I rolled my head toward him. “Leo, you just took down a berserker without breaking a sweat. He is angry right now and wants to do something about what just happened. We need Joe. Do you have any glow bees on you?”
He pulled a small bottle out of his inside coat pocket and held it out to me. Two motes of yellow light danced inside. It was bad enough I couldn’t do sendings anymore, but even something as simple as a glow bee didn’t work for me. I was able to imprint messages, but they took forever to reach their destination. Humans used them because they were a fey thing and fun, but weak essence made cell phones a faster option. But Murdock didn’t have a simple human body essence anymore.
I waved away the bottle. “Your essence is stronger than mine.”
He popped the lid and rolled one of the motes onto his palm. Curling his fingers over it, he cupped his hand to his mouth. “Stinkwort, corner of Tide and Oh No. Now, if you can.”
Hearing Murdock use Joe’s real name sounded odd. But no matter Joe’s preference, his real name had an intrinsic connection to him, and that connection was what made a glow bee work. Murdock opened his palm. The glow bee rose, danced in the air, then shot through the windshield. I tried not to feel jealous when pink light flashed in the backseat. A strong odor of alcohol wafted over the seat.
Joe stood on the console, unsteady on his feet. “What’s goin’ on? You boys got something you can’t handle?”
“Hey, Joe. We need you to follow someone,” I said.
He put a tough look on his face, then nodded so hard, he lost his balance. He fell face-first into the police radio, hovered up, and hit his head against the rearview mirror. Grabbing the dashboard on the way down pivoted him into the glove compartment. He held a hand out to steady himself. “I’m okay, I’m okay. The seat’s a little icy.”
“Do you remember the Dead guy from the headworks?” I asked.
He nodded. “Sure, sure. The dead Dead guy without the head in the headworks. I never forget a face.”
“He didn’t have a face then,” I said.
He grinned. “Right, right. I never forget a neck stump either.”
I shook my head. “He has his head back, and he’s reanimated. Can you track him?”
Joe’s eyes lit up. “No problem! Those walking Dead guys stick out like a sore thumb.”
“Last we saw him, he was in Hel.”
Joe pulled a long face, his eyebrows dropping low. “I thought you destroyed Hel.”
“The old Helmet, Joe. Just up the street. And for the record, we don’t know if I destroyed Hel,” I said.
Joe cocked his head at Murdock and pointed his thumb at me. “I don’t know how you understand this guy.”
Joe blinked out. Murdock chuckled silently. At least Joe made him lighten up. “Is he too drunk for this?” Murdock asked.
“Nah. He’s not even over his threshold capacity yet,” I said.
Got him. Drydock Ave, Joe sent.
Murdock pulled onto the street. “Nice work, Mr. Grey.”
We turned down Tide Street again, passing Hel. A few people huddled outside smoking and talking. Murdock eased the car to the corner of Drydock Avenue. We faced the Black Falcon terminal, a massive building two thousand feet long. Cruise liners with a few hundred thousand passengers a year calling on the port of Boston docked at the terminal in one of the worst neighborhoods of the city. They never learned that, though. The Chamber of Commerce made sure shuttles and taxis whisked them directly to downtown without their having to soil their experience by seeing the immediate area.
He’s crossing to the channel.
Mountains of snow lined either side of Drydock. Traffic down there in the middle of the night was rare. I pointed out Jark’s unmistakable figure as he crossed the parking lot in front of the terminal and disappeared behind the building. Murdock drove down the street and stopped before we reached the access road. “Everything’s wide open from here. He’ll spot us if I make the turn.”
He stopped on the dock. I don’t see anyone else.
“He’s meeting someone,” I said.
You know, I’m burning alcohol here.
“Just so you know, Joe’s going to make us buy him drinks,” I said.
“It’ll be worth it if we can stop the Dead,” Murdock said.
“Famous last words, my friend. I’ve seen him drink.”
Car coming . . . black one . . . it’s stopping, and your guy got in.
Joe flashed into sight between us. “Damn, it’s cold out there. I’m sober again.”
