Unperfect Souls

by Mark Del Franco

  Murdock snorted. “Sex and hypocrisy go hand in hand, don’t they?”

  I gnawed at my lower lip, thinking. “Still, your father? I can’t wrap my head around it.”

  “He was evasive the other night. I got curious and followed him when he went out. I thought he was having dinner with her again. He went to a hotel in Burlington. She met him in the lobby, and they went upstairs. It didn’t look like he stayed for dinner when he came out.”

  Burlington was a small town north of the city. Not the place anyone would look for the Boston police commissioner or the High Queen’s Herbalist. “What do you think it means?”

  He shook his head. “I can’t even begin to guess.”

  “Why are you bringing this up? You still haven’t said what happened to you last night, Leo.”

  He looked out the window again. “Fine. I’ll tell you, but I want your word you won’t tell anyone else.”

  “You don’t even have to ask,” I said.

  He inhaled deeply and sighed. “A green light fell on me like a wave. Something grabbed me and dragged me into the air. I felt weightless, tumbling and falling, then rising again. All kinds of people and strange animals surrounded me, tossing me back and forth, laughing and screaming. I thought I was losing my mind. I started to pray. There was this loud shout, and someone threw me higher. Someone else caught me. She wrapped her arms around me and held me up. They say as you die, you see the people who went before you, welcoming you to heaven.”

  Murdock paused, looking down at his hands. He frowned and gazed out the window. “She looked like my mother, Connor. The woman holding me looked like my mother.”

  My mind went blank. “Wow. I don’t know what to say, Murdock. You never talk about your mother.”

  He remained silent for so long, I thought he was going to change the subject again. “She was killed in a traffic accident after Kevin was born. My mother was Catholic, Connor. We had a funeral mass. We buried her. What happened last night leaves me with two choices: Either everything that’s been happening is fey essence manipulating our minds, or everything I believe about God and heaven and hell is a lie. I’m not going to lose my faith over this. The one thing I do know? The moment I started praying, the craziness stopped. I think God sent me a message to help me keep my faith.”

  What do you say to someone who has a religious epiphany? It didn’t happen? A few months earlier, I met a drys, which druids consider the manifestation of the power of the oak. A demigoddess. I couldn’t say it didn’t affect me profoundly, that my secular agnosticism wasn’t rocked. But I still had my doubts. Reason told me the drys might be just another fey, an extremely rare and powerful one, but fey. Despite my rational mind, the faith I was raised in clouded the issue. I wanted to believe, dammit, but I still preferred to know.

  I took a deep breath. “Murdock, I’m not going to disagree with you. That’s the whole point of religion, isn’t it? That we don’t know? I’ve been asking myself those kinds of things all my life. If you found your answer, that’s cool. I don’t think my worldview and your faith are an either/or proposition, but maybe you’re further along that path than me.”

  A subtle change settled over Murdock, a release of tension in his body, like maybe he had been thinking I was going to argue with him or didn’t believe him. I didn’t blame him. For one thing, I’m not shy about my opinions. For another, he probably couldn’t help but feel defensive after telling me he thought God saved him from the crazy fey people.

  His father was another matter. Leo and the commissioner might try to work out their differences on a lot of things, but the fey were something they would never agree on. Scott Murdock’s odd interest in Moira Cashel had to do with more than sex. The question was, which of them was playing the other.

  Murdock pulled some folder across his desk. “Let’s review the file.”

  23

  Murdock and I spent the remainder of the day alternately discussing why the Dead attacked the solitaries in such a strange manner and why Murdock wouldn’t go to Avalon Memorial. Of the two topics, Murdock preferred the former and I the latter. Despite my acute sensing ability, I never had much ability in the healing arts. To my senses, Murdock seemed fine, but I worried. Our work partnership was getting to the point where Murdock’s human nature put him at risk when working with the fey, and our friendship was making that harder for me to watch. I felt responsible for his strange acquisition of a body shield. I was afraid of what more might happen to him if I couldn’t protect him better.

