’t it. I would’ve turned around, but a paddy wagon pulled up behind me just as I was beginning to maneuver the Packard.
Cops started dragging four ragtag hoods from a nearby building. I stopped worrying about moving the Packard the moment I spotted the half-hidden face of the third goon.
Lon’s “face” was expressionless, probably because he didn’t have complete knowledge of how such minor things worked. He was only tolerating the situation until he found a time to slip away. I had no doubt that if that moment required some violence, he wouldn’t care who got the brunt of it.
Someone tapped on the driver’s door window. I reluctantly rolled it down.
“Well, Nick Medea! You know, I can’t say I’m really surprised to see you here!”
It said something for my focus on Lon that I hadn’t even noticed Cortez coming up from the side.
“Hi, detective.”
“No Miss Simone? And don’t you have some giant mutt?” He stuck the unlit Lucky in his left hand into the side of his mouth. Leaning close to the window, he said in quieter voice, “You are getting into some bad places, you know? What brings you here?”
I tried to keep an eye on the Feir’hr Sein while still dealing with Cortez. “Just trying to get to a client. What’s going on? Should I wait or turn around?”
“Probably be more trouble than it’s worth to turn around. Got a stiff and we’re pretty sure one of these gentlemen pulled the trigger.” He toyed with the cigarette. “Me, I don’t gamble, you know? Maria, she calls it sinful. Still, if I was a gambling man, I’d pick that third one, the fantasma. That spooky one.”
“Sometimes it’s the one you least expect.”
“Nah. That just happens in movie serials and books. It’s usually the one you think it is. They’ve already taken everything else away. You want to wait a few more minutes, it’ll all be free—”
We both saw the same thing at the same . . . or rather, we both didn’t see something. Instead of four prisoners, there were now three. Lon was missing.
Cortez and I both swore at the same time, but for different reasons. Cortez because losing a collar meant trouble in several ways, while I had the awful feeling that the Feir’hr Sein hadn’t just chosen this moment to simply make an escape. I could smell something in the air, only because there was always that bit of the dragon’s senses available to me for when I had to go on the hunt.
Lon was after another Wyld. Right now. With cops all around. With Cortez around.
I pulled the Packard to the curb, then leaped out. Cortez was already far ahead, the detective shouting angrily at the officers, who were just now noticing they’d lost a cuffed man.
In contrast to Cortez and the two officers who followed him, I went around the building next to which I’d parked and darted over to the next one after that. I wasn’t chasing the supposed trail left by Lon, but rather the place where his new quarry had gone to hide.
The cold weather combined with the police presence meant I didn’t have any accidental encounter with some innocent or even not so innocent. Unimpeded, I reached a crumbling house I had no doubt also acted as a place bootleggers were using. That was verified a moment later as I broke through the front door and came across several wooden crates just perfect for shipping hooch sitting right in what used to be the living room.
I heard a slight sound from the floor above. After a glance around, I drew Her Lady’s gift and headed to the stairs. Above, I saw only gloom.
Eye will help you see . . .
As the world turned emerald, I made my way up. There was another slight creak from what I assumed was a bedroom. Sword poised, I reached the second floor and turned toward the sound.
There was no hint of Lon yet, but I was certain the Feir’hr Sein couldn’t be far away. I wasn’t particularly concerned if he reached the Wyld first, but I needed to keep him from making any public spectacle in the process. I blamed this on Her Lady, who seemed not to care about the chaos she was creating on both sides of the Gate.
Again there came a faint noise. This time, I could verify from which room. Ready for the worst, I entered.
Something moved in the far left corner. I brought the blade around—
A short, bedraggled figure crouched there. His coat was too thin for this weather and his graying beard was matted against his chest. I doubted the nondescript bottle near him had contained water. He’d probably either stolen from the bootleggers or they’d paid him with liquor to act as a lookout.
He had no idea how lucky he was. The Wyld was somewhere in this room. There were a lot of dark corners, not to mention a closet and a battered wardrobe. Lots of places where a Wyld, with their often fluid forms, could hide.
“Get out of here,” I muttered. When he didn’t move, I shifted the sword away from him and indicated the doorway with my other hand.
Scrambling to his feet, he slipped past me. I started toward the closet—and realized I’d just made a stupid mistake.
I spun around, only to be picked up and tossed hard against the far wall by a long, black appendage. I hit hard, but not so hard I didn’t get a look at the subject of my kindness, now a twisted thing only superficially still human in appearance. The Wyld had probably slipped into the man at some point while he’d been sleeping off a drunk and basically worn his corpse just like Lon did the elf’s.