I looked at Murdock. “I think that’s a hint.”
“Did you see inside the car, Joe?” Murdock asked.
He shook his head. “You want me to pop in and say hello?”
“Get as close as you can without being seen,” Murdock said
“This is sure making me thirsty,” he said, and vanished again.
“Oh, yes, this is going to be expensive,” I said.
Okay, I’m under the car . . . It’s warmer and less windy . . . I’m getting the berserker and a human . . . oh, hey!
Joe reappeared, annoyance across his face. “Okay, what’s the joke?”
I twisted in my seat. “What joke?”
“Why’d you pull me out of the bar to spy on the commissioner?”
I shifted my gaze to Murdock. He clenched his jaw. “What did you say?”
The annoyance vanished from Joe’s face as he picked up on the threat of anger in Murdock’s voice. “Murdock, your father’s in that car. This isn’t a joke?”
Murdock gripped the steering wheel, glaring out the window. He cleared his throat. “Joe, I want to know the minute Jark gets out of that car.”
Joe looked at me in a panic. I nodded, and he disappeared.
“Leo—” I said.
“Don’t talk,” he interrupted.
I closed my mouth so quickly, I heard my jaw snap. Murdock’s essence flickered a deep crimson. His face looked like stone as he stared up the access road. I don’t think I have ever felt more uncomfortable in his presence.
“We don’t know what this is, Leo,” I said quietly. And we didn’t. As much as the commissioner didn’t like me and I didn’t like him, he was still Leo’s father. He wasn’t above bending the rules, and when it came to the fey, he enjoyed it. But I wasn’t ready to make the leap to something more sinister, not without more information. Police used shadowy operatives for information all the time.
He’s leaving, Joe sent.
“Get out, Connor,” Murdock said.
“Leo, let’s leave. You can talk to him later.”
“Don’t make me ask again, please.”
His tone sent a chill down my spine. I opened the door as Joe appeared in the backseat. Apprehensive, he fluttered out the door. I leaned in again. “Call me, Leo.” He didn’t say anything. “Dammit, Leo, I’m only leaving because it’s your da. Say you’ll call me.”
He didn’t look at me. “I’ll call you.”
He pulled away and picked up speed as he turned onto the access road.
“Come on, Joe. Let’s go get a drink,” I said.
Before we walked away, Jark reappeared and watched Murdock pass him. He lingered on the corner, then continued toward me. Behind him, the commissioner’s car passed through the intersection, and Murdock followed it.
“What the hell is going on?” Joe said.
“I have no idea anymore,” I said.
Jark stopped a few feet from me. “You made a mistake following me.”
Joe hovered close to my shoulder, his hand gripped to his side where he hid his sword behind a glamour. “I don’t think so,” I said.
His gaze shifted to Joe. “Do you think that little thing can stop me from breaking your neck?”
The dark mass in my head shifted like a hand flexing its fingers. It hurt, but in an oddly pleasurable way. I stepped closer to Jark. “Who says I need him?”
Joe moved forward. “Connor . . .”
I held my hand up without taking my
eyes off Jark. The dark mass shifted inside me, a warm flush spreading down to my right hand, a burning sensation that kicked my adrenaline into gear. “It’s okay, Joe. This could be interesting.”
Joe swung around behind me as Jark and I stared at each other. Despite knowing I was no physical match for a berserker, I wanted to wipe the sneer off his face the way Murdock had. The darkness pressed at me and made me feel it would be there at the right moment. I believed it, even if I didn’t know why. I wanted to hurt Jark.
Wind whipped with a low groan around the corner of the terminal. Jark’s body shields shimmered with deep green and oil-like swirls of black from his Taint infection. A part of my brain observed him change as he tapped his essence, the warning sign that he was going to go full berserker. Even without that, he was big enough to crush me without much effort. I wasn’t afraid. More than that—I didn’t care. The dark thing in my head prickled down my neck. It wanted Jark, too, and I wanted to see it happen. I lifted my right hand, palm up. A dark spot formed there, a black stain that spread across my skin. “Come on, Jark. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
His body flexed and grew as he set his feet in a fighting stance and clenched his fists. A growl sounded behind me, a feral threat I had never heard before from Joe. He landed on my neck and straddled my shoulder, his sword a thin blue flame in his hand.
