Black City Saint

by Richard A. Knaak

  I left the house with Fetch, who immediately ran off. Most cabbies were not happy carting a beast like him around, even if the “owner” was there to handle him, so Fetch would run along and meet us at the address given to Claryce by Delke. Fetch did not tire as fast as a true dog or wolf. He was also stealthy, meaning no one would likely notice him scurrying through town.

  I saw no sign of the black bird, but I assumed I would at some point by the time we reached the Tribune Tower.

  I returned to St. Michael’s to find Claryce anxious but ready. We had gathered some clothes for her before leaving Delke’s house. She smiled in relief upon seeing me, a smile that sent my blood surging despite my efforts to remain detached. That, naturally, brought a mocking chuckle in my head.

  Claryce and I took another cab to Delke’s main offices, a non­descript building located near the American Furniture Mart on Lake Shore Drive. I remained with her as she retrieved the files without incident, then we headed southwest to the Tribune Tower on North Michigan. Three years back the tower’s design had been part of a huge international contest, with the winner a Finnish architect by the name Saarinen who’d come up with a radical, simplified tower without all the neo-Gothic decor of so many other buildings. The tower rose up sleekly into the sky, each succeeding layer smaller but still pushing toward the clouds. There’d been arguments for another design favoring the neo-Gothic, but Saarinen’s design, almost like something out of a science fiction story, had prevailed.

  And, somewhere in there, I would at last meet—or actually just observe—William Delke.

  At my suggestion we got out a block before the building. I caught sight of a dark gray-brown form slipping among the unseeing throngs filling the sidewalks. That Fetch could be more or less invisible around so many people showed that a touch of his true Feirie nature remained even in the mortal world.

  Sleek Duesenbergs, gleaming Rolls-Royces, and stately Lincolns lined the front of the tower as other businessmen arrived. I was surprised to see that this was a more formal affair than I’d calculated, and, while Claryce could easily mingle among such, I stuck out a bit with my coat and worn clothing. I was used to not standing out as a matter of safety and, after so long, habit.

  Even the two surly harps watching the doors as Delke’s associates entered were better dressed. They had the look of North Side goons and in fact I recognized one as a particular associate of Moran. I didn’t doubt that Bugs in particular had a big hand in all this—his ambition to extend the North Side territory was even greater than that of his cohorts. I noticed no weapons, but the fine jackets they wore probably concealed at least a gun and knife apiece.

  “I think you should go in alone, Claryce. I’ll find another, less busy entrance.”

  She nodded reluctantly, then moved on. As she reached the entrance, the “doormen” initially gave her a cursory glance, then shared a pair of admiring grins as they more closely watched her enter.

  Once she was well inside, I headed to the far side of the building. I was confident in Claryce’s safety for now, which gave me the opportunity to locate Fetch. I found him around a corner, in the shadow of the tower, munching on something. He immediately swallowed the entire meal, then looked sheepish.

  “Fetch . . .” I reproved.

  “A rodent, Master Nicholas!” the shapeshifter promised, his ears flattened. “Only a dirty rat! No feline or hound, I swear!”

  I wasn’t angry about that, although I was glad to hear him swear it was nothing more than a rat. “I don’t need you distracted. Understand?”

  “Yes. I do. I am so sorry.”

  “Never mind.” I heard a caw from high above. The black bird perched near one of the windows high above. I didn’t have to tell it anything more; once I was inside, it would head up until it found a window giving it the best view of whatever was going on inside.

  Delke had made no comment to Claryce about her needing to remain once she brought the papers. Of course, he hadn’t mentioned these other arrivals, either. I hoped I would be able to evade Delke’s muscle for as long as we had to stay here.

  For the lock on the nearby door, I had to rely on the dragon’s power. It was only a minute of use, but I could still feel him seeking some way to get a further hold over me. We were, and would always be, reluctant allies and possibly always enemies.

  Even more than fifteen hundred years hadn’t changed the last.