  But Murdock was Murdock. I’d call him stubborn, but that would be disrespectable to what was really his resolve. He assessed situations and made decisions with firm resolution. As far as he was concerned, he was fine, he would be fine, and until something indicated otherwise, he would continue as he was. That didn’t stop my anxiety about him. So, when I went home while Murdock went to check in at the station house, I called Briallen ab Gwyll, my childhood mentor and one of the finest healers in the fey world. Without argument, she agreed to an impromptu dinner with friends to see if my fears about Murdock had any foundation.

  A light snow fell as I walked up Park Street to Beacon Hill. Against the early-evening sky, white lights glowed along the architectural trim of the old brick statehouse, its gold dome shining under spotlights. Along the edges of Boston Common, multicolored lights filled the branches of old elm trees. The scene had a classic New England charm, except for the darkness on top of the small hill where the war monument used to be, replaced now by a smooth granite pillar, a muted bone white finger against the night sky.

  The pillar had once stood in the center of a giant circle of stones in TirNaNog. On Samhain, the pillar ripped through from the Land of Dead, and it remained after the veil between worlds closed. In the chaos of that night, trees were destroyed, leaving the top of the hill bare. Since then, gargoyles had gathered around the pillar.

  The city granted the Guild jurisdiction over the site to figure out if it was dangerous. No one was allowed near it, especially fey who were not authorized. Another restriction. The citizen group that maintained the landscaping was pretty ticked off, too.

  Briallen lived on Louisburg Square behind the statehouse. The exclusive address had its share of business executives and politicians who called it home. These days, I imagined that they were less than pleased to have a powerful druidess living in their midst. Screw ’em. Briallen had lived there since before most of them had been born and, if anything, kept the place safe from both human and fey shenanigans.

  The brownstone let me in. My old partner, Dylan macBain, was the only other person I knew whom Briallen had spelled free access through her door at any time, and he was supposed to be dead. In a way, I had grown up in Briallen’s town house. Even though my family lived three miles away, I spent the majority of my teens on the third floor of her home. She was one part teacher, one part parent, and a big part friend. Even when my life fell apart, she stood by me. I knew she had put herself on the line more than once in my defense, especially lately.

  “I’m in here,” she called out, as I crossed the threshold.

  I left my jacket on the hallstand and went to the kitchen. The wave of warmth from the stove brought the smell of stew. Briallen came out of the pantry with a stack of dishes. “You’re early.”

  She hugged me, then stared into my eyes as she placed her hands on either side of my head. A warm sensation radiated from her palms. After Gillen Yor, Briallen was the most experienced healer in the city, if not the world. Her essence moved inside me, an intimacy I allowed no one else outside a hospital room. I had an uncomfortable memory flash of the leanansidhe.

  Briallen feathered her essence along the edges of the dark mass in my mind. I winced as it flexed when she came too near, but it didn’t react. Perhaps it knew I wasn’t threatened by her touching. Perhaps it wasn’t threatened, if it was that aware. Briallen withdrew and dropped her hands, rubbing my shoulders with a troubled smile.

  “I thought you’d want to talk
before the others got here,” I said.

  She turned away. “It’s changed.”

  “I know.”

  She kept her back to me as she worked. “It’s bigger. I think it’s spreading.”

  “It is.”

  She didn’t speak as she broke some greens for a salad. I sat on a stool. She finished, wiped her hands with a towel, and held on to the edge of the counter. “Are you in pain?”

  “Headaches. Sometimes it’s worse.”

  I slid off the stool and hugged her from behind. She relaxed into me and let me hold her, then looked up at me. She pulled my head down and kissed my forehead. “Okay, enough maudlin. I’m frustrated because we can’t figure out what it is. We will.”

  I smiled. “A little darkness never stopped Briallen ab Gwyll.”

  She recovered her usual self and pushed me away. “Damn right. Start slicing onions and tell me why you were at the Guildhouse.”

  Amused, I picked up a knife. I didn’t think anything happened within a five- mile radius of Briallen without her knowing about it. “I was reporting a leanansidhe Murdock and I stumbled into.”

