“Thanks. Also, see if you can find out some specifics about what’s involved in this Naming Day ceremony. I’ve never attended one, I guess all the invitations got lost in the mail, so I’m not exactly sure what’s expected. This ‘recounting deeds of valor’ and ‘quests and services’ rendered sounds a little strange.“ I got up and pushed the empty tumbler back across the bar where Jake quickly caught it.
“Sure Jake, I’ll call and let you know what I can find out.” Kevin smiled and waved.
Chapter Two
“No, no, no! My instructions were quite clear. You were to follow and observe, not contact the subject. Jesus, Kraft, how many times do we have to go through this? Follow and observe!” He at least had enough sense to act chastened even if he lacked the wits to avoid the problem in the first place.
“I swear, if you couldn’t follow a paper trail better than a blood hound does a convict, I would have fired you two years ago after the incident with the ambassador’s wife. Christ, what a fucked up mess!”
I looked at the nigh undrinkable mug of coffee on the desk before me and wondered how in hell to fix this. I had already talked to a screaming client and an alerted and indignant suspect.
“Mr. Underwood, I’m sorry. I thought I had him. He was going through a box of papers and considering what the client wanted...” He used a shrug to finish his sentence.
He looked at me with little fear for his job. He knew I wouldn’t fire him. He was great at certain things and it was really my fault that I sent him out on a job he wasn’t skilled at, not his. I suppose I was a little distracted by the Delphane matter, and had sidestepped a job that was really my responsibility, damn it. It’s a poor craftsman who blames…etc, etc.
“Hell, forget it Dave. I’ll fix it with the client. You just get back on that Esso case. Someplace in all that paperwork something stinks. You can find if anybody can.” He brightened immediately and quickly fled back to his office and his computer.
I sighed and considered the best way to repair the problem caused by my distraction and Dave’s ineptitude. I could probably do it myself with a little work but I was backed up with tying up some loose ends so that I could be out of town for my Naming Day Ceremony and really couldn’t spare the time to deal with this mess.
I knew what I had to do. This wasn’t the first time I had been forced to this extreme and probably wouldn’t be the last.
I reached for the phone and called a sometimes competitor and sometimes employee, Marty Obromowitz. Now, don’t get the wrong impression. I like and respect Marty. He’s better at this then I am and if it wasn’t for being so long lived, he might be sitting in my chair instead of the other way around. He’s the best freelance, hell, he’s the best detective I know. But there is something about him that really puts clients off. He seems so innocuous and casual that it was hard for clients to take him seriously. His manner always threw off his target as well. What harm could he possibly be? That was the fatal mistake. He’s tenacious and dogged in pursuit of his, well, victim. I know I wouldn’t want him on my trail.
I seldom used him when there was a great deal of face to face with the client or interaction with people. But for a B&E job or straight tailing, he couldn’t be beat. For stakeouts, the man was inhuman. I often wondered if he had a little fey blood, perhaps a wolf spirit or some such, in him somewhere.
I knew I would lose money by hiring him, but there was little choice. I had already stumbled and once word gets around that you are fumbling jobs, it gets much harder to find work. If he could save this job, he would be worth twice what I paid him in money in reputation.
He answered the phone on the third ring.
“Hello?” He always sounded surprised when I called. I knew that he had caller ID and that he knew it was me, but he always answered the same way.
“Marty. This is Jake. I gotta a little job for you.”
“Yeah? Well, I could use the work.” He sounded pleased. Perhaps one of his barracuda ex-wives was hounding him for money. For a guy with an unassailable scent for the guilty, he had no clue when it came to his ex wives or women in general.
“Look, can you come over at about 3:00?”
“Sure. What’s the op?”
I hesitated for moment. “It’s a cleanup job. I used Dave Kraft on a job and he got caught out. The client’s pissed and he alerted the target.”