  With Fetch trailing close behind me, I entered the building. Once in the main corridor, it wasn’t difficult to mingle with the general population, as the tower was a beehive of activity. With so many news people about, many of the conversations had to do with what was happening not only in the Windy City but in the world beyond. While much of the talk had to do with some grand national monument planned for the desolate Black Hills of South Dakota, the name Capone was bandied about more than once. “Papa Johnny” Torrio’s retirement after his near assassination had left his top man and heir apparent, Capone, completely in charge of the South Siders. However, there were rumblings that the North Side—especially Weiss and Moran—didn’t plan on letting him live long enough to enjoy the throne.

  Thinking of the North Side boys already so cozy with Delke made me wonder if those rumbling might be right soon. I hadn’t picked up any word of Capone’s side having dealings with the Wyld, so if Delke was truly connected with the Feirie, the South Side was going to be seeing a lot of blood. I considered the fact of Delke’s new house being down there. Maybe that had been the first step into enemy territory.

  Yet, somehow I knew this had to be more than just a magic-fueled bootlegger war.

  Ignoring the elevators, I headed to the utility stairway. Fetch, once more all but invisible to the crowds despite his immense size, quickly entered with me. As a creature of Feirie, he had the ability to almost always be at the peripheral of a human’s vision, one of those things in the corner of the eye one generally pays little mind to. Still, I was grateful when the two of us were away from the crowds again.

  Eye could have brought us here easier, my eternal companion haughtily reminded me.

  No major magic this near. Remember? I chided him. On the off-chance I hadn’t been noticed yet, I wanted to keep any magic to a minimum. The brief and minor spell to open the locked door had been necessary, but that was the extent to which I wanted to push matters.

  The dragon said nothing more, but I knew that he thought me a fool. He would have gone in with all his great physical and magical might at the forefront, tearing apart his enemies with teeth, claws, and spells.

  And, as he had back in long-lost Silene, he would’ve perished against a more prepared foe.

  Two floors below our destination, I had Fetch move ahead. He slunk up out of sight, returning a few moments later.

  “One goon,” the shapeshifter reported quietly. “Carries a piece in his jacket.” He bared his sharp, sharp teeth. “Shall I take him?”

  I ignored his eagerness for a kill. “No magic surrounding him?”

  “I smelled nothing but his scent. The rat smelled better.”

  “Lure him down here.”

  With a slight glance of disappointment, Fetch trotted up out of sight again. A moment later, I heard his whine of surprise, followed by his stumbling down the steps again.

  The goon’s heavy steps followed. He probably just wondered why a huge dog was loose in the stairwell and had no fear of leaving his post just to go down a short distance.

  Fetch ran past me. I spun around to face the startled guard, who reached into his jacket as I lunged.

  But what he pulled out was no gun. It gleamed like dark steel and was shaped like a wolf’s claw.

  I knew black silver when I saw it. A precious and deadly metal found only in Feirie. I also knew what it would do to me if it tasted my blood.

  He took a step back up as he drew the claw. I shoved my shoulder into his legs. The goon toppled over me, hitting the steps below hard. Somehow, though, he managed to keep hold of the claw. Half-stunn
ed, he swung the artifact wildly in my direction as he tried to rise.

  Fetch clamped his jaws around the wrist and pulled the arm back. I used the moment to kick the goon in the chin. He fell back, the claw flying beyond Fetch and clattering on the steps below.

  Fetch released the unconscious guard’s wrist. To his credit, the shapeshifter hadn’t drawn more than a few drops of blood.

  “What do we do with him, Master Nicholas?”

  “Leave him.” I went down to where the claw lay. Or should’ve lain. It was nowhere to be found, even when I surveyed it through the dragon’s eyes. It was possible that there had been a spell on the piece so that it would fade away if lost, but there was also the chance that it had returned to whoever was in command.

  I hurried back up the steps. Fetch followed me to the door, then hung back. He knew that here was where he had to wait.

