“Hardback?” Nick asked. He was seated next to the faun, which was interesting, considering how the pup seesawed on how he felt about the fatae. Ben hoped that Shune was finally figuring out they were just like humans: some good, some bad, most mostly neither good nor bad because they didn’t have that much ambition beyond the next meal and the next screw.
“Physical labor,” Hendrickson clarified. “Not as dumb as he looked, but better at taking orders than giving them. Never going to be middle management, that one. Did a lot of contract work for construction companies, off the books, naturally.” Most fatae were, unless they could pass for human. Too many questions, otherwise.
“Off the books... and nonunion? Do the fatae even have unions?”
Venec noted that Bonnie looked startled, and then thoughtful, at Pietr’s question. She knew something, or had thought of something.
“Not a union as such, no.” Danny looked equally thoughtful. “You know the fatae – we’re all clannish but not so much with the playing well together. Like lonejacks. Anyway, our boy Aodink disappeared about a week ago, but he wasn’t working, so nobody thought anything about it. His friends aren’t, shall we say, the sort to raise any kind of official alarm.”
Venec nodded. That would explain why the pups hadn’t been able to find anything. In anything that might bring official – meaning either Null or Council – attention on them, fatae were more likely to go to ground, sometimes literally, than talk about it. That meant the gossip would be limited, and unlikely to be shared with humans.
“Any idea who might have wanted him thoroughly dead?” Bonnie was leaning forward across the table now, her entire body engaged in the question, like a cat that had suddenly identified a mouse in the room, whiskers to tail on alert.
“Sorry, no.” Hendrickson shook his head. “Nobody admitted to a beef with the guy. He had the usual ratio of drinking buddies and people who’d like to hit him with a two-by-four, but none of it sounded murder-weight.”
Bonnie and Sharon were disappointed, like they’d expected more, and Nick was positively crushed, but Ben was grimly pleased. “Thank you. That’s helpful.”
“It is?” Nick, now looking perplexed. “I mean, yeah, we have a name now, but... ”
“Names have power.”
That was Bonnie, twigging as fast as he’d expected. “With a name, we can go to the Bippis community and ask specific questions, and they’ll answer. Or, at least, not not-answer, the way they were stonewalling us before. Honestly, Nick, I’ve told you to read your fairy tales! Hello, Rumplestiltskin?”
“Oh. Right. You mean, even without a spell, a name can compel someone to tell us the truth? I mean, even though it’s not their name?”
“Some,” Hendrickson said. “Not so much as it used to be, when names were private things. But once you know a fatae’s true name, it’s like you’ve got a key to the lock, and everyone assumes you’ve got a right to what’s behind the door. That’s why a lot of the fatae have use-names, and unless you’re immediate blood-kin, you never know ’em by anything else. Demon do that. And some of them create their own names, invest all they are into those – like nicknames, only more so – and that’s where the default power goes.”
Ben listened to the explanation, wondering idly if Hendrickson was aware that he referred to the fatae as “they,” as though he wasn’t half-fatae himself. Not that Ben could say anything about someone else being in denial, or at least trying to distance himself from something. “We’re sure that’s his true name?”
The faun just nodded, and Ben nodded in return. No need to ask specifics, between the two of them. If Hendrickson said it was so, that was enough.
“Sharon, you and... ” He started to say Pietr, but he’d just pulled the pup to work with Lou on the police records for the break-in. “You and Nick take the name, interview the community again, see if anyone will cough up some more information, thinking that we already know enough to be dangerous.” He looked at the P.I. then. “Would you be willing to help us? I can authorize a small retainer for your time.”
Hendrickson hesitated, but to give him credit, his gaze didn’t flicker away. “How small?”
“A hundred dollars, and we don’t charge you for the coffee you’ve already gotten off us.”
The P.I. grinned, boyishly cute, dimples and all, and reached out a hard, calloused hand. “You weren’t kidding about small, but yeah. Deal.”