“Oh. Well that is a pretty mess. Of course when it’s an awful tangle, you think of me. I suppose I should be flattered.” I could almost hear his grin on the other end of the phone. He loved it when I had to use him to fix a problem. Plus, he really didn’t care for Dave. Not really my business except when it interfered with a case. Marty would never let that happen but Dave might.
“Yeah, well, this job fits your profile perfectly. In fact, if I was hitting on all cylinders, I probably would have thought of sub-contacting it to you in the first place.” A lie of course. I could just handled it myself. “Can you come?” I knew he would if only to rub Dave’s face in it.
“Sure. I can be there. Anything for a pal. I’ll give you my ‘pal’ rate; $300 a day, plus expenses.”
I practically choked. That was more than I was being paid. Damn. I really was going to lose more money on this deal, more than I had originally thought.
“That’s your “Pal” rate? I would hate to think what you charge someone you didn’t like.”
“I’m worth it.” He answered smugly.
The hell of it was that it was true. He was worth it. “Fine. Come in at three and I’ll brief you and have Adrianna prepare a packet for you with case materials.”
“I’ll see you then.” Marty clicked off left me to the dread of my next appointment.
I rang Adriana telling her about Marty and to take an early lunch and close the outer office door on her way out. My office was set up to be completely separate from the others, enabling me to shut myself off when I needed to see a client without worrying about my staff seeing anything. It even had its own exit so I could slip out unseen if I chose.
I closed all the blinds and made sure that Adriana had actually gone. The outer office was empty and the door locked. I retreated to my office treated my inner door to a repeat performance of its outer twin. Stepping across the room, I closed the blinds and moved my guest chairs. It took a moment for me to roll back the rug and reveal the white chalk lines beneath. A few were smudged and needed resetting.
In the bottom drawer of my desk was a small, black kit. Inside the kit were various instruments that I used for summoning and protection. I’m no magician, but everybody in my line of work needs to know some basic spell craft and enough protection rituals to keep one hale and whole. A very nasty encounter with an effreet in 1943 had taught me that it paid to be cautious. I wish the same could be said for my double crossing client. She never had a chance to profit from that lesson. Pity. Her red hair had never been more striking as when it had burst into flame.
I laid the contents of the kit and unrolled the pack on the desk and made sure that everything was clean. These kinds of ceremonies always went better with purification. So once I was sure the blade was stainless, I washed my hands in water that I was assured actually came from a mountain spring as opposed to the crap you find so labeled in a store. The closest that water had been to a spring was the one in the pen the grocer had used to sign for it.
“I invoke the High Lord of Hunt and Lord of the Court of Dawn. Besolumude, guard and protect thy servant in this working of will!” I took the sharp silver dagger and drew a thin line across my right palm. The blood welled up quickly and I let a drop fall upon the large piece of chalk that lay on the scarlet cloth. There was a slight hiss as the blood sunk into the white porous surface. A thin wisp of smoke eddied forth lending a slight scent of violets to the air.
“I invoke the Stalker in the Stars and The Lord of the Court of Twilight. Evenstride, guard and protect thy servant in this working of will!” The dagger crossed my left palm and I felt the power of the ritual
sinking in. A slightly queasy feeling that made my gut churn. The drop of blood hit the chalk and the smoke that rose up smelled of ash and regret.
“Lords of the Dawn and the Twilight, I declare before you my intent to deal fairly and follow the Compact. What was true, is true still. Let all who come, respect the Compact and let all things be bound by the Compact. These sigils are a symbol of the dread agreement between august lords. All who break the Compact are Unclean and every hand shall be raised against them and no peace shall they know until spirit is rift from bone. So mote it be.”
As I made my declarations to the room I sense the power of mighty antagonists, light and dark, flooding the ritual with presence. Hate and spite flowed between them, culminating in agreement and with that agreement; the Compact was sealed and power flowed into the chalk.
As the ritual finished I could feel the prickling of cold sweat along my back and could feel the tension in my arms. For a full blood, this sort of thing could be dashed off with little effort and less strain. For a half blood to claim protection under the compact was a much more grueling affair. My hands cramped and the blood began to cake on my palms.
