“You think he might know something?” she asked as I headed to the stand.
“No, but maybe Joseph did.” I picked up the telephone and gave the operator Barnaby’s number.
“Hello?”
“It’s Nick. Listen. In Joseph’s papers, did you come across anything about construction or repair work on the bank building before the Wingfoot disaster?”
“It’s funny you should ask. I did see some notations on the pace of some repair work he watched taking place on the roof. The date was about a month and a half before everything happened.”
“The roof,” I repeated as I looked back at Claryce.
“Yes. Is that what you wanted?”
“I think so. Thanks.” As I hung up, I said to Claryce, “Maybe there was a reason the Wingfoot was so close to that building in particular. I’d always assumed the pilot, who was still under their control, just kept going as per orders, even when it was clear what was about to happen. It wasn’t until the last moment that he snapped out of it and abandoned ship.”
“So you think Joseph and the others had something built on the roof? Something to do with their plan?”
“Yeah. What’s worse is I think there’s something very similar on the roof of the Continental. Something no one’s seen thanks to a touch of magic.”
“We all going for a ride this time, Master Nicholas?” Fetch queried. His tail wagged in anticipation.
“We are.”
“Maybe we should take the Wills this time, Nick. They must know the Packard by now. It’s possible that they won’t recognize the Wills.”
She had a point. While a bit fancier, the Wills St. Claire wouldn’t likely be recognized by anyone serving Galerius. It also handled pretty good. “All right.”
We headed out immediately. It was getting late in the day, but that worked in our favor. The less folk around the better.
As we stepped out of the apartment, a glint caught the corner of my eye. Considering that the sky was completely overcast, there shouldn’t have been any glint. There also wasn’t anything in the direction from which it’d come except the Packard.
“What is it?”
“Go on ahead. I need something from the Packard.”
Neither she nor Fetch questioned my action. I picked up my pace. I didn’t walk toward the driver’s door, but instead reached for the passenger one. There was no more sign of a glint, but I had every confidence I’d find some source.
And there it was. The flask Michael had been drinking out of.
He wasn’t the forgetful sort. In fact, I suspected Michael had a hard time forgetting anything.
I picked up the flask. It wasn’t anywhere near empty as I’d initially assumed. While I still didn’t see what use it could be, I knew better than to leave it. Nothing Michael did was by chance.
Stuffing the flask in a coat pocket, I rejoined the others. Claryce sat in the driver’s seat, a choice I didn’t argue. The Wills St. Claire rumbled smoothly in comparison to the much-beaten Packard and left me resigned to the fact that, should we survive, I’d have to let Barnaby overhaul it again.
Without taking her eyes off the slippery street, Claryce asked, “What’d you find?”
“A flask.”
“Michael’s? What’s in it? Liquid gold?”
I grunted. “Water.”
“Will it turn into wine?”
“I have no idea what its purpose is, but I thought it best not to leave it. For all I know, he left it so we don’t get thirsty.”
Claryce made a face, but said nothing in return.
We drove down to Jackson and LaSalle. Traffic had cleared a bit, but we waited in the car until it got even thinner. I guess I must’ve been staring at the bank for too long, because Claryce finally broke the silence.
“It’s still fresh in your mind. The Wingfoot, I mean.”
“Six or so years is only a blink. I can still see it burning. I can feel the heat and see the panic below as it crashes through the skylight. I think the Illinois Trust was even closed then, but there were employees everywhere still.” I gritted my teeth. “I can still see Joseph insisting that it would all come together even though three of his compatriots were already dead and the others were screaming in fear.”
“Did you . . . did he. . . start the explosion?”
“You mean the dragon? No. Credit all goes to Joseph and his friends. They underestimated the volatility of the dirigible’s lifting gases. We were about twelve hundred feet above when the initial explosion happened. The Wingfoot—remember, it was on its maiden voyage and so pretty untested—buckled badly as it started to drop.”
“How horrible . . . but the crew, you said they were under the control of Joseph?”
I nodded. “He and two other especially gifted. The explosion shook most of them out of it, and the sight of the fire sent them all fleeing to their parachutes.” I heard the screams yet again. “One guy . . . his chute got caught up in the flames. It burned. He fell with us. They kept one of the crew under control long enough to try to steer the ship, but even he broke away finally, if only too late. He got caught up in the gas bags.”
And then there’d been the employees. Men and women crying out as their clothes caught fire. Tons of material collapsing on them.
“It’s amazing more didn’t die,” Claryce remarked.
Eye did it! Tell her Eye did it! Saved their little lives . . .
“Yeah. Reluctantly, but you did.” I realized that Claryce and Fetch had heard me. “He’s wanting his due. No one could really see what was going on in the mess the Wingfoot had become. We changed. He did something we’ve done once or twice, but would really prefer not to. Instead of exhaling flame, we took it in.”
“Talk about your strong quilt!” Fetch blurted. “I’d rather drink that tar ye call coffee!”
“Nick . . . was it . . .”
“It wasn’t pleasant.” I could still feel it. An awful searing.
No . . . it was not pleasant for you . . . but far worse for me . . . Eye had to keep it. . . Eye had to keep the pain long after you . . .
