Black City Saint

by Richard A. Knaak

  Upstairs was different. While I purposely left the shop looking long-vacant, the living quarters I’d kept tidy. I’d never had to bring anyone here—the house having sufficed until now—and I wasn’t all that fond of dust myself. The dragon’s laughter often echoed in my head whenever I cleaned up.

  The saint of the hearth, he mocked even now. Will you take up your trusty lance there?

  The “lance” in question was the broom I’d left from last time. “With a sharpened point, it’d do you in just as good as the original.”

  He quickly receded from my notice. Satisfied, I went on with looking over the rooms. It didn’t take long to see that everything was in order and that, despite there having been no tenants in years, the plumbing and everything else still worked. I plugged in the Kelvinator I’d bought last year and began making a mental list of what food to stock in it.

  The hair on the back of my neck stiffened.

  I looked around but saw nothing that would’ve set off my senses. After a moment, I realized that whatever had disturbed me was more distant.

  A glance out the lone front window revealed nothing. The sun was still high enough in the sky that it seemed unlikely that any Wyld or shadow folk would be lurking about. Most of the Wyld did not have Oberon’s stamina; the daylight burned them almost as badly as it did the proverbial vampire. As for the shadow folk such as had haunted Mrs. Hauptmann’s attic, they were just like their name implied. If the sun caught them right, they often melted away immediately. The only problem was actually getting them into that light, especially as they could sometimes project their own dark protection.

  With one hand near the inside of my coat, I descended into the millinery shop again. Down here, the sensation was more evident, but whatever I’d noticed was clearly not in here, either. That eased some of my anxiety, but I knew I couldn’t just leave the matter.

  Outside, I felt the wrongness even more, so much so that I could even pinpoint the direction.

  That led me to another building that had seen better days. However, unlike the one I’d purchased, this one still had a business on the bottom floor. I reached for the door handle—and the presence receded from the vicinity.

  Quickly stepping around to the back, I saw nothing out of the ordinary. I summoned the dragon’s eyes . . . or at least tried to. I sent a mental curse at my invisible companion, which finally stirred him from wherever he’d been hiding in my thoughts.

  Eye will show you . . . he promised belatedly.

  The world turned emerald. I immediately surveyed the area, searching the tiniest bits of shadow between various buildings.

  But all I discovered was that the sensation that some creature of Feirie was near had faded even more.

  “What you doin’ here?” rumbled a deeply accented voice.

  I fought down the dragon’s gaze just before a heavy hand turned me about. A swarthy mountain nearly comparable to the hulking Doolin sneered at me. A heavy wave of garlic washed over my face.

  I answered, but I did so in fluent Italian, a language I’d picked up easily, having known Latin already for so many centuries. “Just goin’ to grab a smoke! Didn’t know anyone here’d mind!”

  My accent might’ve been a little odd to the thickly mustached bootlegger—there was no denying just what he was—but the ease with which I spoke it and my somewhat dark complexion made it easy for him to assume the wrong thing.

  Though in English, his own words dripped heavy with a Neapolitan touch . . . not coincidentally, I knew, the same region from which Papa Johnny Torrio and Capone had roots. “You sent here for a pickup? Nothin’ before dark, you dope!”

  I switched to English myself, but kept the accent. “My boss, he just said go pick up the hooch at this place. Needs it for a party tonight.”

  “Yeah . . . tell him nothin’s goin’ out tonight or tomorrow. Da Micks are pokin’ their noses around.”

  I acted worried. “No hooch? He’ll bat me silly!”

  “Tough. Dat’s Snorky’s order and no one changes it ’cept him.”

  I threw up my hands and muttered three or four of the best epithets I’d learned in my years as a tribune. They might’ve sounded a bit archaic, but they earned the approval of the guard.

  “Ha! My nònno, he used say somethin’ like that last one! You from Naples?”

  The last time I’d been to Naples, his grandfather’s grandfather’s grandfather probably hadn’t been born yet. I gave a noncommittal shrug, which I knew would make him believe that I did have some blood from his region, even if it was probably not due to any holy or legal union.