He could see that Bonnie was annoyed – this was her case, after all, if Pietr wasn’t there, and he’d just kicked her off it – but she kept her mouth mulishly shut, and waited while the others gathered up their stuff and left.
Then, before he could say anything to explain, apologize, or defend, she opened her mouth.
“There may not be a union as such,” she said, “but the fatae don’t want us poking into Aodink’s death. It didn’t make much sense before, but... I got a visitor on my way back with lunch who had a message for Stosser specifically, to stay the hell out of their business. He didn’t give details, but unless Ian’s into something we’re not being told about... ”
If he was, Ben didn’t know about it, either. The way Ian had been acting, though, it was possible. “That message come with enough force to tear clothing?”
She looked down at her knee, and her mouth pursed in unhappiness. “Just a love tap,” she said. “I get worse in fight practice.”
“I’ll let Stosser know about the message.” He would do no such thing. Ian shrugged things like that off, except when he got annoyed enough to snap people in two, and neither reaction would be useful right now. “Forget about it, otherwise. We keep investigating.” She nodded, clearly expecting nothing else. A shove and a buzz-off weren’t going to make Torres blink. His girl was tougher than that. “I know you wanted to keep on the case, but I have a side job for you. Stosser’s request, before he disappeared again this morning,” he added, when she opened her mouth to protest. “Not a job – a favor.”
The address Venec Translocated me to – we were in a rush, apparently – was a nice little brick-faced building in the West Village. Nothing spectacular, but clean and well maintained... and a walk-up. The universe was mocking me for not using the elevator in our building, clearly. My knee was starting to ache, and I put a hand on the cap, sending a pulse of current lightly into the abraded skin. You weren’t supposed to use current to heal yourself – there was way too much that could go wrong – but making like Bactine and a bandage was fair use, especially if I was going to have to kneel down at some point soon.
The stairwell wasn’t much to write home about, but it was clean and recently painted, and unlike too many of the buildings I’d looked at when I was apartment-hunting, it had a weirdly welcoming vibe. Hell of a lot nicer than my pplace, for certain.
I knocked at the top floor apartment, shifting my kit to my right hand to do so, and I’d barely let my hand drop before a voice came through the door.
“Yes?”
The voice was female, and dubious. “You called for a pup?”
The door opened, and I tried for my best “friendly pro” attitude. “I’m Bonnie.”
I could see the woman giving me a once-over, and I wished I’d worn all black today, instead of my favorite bright red blouse, like a miniature fire engine. Not exactly professional. Oh, well. Too late now.
“Come in,” the woman said, stepping back enough to let me by.
I went in. Nice apartment, if a little barren – all bland colors and stripped-down decor, like nobody actually lived there. Venec said she’d had a break-in, of the Talented sort. Unlike Sharon’s gig, the client was Talent, and certain of the source, so I was there to see if we could recognize any signatures. That meant he – or this woman, anyway – thought it was someone we’d already encountered, because it wasn’t like there was a huge data base we could cross-reference against. Not yet, anyway. Something about this was a little weird, but mine was not to question why. “So, where’s the stink?”
“Kitch
en.” She waved off to the right. “Think you’ll be able to pick anything up?”
Okay, doubt was something I did not like to hear, even if this woman technically wasn’t a client. I patted my kit. “If it’s there, we can sniff it out. Just give me a little time and space... Oh, man.” I stopped and stared into the space. It was less a kitchen than a kitchenette, barely enough room for two people and a fridge, but it had a window at the far end, and was filled with natural light. “Totally retro kitchen. I love it. This entire place is just so totally – are there any other apartments available in this building?”
The woman blinked in surprise. “One, actually. Downstairs.”
“Most excellent.” I hadn’t known how badly I wanted to move out until I walked into this building. “The vibes in this place are... ”
“Yeah, I know.” The woman finally looked amused, and I took a longer look at her – or tried to, anyway. It was tough to focus on anything beyond average height, average weight, brownish hair, pale-ish skin. It was like trying to find Pietr, only worse, like...