  As a precaution, I said, “No snack.”

  He glanced back at the unconscious guard. “Not even if he begins to wake?”

  “He won’t . . . and I’ve warned you on this.”

  The shapeshifter cowered. “Yes, Master Nicholas! Yes. I will be white . . . good.”

  “You are good. You just need to keep reminding yourself.”

  He wagged his tail at this. Despite his insidious background, Fetch had a code of honor not nearly as tricky and convoluted as most from Feirie. If he said he would follow instructions, he would follow instructions. He wouldn’t constantly try to find loopholes like most of the others.

  Finally satisfied, I slipped through the door and into the corridor. My original intention had been to locate a vantage point overseeing the office doors and hope to spy William Delke as Claryce maneuvered him into view. Instead, I found myself in a hallway filled with people whose suits and cigars indicated that they were all part of the same gathering. By their numbers, I could see that Delke’s office would be so crowded that he would have to stand outside for me to even get a glimpse.

  I strode past a pair of businessmen exiting one of the elevators. Their small talk concerned how best to profit off the rash of tornadoes that’d ripped through the Midwest a few months earlier. They didn’t say a word about the hundreds killed, just the potential to move in and find new business opportunities. I gathered Delke Industries would have a strong hand in whatever enterprise they chose. At this point, I also wondered if it had had a strong hand in the tornadoes themselves.

  Two more goons stood near the elevators, but their attention was on new arrivals there, and the slight glamour I finally reluctantly used made the one that glanced my direction miss me entirely. That I even had to borrow this much of the dragon’s power was a risk. My unseen companion silently chided me for needing him, but I ignored him as another elevator opened and out walked a most unexpected guest.

  Big Bill Thompson might not’ve been mayor anymore, but he didn’t act as if he knew that. A full-figured man in stripes, with a strong double-chin and a face like a determined hound, he did not seem like the kind of man who’d controlled Chicago. Surrounded by half a dozen fawning cronies and wearing his famous cowboy hat, he walked with chin high toward the Delke offices. The parting of the crowd ahead of him only served to add to his appearance of a king among his subjects . . . a king, though, who had clearly come to see an emperor. I doubted that Big Bill had anything to do with my investigation, but it did tell me that Dever was going to be facing a rematch come next election.

  Moran’s goons seemed uninterested in Big Bill’s appearance—a curious thing since there were rumors he was tight with Capone. Of course, should Thompson get reelected next time around, that would aid both the North and South Siders. Delke obviously had some sway over both major gangs, which boded even more ill.

  The attending businessmen greeted Thompson even as they gave way. Thompson shook hands as if already running again, but he kept on the move toward the offices.

  Just before he reached the doorway, Claryce exited. She hesitated when she saw Big Bill and, even though he was married, the ex-mayor tipped his hat, then paused to take her hand—though she hadn’t offered it—and kiss the fingers.

  I gritted my teeth, earning a mocking laugh from the dragon. Eye thought you weren’t going to fall prey to her this time . . .

  I had no chance for a reprimand, Big Bill at that moment saying to Claryce, “You make for a charming greeting, little lady! Are you to guide me to the good Mr. Delke?”

  “No, I—”

  “Never a guide, however lovely, for such a prestigious guest,” came a deep voice from behind Claryce that made me stand alert. I cautiously strengthened the glamour, to prevent any chance of Delke noticing me.

  Claryce’s boss appeared at the door. He thrust a hand at Thompson, who took it eagerly. I couldn’t see Delke completely, but what little was visible matched the photo and so far gave no hint of anything out of the ordinary.

  The half-seen businessman guided Big Bill in before him, then paused to signal a guard near the door. Again, Delke remained only partially visible among those crowding toward the door after Thompson. I was only mildly irritated. I hadn’t sensed anything unusual. Thus far, Delke looked to be either a willing pawn or a dupe of some Wyld who had remained far from this gathering. I began to wonder if I’d been played a fool again. There seemed no reason for me to be here.

