Black City Dragon

by Richard A. Knaak

  “Nice of her to be thinking of me,” I returned, actually meaning it.

  He toyed with his cigarette as we finally left the building. “She’s a saint. Still, she was pretty adamant this time, you know? Of course, guess even I could’ve made a fair prediction with you. Just look for trouble and he’ll be there, I could say. Nick Medea, the man who always seems to be caught up with some pretty live ghosts.”

  “Listen, Cortez—”

  He plucked the cigarette from his mouth and used it to point at me. “No, no. It’s all right. You want to use that as your cover while you act as a private dick, that’s fine. You’re a good guy. My Maria says so and I take her word as gospel. Hell, I’d vouch for that myself.” He tossed the unlit Lucky away. His tone grew serious. “Not too many look past my skin, Bo, but you’ve always done it. I may not know a lot about you—Hell, you’re a damned blank in the police files—but I know you. That’s all I need.”

  Cortez pulled out another Lucky and tucked it into the corner of his mouth. He stepped out of the building without looking to see if I followed.

  I took a step after him, only to halt as I noticed one of the deeper shadows shift. I glanced at the body. Naturally, it was gone.

  I picked up my pace in order to lessen any chance that Cortez might come back inside. When the wagon came, they would find no corpse. By that time, though, there would be some plausible excuses, most of them mob related.

  Outside, the detective had already gone several paces ahead. He paused as if remembering something.

  “Say, just thought of something I’d like your opinion on. Pulled in a drifter the other night. Punk named ‘Quiet’ Ford. Out of the northeast. Petty record, nothing special, you know?”

  “What about him?”

  “He was supposed to stay with us a few days, but someone gave word to toss him out after one night. I tried to find out just who, but only got a vague name.”

  “What’s that got to do with me?”

  “Thought you might’ve run across this Ford. He’s been spotted in a couple of places I know you or Miss Simone have been, including Dunning of all creepy spots. You know anyone in Dunning?”

  I decided Cortez knew a lot of the answers to the questions he was asking so I responded as truthfully as I could without giving too much. “No. Not anymore. The son of a friend.”

  “Yeah? Wasn’t sure you had any friends but me.” He chuckled. “‘Course, I could be wrong. Maybe you got the same friend in City Hall Ford has. Someone who keeps you out of jail and unnoticed by cops.”

  “Sounds nice to have. Let me know if the opportunity opens up. I’ve just been lucky, Cortez. That’s as near to having a friend in City Hall as I get.”

  “Yeah. Okay. Just had to clear that up. You better get going. I bet you’ve already got Miss Simone anxious.”

  “Probably.” We were far enough from the building that I could finally relax. “See you, Cortez. Hello to Maria.”

  “I’ll pass that along.”

  Damn it if he didn’t stop again.

  “Something, detective?”

  Cortez shrugged. “No. Just a piece of info. In case you pick up something on your end, you know? Always good to know as much as you can, my abuela used to say. Just in case you find yourself at City Hall, maybe you can find out more about this fixer who gets petty crooks out. Not much I got, just a first name.”

  I forced myself not to grit my teeth. I just knew he was going to say one name in particular.

  “Guy goes by the name of Michael.”

  Of course.

  CHAPTER 20

  I was getting sick and tired of Michael.

  I didn’t care if he was an archangel; he’d played too many games with me and others over my long lifetime, but especially the past couple of years. Leaving clues that taunted, popping up and leaving cryptic remarks . . . I was through with all that.

  So naturally he himself had to turn up while I was on my way back to Claryce.

  I was nearly back in Old Town and working on my explanation as to why I’d left without a word when I saw him leaning against a building. He stood under an awning and was staring out at the street. Unfortunately, I was going too fast, and by the time I realized who he was I was well past.

  I tried to look back, but the angle was bad. In the process, I nearly ran into a Nash Ajax. Even new, the other vehicle wasn’t as fancy or as strong as the Packard, but I was tired of building up repairs for Barnaby. I managed to barely evade the collision, but doing so meant turning around and heading back to where I’d seen Michael was a difficult proposition.

