Black City Saint

by Richard A. Knaak

  “Now, of course, that’s not what killed him,” the good detective went on, as if reading my thoughts. “Had a second grin from ear to ear, you know?” He ran a finger across his throat for emphasis.

  I tried to fathom the reason for the goon’s execution. Originally, I’d thought Oberon had been trying to kill me, but everything pointed to him merely showing how helpless I was. In retrospect, it was a typically Feirie style of thinking; reduce your enemies to helpless, quivering prey, in part for your sadistic pleasure, then squeeze them of any value they have before finally putting them out of their misery. I doubted that he actually thought that he could bring me to the point that he had so many of his victims when he’d still been His Lord of the Court, but he’d already proven that he knew too many of my weaknesses. Enough so that I was definitely concerned about the Clothos card . . . and even more so, I discovered at that moment, for Claryce.

  I realized that I’d been silent too long. “I still don’t know how I can help you.”

  Leaning closer, Cortez whispered, “My chief, he asked me some funny questions about Miss Simone, almost like someone else was really wanting to know. Now she seems a nice, innocent skirt to me, and I’m sure she does to you, too, Bo. I ain’t certain where this is all going, but something’s rotten.”

  “I appreciate the concern for her.”

  He sat back. “Another thing. That little statue that vanished? The stiff had it tucked in his jacket nice and plain for anyone to find. Almost seemed like a message.”

  Cortez was proving a fount of info, most of it ominous. I waited for more about the statuette, but all the detective did was scratch his chin and stare down the street ahead.

  “Funny. Thought I saw a coyote or something. Awful big one if it was.” He shrugged. “That’s all I got for you, Nick Medea. That’s all I got for myself. Those’re the real goods. Don’t really know why I came to you, but it seemed the right thing to do, you know?”

  I didn’t. There was something going on with Cortez that I had no explanation for. He acted too much like he knew more about me than even he should’ve.

  Slay him now! Bite off his head and burn his body!

  A grunt was all I gave the dragon in reply to his drastic suggestion. Cortez took that grunt for an affirmative reply to his last comment and nodded in turn.

  Some distance ahead, a dark form slipped around a fence. I’d already had suspicions about what the detective had glimpsed and now I knew.

  “If I hear or see anything out of the ordinary, I’ll let you know,” I informed Cortez, half-telling the truth. How much I dared involve him, I couldn’t yet say, but even though Cortez was by his appearance forced to be something of a loner, he still had access to information I didn’t.

  He gave me another nod as I exited the auto. “You’re a swell one, Nick Medea. More ways than one.”

  The detective didn’t have to tap his cheek to show he was referring to his skin. Without waiting for a response, he started up the auto. Only then did I happen to glimpse what Cortez had set near the wheel, so that he could always see or touch it. Actually, there were two items, the first being the only one I’d expected—a symbol of the Lady of Guadalupe, the Virgin Mary as she’d been seen there.

  And because of her, I’d failed to notice the second, even though it should’ve stood out more for me in particular. The weighing scales dangling from the hilt of the sword. There were a hundred or more variations of this symbol, and I knew them all.

  St. Michael.

  Cortez drove off, which saved me from maybe asking a question I’d regret. For that matter, the detective’s “coyote” chose that time to make his appearance.

  “Something not copacetic, Master Nicholas?”

  “Keep quiet until we get inside,” I reminded him.

  For once, Fetch had the good sense not to tell me that he would do just that. He just quieted and followed.

  Claryce stood near the door, her eyes wide with concern. She patted Fetch as he entered, which earned her a tail wag.

  I shut the door behind us. “Claryce, how well do you know Detective Cortez?”

  “That was him I saw, then. What was he doing all the way out here?”

  “His bosses have given him a pretty long leash,” I replied, waving Fetch to silence before he could bring up an old argument of his about the cruelty of leashes. “If he gets strangled by it, it won’t be any loss to them, but so long as he’s useful they seem to let him have the run of every precinct.”

  “Could he work for—” Claryce had still not settled on just what to call her employer.

  “The name you want is Oberon . . . and, no, Cortez is straight. Troublesome, but straight.”

  She eyed Fetch, then me again. “Oberon . . . as in Shakespeare’s Oberon?”

  “As in dangerous knowledge something from Feirie once whispered in the Bard’s ear and that he was foolish enough to put to quill and paper.” I declined to mention to her that I’d also met the playwright himself because of that very situation, the Gate having shifted near London at that time.

  Claryce absorbed this new info. “So does Detective Cortez know about Wil—Oberon?”

  “I don’t think so.” I could answer no better. “He suspects a lot. Enough to get himself rubbed out. Oberon’s used his Delke identity to build ties with the North Side. Even if they’re as much in the dark as Cortez is about who they’ve made a deal with, they won’t care for a bull poking around their business.”

  “You asked how well I knew the detective. What did he say about me?”

  I told her everything, only leaving out Cortez’s comments about her appearance.

  “Should I go to him, Nick?”

  “He didn’t seem interested in that. I’m sorry . . . he made a pretty good guess that you were inside . . . and probably made some assumptions from that, too.”