He was right. Of course, without me, he would have been completely lost. The dragon had taken the agony from my mind and secreted it with him. I’d not noticed his presence for two weeks after that.
“It’s pretty clear now,” I finally announced. “I’ll head inside—”
“We’ll head inside,” Claryce corrected.
“No. This is going to require more than stealth. I need to slip in and get to the roof as quickly as possible . . . and before you think it, Fetch is staying with you. Galerius has too many agents around.”
“All right, but be careful.”
“I will.”
I slipped across the street and positioned myself near one of the entrances. The bank was closed, but there were still employees inside.
As I’d hoped, one of the employees stepped outside. I immediately slid past him into the building.
No one inside looked my direction. When one started to, a book at the edge of their desk fell off as if by magic . . . which it was.
It took me a little time, but I finally reached the steps leading up. Treading lightly, I made it all the way to the top . . . and then turned and started down when I realized I shouldn’t have left Claryce with only Fetch to protect her. I had to find a safe place—
I stumbled to a halt. While I was always concerned for Claryce, the sudden intensity with which I wanted to leave the vicinity of the roof was suspicious. I immediately turned and headed up again . . . only to find myself turning yet once more toward the lower floors.
“Clever.” I inhaled, then faced the way up. The urge to descend magnified. Letting loose a low growl, I pushed upward.
My body screamed for me to go downstairs. I fought it each step of the way. The moment I could reach the handle for the roof door, I gripped it tightly. Doing so gave me a better sense of balance inside. The contrary desires faded.
The door was locked. That, at least, was
a simple problem. St. George, unofficial patron of lock picks. Sure, I could’ve ripped it open, but I was trying to be inconspicuous.
The door squeaked loudly as I carefully opened it. Right away, I could see no one had been here for years.
Well, no one but the desiccated corpse lying a few yards away. I knelt by it. Male. About thirty. His back was to me, which made it easier to see the Dacian Dragon tattoo on his neck.
There was no visible sign as to the cause of death. I doubted it been by mundane means. It just served as a reminder of why I was here.
Leaving the corpse, I started inspecting the rooftop. For the most part it was flat, but there were odd bits sticking up here and there that made no sense. I walked along the entire edge of the building without making any headway on what I was supposed to find.
The wind picked up. I made one more quick circuit around, pausing only to see what view each side offered me of Chicago. Those revealed no clue, either.
I was missing something. I knew it. This building was part of the key. I wished that I had a telephone with me so I could ask Barnaby a few more questions, but since that wasn’t possible, all I could try to do was figure out why someone had added the odd protrusions.
Then, I had the strange feeling that something had just changed. I slowly turned—
A figure barreled into me, sending both of us toward the edge. He had his arms wrapped tight around me—so tight I couldn’t break free. I had a glimpse of a cracked, wrinkled face and eyes with only the whites visible.
The corpse.
I wasn’t sure whether some Wyld was controlling the body the way Lon did or whether it was just a spell animating the figure. However, at that moment what really mattered was that we were about to go off the building. I managed to slow our progress with some quick readjusting of my feet, but that was only a gain of seconds. I continued to strain to break the literal death grip, but with no luck.
A growl rose behind me. Our progress came to an abrupt halt.
“Hold him!” I heard Claryce call. It was pretty easy to figure out that she was giving orders to Fetch. I planned to have some fine words with both about disobeying commands . . . assuming nothing worse happened to all of us.
So, naturally, something did.
The Triple Man appeared. I didn’t know if they’d just materialized or followed us up the stairs. What did matter was that one suddenly stood behind the corpse while beyond my sight I heard Claryce shout a warning.
The warning was followed by a gunshot. Fetch growled and let go. I would’ve fallen off if not for nearest of the pale trio grabbing hold of the corpse by the arm.
Eye can save you! roared the dragon. Eye can save you!
He was right. It’d be tight quarters, but it’d work. I let him take over.
I was expecting him to breathe on the corpse and set it ablaze. So close, we would’ve probably suffered some repercussions, but it would’ve been swift.
Instead, he began transforming us.
No! Stop it! I’d let him loose, though, and there was no way to regain mastery before he achieved what he planned.
We exploded, swelling to ten times my normal size in the blink of an eye. The corpse’s grip broke.
Wings spreading, we rose above the animated corpse and surveyed the others . . . or we would’ve, if they’d still been there. The Triple Man, Claryce, and Fetch had vanished.
The corpse shambled forward. The dragon reacted instinctively. A plume of fire engulfed it, turning it into ash.
Not caring at that moment who saw us, the dragon peered around in search of any sign as to where the rest had gone.
And in doing so, I finally beheld what I’d come to find. It hadn’t been built on the roof; it was the roof. The protrusions were only a part of it. They, together with what Galerius had evidently had the construction crew place into the physical makeup of the roof, created a complex pattern that reminded me a lot of Joseph’s final calculations. Just as important was the fact that you could only see the pattern in all its glory if you were well above it. Like in an airplane or a dirigible.
I had no doubt that Joseph and his friends had set up something like this on top of the old Illinois Trust. It’d probably taken months and had looked crude in comparison, but it’d been enough for them to attempt their spellwork.