The chalk tingled with power as I walked around the desk and began to inscribe the renewed symbols on the floor. I had seen permanent circles carved in rosewood and inlaid with gold. Such craftwork was beyond my need. Temporary circles were all I generally needed simply because I do so little with the craft work compared to the average adept.
I stepped back and viewed my work. It paid to double check such things. Many would be will workers had suffered for carelessness. A dropped symbol or a smudged one would weaken or even negate the protection of the Compact.
My guest was unlikely to wish me harm, but members of the Court of Dawn, even those only loosely affiliated, didn’t take chances with the Court of Twilight. While some Twilight court members could be as charming as any might wish, others were decidedly less so. If you ever wondered where all those charming tales about blood sucking parasites come from, look no further than the Court of Twilight. There were enough unsavory creatures associated with the Court that caution was always the proper path. Many cases of “demonic” influence could be traced there as some of the Fey who liked the dangerous game of fooling mortals and teasing the infernal forces. If the powers of the Damned discovered such meddling, nothing could protect the malefactor from retribution. No one in the game undertook tweaking the nose of the Adversary lightly. No one that is, except perhaps fools and angels. I stood behind my desk and addressed the room.
“The Circle is prepared. Let all who have business in this place draw near and attend this meeting under the protection of the Compact.” With that I declared the circle open and waited for my eleven o’clock to show up.
There was a slight rustle of blinds and an inrush of air as the manifestation began. Bright specks of light began to gather in the midst of the circle and low hum filled the room. The motes of light coalesced into a vaguely man shaped form. There was a crackle of static electricity being discharged and a faint smell of ozone as the shape grew more solid. One could almost see a hint of another form in the circle, but whatever was there slowly flowed into a human looking form.
Once the pyrotechnics settled, I was left with a rather tall, dark individual in what appeared to be a rather expensive pinstripe. Pierre Cardin or Armani, I suspected. He was fair of feature but dark of aspect. His face was an ebony black mask framed with golden hair and with twin golden eyes staring back at me. His brow had little bone ridges that gleamed like they had been polished. His hands had long nails perfectly manicured and undoubtedly quite sharp. He smiled at me and revealed a row of pointed teeth that seemed to interlock.
“Mr. Underwood? Mr. Jake Underwood?” He raised his brow and the bony ridges actually moved. His smile grew broader revealing even more of his disturbing teeth.
“Yes. I’m Jake Underwood. I understand that you wanted to see me.” A few days ago I‘d had a rather disturbing dream which could only have originated from the Court of Twilight. In the dream I had arranged this interview with my current visitor. Of course in the dream he had looked a lot less threatening. But what he looked like meant nothing. Some of the Court of Twilight were true shapeshifters and didn’t need glamours to appear in other forms. Who knew what this guy, if he was a guy, actually looked like? It didn’t really matter. The Compact should protect me and if not the Compact, the silenced Glock might do the trick.
“This is a genuine pleasure! It’s rare to meet an operator of your caliber! I must say, your boldness surprises me in some ways. Considering the incident at Tuatha Dun Torin, the last thing I suspected was to find you listed in the …ah… phone book. Brave, I must say, foolhardy almost.”
“Uh…Yes…Well, you know what they say, the coward dies a thousand deaths, the brave man drinks but once and all that.” I replied glibly. This was not good. Not good at all. I had no idea what the hell this guy was talking about. Damn it. The only thing that was worse than a threat from the Court of Twilight, was praise from that quarter.
“Of course, the Court was all a twitter when the Orb of Distress was pinched by an ‘unknown someone’. As fine a piece of work as has been seen in many a moon. I don’t suppose you’d care to dish a little gossip about that caper would you?”
He actually used those sharpened talons to hang quotes in the air around his ‘unknown someone’
“I certainly can’t confirm or deny anything about such a thing.. Anyway, I never talk about my clients. Something that I’m sure you can appreciate.” I smiled. Of course I couldn’t. I didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. Even if I did, I’d never talk to a wriggler like him anyway.