Jark hesitated, with a look of fear. He stepped back.
With my hand held out, I took a step. “Not so sure of yourself all of sudden, Jark? Are you afraid? Murdock gave you one surprise tonight. Are you ready for another?”
He paled as a familiar essence resolved in place behind me. Uno padded in front of me, hackles up, his teeth bared in a snarl. He pressed Jark back, and they paced each other, step for step, as Jark kept his distance.
The darkness retracted. I shook my head to clear it, like I had awakened from a dream. An odd sensation of disappointment swept over me as Uno stood between me and Jark. The heat inside me subsided. I had no idea what I was thinking. I wasn’t going to fight Jark. Even if the dark mass could be controlled, I sure as hell didn’t know how to do it, no matter how much it wanted out.
Uno howled. It wasn’t directed at me, but chills ran up my arm anyway. The dark thing in my head withdrew, like a predator disappointed its prey was escaping. Uno crouched. Jark shouted, more an involuntary yelp, and ran toward the channel. Uno followed for a few feet, then stopped and barked at Jark’s retreating back. He turned and loped toward me.
Joe yanked on my collar as he hovered up. “Let’s go! Let’s go!”
I pushed him away. “It’s okay, Joe.”
He grappled with my hand. “Don’t you know what that is?”
Uno sat in the snow and sniffed the air. With a soft huff, he ducked to scratch his nose on the ground. He lifted his head, snow speckling his dark muzzle. He was suddenly the least threatening hellhound on the planet.
“It’s okay, Joe. I’d like you to meet Uno.”
Uno jumped and put his massive paws on my shoulders, woofing at Joe as if he understood what I said. I staggered under the weight as I dug my fingers into his thick fur and scratched.
A terrified smile froze on Joe’s face. He laughed nervously. With a flat, stiff hand, he patted Uno on the head. “Nice doggie.”
Uno dropped and rolled in the snow. I stared down the access road. Jark was nowhere to be seen. Murdock promised he’d call, and I had to let him play this out his way. I balled my hands in my pockets and started walking.
Joe fluttered around me. “That was kinda awesome. You should keep that dog. I mean, as long as it doesn’t suck your soul or something.”
“I can barely keep you in Oreos, Joe. I don’t think a dog would be a good idea for me.”
“Still. You could take it for walks and people would talk to you and be friendly and pretend not to notice you’re holding a bag of shite when you run into them. It’s a very civilized thing to have a dog.”
“I don’t think he’s that kind of dog, Joe. Let’s go find a drink.”
Joe flew around in front of me, throwing looks back at Uno. “Yeah, I need about a dozen.”
25
In the cold of the empty street, I swayed in front of the warehouse door. The yellow crime-scene tape across it fluttered and shivered in the wake of small puffs of wind, slashes of color across the entrance that warned people off at the same time they lured me closer. A feeling had been building in me all night as Joe and I drank. I had known him all my life, but there were tales I didn’t know about him. Dark ones that he hinted at in ominous yet nonchalant tones. He had done things he didn’t like to talk about but managed to accept them as part of his history. Whatever those acts were, somehow he remained content with who he was and happy to move on. I wasn’t at the point with myself yet. Certainly not tonight, on a bleak stretch of road where I found myself after leaving Joe snoring in a pretzel bowl.
Two kinds of people walked the streets of the Weird in the middle of the night: those up to no good thing and those down to one last thing. Both had the tinge of desperation about them that drove the need and desire to go out in the darkness and accomplish whatever deed necessary to satisfy them. Standing in front of a warehouse door with crime-scene tape across it, I wasn’t sure which category I fell in. It was easy to rationalize that my motivations were good, which allowed me to slice open the tape and push open the door. It was equally true that I was breaking the law. Which brought me to that one last thing—I didn’t think had a choice.