At that moment, I didn’t care what’d become of the Feir’hr Sein. Used to keeping a tight grip on Her Lady’s gift, I was just able to use the blade to fend off a grasping hand now ending in long, sharp talons.
As it shed its human shell, the Wyld also grew. Its mouth extended to a sharp beak and its yellow eyes grew bulbous.
Out of its back sprouted two more arms ending like the first. The Wyld now filled my entire view.
Unimpressed, I pushed myself to my feet and thrust. The blade came up short, but close enough that the Wyld backed up.
It opened its beak. That was a trick I’d seen before. When the tentacles shot out of its maw, I was ready. Her Lady’s gift not only met the attack, but cut away several of the limbs.
The Wyld recoiled. It’d felt the touch of the sword and knew the power behind it. Despite the fact that it continued to display a ferocious appearance, I could tell that it was also seeking escape.
“Sorry,” I muttered to it. “You’re going nowhere.”
The tentacles withdrew into its beak. It inhaled.
Let me . . . the dragon requested. Eye promise. Just enough . . .
I knew I was crazy to give in, but I agreed. I quickly inhaled, then let the dragon have at it.
The Wyld exhaled, an inky darkness spilling from its beak. I didn’t want to think what that inkiness was supposed to do to me.
It didn’t matter. The dragon matched its exhalation. We breathed a plume of fire that scorched away the inkiness and did it one better. The flames seared the abomination.
It shrieked, then turned and rushed to the door to escape us.
Something slashed through the air.
The Wyld’s smoking head landed near our feet. The body writhed, the Wyld not exactly dead despite the loss of its head.
A second swift slash cut through the torso. The Wyld’s body collapsed into itself. The heap looked like nothing recognizable.
Lon peered down at his work. His hands were still melded together in that long, wicked scythe. I kept Her Lady’s gift—and the dragon’s breath—ready just in case.
His dark gaze took me in for a moment . . . and then he dismissed the scythe.
Gatekeepers. . . he said in my head.
“If you think I’m going to thank you for that, try again. It wasn’t getting away. Besides, you’re the one I’m interested in.”
For just a second, I thought I detected a touch of fear. I did notice his hands inch toward one another.
“Relax, Lon. I’m only going to give you a warning this time. That and ask a few questions.”
The pale, bony hands calmed.
“Good boy. Now, first thing. No more of this wanton hunting. I’m never sad to see a Wyld like this go, but you’re getting too zealous, not to mention sloppy.”
I swear he bristled when I called him sloppy.
As I spoke, I thrust the point of the sword into the Wyld’s head. Instantly, the blade began absorbing its essence. The head shriveled rapidly as Her Lady’s gift did its work.
The sword finished, leaving no trace. Most of the time, Wyld remains tended to quickly fade away on their own, but I’d learned not to take chances anymore.
I moved toward the rest of the corpse. Lon stood his ground as I stuck the sword point into the congealing mess. His cadaverous face, which still reminded me so much of Chaney’s recent Phantom of the Opera, continued to show no emotion. Despite that, I knew he was still very uneasy. One of the most fearful servants Her Lady had ever set loose and he was uneasy about me.
I smiled just to irk him. Yeah, I knew his secret. For reasons I couldn’t explain, I had the power of names over him. In Feirie, such a power was restricted to the highest of the Court, meaning basically Her Lady at this time. Yet, once I’d given him what I’d considered a mocking nickname I’d sealed it to him and made him subservient to my will.
It made him seethe every time, but he couldn’t outright disobey me. He’d try to find loopholes, though, so I tried to stay on my toes.
“You understand me? No more purge. If there’s something I’d consider a threat and it has to be dealt with, fine, but do so without drawing attention. Understand? I want an actual answer, by the way.”
He stood silent, then gave me the slightest of nods.
“That’ll do. Now, while we’re chatting, let’s finish some other business. You gave me a little trinket. You know who it belongs to. Where did you find it and what does it mean?”
I expected him to try to finagle his way out of things, but instead his voice—which reminded me of someone slowly and painfully shoving open a rusty mausoleum door—resounded in my head once more.
The great water . . . where the Devourer of the Deep was plunged by the dragon wolf and He Who Once Ruled. . .
I have to say, it was a pretty long answer for him, even if it mostly gave me more questions. Lon shimmered, almost as if it’d taken a toll on him to say so much.
