Black City Saint

by Richard A. Knaak

  Only I—and the dragon, apparently.

  I could sense him calculating his possibilities as he reached the curb. He had control of my body, but I’d been surprised so far at his lack of willingness to transform. I began to wonder if he dared do that.

  A black roadster suddenly veered around the nearest corner, pulling up short in front of us.

  Doolin leaned out of the front passenger seat. “He said you’d want to come with us . . .”

  The dragon hesitated, then nodded. Doolin reached back to the door behind him and swung it open.

  At that point, I saw that Oberon’s pet mountain wore both gauntlets. A wise measure, considering their new passenger.

  We entered. In addition to Doolin and the driver up front, another hood sat in the back. This one carried a tommy across his lap and I knew when he eyed the dragon he only saw me. His cockiness would vanish in an instant—along with his life—if the dragon decided he didn’t like his expression.

  “Get a move on,” Doolin growled to the driver.

  As the roadster drove off, the dragon finally pocketed the card and took one last glance at Holy Name. At that point, I noticed something I understood and he didn’t. A slight if double-edged hope. Above the doorway, a lone black bird perched. Her Lady’s changeling, although there was something different about it I couldn’t put my finger on and unfortunately didn’t have time to study more. I could only pray that through it she knew what she had to do . . .

  It was already evident that we weren’t just driving across the street. The dragon didn’t seem to think anything of this, even though he’d also be aware of the location of the North Siders’ headquarters.

  But what bothered me, if not him, was that the roadster was taking a route sending it back to Lake Michigan. We turned from State onto East Chicago St., only to take a left a moment later onto Michigan. An archaic, shadowed structure rose on one side, a peculiar sight that caught the dragon’s attention more than anything had thus far.

  The old water tower still stood, a monument to that fiery night. The dragon eyed the small castle-like edifice until it was out of view, then settled down again.

  The roadster took another turn, this one odder than the previous. I wondered why until I heard first one siren, then another.

  Snickering, Doolin leaned back to look at the dragon. “You like fires?”

  The dragon said nothing, but his eyes narrowed. Doolin grinned. “Bet you do. You’re missing a good one right now. The boss had it set just in your honor, so to speak.”

  When the dragon still didn’t answer, Doolin shrugged and turned back. The driver took another turn . . . and started on a route I knew would take us much too near to where the dragon and I had only just left the Gate.

  As we neared the lake, both the dragon and I noticed that the wind picked up. Thanks to his glance as we drove, I also saw that the moon was fuller than before . . . in fact, too full for a normal moon and much too pale in a different way.

  More like frost . . .

  The roadster veered again and we left the main streets for a smaller one leading out to the shoreline. The auto shook as the driver brought us off the paved areas and onto one of the twenty-plus miles of beaches along the Chicago shoreline.

  I knew our general location and that was enough to surprise me that we’d stop here. We were still a distance from the Gate.

  As we arrived, a second roadster, hidden by the dark, turned on its lights. I kept expecting the dragon to adjust his gaze, but he continued to keep his influence on our body to a minimum.

  The dragon started to open the door, but the gunner next to him suddenly tapped us on the shoulder with the end of his tommy.

  “Not until the boss says so, boob—urk!”

  The dragon wrested the weapon from the thug with one smooth swipe, crushing the tip in the process. He threw the ruined sub-machine gun out the window, then opened the door and stepped out.

  Doolin faced him, the man-mountain chuckling. “Pay no mind; he’s just a dumb mug who should know better. That’ll come outta your pay, Crank!”

  Crank groused, but from the relative safety of his seat. The dragon didn’t care about the gunman nor even Doolin. He only had eyes for the shape outlined by the blinding car lights.

  “Have the others arrived yet, Doolin?” asked Oberon.

  “Not yet. They’ll be here.”

  Oberon strode close enough that we could see his face—or rather, William Delke’s. He smiled at the dragon—or me, I couldn’t tell.

