Frey leaned closer. “What’s interesting is that the Guild is cooperating with the human authorities to the point of advocating your detention.”
“Is this a subtle way of telling me you’re not going to pay for lunch?” I asked.
Frye smiled, a thin predator smile. “On the contrary, Mr. Grey. I am willing to pay for this and whatever else you need. I am authorized by His Majesty Donor Elfenkonig to offer you asylum with an offer of Consortium citizenship.”
It took several heartbeats before I laughed. I couldn’t help it. To hear Bastian Frye, the man who ran counterintelligence activities for the Consortium, the same man I had worked against for years, offer me protection was damned funny. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
He gave me a sharp nod, either missing my sarcasm or pleased that I didn’t reject the offer out of hand. I didn’t clarify but let him think whatever he wanted. Keeping someone like Bastian Frye off-balance was not an easy thing.
Brokke perused the menu. “Let’s have dessert, shall we?”
I smiled. “Sure. Anything look good?”
He eyed me and passed the menu. “I’ll let you pick.”
I hate people who can read the future.
17
As I finished my dessert at the Ritz, Meryl texted me to meet her nearby at a local Guild watering hole. As usual, she was cryptic, but asked me to slip in the back unseen. To continue enjoying bars and restaurants, a good rule of thumb was never to go in the kitchen. The Craic House was no different than any other place in town. The rear entrance had the whiff of garbage, spilled beer, and bug juice. Sure, the Health Department had rules and inspections, but that didn’t mean the cockroaches read the manuals. The kitchen staff ignored me after their initial glances, as if it were perfectly normal for someone to walk in their back door and hang around. Guild employees frequented the restaurant, so maybe they were used to odd behavior.
Meryl strolled in from the front of the restaurant. Over the clanking and banging of the dish-washing machine and cooking areas, several guys called out her name. If I were a different person, the number of men Meryl knew would irritate me. But then, if I were a different person, I wouldn’t have gotten involved with Meryl in the first place. Besides, if I did say something, she would wonder aloud why I wasn’t worried about the number of women she knew, then tongue-kiss a random stranger to make the bigger point. With Meryl, I either accepted who she was and didn’t make assumptions—likely or asinine ones—or she wouldn’t give me the time of day. In all fairness, she respected and accepted my past the same way, although pointing out my flaws continued to be one of her favorite pastimes.
She tossed me a laminated ID badge for the Teutonic Consortium consulate with a picture of a security guard. A cool static settled over me from an essence charge on the badge. It was a glamour. The skin on my hands became smoother and paler, and my black jacket shifted to the regulation red outfit worn by elven security.
“How’s your elven accent these days?” she asked.
I held up the badge. “Perfect. Is this what I look like?”
She pursed her lips. “You’ve got a more quizzical look on your face than he does, but it’ll get you through the front door.”
“And I need that because . . . ?”
She smiled. “Because Eorla Kruge doesn’t want to be seen with you.”
“And you’re running errands for her because . . . ?”
She shot a glance at the kitchen staff. “She wants to see both of us.”
I nodded slowly. “You know what that means.”
Forest Hills, she sent.
The events of Forest Hills Cemetery, where Eorla’s husband was buried, kept coming back to haunt us. Part of the cemetery was destroyed, which was a small price to pay for the disaster that Meryl and I had prevented. The powerful surge of essence that was released, combined with the control spell that started the whole thing, twisted essence and produced the Taint. Meryl and I were a big part of stopping a cataclysmic meltdown, and Eorla played her role, too.
“She’s getting close to something,” I said.
Meryl shrugged and rolled her eyes in irritation. Forest Hills wasn’t something she liked talking about. She felt responsible for some of the deaths that had occurred, to say nothing of being the subject of a Guild investigation that had led to her arrest. The charges were dropped, but people continued pressing her about what she did. Including, apparently, Eorla.
“I don’t trust her,” Meryl said.
I chucked her on the nose. “You don’t trust anybody.”