  I expected her to be upset about her reputation, but she just frowned more. “You and I both know the truth. With everything else going on, I could care less what he might think.”

  “Still, it’d be good if you returned to the church. You’d be safer there.”

  Claryce gestured at our humble surroundings. “How could I be safer anywhere than here? This is your home, after all.”

  “Master Nicholas—”

  I waved him silent again. “The church has its factors that outweigh—”

  “Please, Master Nicholas.”

  I looked down at him. “What is it?”

  “There was some muscle keeping watch on you and the detective. I would’ve rubbed them out, but you gave orders never to do that around your sanctum.” His ears flattened as I glared at him. “They probably scrammed when the detective hit the road—”

  “Wait!” I headed back to the door. “You didn’t see them leave?”

  “No. I thought nothing of it, Master Nicholas, except that you’d want to know—”

  There came a crash from the back of the house, followed by a horrific whoosh.

  The crackle of fire filled our ears.

  I ran to the kitchen. The entire room was engulfed, and the flames were already advancing. In the midst of the inferno, I saw the fragments of a bottle. Bootleg liquor burned well.

  Returning to the others, I calmly ordered, “The front door.”

  Another bottle shattered a nearby window. The lit rag in it started the shades on fire even before the bottle came crashing onto the floor.

  A third crash warned us that the upstairs was now on fire as well.

  Fetch was the first to the front door, but not due to any cowardice. Closer to the ground, he was less of a target for the hoods no doubt waiting outside. With ease, he twisted the knob with his mouth, then pulled the door open.

  “Keep to the side! Fetch knows what to do.” This was not the first time he risked himself for me in this manner. I vowed to learn to appreciate him better.

  To her credit, Claryce remained calm. So calm, in fact, that she was able to ask the question that had already been cours
ing through my thoughts.

  “What happened to the protections around your house? I thought this couldn’t happen!”

  It shouldn’t have been able to happen. At worst, Moran’s goons should have been able to set the grass on fire . . . not exactly a useful stunt, since the fire would’ve died the moment that it tried to pass the protections shielding the house.

  The same protections that had now failed. Even Oberon should have had an almost impossible time penetrating the defenses, but he’d had fifty years to figure out how to bypass them. I should’ve understood the hints he’d already left, toying with me by first revealing he knew where I lived, then by leaving sinister gifts on my doorstep.

  I recalled the hand. In my overconfidence and lack of understanding just who it was I faced, I’d thought burning the severed appendage had been enough. The only trouble was, the moment I touched it, I’d guaranteed some trace would be brought in with me.

  And now, the entire building was an inferno.

  I didn’t expect the firemen to arrive in time. They’d be warned off by the gang. Nor did I think any police would be coming. Cortez was probably the only one who might’ve, but they’d waited until he’d gone. He probably wouldn’t hear about it until tomorrow.

  “The coast is clear!” Fetch growled from the doorway. Without waiting, he lunged outside.

  “Stay behind me,” I ordered Claryce.

  We charged after Fetch. Some of my neighbors—a few of whom were probably shocked just to see someone living in the house—stood gathered safely across the street.

  The three of us veered away from the small gathering and headed a few yards down the street. Fetch continued to take the point.

  When I deemed us safe, I called to Fetch. Taking on his hound persona, he turned around and wagged his tail as he sidled up next to me.

  “Master Nicholas—”

  He kept his voice low, but the fact that it was still a voice frustrated me. “Quiet!”

  “Master Nicholas! The painting! It’s still in there!”

  “Forget it!”

  “What painting?” Claryce asked.

  “An old one. Nothing important.” Thankfully, the sound of a siren interrupted the discussion and admittedly surprised me. I’d been certain that no one would come until there was nothing left of the house but ash.

  As we’d talked, I’d continued to look around. I was looking for something.

  And there it was. Behind my fearful neighbors stood an extra shadow. It broke away and faded into the background. I didn’t even bother trying to chase after the thing. Whatever thug had cast it was blocks away.

  The fire continued to burn. The truck came, but there wouldn’t be much remaining. A pang struck me, and I remembered the Night the Dragon Breathed.

  A little bonfire this, he said with his usual mocking. I did so much better . . .

  You failed to kill him, I reminded my constant companion with both bitterness and regret. You failed to kill Oberon when you had him . . .

  That was enough to silence him.

  “What do we do now?” Claryce asked, as the firemen started unloading.

  “We start walking.” I turned us from what I’d so casually thought of as just the latest in my endless series of temporary outposts but now realized had housed my entire cursed existence.

  She did not question me. I knew that what remained of the shunning would still achieve one goal—everyone nearby would eventually forget who had lived there. Once more, my trail would be swiftly and utterly erased.

  And once more, I knew that Oberon had shown me that no matter how much I thought that I was prepared for him, I wasn’t.

  CHAPTER 10

  I hailed a taxi and had the cabbie take us directly to St. Michael’s. We found Father Jonathan by the great organ the church had obtained last year. He rose from his inspection of the over two thousand pipes and greeted us.

  “I wondered what had happened to the two of you,” the priest said with some anxiety. “I shouldn’t speak like this, but there was a rather disreputable gentleman here yesterday who asked about you. A large man with a rather thick Irish brogue.”