  “Get goin’,” the guard said in a friendlier voice. “Once we start up again, you come by. I’ll see you get some of the better stuff. That’ll make your boss okay, right?”

  I thanked him in the mother tongue again, then hurried off. The unexpected encounter had given me more than I’d bargained for. The quarters above the shuttered shop were still safe, but how long they’d remain so was a good question. I’d been worried about the war spreading too close to the main house, but I’d never assumed it would come to this neighborhood. Papa Johnny had been a cautious businessman when he’d run the South Side. This had all the earmarks of the impetuous and aforementioned “Snorky,” also known as “Scarface,” aka Alphonse Capone, Torrio’s successor. If Capone thought he could push his way into the North Side through this area, then he wasn’t afraid of what Moran and his partners would throw at him.

  The only thing was, I doubted that Capone knew that the North Side had ties with the power of Feirie. Worse, I now understood the curious sensation that some creature of the other realm had been nearby. My mistake had been to think that it was here because of interest in me. Instead, it was spying on the South Side gang, no doubt so that Oberon could keep his pawns on the North Side placated for as long as he needed them.

  But for one of the shadow folk to dare the daylight like this meant that Oberon had spent a fair amount of power to shield it. The creature had to have some importance to the former lord of Feirie, which meant that it might serve me to return here again and see if I could better track it back to its master.

  First, though, I had to make certain that Claryce would be safe, and then finally see to Kravayik myself.

  Claryce leapt to her feet when I entered. I decided not to mention either bootleggers or shadow folk for the moment.

  “The place is secure,” I assured her, “but you’ll have to stay inside and away from the windows once you’re there.”

  “I still don’t like this, Nick. I think I’d be safer with you and Fetch. Just look what happened to your house!”

  I declined to admit the truth in what she said. “You’ll be safer where I’m bringing you.”

  She reluctantly followed me out. Father Jonathan bid us farewell. Diocles watched Claryce and I leave, the emperor’s ghost staying clear of her range of vision. I wondered if she had noticed him again, but I figured I could ask my former executioner that when I had the chance. It wasn’t like Diocles was going anywhere.

  Fetch joined us the moment we exited St. Michael’s. Unfortunately, he seemed none too happy, a worrisome change from my arrival a few minutes earlier.

  He was not alone in joining us, either. The black bird was with him, and the fact that the pair weren’t snapping at each other only increased my concern.

  “Saw one! Saw one!” the black bird cawed.

  Fetch’s ears and tail hung, not a good sign. “I smelled it, too, Master Nicholas! I did!”

  I quieted both while I looked to see if anyone else—the priest included—was nearby. Satisfied that we couldn’t be overheard, I gritted my teeth and asked, “Saw who?”

  The avian was beside itself. “Hers! Hers!”

  I’m certain that my face drained of blood. Claryce’s concerned eyes when I looked her way gave every indication of how terrible I must’ve looked.

  Peering at Fetch and the black bird once more, I snapped, “It’s just an observer! Nothing more than
a pair of eyes!”

  To his credit, the shapeshifter took up my suggestion. “Yes, Master Nicholas, surely you are as right as rain. Just a pair of peepers! That’s all.”

  “What are all of you talking about?” Claryce demanded, rightfully annoyed that she was constantly in the dark. “‘Hers’? What do you mean—” She cut off, as some of the truth dawned on her. “Nick, you talked about—”

  It probably didn’t matter at this point, but I still kept Claryce from even saying the title. If the focus had to be on any of us, I would let it be on me. “Yeah. You’ve got it right. Her Lady. That’s who we’re talking about.”

  “Is she here?”

  “There wouldn’t be much left of Chicago if she was. No, she’s only sent one of her spies, one of her sentinels. By this time, she at least has a hint that Oberon’s not only alive but very active. He hasn’t exactly been surreptitious in his actions.” I mulled over that fact myself for a moment. “In fact, he’s taunting her. She’d still be powerful on this side of the Gate, enough for all of us to worry, but he’s been here a long, long time. Our side has things that Feirie fears as much as we should fear Feirie’s power.”