She grinned. “And that’s how I’ve survived as long as I have.” She glanced at her watch. “She’s expecting you in fifteen minutes. Give me a few seconds head start, then go out the back.”
“I can’t leave with you?”
She back-stepped and smirked. “Nope. I don’t want to be seen with you either.”
On the way through the kitchen, she retrieved a bag from under a heat lamp and went out front. I shook my head. Cloak and dagger with fries.
Out in the alley, I adjusted my stride to the stiff rhythm of an elven security guard. Back when I was working for the Guild, going undercover wearing a glamour was a routine part of the job. Going into the Guild undercover was not something I ever contemplated doing. I didn’t need to. They were impressed with me then.
Near the Guildhouse entrance, I flashed my badge at three different sidewalk checkpoints. Consortium agents didn’t have automatic access to the Guildhouse, but they were extended the courtesy of bypassing the waiting queue during lockdowns. Without an appointment or high-level security badge, they didn’t make it past the reception desk, same as anyone else. I breezed through, though. I guessed Guild directors can wave through anybody they wanted.
The Teutonic section of the Guildhouse was in the rear on lower floors. Not the best location as offices go, but that was the point. While publicly the Guild welcomed all fey in the name of unity, the Teutonic contingent were assumed spies for Donor Elfenkonig. No doubt they were. Guild spies in other places confirmed it.
More badge flashing on the fifth floor earned me an escort directly to Eorla’s office. Despite her stature, Eorla kept a relatively modest yet modern office with glass-and-steel furniture—definitely not Guild issue. The window behind her desk shimmered with a spell that displayed a view of an ancient forest instead of the parking lot I knew was outside that part of the building.
To maintain the facade of the glamour, I stood at attention while my escort announced me. Eorla nodded as she typed on the thinnest laptop I had ever seen. The escort passed her my badge. Eorla stopped to look at it, then returned it with a smile. “Thank you. Has the material I requested from the archives arrived?”
“No, ma’am,” the escort said.
Eorla made a slight frown. “Please call. I don’t want this courier to wait.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The escort bowed and left.
Eorla continued working as she passed me a sending. I’m sorry I have to leave you standing there. They’ll think it odd if you sit down and odder yet if we close the door.
A few moments later, Meryl’s voice sounded out in the hall. “Look, I don’t care if you’re the Elven King’s nephew or his dog handler, I’m not turning over classified files to a hallway jockey. Tell Eorla, if she wants them, she gets them directly from me. If she has a problem with that, she can discuss it in my office.”
Eorla arched an eyebrow and went to the door. “It’s fine, Albrin. Let her through. Ms. Dian is very dedicated to her work.”
“Hey, Kru-chacha. Nice to see you again,” Meryl said loud enough for the guard to hear, and effectively put herself on their enemies-of-the-state list. The Consortium puts more effort into nothing than formality and strict adherence to royal protocol.
Meryl snickered as she preceded Eorla, who closed the door.
“You are incorrigible,” I said.
She grinned as she sat in a guest chair. “And that’s my good side.”
&nb
sp; I sat next to her. “What’s the mystery all about, Eorla?”
She leaned back, her eyes shifting between Meryl and me. “I’ve been reviewing the Forest Hills files, and I believe there are some gaps in the report.”
Meryl shifted in her seat. “I sent you everything that was in the files.”
Eorla smiled shrewdly. “Of course you did. I don’t think either of you believe that my own report contained everything that occurred.”
Her admission didn’t surprise me. What had happened when she wasn’t observed was anyone’s guess. Eorla had made a deal with Nigel Martin. That much I knew. In exchange for her help at Forest Hills, she wanted the Guild director position that had been vacated by her husband’s death. Manus ap Eagan didn’t want it to happen, but after Forest Hills, Eorla was confirmed. I didn’t know if anything else happened that she didn’t report.
“What do you want to know?” I asked.
“If we share information, we may be able to resolve the issue of the Taint to everyone’s advantage.”
“And your credit,” Meryl said.