  It ended up not really mattering. Two blocks later, there he was again, his dark face expressionless, his eyes on the traffic. This time he stood with arms folded and leaning in the entrance of a diner.

  Now my problem wasn’t finding him, but rather reaching him. There was no place to park, not even illegally.

  My hand went to where I’d kept the cross. It’d served me in another way over the centuries, but, in truth, I’d picked it up for one specific reason. I’d thought that maybe it’d give me a better link to Michael, so that I could finally face him. However, this futile routine wasn’t what I’d had in mind.

  Gripping the cross through my coat, I thought about Michael and kept an eye out. Naturally, nothing happened.

  “You couldn’t have picked a more convenient meeting place?” I finally muttered.

  “I do apologize. Will this do better?”

  The Model T in front of me nearly got what I’d avoided doing to the Ajax. I planted both hands back on the wheel. Managing to swerve, I regained control and continued on despite the passenger now situated in the back seat.

  I shot a venomous glance at the dark-skinned figure sitting in the shadows. “You—”

  “Some say it’s not good to use the Lord’s name in vain.”

  “Oh, it won’t be in vain . . .” I momentarily focused on traffic. “And I don’t need to use that, anyway. I’ve got plenty of other things to call you.”

  He laughed briefly. It was a sad laugh, as if he only went through the motions and really wanted to drink away some terrible event. Me, I had little sympathy; I was a human saint. I didn’t have all the benefits that came with also being an archangel.

  “With a great mantle comes greater responsibility.”

  “I’ve got enough things running through my head without adding you rummaging through it. Get out! Immediately!”

  “I was never in it. We’ve just known each other that well.”

  I tried finding a place to park, but Chicago wasn’t cooperating. “I don’t know you at all, and I don’t want to.”

  “Which proves you do know me.”

  “If I know you, then tell me why I don’t know the reason you’re suddenly being so straightforward with me when generally you play some side game. You’re always ‘Michael’ this and ‘Michael’ that. Some character and not yourself. Tell me why this and why now?”

  “Because I owe you this much, Nick. Because I actually owe you a lot more, but I can only give you this. In fact, even this is more than I should be doing.”

  I gave up on parking and just continued on to Old Town. “Well, I was wrong about one thing. That was nothing straightforward about that answer. That was as murky as hell.” I grunted. “Sorry. Do I lose my saint status for swearing?”

  “If that was the case, I’d have been cast out before the flood.” Michael raised a flask to his lips. I hadn’t seen a flask earlier. “Don’t worry. Just water.”

  “Holy?”

  He didn’t acknowledge the attempt at humor. Instead, he looked out the window. “Sixteen hundred years is a long time, even for an archangel. Especially after a terrible mistake.”

  It was getting harder to concentrate on the driving. “What the hell does that mean—and I’m not going to apologize every time I do that.”

  “It means I left you in an unenviable position and with a trail of other sins not of your making. What’s worse, sir, is t
hat I can’t do more than prod a little or leave a few suggestions here and there. It’s got to be you in the end, even if I’m to blame for so much.”

  “This is your idea of straightforward?”

  Michael set the flask down. “I can throw in the occasional extra soldiers—such as the good Alejandro Cortez—to help you, even if they don’t realize what they are.”

  “You didn’t happen to provide a vet named Quiet and an Indian, too, did you?”

  He rubbed his perfect chin. “We were strong friends over there fighting the Great War. Shoulder to shoulder. I hated leaving him behind. As for—” The archangel said something in a language I’d never heard before. Seeing my face, he frowned and added, “Sorry. You didn’t know her by her original name. As for Winifred Louise Crying Wolf, she was a child of iron will despite her circumstances. Despite the . . . excesses . . . of the boarding schools, she’s remained true to herself and her heritage. Both worthy choices, I can promise you.”