Too bad I needed more. “The dragon wolf. You wouldn’t also happen to know him as Galerius, would you?”
He bowed his head.
“And the other one . . . Oberon?”
This time, Lon definitely shimmered. Even dead, Oberon’s very name could send chills through a thing like him.
“Why did they plunge this monster into Lake Michigan?”
He surprised me by not hesitating. For He Who Once Ruled. . . for his queen. For the dragon wolf. . . to be his death and life . . .
Well, I understood the first part. Oberon had planned something nasty for his treacherous queen. For some reason, he hadn’t been able to act on that plot. As for the second part . . . “‘His death and life’?”
The Feir’hr Sein bowed his head.
“What does that mean?”
The murky figure spread his hands. Whether that meant he didn’t know or couldn’t say, I wasn’t sure.
It didn’t matter for now. There was something more important. “The dragon wolf has a card from the Clothos Deck, doesn’t he?”
Another bow. I was on a streak worthy of the Cardinals’ Rogers Hornsby . . . so naturally that streak had to end the next second.
Downstairs, someone swore in Spanish. I didn’t have to guess just who.
Lon spun about and vanished into the hallway. I rushed after him, only to find no sign.
“You up there!” Detective Cortez shouted. “I hear you moving around! Come out with your hands up!”
He hadn’t seen me yet. I returned the sword to its hiding place and reverted my eyes back to normal.
“One more time, Bo! You got a gun; you toss it down, then come out with your hands where I can see them! That clear enough for you?”
My hands positioned as he’d ordered, I stepped to where he could make me out. “Easy, Cortez. It’s only me.”
He whistled. “Buddy, do you want to get shot? Why didn’t you say who you were right away, you know?”
“I wasn’t sure at first that it was you. Couldn’t hear too well where I was.”
“Yeah.” Even though I’d identified myself, he remained alert.
“Nothing up here, by the way.”
Cortez gestured with his gun. “Something’s down here, though. Take a good look when you come down those rickety stairs.”
I did as he suggested. As I reached the bottom, I saw what had his interest.
The body that’d once belonged to Lysander sat propped against a wall like some macabre marionette. I had to give it to Lon; he could move quickly. What made it more disturbing was the way the eyes stared ahead. I noticed Cortez cross himself and really couldn’t blame him, especially since I knew the truth.
“You didn’t notice him when you came in?” the detective questioned me.
“I was pretty focused on the upstairs. I was certain I heard someone there.”
“Yeah. Creepy, isn’t
he? Doesn’t look like any Mick, but he certainly don’t look like he came from anywhere near Italy, you know?”
“Polish, maybe?” I offered, perfectly aware Lysander wasn’t.
“Maybe. Doesn’t matter now, I guess. Now, he’s just another stiff.” Cortez lowered his gun. “Wonder what killed him, though. Don’t see no holes.”
“Maybe he was shooting something other than bullets. That’d explain the odd behavior and abrupt death.”
“You may have it there. They get high on this junk and then do the damnedest things.” He shrugged. “Saves a lot of trouble. I’ll just get a wagon here to bag him.”
“Ties things up nicely for you.” I kept an eye out for some sign of Lon. He wasn’t likely to give up the most durable suit he had. “He’ll certainly keep by himself until the wagon arrives.”
“No doubt about that.” Cortez started to turn to the door, only to pause. “I wonder.”
Much to my dismay, he put away his weapon and headed to the body. “What’re you doing?”
“Checking to see if he’s got anything interesting on him . . . and maybe that ties him to Ladykiller Leighton.” He knelt by the corpse. “Hoo! Talk about a stink. Didn’t he ever hear of a bath?”
Lon could do nothing to stop the natural decay of the bodies. When he’d taken over those of simple hoods, they’d lasted a week at most. Lysander’s body had lasted months, thanks in part to the weather.
“Ugh. Nothing in his pockets. Well, the morgue can have him now and good riddance.”
I sensed eyes on us. Aware of what to look for, I noticed a hint of movement in the darkness upstairs. Lon was getting impatient for us to leave so that he could claim the body again.
“How’s Maria?” I asked, as I nonchalantly headed for the shattered doorway.
“She is very fine, thanks. She asked about you and said her usual prayer for you, too. Good that she did, eh, Nick Medea? Seems almost like she knew you’d endure some heavy stuff today. How about this here for instance?”
Black City Dragon Page 23