  “Fifty-odd years really is not that long a time for us, is it?” he asked cheerfully. “Yet if there is one human trait I can appreciate . . . well, other than their capacity for destruction . . . it is their im­patience. I understand it now, having had to wait for this moment . . . just as you’ve had to wait for sixteen centuries for your freedom . . .”

  “Longer . . .” hissed the dragon bitterly.

  “Ah, yes . . . forgive me. I should have counted your servitude to the Gate, as well. All that is soon to be a thing of the past, too, as per our agreement.”

  I struggled hard within when I heard the last. Some things were making sense. That odd encounter in the Art Institute, when I’d been helpless for some time and yet left untouched by Oberon. He hadn’t wanted me dead just then; he needed to reach into my mind and make contact with the dragon.

  He’d not only made contact, it seemed, but he’d offered a deal that even my ageless companion couldn’t resist. It could only be freedom . . . which meant utter mastery over our shared body.

  And yet . . . I knew that Oberon didn’t dare let the dragon succeed. Not only was there a slight chance I might survive and take command again, but the dragon was too great a power to coexist in Oberon’s imagined world.

  Oberon suddenly turned his attention back to Doolin. “You found him by the cathedral?”

  “Just like you said, boss. Comin’ out almost perfect timing.”

  The former lord of Feirie eyed the dragon and I closely. “The card?”

  To my surprise, the dragon shook our head. I knew the card was in a pocket, but evidently not even Doolin had noticed that.

  “Small matter. That situation finally has a remedy, too. I assume you have the teardrop, though . . .”

  In answer, the dragon opened up his hand.

  “Jeez, lookit the bauble,” one of the nearby hoods muttered.

  It wasn’t hard to see it, but not because of the car lights. A deep, green glow emanated from the gem, a glow that intensified when Oberon took a step toward it.

  “Blood calls to blood, they say on both sides of the Gate,” Oberon murmured almost wistfully. “She kept it safe all this time, then decided to betray me with it at just the moment I predicted.”

  Oberon reached for it, but the dragon closed our fingers over it.

  I felt a surge of uneasiness from my eternal companion. He had as little trust in Oberon as I did, but Oberon had something he wanted. Fortunately—or unfortunately for me—the dragon had the teardrop. From what Oberon’d hinted, after tantalizing the dragon with the thought of freedom, the former lord of Feirie had explained just how that could come about. Play up to me . . . show me a humanity I should’ve known the dragon couldn’t actually have. Then, wait for when I’d have to cross and speak in person to Her Lady.

  I couldn’t say whether the Wyld whose black silver blade had damaged Her Lady’s gift had been part of the plan, though that was very possible. With fifty years to watch and wait, it wouldn’t surprise me that Oberon’d pegged Barnaby long ago as part of my loose network of “associates” and planned for Desmond O’Reilly’s sudden haunting.

  But whether that incident was part of the plan or not, Oberon knew I’d very likely have to see Her Lady before things came to a head. She, in turn, would’ve had to give up the most precious if dangerous item she had in order to keep her former mate from succeeding.

  And with me properly beaten and weakened, the dragon had been able to seize mastery of our body
at the right moment. I also didn’t doubt that Oberon’d even been watching for our return through the Gate and made certain it was a harsher arrival back than it’d needed to be.

  “You know I need that to achieve our goal, my friend,” Oberon remarked, the smile still on his face but lacking the humor it’d worn a moment before.

  Doolin shifted his stance. The three visible guns nearby did the same. Moreover, I noticed something through the dragon I hadn’t before; there were other underlings around, but not human ones. Wyld.

  The dragon continued to hesitate. “The spear. You promised about the spear.”

  At that moment, a sleek Packard drove up. The fact that no one seemed surprised didn’t surprise me either.

  I’d not tried again to regain control, aware that I’d have one chance and one chance only. The dragon’s distrust was growing by the second, only his desperation to be free keeping him here. I’d understood his hatred for our situation—I carried my own share—but’d never seen him in this light.