Eorla shrugged. “I have no issue sharing credit for it. In fact, you can have it all if you wish. It’s more important that the Taint be eliminated.”
I smiled. “You’re afraid the Guild will figure it out and use it as a weapon.”
Eorla shook her head. “Not afraid. I know that is their intention. Isn’t fear of Consortium dominance what the fiasco on Samhain was about? The only thing that keeps war from breaking out between the Seelie Court and the Elven King is parity. If I have anything to do with it, both sides will know the answer or neither will.”
“Sounds to me like you’ll end up committing espionage against the Guild and treason against the Elven King at the same time. Even I make better friends than that,” said Meryl.
“Barely,” I said out of the corner of my mouth.
The Guild had interrogated Meryl for weeks about the purging spell she used on the Taint. Meryl insisted she didn’t know the mechanics of the spell because a powerful fey called a drys actually performed it through her. It wasn’t quite possession, more like having a supercharged battery boosting her already considerable ability, with the drys providing direction. I had more than enough experience with forgetting what happened during extreme essence events, but even I suspected Meryl knew a little more than she was telling.
Eorla steepled her fingers. “I’ll let history judge that. I’ve been out of favor before. I will find favor again. That’s not the issue. The Taint is.”
“Why should we trust you?” Meryl asked.
A slow smile teased at the corners of Eorla’s mouth. “By that question, you confirm my belief that you know something.”
Meryl frowned a smile. “Maybe it was a rhetorical question. I didn’t just fall out of an oak tree, Eorla.”
I suppressed a smirk. Meryl might not have fallen out of an oak tree, but at Forest Hills, I watched her fall into one. Literally. One moment, the bark of the tree formed the face of the drys; the next, Meryl jumped into the trunk.
Eorla pulled a small pad of paper toward herself and sketched a series of runes. Sometimes the act of scribing can activate a spell. Eorla was a pro, though, and broke them into unlikely combinations. For added measure, she smeared essence on the first few to make them resonate differently. She slid the pad across the desk. “Perhaps an exchange of information would make you more amenable. Those are the runes I saw and remember”—she shot me a significant glance—“all of them this time. I believe, Connor, you held back a few as well.”
I picked up a pen and drew three more runes. I didn’t look at Meryl, but sensed her caution through her stillness. Eorla studied the pad. “It’s ancient. It doesn’t have the nuance of the spells we use today. It’s much more blunt force.” She handed me the pad. “Do you see the rhythm of an elven chant in that?”
I saw what she meant. “I don’t follow all of it, but, yeah, I see it.”
Meryl took the pad from me with a mixture of reluctance and curiosity. She scanned the page, then closed her eyes, nodding as if listening to music. She opened her eyes and filled in a few blank spaces. “I think those belong. The syntax looks similar to Old Elvish with maybe an eastern influence.”
Impressed, Eorla nodded as she reviewed the additions. “The runes were bonded to an oak staff. That changed the nature of the spell by combining Seelie and Teutonic modes.”
“That was the point,” said Meryl, “to control essence the way the two groups use it.”
“Why didn’t it affect us?” Eorla asked.
“That part’s easy,” said Meryl. “We didn’t drink the Kool-Aid.”
Eorla tapped the edge of her desk in thought. “The drugged ceremonial mead never made it to me for the final toast. That doesn’t explain Nigel Martin’s ability to fight off the spell.”
“He was sidelined at the Guildhouse and wasn’t at the funeral. He didn’t arrive until after the spell catalyzed,” I said.
Eorla considered for a moment before bringing her attention back to Meryl. “The drys used you to execute a counterspell, and the control spell collapsed.”
“But it didn’t collapse,” I said. “That’s what the Taint is. Damaged essence.”
Eorla leaned back in her chair again. “You broke the Seelie aspect of the spell, Meryl. If that knowledge falls to the Elven King, he may be able to reconstruct the control spell, and we may not be able to stop it again. The Celtic fey would be at his mercy.”
No one spoke.
