Zev stood in front of him and pressed a knife against his chest. “For the last time, where are my people?”
The elf smiled through shattered teeth. “Go ahead and kill me, animal. I will come back and cut you down before you wake.”
Zev sliced the knife against the elf’s skin. The guy squeezed his eyes shut and grimaced. “You think so?”
“This is sick.” I moved forward.
Meryl grabbed my arm. “Don’t interfere, Grey.”
“Meryl, I won’t watch him torture this guy.”
Her eyes lit with warning. “Then don’t watch. We’re on their turf, Grey. You step in, this whole place will come down on you. Let it be.”
Angry, I yanked my arm away and instantly regretted it. Her body shield slipped off me. The dark mass became exposed to the scrying in the air and spiked with pain in my mind. “This isn’t right, Meryl.”
Meryl put her hand on my back and replaced the shield. “Sometimes, Grey, people don’t have a choice in doing what they do. We’re here for their help, not to change their ways. This isn’t the time.”
“It’s torture,” I said.
She glanced at Zev. “Yes, it is. Can you smell the blood-lust in the air? We’re outnumbered. Let it go. He’s a Dead guy.”
Zev wiped the bloodied knife against the elf’s cheek. “Bring the leech!” he called over his shoulder.
The crowd hooted and screamed as it backed away. We didn’t move as the circle withdrew and exposed us. Zev noticed, then turned his attention to a widening gap in the crowd. Meryl sucked in air as several elves with bows loaded with elf-shot appeared, the green essence primed and pointed at the leanansidhe walking in their midst.
“You weren’t kidding about her,” she said.
The leanansidhe stopped in front of Zev. She came no higher than his shoulder, her whiteless black eyes fixed on the hanging elf. She wrapped her arms around herself and crooned, pulling her tattered and soiled coat tighter.
Zev leaned down and picked up a stained sack. From within it, he withdrew the decapitated head of one of the Dead. He held it in front of the prisoner. “Look familiar, elf? Your friend thought I was bluffing, too. When you see Jark, tell him we can play his game, too, but we can take it a step further.”
He tossed the head at the leanansidhe, and she effortlessly snatched it from the air. Zev grabbed the elf by the hair, forcing him to face the leanansidhe. “Watch, elf. I know your clan can sense essence. Watch and tell Jark what waits for him if he continues hunting us.”
The leanansidhe cradled the head. With soot-covered hands, she smoothed back the bloodied hair. The deep purple tendrils of her body essence oozed from her fingers and burrowed into the face. They latched onto the faint remains of essence in the Dead man’s head and bulged as they siphoned it off. The dark mass in my head shifted, a strange sensation of hunger that sent a shiver down my spine. My vision darkened, the dark mass rising. The urge to join the leanansidhe tugged at me. I held my breath and pushed back at the darkness. It retreated, slowly, reluctantly. The leanansidhe moaned softly as she savored the essence, pawing at the face until the head was drained. She dropped it on the floor.
Zev picked it up and dangled it in front of the elf. “Do you see, elf? There is nothing. True death, elf, final and complete. You will live tomorrow, but as you die tonight, think what it would mean if it were your true death. Tell Jark whatever he is seeking, we do not have it. Tell him if he and his brethren do not stop attacking us, the only thing they will find is true death. Tell him in the end, we will drink his soul.”
Zev shoved his knife into the elf, directly into the heart. The elf gasped, his chest heaving up. His body went limp and swayed from the chains. Zev raised the knife, clenched in his bloody fist as the crowd screamed its approval. “Leave the body somewhere the Dead will find it,” he said to one of the elf guards.
He leaned toward the leanansidhe. “Remember our pact, leech, and be ready when we call.”
She smiled and bowed, clearly mocking Zev. He was playing with fire and probably knew it. If he didn’t kill her when he was done with her, the leanansidhe would hunt him down. They both knew one of them would be dead by the end of it. The leanansidhe walked away with the elf guard close behind her. When she reached the edge of the crowd, she paused. Looking over her shoulder, her eyes met mine, her fathomless pools of black to my blue. She turned away again, leaving me a sending. We meet again, brother. That within you calls to me and mine to you. I know you feel it. You will answer it and soon. Thus, we meet and meet.