  That sounded like Doolin. I’d known that even the church was probably no longer safe, but it was the only place I had for Claryce right now. I did not want her with me where I had to go, just in case matters were compromised even worse than I imagined.

  Unfortunately, Claryce did not see things my way. “Meaning no offense to Father Jonathan, but I don’t like being left behind, Nick! After what happened to your house—”

  “I’m only going to be gone a short while. Make sure you stay in the room. Fetch will be outside St. Michael’s. He’ll keep you safe until I return.”

  She finally gave in. “All right . . . but you better keep that promise this time.”

  “I will.”

  I left her in the room that Father Jonathan had let her use the last time, then went and thanked the priest for his exceptional patience. He didn’t know me like his predecessor, and yet he’d taken Father Peter’s word that I should be trusted.

  “I’ve already called Mrs. Gelb,” he immediately informed me, as if I needed to be assured about that. “I know that there’s something bad going on, Nick. You know you can confide in me as you did Father Peter.”

  I wasn’t ready for that yet. “How much did Father Peter tell you?”

  “He said the good Lord had set you on a troubled path, but that there was no better man to be found who could stand up to those troubles. He got rather poetic and started quoting from the story of St. George when speaking of you.” The young priest smiled. “Quite an admirable comparison, Nick. He thought very highly of you.”

  Father Peter’d just been reciting what did exist of my life story, but yeah, he had thought highly of me. Probably too much. I’d abused his admiration too many times, which had ended up with him being permanently injured and forced to retire. Father Jonathan had been told that the injuries were the result of an auto accident. It was better that he never found out the truth about them.

  I’d stood silent after his comment. The priest finally cleared his throat. “And Father Peter also said you’d act just like you are doing right now. I’ll respect your privacy until you’ve decided you can trust in me enough, Nick.”

  “It’s not that, Father. One day, unfortunately, you’ll know why.”

  “How thoughtful you are of others, Georgius,” another voice, tinged with sarcasm, said from behind me. “Well . . . most others.”

  I waited until Father Jonathan had left before turning to face Diocles. Out of a moment of frustration with everything, I purposely walked right through him.

  He swore in Latin—impressively, I had to admit—then reformed in front of me. I nearly charged through him a second time, but held off.

  “You are not looking well, Georgius. I heard some of what you talked about with her. I know the Gate has been breached, but not by what.”

  “What do you care? You’re dead.”

  “And left in purgatory, thanks to you. I do not want you dying before I win my forgiveness.”

  “Very considerate of you to worry so much about yourself.”

  The late emperor sighed, even though he didn’t have any breathe with which to do it. “You know I pray for you every day and night. The priest often prays for you, too, by the way. A good man . . . and it’s good of you to keep him ignorant. The less he knows, the less the darker powers might touch him.”

  “‘The darker powers’? That sounds more in line with your old beliefs. Been praying to Jupiter as well?”

  “If I thought it would keep the two of you safe, at this point I would.”

  He’d succeeded in making me feel uncomfortable. I almost began to have regrets . . . but then the memory of my execution stirred and those regrets vanished. “I’ve got to go.”

  This time, Diocles had the good sense to vanish before I walked through him. I held my own breath until I was out of the church.

  Fetch
was waiting for me. “Where do we go, Master Nicholas?”

  “‘We’ go nowhere. I need you to patrol St. Michaels. Make certain that Claryce stays safe.”

  His tail drooped and his ears flattened. “I should go with you, Master Nicholas!”

  “Father Jonathan told me that one of Oberon’s thugs was here. While I’m gone, make certain that doesn’t happen again. I’ll be back shortly to bring her to a safer place.” I hope.

  “Yes, Master Nicholas. I’ll not let you down!”

  “I know that.” But I still planned to do my best to get back quickly.

  Even though I’d lived in the house for several years, I’d also made sure to have at least one other place to go in case of emergencies. The secondary hideout wasn’t as glamorous as the Delke home, or probably even as classy as Claryce’s own, but it was situated exactly between St. Michael’s and Holy Name Cathedral and so had some protective influences from both spread over it that I hoped would keep Claryce safe while I worked to turn this entire situation around. Oberon had had me on the run since the beginning; that was going to end.

  While the Gold Coast near Lake Michigan was seeing new apartment buildings rising higher and higher, my emergency quarters consisted of a number of rooms over a millinery store that’d shut its doors during the short but harsh depression about four years ago. After buying the building with good, solid gold from the previous owner, I’d kept the shop windows boarded over but had rebuilt the upstairs for my needs.

  One look at the state of the building when I got there was enough to prove that the shunning spell on it was still strong. I felt some shame at bringing Claryce here, but I swore that it’d be very temporary. Besides, while the outside was overgrown with weeds, the inside was probably cleaner than many more ritzy establishments . . . not to mention entirely vermin free thanks to the same spell.

  I entered through the back with my key and investigated the inside. Other than dust, the shop looked exactly as it had when they’d gone out of business. There were even still tables and stands and one or two hats that hadn’t been worth the trouble to pack up.