Comprehension hit me like a slap. Oh, sweet fuck. She was a Retriever. And there was only one Retriever in the region who was female, and that age, and...
Wren Valere.
I tried really hard not to let my sudden penny-drop show on my face. It’s one thing to meet a legend, another to act like a dork about it. Damn Venec anyway for not warning me!
Although it was kind of funny: for a legend, The Wren was awfully... unimpressive.
“Right.” I put my kit down on the floor and got down on my hands and knees to look around. Stay cool, stay cool, focus on the job... . I sat back and pulled some of my tools out. The undeveloped film was a trick Nick wanted us to try, to see if I could process any images onto the negatives. So far it was an utter loss in the field, but I was willing to give it another try or three. The vials of powdered metal were going to be more useful. I snapped on a pair of latex gloves before I opened those; they were like invisible splinters if they got on your skin, all sticky and sharp.
“Do you mind... ” I gestured, indicating that she should get the hell out of my way. I didn’t like anyone looming over me while I worked, not even a legend.
“Right.” I guess she felt the same about being observed, because she got it right away. “I’ll be down the hall.”
Left to my own devices, I placed the film on the floor, touching it with just enough current so that – according to Nick’s theory, anyway – anything I visualized would impart itself in electromagnetic images on the film.
It was a good theory, anyway. I hadn’t even made it work in controlled runs. Even Lou was better at this than I was, which was sort of embarrassing.
The powders came out, and I brushed them over every available surface like fingerprint powder, swirling the brush to get an even distribution.
Despite Venec’s insistence on us “not putting on a damned show,” as he said, this worked better if you gave the magic a frame to wrap around. It was a stupid cantrip, but it worked, and that was what mattered, right?
“Anything to show me? Anything to know? If found, twirl and glow.”
I worked my way through the kitchen space, repeating the cantrip at regular intervals, and then doubled back, waiting. After a few minutes, there was a whisper of current, and then the air began to whirl and shimmer, as the metal splinters reacted to my spell.
“Oh, baby. Bin-go.”
I didn’t get a Transloc back, of course. The urgency was getting there, to show The Wren that we respected her timee, etc, etc. I could have done it myself but there wasn’t any need. The subway slog took me straight uptown, and I made it back to the office just in time to clock out for the night. My luck, I ran into Ian, first off. The office sounded like everyone else had already cleared out, and there was an unpleasant tension in the air that had to be coming from the Big Dog himself. Our fearless leader looked like he could bite the head off a basilisk right then. Thank god Venec said he’d tell Stosser about the warning, because I did not want to be giving him bad news right now.
“Torres.”
“Sir?” I hated when I did that, reverted back to eleven years old and formal-around-adults when I was nervous. Thankfully I was pretty sure nobody in the office knew why I did it, and assumed I was either being cautious, or subtly snarky. Stosser appreciated subtle snark. Usually.
“So you’ve met The Wren.”
“Yes, sir.” He was standing there, waiting, wearing his demonic candle guise – all black, with his long orange-red hair pulled back in a ponytail – and I just blurted it out. “She doesn’t seem very impressive. I mean, even for a Retriever.”
His eyes narrowed, just a little. “Don’t ever underestimate her, Torres. She holds back, but when pushed... ” He seemed thoughtful, suddenly, in a way that prickled the skin on my arms. “When pushed, I suspect that she can be very impressive.”
Then the weirdness was gone, and so was the odd tension and simmering anger, and he was just Stosser again – Big Dog and all-around scary-brained genius. “And I think the two of you would get along, actually. Cultivate that. It would not hurt for one of us to have an in with her – in case we ever were called in to investigate one of her jobs.”
I almost laughed, because the thought was funny: whatever our client up in the Bronx thought, if you got hit by The Wren, you didn’t bother having it looked into.