“Yes. Of course. I can see you’re a fellow who likes plain speaking and so I’ll speak plainly.” He glanced at a chair and I nodded and sat behind the desk, the Glock coming out from behind my back and resting in lap. He seated himself and straightened the lines of suit and smoothed out imaginary wrinkles.
“ Mr. Underwood, I have come to you with a most delicate problem. Can I rely on your complete discretion in this matter?” He raised those bony ridges of his again asking the question. In all the years that I have been a private investigator, this is the one of those questions that I have never understood. It was almost as bad as asking me; ‘Can I be honest with you?’ No, hell, lie like a cheap rug . I love it when clients lie to me. By all means DON’T be honest with me. If I was discrete I would answer yes and if I wasn’t, I would still answer yes so I’d have something to be indiscrete about.
“Of course I’ll be discrete. As long what you have to say doesn’t involve prison time or a declaration of being Unclean, whatever you say will be between us.” Let him suck on that.
“Yes...Very well. Where to begin?” He paused and seemed to be considering exactly how much to tell me. He was going to lie to me. But that’s okay. I’m used to my clients keeping a little of the truth, hell, sometime almost all the truth from me. It’s an occupational hazard.
“Why don’t you tell me a little about yourself and what you do? You could start with your name.” That almost always relaxes a client. It’s familiar and comforting, like taking the same path across the lawn to the mailbox, you know the way and you are less likely to get tangled up.
“Of course. I am Jeryn Callasandra, Keeper of the Fourth Seal of the Daemons, and I serve in Fourth Circle of the Court of High Lord Evenstride.” He announced it as someone who had long used the name as a shield and banner, protection from some and announcing his importance to others.
“Fourth Circle huh? Impressive.” It was actually. I was a member of the Tenth circle of the Court of Dawn. That wasn’t a big deal. Anybody with any Fey blood at all or even allies of the Crown were Tenth Circle. In fact, favored guests of the Court often ranked at least Ninth or Eight Circle. Membership in Fourth Circle meant somebody who actually did something. Jeryn Callasandra was probably an underling of an important advisor or an Undercourt Lord who had active roles in s
ome ceremonial spells and whose name might actually be used in some specific incantations to invoke the power of his office. I was a lot more fuzzy on the workings of Court of Twilight than the Dawn, but they were reflections of each other in many ways.
He beamed at my praise. “Thank You. Coming from one like you that is high praise indeed for one so lowly as me. Your praise really should be to my Lord. Lord Cabor Klaris is in charge of Night Blooms and Outre Geometry.”
“Outre Geometry?” The Night Blooms I could see as an important job, The Fey have odd concepts of beauty, but few could resist flowers so I wasn’t shocked to discover someone who was actually in charge of Night Blooming flowers. Outre Geometry was a new one, however.
“I don’t completely understand it myself, but from what I gather, Lord Klaris is consulted whenever the shape of a garden or building must extend into dimensions that cannot be measured by compass or rule.”
“You lost me.”
“Well, say that this room existed in more than the three dimensions you can see. Technically, it does of course, but for purposes of explanation, let’s suppose that you want to make sure the shape is right in four or five dimensions in addition to the ones you can experience.”
“There’s enough call for that kind of thing that you have an Undercourt Lord in charge of it?” The disbelief was dripping from my voice.
“Oh Yes, Unlike the Court of Dawn, The Court of Twilight has many members who can sense things well beyond the normal range of the spectrum and some have sight into nth dimensional space.” He paused to see if I was following him. I nodded. “Aesthetics are very important to us. There even some sculptures that exist almost totally in higher dimensional space and would be invisible to most of us.”
“Fascinating.” I tried to keep the condescension out of my voice and probably failed. Jeryn seemed unfazed, he probably had explained this many times before. It had the tone of prepared and often delivered speech. “Suppose you tell me why you arranged this appointment.”
Naming Day (Jake Underwood Book 1) Page 2