  “I’ll take your word for that, but let me make those decisions, okay?”

  Michael didn’t seem like he was listening. “I can also provide you with a weapon or two less devious than that sword. Unfortunately, though, I can’t do anything for her if it’s meant to be. She’s got her own path, even if it generally coincides with yours. She was on it long before you did what I didn’t think you could do and ended up in her place.”

  It took me a breath to realize that his talk about the sword wasn’t connected to the “her” he was speaking about. Michael wasn’t referring to Her Lady. He was talking about Claryce . . .

  That was more than enough. I had to find somewhere to pull over so I could have it out properly with my fellow “saint.” I spotted a parking lot and quickly turned into it. The second we were out of traffic, I parked. “Okay, I’m going to get some actual answers from you and if they still don’t make sense, I’m going to—”

  The back seat was empty.

  I swore so hard I was half-certain that he would come back to tell me my sainthood had been revoked.

  It didn’t help that he’d made all those cryptic remarks at the end that sounded like they referred directly to Claryce. I suddenly became very anxious to get back to her.

  I turned the Packard around and only then discovered that I’d pulled into none other than Father Jonathan’s church. St. Michael’s.

  “So glad I could give you a lift home,” I grumbled. It meant I’d somehow gotten slightly off track. I quickly pulled onto Cleveland Avenue and adjusted my route.

  More and more, I had the suspicion that the phone call from Laertes that’d led to me to slip out and deal with Lon and the Wyld had been manipulated at least in part by Michael. Just so he could finally have a face-to-face conversation—so to speak—with me. It wasn’t that the incidents weren’t happening; it was just that Michael needed to add me to the mix so I’d be right at the right spot.

  Her car was still parked, but I knew that could mean anything. It didn’t help to also know that the sign of the Clothos Deck was still on the side of the building. I pretty much ran from the Packard to her apartment.

  In the if-looks-could-kill department, the one I received from Claryce upon returning was up there with the most fatal. If I hadn’t been fairly immortal, I’d probably have been lying dead on the rug. I took no comfort in the fact that Fetch’s expression indicated he’d gotten the same.

  “Don’t ever do that again! I came out to ask if you’d answered that call and found Fetch trying to hide in the far corner of the room! When he told me you ran out . . .”

  “It had to be done. There was trouble with Lon, and Laertes had a good idea where I might find him if I left immediately.”

  She threw up her hands. “Lon! Well, that makes it all better! You went to face down Lon? That monstrosity? Are you mad?”

  “It wasn’t as bad as you think. You’ve seen it. He can’t stand against me, remember? I’ve got power over him.”

  “Sure, until some day he gets wise and tries to decapitate you from behind so you can’t tell him not to first!”

  I’d thought about that in the past and didn’t have a counterargument. I decided to switch tactics. “I can’t be blamed for it all. Turns out Michael had it planned. He finally wanted to talk.”

  That had her attention. “Michael as in Father Jonathan’s Saint Michael?”

  “None other. He seemed apologetic about things. As if it wasn’t exactly our fault some situations have happened.”

  “Really?” Claryce had a thoughtful look now, much preferable to the previous. “I wonder . . . Nick, Galerius tried to make it sound like he was responsible for my remembering, but I can’t help feeling he wouldn’t want me recalling everything.”

  “If there was something we could use against him, sure.”

  “Do you think Michael might go so far as doing a little prodding of his own on my memories?”

  “It’d be small compared to what’s already done . . . not that it’d be any less reprehensible in my opinion. Why?”

  She looked a little uneasy. “I had a dizzy spell after I left you. That’s actually why I didn’t come out to answer the telephone. It took me about ten minutes to get over it. All the while, I kept praying you wouldn’t come looking for me.”

  “I’m sorry!” I crossed over to her. Putting a hand on her arm, I asked, “Are you all right?”

  “I am now.” Claryce gently touched my hand in turn. “I really am. I’m also sorry for the way I behaved, but it was too much after what happened.”