  I was worried that they’d captured Claryce, but the occupants of the Packard only turned out to be more hoods. Two of them were carrying something long, wrapped in a silvery cloth that I knew had not been woven in this world.

  “Ah!” Oberon, his humor restored, clapped his hands as they joined the gathering. “Now, we can forego any more questioning. I’ve made a promise and a promise I’ll keep.”

  He snapped his fingers and Doolin stepped over and removed the silver cloth from the top. As he did this, I felt our heart beat faster and faster and realized that the dragon was afraid. He was afraid, not of Oberon . . . but the contents of the cloth.

  It shone in the moonlight, shone with a brilliance almost exactly opposite the kind of glow the teardrop’d radiated.

  Oberon gestured from the dragon to the cloth. “There. The bane . . . and now the salvation . . . of your existence.”

  The dragon and I stared at the spear.

  CHAPTER 26

  “The fire at the police station went well, boys?” Oberon asked the new arrivals.

  “Clubhouse burned real nicely,” answered the lead one. “That stuff you gave us made it go up real quick.”

  “Delke Industries makes nothing but the best.” Oberon winked at the dragon . . . or so I mistakenly thought. “I know you’re in there, Gatekeeper. You should see what supplying both sides in the war can do for profits, not to mention entertainment. We did very well with mustard gas, for instance, though we never officially put that on the list of our products.” He chuckled. “You know, I have really become quite fond of this persona. It will be a shame to have to part with it. I suppose the finest actors feel the same . . .”

  “Enough babble . . .” growled the dragon. “Enough talk!” He held the teardrop for Oberon to see again. “Enough of everything . . .”

  Doolin leaned in. Whether he wanted to snatch the gem or simply readied himself for whatever command Oberon gave him, I didn’t know. However, Oberon waved him back, probably a wise move considering that our heart was beating rapidly. I doubted even the former lord of Feirie knew just how on edge the dragon was.

  “Oh, we have a moment more to wait. You know that. The Frost Moon is not quite high enough . . . and we are missing one of the players in this game, you know. We can’t proceed without her, naturally. I’m sure she would like to be here to witness this, too.”

  Claryce. I tried to control myself, but Oberon’d mentioned the one thing I couldn’t simply ignore. I couldn’t think of any reason that Oberon’d truly need her. I could only see one reason, simply to taunt me with her death.

  I stopped biding my time. I fought for control with all the will I could muster.

  The dragon’s own wariness left him off guard. He belatedly tried to fight back, but my impulse had been so strong, so abrupt, that he was forced back into the recesses of my mind.

  And none of this was noticed, even by Oberon.

  But what he couldn’t fail to notice was that I thrust the teardrop into another pocket and then reached for Her Lady’s gift.

  Oberon backed away. “Doolin!”

  I’d been expecting Doolin to go for me the moment Oberon warned him. Drawing Her Lady’s gift had been a feint; instead, I seized Doolin by his grasping hand and threw him past me as hard as I could. That was a lot harder than normal people could. Doolin went flying across the beach and into the nearby water.

  The thugs holding the spear used the moment to follow Oberon. I expected Oberon’s boys to start firing, but instead each and every one of them beat a hasty retreat into the darkness beyond.

  I didn’t wait for whatever was going to happen. Now actually drawing Her Lady’s gift, I charged after Oberon.

  The sand and dirt beneath my feet exploded upward, followed by a leafy tentacle outlined by the car lights. I didn’t waste any time on this Wyld, slicing not at the nearest part of the tentacle but at the very base. I knew from experience that the lower I cut, the more I damaged it.

  Her Lady’s gift severed the tentacle with ease, but another came up right behind me. At the same time, the lights from the rest of the autos suddenly flared bright.

  The lights bothered the tentacles more than me. I knew there had to be some sinister reason for them, but I took advantage of their illumination to cut the second tentacle as I’d done the first.

  But as I turned toward the autos, I caught a glimpse of one of the gunmen’s shadows . . . with no body to cast it.