When I’d faced Jark down by the harbor terminal, I wanted to hurt him. Not hurt him as the side effect of stopping him from committing a crime or hurt him in the process of stopping a fight. I wanted to hurt him for the sake of hurting him. No matter how much I tried to rationalize it, I wanted to hurt him for the pleasure of it. I didn’t know if it was me, though. I didn’t know if on some suppressed animal brain level I wanted to hurt him, and the dark mass exposed that baser instinct, or if the dark mass, for its own reasons, wanted to hurt him and use me as its instrument.
I had to know. I had to go back to the one person who might have that answer.
The leanansidhe’s chamber reflected her sad and solitary life. Dust caked in dark gray on surfaces that weren’t touched. Dirt was tracked everywhere, the side effect of living underground and the leanansidhe’s indifference to it. The glass lamp’s shade speckled the nearby furniture in golds and red. A jumbled assortment of blankets layered a bed in the corner. The stale air held the electric whiff thrown off by a small heater running full blast by the side chair.
The leanansidhe had gathered mundane ephemera throughout the room—a bowl of key chains, a box of gloves, stacks of playing cards. They were either trophies of her kills or the by-products of an obsessive-compulsive mind. Haphazard stacks of books covered three tables. No common theme ran through the titles, everything from pulp detective novels from the 1950s to studies of irrigation systems in the Midwest. They seemed collected for the sake of collecting, many soiled with dirt or blood, their pages swollen from old moisture.
Forlorn. That was the overall impression. The nature of her existence was depressing. We all played the hand we’re dealt, but when that hand made you a murderer and you had a modicum of conscious mind, it had to weigh on you. If it didn’t, that made you something less than humane.
Her essence permeated the room, probably the only place she allowed it to remain, but nothing indicated anything more than a hideout. A lair. The room had a distinct lack of feyness. No grimoires or spell references, no major ward stones. Not even a stray wand. It was as if her entire life was about hiding, with no interest beyond that.
I sat in the same chair that I had the other night and flipped through a well-thumbed decorating magazine by the armchair, imagined her poring over it, wondering about sun-filled windows and flower-stuffed vases. Was she envious? Perplexed? Or was it a safe way of understanding the living environment of her prey? Studying their habitat in order to set a trap for them?
“Are you going to watch me all evening?” I asked.
I heard a soft gasp and a chuckle from near the bed. A hand appeared from a narrow fissure in the wall, and she peered in at me, her face tentative, yet avid. “You return, brother.”
“I have more questions,” I said.
She crept across the floor in plain sight, hid behind one of the tables, and stretched her neck up above the books. “Druse has questions, too, my brother. Why did you flee so? Shall I bring the rat for you? It is yours. It was always yours. Druse swears this.”
The idea that a dead rat was somewhere in the room was not something I wanted to dwell on. “I meant no offense. Please accept the rat as my apology.”
She ducked down behind the books and muttered. Hospitality rules among the old fey were complicated. In certain quarters, offering a guest a gift was required and refusing it brought shame. With matters of honor and apology, the same sort of thing happened. When the rules conflicted, things got interesting. I hoped this particular complication would not end up with a rat in my pocket.
The leanansidhe moved on tiptoe across the floor toward her armchair, shooting looks at me as if she were trying to slip by without attracting my attention. She huddled in the chair, her legs tucked under her, and fidgeted with the hem of one of the several skirts she wore. Her eyes darted to the open book on the table. She flipped it closed and pushed it toward me. “This is a very good book. Druse should like you to have it, yes?”
I picked it up. It was a computer-programming reference work from 1983. “Thank you.”
She clutched her hands to her mouth. “Yes, it’s very exciting. You will enjoy it.”
I leaned forward, and she leaned back, wary. “Druse . . . is that your name?” She nodded vigorously. “Druse . . . I sense in you something akin to what is in me. Do you know what I mean?”
Unperfect Souls Page 20