I hadn’t ignored the wooden floor when I’d come inside. Some Wyld had the ability to insinuate themselves in every nook and cranny, even those with forms like Oberon or any of the Court. Even before the floor exploded, I’d jumped to my right, Her Lady’s gift always kept ready. When the tendril thrust up from beneath the ruined floorboards—a tendril I only now could see extending from the lower end of the Wyld into the floor below—I was ready to attack it in turn. The tendril pulled back, then lunged under my guard.
One of the windows near the rear of the store shattered. A long, lupine form fell upon the Wyld from behind. Fetch opened wide, his mouth stretching farther than any true hound’s could. His eyes glowed moon silver. His paws twisted, looking more like hands with long claws.
Fetch tore into the Wyld, ravaging what passed for a shoulder with such abandon that one spidery limb fell free in the process. Despite the Wyld’s somewhat intangible form, Fetch had no trouble keeping hold. This near me, he was better able to draw on his Feirie-spawned abilities, although even I was surprised at the gusto with which he attacked.
The other limbs twisted back to seize Fetch, bending in a manner nothing mortal could’ve achieved. Despite the clear threat, Fetch stayed where he was, tearing out another part of the Wyld.
I dove forward, driving the blade’s point into the tendril. The black limb sizzled, then dissipated. The Wyld forgot the shapeshifter’s threat as it first severed the tendril from the rest of it, then tried to retreat.
With Fetch atop it, it moved too slowly. I drove Her Lady’s gift right through its center. Not through its heart—it didn’t have anything remotely like that—but where its nexus of power lay. The sword fed eagerly.
The Wyld contorted as Her Lady’s gift swiftly swallowed its essence. Fetch leapt free just as the Wyld vanished into the burning blade.
A moment later, Her Lady’s gift stilled.
“Couldn’t find a door again?” I asked Fetch as I eyed the shattered window. This wasn’t the first time he’d gone for the dramatic entrance when we’d confronted a Wyld. In fact, it was beginning to become a habit of late.
He looked utterly innocent. “Might’ve squeaked! Would’ve warned the goon, ye know!”
“And the shattering glass didn’t. Hmmph.” The taint of Wyld had already lessened. I returned the sword to its nether-realm sheath. “I think we should get back to Claryce. This is too close by to be happenstance.”
As Fetch trotted to the door, I drew out some money and dropped it near the ruined window. It was all I could do without bringing more attention to myself. What mattered now was making certain no one tied us to the damage. I didn’t need the police sniffing around me. Somehow, that’d bring Cortez into the equation, I was certain.
There was no sign of either Claryce or the doctor when we stepped back out onto the street. We quickly crossed.
Just in time. The two of them stepped to the door. I didn’t like Bond’s hand on her arm, even if it was probably just for friendly reasons.
“I’m very interested,” he said to her as we neared. “A fine location with a lot of history.”
“I won’t be dealing with Delke Industries in another week,” Claryce returned. “If you can’t decide before that, please call the number I gave you.”
He tipped his hat at her. “I’ll do my best to decide quickly, then.” Bond turned to me. “Mr. Medea. A pleasure.”
“Doctor.”
With a tap of his cane, Bond strode off. Claryce pointed back inside the building. “I need to retrieve my things. Then, we go somewhere and talk, Nick.”
I didn’t argue. The Wyld I’d just dispatched had only emphasized to me how precarious things still were after Oberon. I wondered just how much Her Lady had not bothered to mention to me in terms of both the extent of Oberon’s apparent support, even in exile, and of the turmoil in the Feirie Court in general. She was tightening her grip, but just how tight was that grip right now?
Even after sixteen hundred years, the Machiavellian intrigues of Feirie continued to surprise me.
I started inside. “Do you know anything about the building across the street? Did Oberon own that, too?”
She looked back at me. “It’s not on my list. I know someone who could check.” Her gaze shifted to her bag. “I haven’t forgiven you yet.”