  Worse, the dragon chose that moment to fight back. I abruptly stood frozen in place as the silhouettes of tommies focused on me.

  “Do you want to live or die?” I growled to my unseen companion.

  He relented just in time. I dove for the ground as the now-familiar phut-phut sound of shadow bullets preceded a bizarre but deadly barrage around me.

  I was frustrated by the fact that none of the threats I was facing actually meant anything other than danger to me. I needed to face Oberon—

  The firing halted. I barely had time to wonder why before a pair of hands took hold of me and threw me toward the auto in which we’d arrived. I crashed against it, leaving a huge dent in the hood and making every bone in my body quiver.

  “See how you like gettin’ tossed about!” a soggy Doolin roared. The water hadn’t done anything to ruin Oberon’s gauntlets. They retained every bit of foul magic they’d always had and Doolin looked more than happy to use all that magic against me.

  The collision had knocked Her Lady’s gift from my grasp, but fortunately it hadn’t fallen far. I rolled over to the driver’s side and dropped to my knees next to the weapon.

  As I rose, I discovered the motionless bodies of Crank and the driver inside the auto. I reached for the driver as Crank suddenly stirred. Unfortunately for him, while his shadow tommy worked, the real one remained broken. Before he managed to remember that, I’d brought my elbow into his jaw.

  The driver also started moving again, but that only earned him a head slammed into the steering wheel. Even though I had Her Lady’s gift, I seized the driver’s tommy and fired at wherever I could see headlights.

  Half of the lights shattered, dimming the area. The tommy jammed after that, but it’d served its purpose well enough for me. I wasn’t much for guns, even if I’d trained with them for at least three hundred years. All I cared about was reducing the illumination and, thus, reducing the reliability of the hoods’ enhanced shadows. I knew they needed some light to be able to function and, while the moon was getting brighter by the moment, it’d be a few minutes more before it was good enough to serve the gunmen’s purpose.

  But, as I threw the tommy away, the dragon struggled against me a second time. My legs became lead. My grip on Her Lady’s gift faltered again.

  And from behind me—always behind me—Doolin hit me hard on the back with a mailed fist.

  Together, the dragon and I made for a being far tougher and more resilient, but Oberon’s gauntlets enabled Doolin to hit me so hard I fell completely stunned. He mig
ht’ve tried to finish me off then, but instead he began grabbing at my coat.

  Let Eye out! Let Eye out!

  Even though half of me knew the dragon could salvage this situation better than I could, his betrayal had been too recent for me to dare let him do anything. I knew why he wanted to stop Doolin; it was for the same reason I did. Neither the teardrop nor the card could fall into Oberon’s hands.

  Ignoring my immense desire to just lay there and let the world fade away, I swung my free hand around and managed to catch Doolin too occupied by his search to pay me any mind. I didn’t doubt that he’d rightly assumed that no normal person could survive a blow like that.

  My own swing might’ve lacked Oberon’s gauntlets, but it was hard enough to send him sprawling. I succeeded in dragging myself forward before he could recover, only to find myself facing a toadlike face that hadn’t been born on this side of the Gate.

  Legends called them kobolds, and in Feirie they had another name that better fit their hideous nature. “Ugly” was sufficient for me, especially this close.

  He snatched Her Lady’s gift in his thick, four-fingered hands, his wide, wide grin indicating he had every intention of seeing how the sword worked on me.

  He was still grinning when Her Lady’s gift sucked his life essence out of him faster than I could blink. Her Lady had assumed from the beginning that there’d be many from her Court and from Oberon’s Wyld that’d be eager to get their hands, or whatever they used, on the blade. Her magic had made it possible for those with no animosity toward her to be able to hold it, though expertly wielding it was another matter. The two possible exceptions were the dragon—a thing unto himself—and Oberon, who was the only denizen of Feirie who might still be more powerful than her. Of course, for him, she’d put in other safeguards, which was probably why he hadn’t bothered trying to take the sword when he’d had the chance.