21
With the main event over, the shouting subsided, and people wandered off. A number remained watching, curious about the druid who registered little of his own essence and the druidess with brilliant red hair. Joe crawled out from Meryl’s hood once he was sure the leanansidhe was gone.
Zev wiped his hands on a soiled cloth while two Dokkheim elves lowered the Dead man to the floor. He examined his fingernails. “You don’t approve,” he said.
“You didn’t ask for my approval,” I said.
He tossed the rag aside and crossed his arms. “ ’Struth. But you still don’t approve.”
I pursed my lips. “I watched you murder someone.”
He shrugged. “He was Dead anyway. He’ll be fine tomorrow.”
I shook my head. “That’s a dark road you’re walking, Zev.”
He gestured to the remaining watchers. “I gave them what they needed.”
I snorted. “Bread and circuses, is that it? Read some history, Zev. You may not like where that led.”
He fixed his white eyes on me. “The Dead are killing us, Grey, and no one gives a damn. If we don’t stand up to them, they will kill us all. They want us truly dead, and the cops and the Guild are just watching it happen.”
“The Guild is working on tonight’s kidnappings as we speak,” I said.
He laughed. “Really? You think so? I’ve got my people out looking for everyone who went missing tonight. Can the Guild say the same?”
My conversation with Keeva chose that moment to remind me that she only mentioned missing police officers. I decided not to share that with Zev. “You’re playing with fire and gasoline. You keep pumping these people up like this, you’ll lose control of them. Whatever the Guild and the police aren’t doing is beside the point.”
Will you knock it off? Meryl sent to me.
He nodded dismissively. “And what they are doing is the point. They created the situation by boxing us in. With the Dead hunting us down and the law locking us in, we’re trapped, Grey. Solitaries live without hope most of the time, but things have never been this hopeless. If giving them hope breaks the chains that bind them, so be it. Let the humans reap our wrath.”
Meryl tugged at my arm. “We’re not here for a political discussion.”
I ignored her. “Sekka is dead, Zev. That will never change no matter how you dress your revenge.”
He locked eyes with me. “Jark must pay for her death.”
“The Hound killed her,” I said.
Zev shook his head. “The Hound saw Jark kill her.”
“How do you know that?” I asked.
Zev lowered his eyes. “Let’s just say I know people who know people who know.”
“So if that’s true, then why is Jark afraid of the Hound?” I asked.
“Because all the Dead are afraid of him. The Hound is hunting the Dead whenever they cross the line. He may be Dead himself, but he’s not their ally. Jark’s lying to get you to focus your attention somewhere else. And if you eliminate the Hound for him in the meantime, even better.”
“The Hound killed Jark?” I asked.
Zev pursed his lips. “He’s not dead, so it doesn’t matter.”
“Where can I find the Hound, Zev?”
He gave me a grim smile. “I wouldn’t tell you if I knew. Whenever the Dead go on one of these rampages, he’s there for us, not them.”
His flat white eyes fixed on me with a blank stare.
It was one of those moments when one group—in this case solitaries—closed ranks against another—me, who wasn’t a solitary. I wasn’t going to get any more from him about the Hound.
“Aaaaand, we’re not here for this,” Meryl interrupted. “What’s the situation?”
Zev took a deep breath. “Eighteen solitaries and three cops were grabbed. Six solitaries were killed. The cops were dumped alive not far from the meeting.”
I fought down the urge to continue the argument. Meryl was right. Murdock was more important at the moment. “Any pattern to the dumps?” I asked.
He shrugged. “All in the Weird. The cops were dropped fast. Your friend will be fine, Grey. The Dead don’t want humans.”
“Murdock doesn’t read full human anymore.” The silence among us was lost in the rising and falling sounds of the solitaries around us.
“Got him!” Joe shouted and vanished.