  She scrunched her nose. “Ick. I hate those.”

  Only Briallen would react to one of the most fearsome fey with an “ick.” “Keeva said she’d try to get someone to look into it.”

  “She must be thrilled that Ryan’s stepping in now that Nigel is leaving,” she said.

  “It’s not official.”

  “Is that the official unofficial position that came out of your meeting with Nigel and Manus?” she asked.

  I chuckled. “I knew you knew about that. Eagan won’t name Ryan. At least, not yet. He wants to drive Ryan and Maeve crazy.”

  Briallen chuckled. “I enjoy that myself sometimes. In the meantime, stay away from the Guild, Connor. With Nigel gone, I’m the only ally you have left there, and I’m not there enough.”

  “I haven’t thought of Nigel as an ally for months now,” I said. Which was true. After I reached the age of majority, I trained with Nigel. He was my mentor and taskmaster. But when I lost my abilities, he abandoned me and took every opportunity since to ridicule me.

  She tasted her stew. “He’s run more interference than you know.”

  I scooped sliced onions into the salad bowl. “You mean lately? He tried to kill me last month, Briallen.”

  She arched her eyebrows. “I’ve seen news footage of that. Don’t be too sure he wasn’t putting on a show for witnesses. What happened to that leather jacket you were wearing, by the way? I haven’t seen you with it since that night.”

  “I lost it when I accidentally destroyed TirNaNog.”

  She pursed her lips. “Pity. You looked quite handsome in it.”

  “We were talking about Nigel trying to hit me with a deadly essence strike.”

  Briallen moved the salad bowl to the island counter. “Look, Connor, you know that Nigel and I don’t agree on everything, but I don’t believe he would hurt you. In fact, if you think about it, his going to Tara will take Maeve’s attention away from you.”

  “Tara? I heard Russia.”

  She leaned against the counter and sipped her wine. “Via Tara, of course. Trust me, Connor. Maeve isn’t going to forget you anytime soon. Between her worries about the Taint and all the deaths here, you need to be careful.”

  “I’m not afraid of Maeve.”

  She lifted her chin and smiled. “Good. Just remember that not being afraid is not the same as poking a bear with a stick. Can you get the door?”

  The doorbell rang. When I opened the door, Murdock and Meryl stood side by side, each holding a brown-papered bottle. Meryl stamped snow off her Doc Martens. “Guess who tried to give me a ticket for parking in an illegal parking space?”

  I cocked my head out the door. “The guy who’s parked at the fire hydrant?”

  She mock-glowered at Murdock. “The very one. I mentioned it would be a shame if that hydrant broke in this cold weather.”

  She removed her full-length wool coat. Murdock and I smiled at the same time. Meryl wore a black leather top with long lace sleeves, a short black wool skirt, and fishnet stockings. She caught our expressions and looked down at herself. “What? Are the stockings too much? I wore the violet ones because the pink looked kinda trampy for dinner.”

  I smirked. “They look fine.”

  “More than fine,” said Murdock.

  She rolled her eyes. “Children.”

  “Hey, you wore ’em. Don’t complain if we look,” I said.

  She took her bottle back, and we followed her into the kitchen. Meryl hopped on a stool and said hello. Briallen, I noticed, barely acknowledged her. The two of them disagreed about things I wasn’t privy to. Sometimes I thought it was druidic politics. Sometimes it seemed something more.

  Murdock handed Briallen the bottle of wine. She placed it on the counter next to Meryl’s. “You look well, Leonard.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Gwyll. You like French wines, if I remember.”

  She smiled and brushed her hand down his arm. “Charmer.”

  She handed off the bottle to me. “If you could do the honors.”

  Murdock and Meryl teased each other about their parking skills while I hunted down the corkscrew. Briallen laid out the salad bowls, and we took seats around the kitchen island. I poured the wine. I may like my Guinness, but a glass of wine in Briallen’s kitchen brought back pleasant memories from my younger days.

  Murdock made a curious face as he chewed. “What’s this dressing?”