  “Yeah. I know.”

  How utterly cloying . . . had Eye a choice . . . .

  I must’ve flinched in anger, for Claryce shook her head and said, “Forget him. Listen. Let me tell you what I remembered. It’s not from Clarissa or Claudette. It’s all the way back to Cleolinda.”

  “Are you sure it isn’t left over from the session with Barnaby?”

  “It’s not. It came back to me in a different way, with a different feeling. Something about the use of . . . of the dragon afterward. Things didn’t always go well with those who tried to cure their troubles with some piece of the dragon. The results . . . the results could be horrifying.”

  I led her toward a chair. “Sit down and tell me.”

  She sat. I joined her. Fetch, now apparently trusting that the argument was over, trotted up to us. Sitting next to Claryce, he listened with taut ears.

  “I—she— I remember now that Galerius didn’t just come one time. He was there twice.”

  “Twice? Why?”

  “The first time, he took a different piece. He did it secretly, not wanting any of his rivals to know the truth.”

  That made sense. By that time, Diocles had long ago established the “tetrarchy,” also known as “the Rule of Four.” Believing he was saving the empire after the tumultuous century before, he’d made himself co-emperor along with Maximian, a commanding officer. Diocles had figured that no one, not even him, could fully control so vast a realm. That might’ve been okay, but among the two Caesars—or junior emperors—he’d added had been Galerius.

  After Diocles had retired, the infighting had really started. Yeah, Galerius couldn’t have risked showing weakness, especially illness. He hadn’t been the most popular of emperors, of course.

  “Was it a dangerous piece he took the first time?”

  “Yes. Two, actually. Two of the dragon’s teeth.”

  The moment she said that, I felt a painful twinge where I was earlier stabbed. I recalled the odd shape of the blade. Like a huge, sharp tooth.

  “Go on,” I urged, pretending I wasn’t in pain. It didn’t help that Fetch took a sudden concerned interest in me.

  “I’d seen a couple of others who’d been desperate enough to use the teeth. They didn’t get better. They turned into something worse.”

  I tried to imagine what she meant by that. All I could think was that whatever had happened couldn’t have been pretty.

  “I didn’t really know he’d tak
en the teeth until he came back threatening my life for what he claimed I’d done to him and demanding something to cure him of that as well.” Claryce shivered. “Nick, he had signs of gangrene on his arms and even his face. I’d never seen such a thing before! It was awful! I remember, from when Barnaby put me under, that his speech was slurring slightly and that he had to be near to madness.”

  Over the centuries, I’d seen the effects of gangrene on men and women, especially on the battlefield. If Galerius had been that bad off, there was no doubt that madness had already overtaken him.

  Claryce nervously cleared her throat. “The only piece I had left was a minor one. I tried to tell him it wouldn’t be strong enough, but he insisted I was lying to him. He started raging that I was in league with a Constantius! That I wanted his empire! He grabbed my throat—”

  “Easy!” I pulled her to me. Claryce was as strong as anyone I’d met and even stronger than I could recall from any of her previous incarnations. Still, reliving your own murder was enough to break anyone.

  “His face . . .” she whispered. “I’ve seen his face, Nick. I’ve seen it.”

  “Of course you have. Both as Cleolinda and in that other church—”

  “No! All these memories beginning to stir from the past . . . they’ve started stirring my own—I mean from this lifetime—my own memories!” Claryce looked up at me, her eyes wide with shock. “I saw him, Nick, if only for a moment. Here! In Chicago. Before William— Oberon—ever revealed himself.”

  “Where?”

  “It was somewhere familiar. Somewhere . . . Nick! I was at the razing of the Illinois Trust and Savings Bank almost two years ago. Delke Industries had an interest in the new bank building—you know, Continental—that was going to be built.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She stared off into empty air. “He looked right at me. He looked at me like someone who knew me well. No wonder! If I’d only known then!”

  “You couldn’t help that.” I considered. “Let me give Barnaby a call.”