  But as Big Bill entered, Delke paused to speak with Claryce. With the growing rumble of voices, I couldn’t make out what he said, but it seemed a courteous dismissal. Claryce nodded and started moving against the flow of silk suits and spats.

  And it was then that a brief break in the crowd finally left William Delke fully exposed. I studied him intently.

  He suddenly stared back . . . and smiled darkly.

  The crowd obscured him again. I took a quick glance at Claryce just in time to see her enter an elevator, then looked back at the office entrance. The door was closed now and there was no more sign of Delke, but I’d seen enough . . . more than enough.

  Fetch reared back as I entered the stairwell. The guard looked untouched, so I ignored him.

  “Master Nicholas—”

  “Downstairs, Fetch!”

  He did not question me. We rushed down. I wanted to join Claryce as soon as possible. I prayed that I hadn’t let her walk into disaster, that she would step out of that elevator safe and sound.

  I knew the truth about William Delke. There was more to it than him having seen me despite the glamour I’d cast. There was more to it than the fact that I, in turn, had sensed no Feirie magic even though I had the evidence of it. That spoke of tremendous power.

  No, the truth had to do with the briefly revealed actual eyes of William Delke, eyes that had in that one instant revealed so very much to me. Only to me. They were the silver eyes of one of the High Feirie, one of the Wyld. The thing that had stood in the doorway, stood there and mocked me, might have looked exactly like business tycoon William Delke, but that was only because my adversary was wearing Delke’s skin just like one of the many silk suits worn by the witless pawns gathering.

  But what was worse, what was unbelievable . . . was that I knew those eyes well.

  They were Oberon’s.

  CHAPTER 7

  He should’ve been dead, consumed by the dragon’s flames. I’d seen it happen.

  But it hadn’t. Clearly it hadn’t. I’d known those eyes too well, had them burned into my memory too strongly, not to recognize them after a few scant decades. Yet, even as I descended, I kept reliving that last moment over and over. I saw through the dragon’s own accursed orbs as the flames enveloped the area where he stood. I saw Oberon, his fist raised tight, glaring at me.

  And then . . . nothing. The intensity of the dragon’s flames wouldn’t have even left ash. That should’ve been the end of it. It should’ve.

  But it hadn’t.

  I was uneasy but not panicked. Close to the latter, but not quite there. I’d expected one of Oberon’s circle, a bad enough thing. Had I not, I probably would’ve b
een more dismayed. Of course, Oberon was a danger far exceeding any other Wyld.

  I wondered if Her Lady knew, but that was something for another moment. My greatest concern proved not to be for me or even the Gate but instead for Claryce. I bolted through side door and only slowed when I reached the busy street.

  There was no sign of her at first and my heart pounded harder. I imagined that now that Oberon had revealed himself, he had only one interest in her. I could see him killing her simply to further shatter my resolve.

  Most of the cars were gone, their drivers evidently told to return after business was concluded. I waited anxiously for Claryce to appear.

  When she did, my heart only pounded harder. He’d let her go. I could think of a hundred reasons, all of them bad. Still, I gratefully rushed out to her, grabbing her wrist as I neared. We headed down the street as quickly but casually as we could manage. I paid no mind to Fetch, aware that he would follow in his own fashion.

  Claryce kept her demeanor calm, but I could feel her pulse pounding as we walked. I knew she was wary, maybe scared, but she handled herself as well as anyone I’d known in several hundred years.

  Several blocks from the Trib, we finally entered a coffee shop. Hal Totten’s voice rose from the radio behind the counter, the sports writer turned broadcaster finishing up a summary of the Cubs’ dismal season. Not an auspicious third year on radio for the team. I chose a table next to the window. Claryce gratefully sat down, while I signaled the waitress, then rubbed her feet as we silently waited to be served. Once our coffee arrived, she stopped and stared deep into my eyes.