“Claryce—”
“Is it because I’m her that I want so much to, though, Nick? Do I really not have any choice of my own?” She shouldered her bag. “I took to trusting you almost immediately when we met. Was that because of her, too?”
I didn’t have the answer. I hadn’t asked Cleolinda to be reborn over and over, and I hadn’t asked her to become Claryce. I’d been close to each of the incarnations, yes, even loved most of them.
But there was something different this time. . . . “I don’t want anything to happen to you, Claryce. You.”
“You’ve said that.” Thankfully, her expression softened. “And somehow, I also know you really mean it . . . but I can’t help thinking about how much of what I do is because I want to do it or because she wants me to be her again.” Claryce shook her head. “My God! I’d think I’m sounding crazy if I hadn’t seen all I’d seen! I—”
She stared past me. I spun, fearing that now that it was actually dark outside, something I hadn’t noticed in the empty store had followed me back to her.
But the only thing I saw was Fetch, nose in the air, looking as if he were trying to inhale the entire building.
“What’s with you?” I asked, a little too angrily, before I could stop myself. “Smell a rat . . . or maybe Berghoff’s corned beef?” While Fetch was more than happy with rats or cats for a meal, he’d developed some very human tastes as well. I’d only recently discovered his fondness for corned beef, but only if it came from Berghoff’s in the Loop . . . or, at least, their garbage cans. When that happened, he wouldn’t touch anything else.
Then, I saw how flattened his ears were, which I realized was why Claryce had been distracted by him in the middle of our argument. I immediately knew it couldn’t be a Wyld; I’d have noticed something, too.
One other possibility came to mind. One very unsettling possibility.
“It’s Dr. Bond, isn’t it, Fetch? There’s something about his scent you’ve just noticed. He have a touch of the arts on him?”
“Nay, on the contrary!” He took one more deep sniff. “I cannot smell him at all, Master Nicholas! I was partakin’ of the air, as usual . . . and I realized I couldn’t smell him!”
“Nick . . . what’s he talking about? What’s wrong with Dr. Bond?”
I kept eyeing Fetch. He could smell a rat five blocks away. Human smells at a distance might be smothered by other stronger odors like those of the rats, but this close, he should’ve smelled something of the man. “No scent at all?”
“None! I’m bein’ square with ye! Honest!”
“I know you are.” I slipped past him and looked outside. It came as no surprise that there wasn’t a sign of the good doctor even though he’d just left. In fact, I couldn’t recall even hearing another auto for the past several minutes . . . or before he’d even arrived.
I didn’t know who Claryce’s prospective client was, but he wasn’t human . . . at least not anymore.
CHAPTER 5
I turned back to Claryce. “How did Bond contact you?”
“By telephone, of course.” She stepped up next to me. “What does he mean, he couldn’t smell the doctor? Nick . . . was he one of . . . one of what you called the ‘Wyld’?”
“No.” I didn’t know exactly what Bond was. Not at all like Oberon when he’d worn a human skin in order to play the role of William Delke. There’d been something more real about the doctor.
I thought about the building across the street. Again, I didn’t believe in coincidence. “Stay here, Claryce. Fetch, with me.”
I’d barely taken a step when she came up next to me. “I’m not staying. Don’t try to order me around again.”
“It’s for your own—”
She slapped me. Fetch whined and slipped outside. Smart boy, that Fetch.
A heat rose in me. I wanted to take her by the throat, then rip out that throat.
Just as quickly, I smothered the thought. I looked inward, seeking the culprit for such a horrible thought.
Eye did nothing. . . .
Not for a moment did I trust him despite the denial. Fortunately, I’d managed to keep my face from showing anything to Claryce. Instead, I silently nodded. I realized that there probably wasn’t anywhere safe. I couldn’t very well tie her up and leave her.
“Stay close, then.”
She pulled out the revolver. “I’ll stay close all right.”
I wasn’t sure what good the gun would do against whatever we might meet. Some creatures it could stop. Others . . . “What about the dagger? Do you still have that?”
“Of course.” She tapped her leg. “I’m no fool. I don’t want to be next in line.”