  “Vinaigrette, mostly, with a few special things thrown in,” Briallen said.

  “Don’t ask the definition of ‘special things,’” I said. Briallen poked my hand with her fork.

  Murdock chuckled. “I never know what I’m eating around you people.”

  Meryl poured herself another glass of wine and leaned on her elbows. “So, Murdock, I heard you’re knockin’ boots with someone.”

  Murdock choked in surprise. “Why is everyone so interested in my love life?”

  Meryl’s eyebrows went up. “Ohhhh! Love life? No one said anything about love.”

  He twisted his lips in a smirk. “Are we talking about you, now?”

  Meryl smiled as she sipped her wine. “No changing the subject.”

  He shrugged. “All I’m saying is there’s a lot of scuffed boots at this table, and they’re not mine.”

  Briallen’s brow went down slightly as she parsed his meaning. The on-again, off-again, on-again thing Meryl and I had going was not something I discussed with her. “Hey, isn’t this snow crazy?” I said to change the subject.

  Briallen nodded as she brought stew to the table. “That was cailleacha work if I ever saw it. They stayed away from here, though.”

  “Maybe they haven’t decided whose side they’re on yet,” I said.

  “The solitaries,” said Meryl, around a mouthful of salad.

  “Oh?” I asked.

  She nodded. “They caused the storm. Zev got word that the Dead were going to attack, so he asked the callies to provide some resistance.”

  “I guess it didn’t work,” I said.

  “It could have been worse,” Meryl said quietly.

  We avoided looking at Murdock.

  “Jark’s been released,” he said.

  I didn’t expect that. “How? I thought you said you could hold him?”

  Murdock poured himself more wine. “Someone put the word out to let him go. The Dead’s legal status is messed up, and the city’s afraid of lawsuits.”

  Briallen shook her head in exasperation. “That whole situation down in the Weird is getting out of hand. It’s neglect.”

  I dropped my fork and clutched my chest melodramatically. “Finally, Briallen ab Gwyll agrees with me.”

  She wrinkled her nose at me. “It’s not your issue to agree or disagree with, Connor. I never said the Guild deals with the Weird appropriately. I said you let it annoy you too much. I’ve lived a long, long time. There’s always a We
ird of some kind, and neglect is always the reason it exists.”

  “So you just accept its existence?” Murdock asked.

  She gave a noncommittal shrug. “Not per se. It’s a problem to be managed. Acknowledging that it can’t be eliminated isn’t the same thing as allowing it to flourish or degrade.”

  “So how would you manage it, Briallen?” Meryl asked.

  Their eyes met for a fraction of a second. I knew Meryl well enough to know her flat tone was about disagreement and challenge, like I knew that Briallen’s habit of making eye contact then breaking it was a sign of disagreement and dismissal. “By getting people talking to each other,” Briallen said.

  “In other words, let other people fix it,” Meryl said.

  Murdock and I threw wary glances at each other. The firmness of their responses was feeling a lot like a prelude to an argument. My idea for us all to have dinner with Briallen was on the brink of spinning out of control. As I tried to think of a way to redirect the conversation, Briallen surprised me by laughing. “You’re right, Meryl. It’s never been my nature to step in and solve problems. Maybe I’m a bit selfish that way. No one ever tries to solve mine.”

  Meryl’s lips twitched into a smile, and she nodded in acquiescence. “Been there, baby.”

  “Hey! I think I’ve helped both of you a few times.” They turned their heads and stared at me, that stare that women have like the calm before a storm. “What?”

  Meryl leaned over and placed her hand on mine. “Grey? When you make a mess and someone else starts to clean it up and you show up at the eleventh hour to help? You’re not really solving someone else’s problem.”

  Murdock hooted. Like an owl, hooted. I glowered at him. “I’m taking that as betrayal of the unwritten male code of brotherhood.”

  He held his hands up. “Hey, there’s an escape clause that says I can get out of the way when a guy pisses off two women at the same time.”

  I tossed my napkin on the table and crossed my arms. “I hate everybody.”