Joe sensed people at greater distances than I could. It’s one of the ways he understands where to go when he teleports. Even with my hypersensitive ability, my sensing range was limited by my physical location. Meryl’s, too. But she could do sendings.
“Where is he?” I said to Meryl.
She held her hand up. “Give me a sec.” She closed her eyes. “Joe says he’s not far. They’re bringing him in.”
“Who is?”
Meryl paused as she listened. “Callies. They were nearby.”
The cailleacha, the Scottish clan of winter women. The storm outside didn’t feel natural. They had to be the cause. I wasn’t going to complain. If anyone knew how to move through snow and ice, they did.
“But he’s alive,” I said.
Meryl’s brow dropped in concentration. “Joe says something’s wrong. He says Murdock doesn’t recognize him.” She put a hand on my chest. “They’re here.”
The doors on the far side of the floor flew open with a gust of wind and snow. Four tall callies rushed in, half walking, half flying, their long white hair trailing into their flowing gray gowns. They carried Murdock with gnarled hands, clutching his arms and legs.
My head screamed as I left the protection of Meryl’s shield. When the callies lowered him to the floor, I pulled him into my arms. His clothing was torn and soiled. Hat, gloves, shoes, and coat were gone. His lips were chalk blue and his skin cold and hard. I searched for a pulse. “I think he’s got hypothermia. We have to get him to AvMem.” I lifted my face to the nearest callie. “Can anyone fly the storm?”
Meryl knelt beside us and placed glowing hands on him. Her face dropped. “We don’t have time, Grey. He’s dying. We need to get him warm now.” She pulled off her cloak and wrapped it around us. “We need blankets or coats. Anything. Zev, we need a warm bath.”
A callie leaned her aged face down. “The ice was in his heart.”
I searched her cragged features. “Can you take the ice out?”
She shook her head. “I withdrew the cold, but I cannae warm it.”
A ripple went through the crowd, and a large wash of essence came toward us. Out of the darkness walked a jotunn—a ten-foot-tall giant of a man. Without asking, he knelt and pulled Murdock from me. Cradling him in his arms like a child, he placed a wide hand on Murdock’s chest. He rocked and hummed. A pool of warm, orange essence welled out of his hand. Joe fluttered down next to them, his pink essence mingling with the giant’s and seeping into Murdock’s chest.
Murdock convulsed. The jotunn held him closer and increased the cadence of his hum. The convulsions settled to a shiver. Murdock opened his mouth, heaving forward with a racking cough that scattered Joe into the air. The jotunn eased him to the floor.
Murdock looked around in a daze. “Is this hell?”
Joe swooped down and laughed. “Nah. That’s two blocks up on the left. Don’t order the chili.”
I squeezed Murdock’s shoulder. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”
He frowned, pulling Meryl’s cloak around him. “Where are my shoes?”
“You lost them somewhere,” I said.
He struggled to his feet. Meryl grabbed his arm. “Take it easy. Let your body warm up.”
“I want my shoes,” he said.
“We’ll find some, Leo. We have to get you to a hospital,” I said.
“Take me home.”
“Murdock, you need to see a doctor.”
“I said take me home,” he snapped.
I looked at Meryl. “What do you think?”
She stared at him. “He’s okay. Let’s take him home. We can talk about the hospital in the morning.”
I held my hand out to the jotunn. “Thank you.”
He touched his massive palm against mine and wandered into the darkness.
Zev stood alone near the bloodied, dangling chains. “Thank you, too, Zev.”
He nodded. “Remember this, Grey. I helped you and the police. The solitaries are not the enemy.”
“I never thought they were,” I said. Someone found something for Murdock to wear on his feet, and we went back into the storm. The callies followed, shifting and swaying around us through the snow. Essence ringed us, a pale blue light that pressed the wind back. I don’t know why the callies did it for us, but it made walking easier. Murdock tried to shake me off as I supported him, but a few steps later, he leaned on me without argument.
The snowplow sat where we had left it, the protection spell that Meryl had cast almost gone. We bundled inside, with Murdock in the middle. He wouldn’t speak, just stared into the night sky. Meryl wheeled the truck around and drove toward South Boston.