I didn’t respond to the last comment, although inside I felt a chill. I was glad, though, to hear that she’d continued to carry the silver-tipped dagger I’d given her during the struggle with Oberon. It’d been blessed in Constantinople over a thousand years ago and had served me well over the centuries. Claryce had shown herself handy with blades—much to my relief—so I’d left it with her. That comforted me a little bit, at least.
We crossed over to the other building.
“Why are we going here? Just what happened while I was with him?”
“Work.” I pulled on the door . . . and found it locked.
“What’s wrong, Nick?”
“This was open.” I peered through the glass, but there was no hint that Dr. Bond was inside.
Fetch ran off around the corner. I didn’t have to ask why. A few seconds later, he showed up inside by the door. He grasped the inside handle with one paw and opened it with ease.
“How did he get in there?”
“Overenthusiasm.” I pulled the door open. Darkness greeted us.
Eye can help. Let Eye let you see. . . .
I ignored him. After what I’d just experienced, the thought of letting out even a hint of his power in front of Claryce bothered me.
My foot hit something metal. Whatever it was rolled across the store with a harsh echo.
Claryce leaned close. “I thought you could see in the dark—” She took my chin in her hand and turned my face to hers. “They’re yours. Why aren’t you using . . . his?”
Eye told you! Even she says so. . . .
“This is because of me, isn’t it, Nick? How can you take such a risk? Change them. Now!”
I looked away. All right. Show me.
The dragon snickered . . . and then the world illuminated for me. Fetch, now completely visible, wagged his tail in relief.
“Anything you smell here?”
He raised his nose again. “Feirie.”
I wasn’t sure what he meant. “You mean the Wyld we killed in here.”
“Nay, Master Nicholas . . . I smell Feirie. The realm. Didn’t think of it myself at the time! Thought like ye that it was that goon we did in, but, nay, I smell Feirie itself . . . as if we stand at the Gate . . .”
Feirie. He smelled Feirie. I was beginning to see that there’d been more loose ends after Oberon than I’d thought.
Let me show you . . . take just a little more . . . you need it. . . .
I gritted my teeth. Go ahead.
The world swirled around me for a moment. I heard things differently. I could taste scents. I could smell the magic around us.
I could now sense what Fetch did. Feirie was here. Not in the same way as the Gate . . . but still in a potent manner.
“Do you know anything about this property, Claryce?”
“No. I can see what I can find out at Delke’s in the morning. Maybe Will—Oberon left this place in another file. We can meet for dinner tomorrow and discuss this . . . and other things.”
She knew I could see her expression, and she knew that expression was one I dared not argue against. “All right.”
“I’ll be near the Loop by then. We’ll meet at Berghoff’s.”
I looked down at Fetch. He cocked his head, all innocence. I knew that he couldn’t talk to her when I wasn’t near, and I couldn’t recall when he would’ve mentioned the restaurant. Certainly not in the middle of the fight with Oberon. I could only surmise she’d taken note of my brief, sarcastic comment to him and wanted to give him a better treat than garbage or rats. I would have to remind her at some point that Fetch wasn’t a poor, stray dog.
But not now.
“Berghoff’s, then,” I replied as I looked at her again.
Even though I couldn’t see him anymore, I knew Fetch’s tail was wagging harder.
We searched, but found nothing. It was as if whatever drew the power of Feirie here didn’t exist and yet did. I finally led us outside, where I took a look at the building in general.
“There used to be more,” I muttered. “This used to be a taller building.”
Fetch sniffed the air. “’Twas a fire here, Master Nicholas.”
“How recent?”
“Oh, tens of years, I’d say. Not so long as the night he breathed, but some time.”
There didn’t seem to be a connection in that regard, but I filed away the knowledge. I noticed the place was growing darker even with the dragon’s gaze. Whether that meant anything, I couldn’t say and didn’t want to know at the moment, especially for Claryce’s sake.
“Let’s go,” I ordered. She looked questioningly at me, but said nothing. Fetch kept behind us, making certain nothing would catch us by surprise.