  “Is that true, Fetch?”

  He gave a limp wag of his tail. “You have a world of iron. We sicken around so much iron unless we surrender a part of ourselves and become more . . . of this place.”

  “True, true!” echoed the black bird.

  “What does that mean? Nick, is that why Fetch can only talk around you?”

  “And Kravayik!” the lycanthrope offered too readily.

  “In part,” I immediately interjected, hoping she wouldn’t pay attention to the name. “It’s also in part why, even around me, Fetch can’t become his true self.” And for that, we should’ve all been grateful. As loyal as he was, I knew that Fetch hungered for the power he’d once wielded. After all, he hadn’t been sent to kill me because he’d been expected to fail.

  Claryce considered what I’d said. “Then, wouldn’t she be less of a threat, too?”

  “The only thing you can compare Her Lady with is His Lord. Oberon’s power was Feirie. Even exiled, he wielded a lot. If she decides to come here, it’ll be because she intends to kill him as quickly and assuredly as she can before he does the same to her. That the city might be destroyed and hundreds dead would mean nothing to either.”

  “But Oberon must be a deal weaker than he once was. Surely she might be able to take him without much trouble and without any damage to Chicago—”

  I shook my head. “You’re thinking in terms of our realm. The great powers of Feirie think in terms of theirs.”

  Claryce had a lot of questions, but there was no more time for them. I had just one I needed answered and that from the black bird. “Where did you see it?”

  “The house, the house, the house, the house!” Its constant repetitiveness showed just how distraught even this exile was at the thought of Her Lady’s servant so near.

  I was intrigued by the answer. The servant had spent some time near the burnt remnants of my former sanctum. I wondered if it knew what could still be salvaged from the seemingly ravaged grounds. At the very least, Her Lady’s servant appeared to be headed on the wrong trail if it was investigating the fire.

  “Was it still there when you took off to find me?”

  “Yes, yes!”

  “We should be safe from it,” I told Claryce. “From what I’ve heard, it’s merely looking matters over. Her Lady understands what it would mean to breach the Gate. Even she’s got to consider those consequences.”

  Claryce gave me a slight smile. “If you say so, then I trust you, Nick.” But just as I was beginning to calm down a bit, she asked, “And what about Kravayik?”

  “Oh, all’s copacetic with him,” Fetch blurted. “He’s on our side—” He snapped his muzzle shut when he realized how hard I was staring at him.

  Claryce also noticed, though. “Tell me who Kravayik is, Nick. I’m tired of secrets, especially when I’m caught in the center of them.”

  “Kravayik is watching something for me,” I finally admitted. “Like Fetch and the bird here, he’s an exile from Feirie. Unlike them, he’s taken a different course in trying to survive in this world.”

  “And what’s that?”

  Before I could answer, Fetch decided to jump in again. “He’s found religion, Mistress Claryce,” the shapeshifter cheerfully offered. “Kravayik’s joined the Church!”

  CHAPTER 11

  Holy Name Cathedral had been built on the ashes of Chicago after what most people called the Great Fire, rising to become a symbol of the city’s rebirth. I’d been a silent part of it since its inception and even before the cornerstone was laid almost three years after the Night the Dragon Breathed, I’d set matters in motion to protect the Clothos card from being stolen by any Wyld. When the church had sought out donations for the cathedral’s construction, I’d been among the contributors.

  It was the least I could do considering the sacrilegious act I’d committed by placing such a dangerous thing inside its hallowed halls.

  The imposing Gothic structure loomed above me, the last fading glimpses of the day giving it a condemning appearance. I knew that the notion the cathedral was judging me for my terrible sin arose from my own sense of guilt, but I still made the sign of the cross despite that.