I saw one other thing. I could tell exactly the point where all these forces were to channel would be located.
I now knew where Galerius would be found . . . and I hoped that information would be enough to trade to the Triple Man for Claryce and Fetch.
CHAPTER 21
I managed to keep the dragon above the Continental Bank. That, combined with the weather, time of day, and the spell meant it was very unlikely anyone would see or remember seeing us. The dragon didn’t fight for control when I demanded we change back, perhaps noting my rage over what’d happened to the others.
I knew they wanted what I’d discovered. All along, they’d been tracking Galerius. It made sense now. He’d mentioned cards. One of them was clearly tied to the Triple Man.
They’d understood better than to try to deal with me in that situation. I doubted they could pop away with Claryce and Fetch as prisoners without trouble. I’d taken them for pretty strong at the beginning, but now I had it figured out. Together, they could draw on some power that they’d retained from what had to be a very long bond with their card. It had its limits and its dangers, including the Clothos Deck’s tendency to shift reality in small ways and large.
And their power was weakening. First, they’d come across me while following an old trail Galerius had left for me after the Wingfoot. Then, they’d found out about Joseph and his involvement in what had actually been part of Galerius’s secret designs. After failing to get either Joseph or his notes, they’d clearly been keeping watch to see where I could lead them . . . and struck when it served them best.
I returned to the Wills expecting to find some note, but nothing was there. Belatedly, I reminded myself that the Triple Man was no longer what could be considered human. He wasn’t even much like anything from Feirie. Still, magic was a thing more open where Feirie was concerned, so it occurred to me that there was one person—already straddling the mortal plane and Feirie—who the Triple Man might know about.
I called Laertes.
Well, I tried. Instead of him, I got a terse human voice, probably one of the very same goons I’d met previously, who answered the phone with an address on North Michigan Avenue. The Wrigley Building to be precise.
It didn’t set well with me that Laertes had anticipated me calling him. I could think of a few other reasons, but I suspected it had to do with Claryce and Fetch.
I left the drugstore where I’d located a pay phone and headed straight for Michigan Avenue. If I could’ve let the dragon take over and flown there, I would’ve done so. That, though, would’ve put an incredible strain on the spell shielding us from the notice of the city’s inhabitants.
As I neared the address, I noted with some concern that it was only just over half a mile from Holy Name. I hoped that was a coincidence, even though I didn’t believe in coincidence. Still, I hoped.
The Wrigley Building, with its French Renaissance accents and its outline based on the cathedral in Seville, Spain, seemed an oddly appropriate place for Laertes to choose. It was just about two years old, but the design made it seem like something out of the fabled past. After parking the Wills, I all but ran inside. I’d been given a number, but not a name. A quick glance matched that number with the trade offices of the Lawrence Faust Company. Cute.
The same blonde flapper I’d met along with Louise Crying Wolf now sat in prim office dress at the reception desk. She didn’t even look up, instead immediately turning to the telephone at her side and murmuring something into it.
Setting down the receiver, she pointed at a door to her left. “Mr. Faust will see you now.”
“Thanks,” I muttered.
The door swung open as I neared. Behi
nd it stood the same thug who’d opened the door at Laertes’s other office, only, just like the flapper, he was suitably dressed for a business set in the Wrigley Building.
The Lawrence Faust Company appeared to be a recent addition, the furniture and decorations all shiny new. Laertes, too, looked shiny and new, the elf sporting a expensive silk suit, beige in color. His hair was freshly done, with a slightly archaic but still stylish cut that obscured the upper tips of his ears.
“You are rapidly becoming a troubling situation for me,” he remarked with open frustration. “I had to give up our previous meeting place. That thing she sent to this side of the Gate started sniffing too close. I don’t suppose you could have a word with it?”
“I’ll see what I can do. Listen, Laertes, I don’t have time for chitchat. Claryce and Fetch—”
Laertes opened a desk drawer and can pulled out a small scrap of what I swore looked like papyrus. “I was given this by a rather unnerving man . . . deathly pale and speaking only in questions even when he was answering me. I’d appreciate you not spreading my name around like that. Those kind of guests bring Her attention.”
“I didn’t do it. You play both sides—whether it’s between bootleggers or between Feirie and the mortal plane—you better expect that they’ll draw you in deeper as things progress.”
Laertes seemed none too happy with my reply but didn’t counter. I took the parchment and unfolded it. “You read this?”
“I do not wish to be drawn any deeper into your affair.”
“That isn’t exactly a no.”
Laertes tapped a finger on the desk. “I looked into the eyes of the one who brought the message. I can usually get a feeling about others when I do that. After that encounter, I may never do it again.”
That intrigued me. “Why?”
“Because all I sensed was that here was someone who’s very being had been consumed by some powerful force . . . and who would have gratefully let it happen again.”
That didn’t shock me one bit. The cards weren’t just addictive; they became their wielder’s everything.
The note was simple—the card for Claryce and Fetch. If it hadn’t been written on parchment with letters that now began rearranging themselves for some second part of the message, I would’ve thought I was dealing with some petty mob kidnappers.
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