We headed for the Delke building to retrieve Claryce’s things, then moved on to the Wills. Fetch kept guard while Claryce climbed inside the car.
“Nice,” I commented, trying to distract her from the knowledge that once again she’d suddenly been thrust into the intrigues of my world.
“The company’s given it to me in return for my work acting as executor for ‘William.’” She gave me a steady stare. “It’s like they all want to wash their hands of him, Nick. I can’t say that they knew he was Oberon, but they seem relieved he’s gone.”
I found that of interest. I made another note to investigate Delke Industries deeper than I had already. After Oberon, Claryce’d given me a list of those acting as top executives. Most had quickly turned out to be innocent dupes. One had disappeared. A swarthy man named Colby Dewhurst. Two others I realized had ties to Moran’s mob, but were otherwise just human. I’d seen to it that the info on their ties had gotten to Cortez without my name involved, and they’d been arrested for charges not related to the plots of the exiled lord of Feirie.
If I’d missed some others in Delke, I needed to know, but that was something that had to wait until I knew more about this building . . . and Dr. Bond. I wondered if he had a connection to Delke, too.
I wondered if what I’d thought was the end of Oberon’s plots was just the beginning of them—even with him dead.
Late that same day, I phoned the Nilssons to let them know I hadn’t forgotten them again . . . only to have the husband ask who I was. When I mentioned ghosts, I received a curt comment about prank telephone calls before being hung up on by him. He sounded exactly like my clients did when they began losing their memories of me once my work was done.
I decided to drive over there on my own, but then remembered that I’d promised Cortez to look at his mysterious corpse tomorrow. Despite having sworn to the detective that I’d take care of the windshield as soon as possible, I drove down to the station listed on the card as soon as I could the next morning.
I was alone, having asked Fetch to keep a secret eye on Claryce. I wasn’t worried so much about Oberon’s goons at the moment as I was our friend the doctor. Until I found out his place in things, I couldn’t take a chance that he might not have more than passing interest in her. It was possible he’d onl
y been interested in the building itself, but he’d called her specifically.
I pulled up a little away from the police station, then walked the rest of the way. Winter had come to Chicago in a rush even though it wasn’t supposed to start for a few more weeks. There was about an inch of snow and winds that made not having repaired the windshield a big inconvenience. I wasn’t bothered by the steep drop in temperature; both my overcoat and the dragon’s presence within kept me warm enough. Traffic wasn’t too bad. It was the weekend now, which meant that level-headed folks could stay at home.
The desk sergeant looked up from his copy of the Trib sports section in mild surprise when I entered, especially as there was no snow on me. Things looked quiet. The coroner’s office had proudly announced to the Trib and the other papers that there’d been no unnatural deaths in the past twenty-two hours . . . a grisly record of sorts for the city. No one expected that to last, though.
“I’m looking for Detective Cortez,” I told the heavyset sergeant.
He made a face that plainly noted what he thought of Cortez even though the detective outranked him. “Not in. What’s your business?”
I knew I’d come earlier than expected, so I wasn’t entirely surprised. I’d actually hoped to study this corpse without Cortez around. “My name is Nick Medea. He—”
“Medea,” he muttered, managing to mispronounce it badly. The sergeant glanced through some papers. “From the state coroner. ’Bout time.” He snapped his fingers at a fresh-faced recruit who looked like he still believed that the Chicago Police Department was a paragon of virtue and law. “Kowalski. Morgue. Now.”
The rookie nodded, then gestured me to follow. No longer interested in me, the sergeant returned to reading an article about Red Grange and the Bears’ latest win, this one over the Frankfort Yellow Jackets. I suspected that the sports section was going to get a lot more focus than crime today where he was concerned.
I wasn’t sure why I was supposed to be from the coroner. Cortez was usually aboveboard on everything, but he’d arranged so that I’d be able to get in without a problem. There’d likely even been a bribe to the desk sergeant, who’d be willing to take money even from an upstart Mexican.
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