  I would’ve preferred to enter during the day, but for what I needed to do it had to be past sunset, at a time when Kravayik could gain us privacy. The clergy barely even noticed his presence anymore, so adept had he become in fading into the background. It served my purpose well, and the fact that he considered his task an honor made me feel slightly less bothered by my tremendous abuse of his gratitude.

  True to her nature as I knew it from so many lives, Claryce had refused my entreaties to stay behind after we’d visited the quarters over the shop. I’d been tempted to use the dragon’s abilities to set her to sleeping, but, as before, couldn’t bring myself to do it. It wasn’t just that she was Cleolinda reborn; it was also because she was Claryce.

  More and more, it was because she was Claryce.

  I finally relented and left her in a public place, another diner not far from Holy Name and still on State Street. The black bird I’d sent off to keep an eye out for any other sign of Her Lady’s spy. Fetch, though, was to remain at Claryce’s side at all times. She’d wanted to come with me, but that would’ve meant revealing the card’s existence to her as well, and the less she knew, the better.

  When night had finally claimed the city, I walked up the steps and tested one of the cathedral doors. I’d no idea whether they were generally locked at this time or whether Kravayik had made certain the way would be open.

  I’d seen some of the most elaborate, most ornate churches and cathedrals in my long term of service and, while there were certainly those that outshone Holy Name, I still couldn’t help be awed by what had been wrought here. I made the sign again and continued on as if I was supposed to be there.

  I headed straight for the altar, the focus of the chamber and the safest hiding place I could imagine for the card.

  The cathedral remained silent save for my breathing, but I knew when Kravayik neared. The shadows in the corners deepened a little and a cool breeze with no discernible origin wafted through the chamber.

  “Master Nicholas,” he murmured, much too reverently for my taste. “I am honored by this blessed visit.”

  Despite the legends, despite Kravayik’s words, I’d never much felt like a saint. Certainly not like Michael or any of the archangels, nor like someone like Paul or Francis. I had been and always would consider myself a soldier. Hopefully an honest one, but still a soldier.

  Much like Kravayik had once been, even in the Court of Feirie.

  He stood taller than me but almost half as wide at the shoulder. If someone could manage to focus on his face long enough, they might see the black eyes were too big, the nose too small, and the head as a whole elongated like no normal h
uman skull. They’d have noticed that the ears were sharp and that the receding hair—cropped short and patterned in what was almost a monk’s cut—had a hint of dark green in it.

  But not even the clergy that’d hired Kravayik, on the letter of recommendation from a European archbishop none of them would ever speak with, ever realized that they never focused on the caretaker long enough to actually see those peculiarities. That was due to influence on Kravayik’s part, for which the exile prayed for forgiveness—along with the many other things he prayed for—for hours each day and night.

  As Fetch had told Claryce, Kravayik had indeed found religion.

  “Immediately after your sudden but welcome call, I did my best to make certain that we would not be interrupted. I felt that your need to be here was strong enough reason to cast the very slight glamour on the blessed archbishop and the rest.” His Feirie features distorted into a reasonably human expression of remorse and fear. “Did I do all right?”

  “Yes, you did very well.” I prayed for my own forgiveness just in case I was wrong. Whatever my mounting sins, there was no reason that Kravayik should also suffer because of them.

  He drifted—yes, drifted—toward me. Outwardly, his garments appeared to be a black shirt and black pair of pants. Truthfully, they were illusion, Kravayik’s actual form not quite built to wear such garments. However, the robes and silver-thread armor he did wear would never have been accepted by his employers and, while Kravayik had the highest respect for them, he also knew the importance of the task—or curse, as I often felt—that I’d set for him after saving his life.

  “I am heartened to hear that,” he replied with true relief. “Each time I abuse my gift and my rebirth, I feel as if I am becoming one of the dark ones again.”

  By “gift,” he referred to the fact that, despite having been born of Feirie, he still retained power in such a holy place. Not only were shadow folk not able to enter churches, mosques, and other similar sites, but they could not even affect the sites with their power. Feirie magic failed at the very edge of holy ground.