“You have nothing to add?” Eorla said to Meryl.
She shook her head. “I don’t remember. It wasn’t my doing. The drys used me as a conduit.”
Eorla arched an eyebrow. “A conduit. I hadn’t considered that.”
“If you reconstruct the spell, won’t that cause the same problem all over again?” I asked.
She titled her head. “I’m not re- creating the spell. I’m reconstructing it in order to understand how to undo it. You saw how much essence was involved—controlling all that essence is impossible for one person. I have no interest in dying.”
A knock sounded at the door. I stood for appearances sake. Another elven guard entered at Eorla’s response. “Your meeting is beginning shortly, Your Highness.”
Eorla gathered up some papers on her desk, slipped them in an envelope, and handed it to me. “Deliver this by the end of the day, will you?”
I bowed and left the room. Meryl met me at the elevator a few moments later. We didn’t speak until the doors closed. “I still don’t trust her,” she said.
“I know. I do. When you do, let me know,” I said.
She cocked her head at me. “That’s it? No trying to persuade me?”
I smiled. “I’ve learned my lesson on that score.”
She nodded. “Good.”
I wiggled my elven ears at her. “Have you ever had crazy elf sex?”
She watched the lit numbers on the panel as they counted down. She punched the stop button. “Not in an elevator.”
18
After a day of political intrigue, it made perfect sense, at least in my life, to shift gears and attend a good, old-fashioned neighborhood meeting. Murdock seemed to think it might be interesting, but I doubted it. Neighborhood meetings were usually dog-and-pony shows, a sop to whoever had a problem, where the powers that be got to pretend they cared and were doing something about it. A neighborhood meeting in the Weird was unusual. The people who lived there didn’t have the time—or clout—to demand community service or political attention. Not when they were dodging elf-shot and bullets. But enough people had complained that one was arranged, and Murdock felt the need to attend.
Like most of the old buildings in the Weird, the building on Summer Street being used for the meeting was a manufacturing plant for something when it was built. Plate- glass windows lined the street level now, covered with metal mesh. By the sign above the door, someone had tried to turn it into a lighting showroom, “tried” being the o
perative word. The sign was long faded.
Snow fell thickly as Murdock parked the car opposite the entrance to the old warehouse. The weather forecast hadn’t called for anything more than overcast skies, but the clouds had a different idea. Light leaked through the mesh grate from inside, casting striated shadows onto the solitaries who gathered on the sidewalk. Bark-skinned men with tangled hair in mats of dark green or brown stamped their feet in the snow and bunched their hands in pockets. A few ash-colored women huddled together, their coal black hair trailing to their waists. At the next corner, police officers in riot gear leaned against cars and motorcycles. Suspicious and angry eyes from both contingents watched each other in the sallow light thrown by the lone streetlight.
Despite the cold, we moved across the street with a steady gait. Rushing would have looked like we were intimidated by the stares. More solitaries filled the interior of the warehouse. Some managed to snag the few wooden folding chairs set up, but the majority stood and faced a long table—with a very obvious space heater pointed at it. Mayor Dolan Grant and Commissioner Scott Murdock sat with a city councilor, various aides, and a blasé Guild press agent I remembered. Behind them, I was surprised to see Moira Cashel. When we made eye contact, she didn’t acknowledge me.
A thin woman spoke waveringly into a microphone about her recent mugging. When she finished, a community activist who worked across the city took the microphone. She didn’t look like your typical advocate for solitary fey. With her simple, stylish black suit and long ash-blond hair, she looked more Back Bay than the Weird. “This has got to be awkward,” I said.
Murdock gave me a sharp glance. “What do you mean?”
I nodded at Grant. “That’s Jennifer Grant, the mayor’s daughter. It’s got to be pissing him off to have her criticize his administration.”
Murdock let his gaze rove over the woman. She was definitely rovable. “I heard they made peace a long time ago. Business is business, family is family.”
I poked my tongue into my cheek. “Maybe they should talk to you and your father.”
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