Then I thought again about that apartment, with its incredible vibes of comfort and hominess, and thought maybe I’d follow up on the results, rather than just handing them over to Venec. Not that I would ever befriend someone just to get an inside line on an apartment, but hey, if Stosser thought she and I should become buddies...
“And, Bonnie... ”
Oh. Uh-oh. I tensed, expecting finally the other shoe to drop. Either I’d screwed something up, or he was pissed at me for not telling him myself immediately about the warning or... Venec would ream me out for things, but Stosser was the one who would actually do something permanent.
“Is... everything all right? With, I mean... ”
I stared at him, trying to parse Stosser actually inquiring into my well-being, either physical or emotional. The Big Dog hired us, used us, occasionally praised us when we met his exacting standards, and I know he bragged on us to outsiders, but Ian Stosser didn’t take much interest in us, specifically and personally like this. The skin on my arms prickled again.
Venec, I thought. He knows about this thing between me and Venec.
I don’t know why that freaked me out – all right, I knew exactly why it freaked me out. Of all the people you didn’t want in your admittedly already unusual personal life, it was Ian damned Stosser. Especially if you worked for him. Especially if the other end of that personal life was his business partner and best friend, and oh, hell.
But Ian just stood there, and looked... uncomfortable? Then he shook his head like shooing away a bee, and made a gesture that clearly said “never mind, go away.”
I went away. Not just away from him, but out of the office entirely. I’d given the job enough of me, today.
Paranoia lingered even after I left the building: I looked around carefully, just to make sure there wasn’t another fatae waiting to pass another message along, or anything that was rubbing its hands and twirling a moustache, or whatever it was mischief imps did. There were a few fatae, yeah, but they were minding their own business, walking like they had places to go, same as everyone else, same as any other day.
The streets were filled with people, actually, enjoying the soft evening air, and normally I would have gotten a mood-lift just being out and hearing other people talking and laughing. But the push this morning had put me on edge more than I’d thought, adding to the uncertainty with The Roblin-threat, and that exchange with Stosser made my nerves jangle worse. I wanted to chew on the case some more – either case, just to have something to show for my nerves, but my avenue of investigation was at a dead end; that was clear from the fact that I’
d been sent off to do the pro bono work, and I didn’t have anything worth chewing on, with the break-in.
And I knew that if I went home, alone, I’d reach out to Venec. Not meaning to, not wanting to... but the itch was under my skin, the need to pick up the tingle of reassurance that the Merge would give me, that he was there, that I wasn’t alone. And the fact that it wasn’t real – that it was all the push of some current-based whateveritwas – made me even more confused and distracted and in need of reassurance.
I hated all three of those things.
What I needed, desperately, was to be able to talk it out with someone who could help me untangle what was real and what was fear, without being judgmental or too biased. The only problem was, since I graduated college and started working with the team, all my closest friends were coworkers, too. And while I would trust my pack with my life, I wasn’t ready to spill the details of this damned Merge I hadn’t asked for and didn’t want. Nifty’s comment at lunch had confirmed my unease about that.
There was only one person who would understand, and that was the one person I really couldn’t talk to – Venec himself. Not right now, the way we’d had to avoid each other to keep things functional. The time we’d walked, close enough our fingers touched, and talked openly about what was between us... that seemed years ago now, not months. Years and miles.
I could, I supposed, yelp to J. Once, I would have. We used to talk about any-and everything, even after I ended my traditional mentorship – there had been very little about us that had ever been traditional, anyway, the retired Council member and the daughter of a ne’er-do-well lonejack carpenter. But since I came to New York, took this job... . Dinner Sunday night had proved, once again, that there were fewer things I could tell him, not without screening what I said.
It was natural, J had assured me more than once. But I could hear the sadness in his voice when he said it, and it made me feel like crap. I wasn’t his only mentoree, but I’d been the only one who had lived with him. That changed the dynamic. A lot.
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