“Take a left,” Murdock said when we reached Broadway.
“Murdock, you live the other way,” I said.
“Just take a left. Please,” he said. I looked over his head at Meryl and nodded. She turned left. “Stop here,” Murdock said after a few blocks. He gestured at me. “I need to get out.”
“Murdock, you had hypothermia. I’m not letting you wander around in the storm.”
Meryl peered out her window. “No, it’s okay, Grey. Let him out.”
I threw her a look like she was crazy. She pointed. In the blur of snow and wind, a brick building stood. I opened my door and helped Murdock out. As we walked around the truck, Meryl remained inside.
“Are you coming?” I called out.
Yeah, that’s not going to happen. I’ll wait here, she sent.
I put my arm around Murdock’s shoulders and ushered him across the street. We walked into the hushed, silent warmth of St. Brigid’s Church.
22
First thing in the morning, I called to check on Shay. The cops had let him go when Keeva showed up and confirmed he was human. He was more annoyed that a paramedic played cute with him but didn’t follow through with a phone number. The kid killed me. With all the stuff he gets into, he still manages to roll with it.
Murdock didn’t return my phone calls. I didn’t like that, but I had probably been too insistent about taking him to Avalon Memorial. He hated doctors in general, and if he felt fine, he wanted no part of a hospital. That was his choice, and I had to let it go. That didn’t mean I wasn’t worried about him. Whether he liked it or not, I was going to check up on him.
Murdock’s car was right where we’d left it the night before. I dug it out of a snowbank, which was a welcome respite from thinking about anything. Dig the shovel in. Toss the snow. Repeat. Nicely rhythmic and mindless.
Driving wasn’t something I did. Living in cities all my life, there wasn’t much need. Sure, a car was convenient, right up to the point when it was stolen or, worse, needed a parking spot. So, I didn’t drive, and Murdock’s car did nothing to elevate my desire to drive. It was a swamp of trash and papers in contrast to the orderliness of the rest of his life. I guessed he needed somewhere to release his inner slob.
The day after a major snowstorm in Boston was an exercise in dysfunction and denial. Cities, by definition, did not have acres of open space. Thousands of people lived cheek by jowl, sidewalks were narrow strip
s of concrete with little room for more than three people to walk abreast, and cars weren’t tucked off the streets in driveways or garages. In short, snow had no place to go, shoveled or plowed.
Neighborhoods transformed into mazes, narrow paths along the sidewalks, streets turned into valleys between mountainous ridges, and between the two, snowed-in cars formed a barrier of snow and metal and ice. Snowplows left small hills at intersections to be taken away by front loaders. Shoveling out a parked car was an art in itself, the challenge of finding enough places to throw snow without burying someone else in. The day after a blizzard, the snow walls around a single parking space could rise four feet high.
As dawn broke, people grabbed their shovels, while others pretended the storm didn’t happen and tried to go about their normal routines. The two sets clashed, some idiot tossing snow on some other idiot who could not care less he was in the way. The parking situation devolved into the haves and the have-nots, with the haves leaving their cars until the next warm day freed them or digging them out with great time and effort, while the have-nots either garaged their cars at exorbitant rates or stalked neighborhood side streets for an abandoned shoveled-out space. Which led to a winter peculiarity of Southie: the kitchen chair in the snow.
Finding a parking space took effort. Digging out a car took effort. When someone in Southie snagged a parking space before a storm and dug it out afterward, a certain ownership to the space evolved. A kitchen chair defined that ownership, perching in the vacated space while the temporary owner ran errands or went to work. The kitchen chair sent the message that someone else had put time and effort into clearing the space, not you. The cardinal rule was: You do not mess with someone’s kitchen chair. Violators were subject to snow being shoveled back in, paint scratched, nasty notes, and, for the worst offenders, tires slashed. How long the shoveler maintained ownership was a gray area, but at some point, the kitchen chairs disappeared and the normal parking-space jockeying resumed. The city didn’t approve, but a little anonymous dog feces on a windshield deterred whoever agreed with the municipal authorities.
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