Unquiet Dreams cg-2

by Mark Del Franco

  “Grey’s only an acting director,” said macGoren.

  Gerin waved him off. “Alternates can vote on any matter.”

  “Except directorships,” I said. Gerin shot me a look that would have curdled cat’s milk. I shrugged. “What? I looked it up when Briallen made me her alternate.”

  Nigel smiled. “Interesting. Even when she isn’t present, Briallen manages to insert herself. No matter, I cannot vote for Manus in any case.”

  Gerin thrust himself up from his chair. “You planned this, Nigel, to make me the fool.”

  “My dear Gerin, weren’t you just talking about rules?” He said it pleasantly, but only a fool wouldn’t hear the bite in Nigel’s voice.

  “I will speak to Manus about this, Nigel. This is an opportunity squandered,” Gerin said. He leaned on his staff and left the room.

  Nigel followed after more slowly, glancing at me as he neared the door. “How accidentally useful you can be, Connor,” he said as he left.

  I could feel heat in my face. He knew damned well he could have said that in a sending. Disappointment in me was one thing, but publicly embarrassing me in front of macGoren was purposeful. I needed to clear the air with him.

  Ryan regarded me, his great wings undulating around him, shots of gold glimmering among the veining. Powerful. One of the more powerful Dananns I had met in a long, long time. “A druid with no ability trips up the plans of the Guild. The Wheel turns most peculiarly.”

  I gave macGoren a half smile. I was just a pawn in this little board game, and he had to know it. Nigel knew Gerin needed a quorum to vote for a new director, and he knew damned well I couldn’t vote as an alternate. He must have let Gerin think he was getting what he wanted—a Guild board packed with Celtic fey—only to pull the rug out from under him at the last minute. Games. Always games.

  “That was a short meeting,” I said.

  MacGoren rolled his eyes with a bored look. “It was supposed to be to agree on a condolence statement to the Consortium. Gerin and Eorla decided to turn it into a snit just before you arrived.”

  I pulled a chair out and sat. “Is it always this pleasant?” I asked.

  Ryan laughed. “This had to be the most pointless meeting yet, which is saying a lot. You were a nice surprise. Briallen seems to have thrown you into the pit. She must not like you. Evil, evil woman.” He broke into a wide grin in case I wasn’t getting the message he was joking.

  “I’m sure she never expected me to need to fill in,” I said.

  He pursed his lips with a smirk. “Hmmm. Briallen sees much and tells little.”

  “Why the big deal about Eorla?” I asked. “Her husband was a director here, and she’s no slouch from what I hear.”

  “Nigel despises Eorla. Gerin is not impressed with anyone who isn’t a druid.”

  “Ryan?” a voice said behind me. Keeva stood in the doorway. A curious look traveled across her face as she took in the scene of me sitting in the boardroom, talking with macGoren.

  “Ah, there you are. I told you the meeting was going to be short,” he said. He walked over to her, slipped his arm around her waist, and kissed her quickly on the temple. I sighed mentally. Any hope that macGoren and I would become friendly went out the window. Now I knew why Manus asked me to investigate him instead of going to Keeva.

  “I believe you know Keeva?” he said.

  I looked at her over his shoulder. “Of course. We used to be partners.”

  Ryan macGoren smiled at her. “It’s great working with her.”

  “I remember it well,” I said. You could have frozen water with the smile Keeva gave me.

  “You shouldn’t be wandering around the building, Connor,” she said.

  “I told you, sweet, we were just finishing up the board meeting. That’s why I called for you,” said macGoren.

  Keeva looked from me to macGoren. “He was at the board meeting?”

  I couldn’t resist a smug look. “I’m an acting director, Keeva. Let me know if I can help you with anything,” I said.

  The entire day had been worth it for the expression that came over her face. Keeva and I had an unspoken competition, one that hadn’t died even when I was booted from the Guild. I have to confess a certain pleasure that she was apparently only dating a director while I had a pass that said I was one. It felt petty, yet satisfying.

  She pointedly looked away from me. “I can’t leave right now, Ryan. I have a few more things to do before tonight.”

  He casually ran his hand down her arm, clasping her hand and kissing it. “Of course, my dear, duty calls. If you need to meet me at the gala later, that’s fine.” At that, Keeva regained her usual composure.

  MacGoren leaned toward me conspiratorially. “We’ll be back here, Grey. They will want to continue their game. The fun will start if the dwarf director shows up. The best part is watching them fight over the director for the solitary fey. Everyone hates her, but they want her vote.”

  I sighed. “That’s the problem with this place. Too many sides.”

  He laughed again. That laugh was getting irritating. “I always pick the same side, Grey. My own.” With a brief nod, he escorted Keeva out.

  I made my own way to the elevator. I just wanted out. Off the floor. Out of the Guildhouse. When I was with the Guild—playing the game, tracking the players, manipulating the nuances of relationships—it all made sense. It even felt important. I even liked it. But now, sitting in that boardroom had felt like running into a discarded lover. I could not for the life of me understand the appeal. I could say power. That certainly motivated me. But that meeting seemed a lot more about spite and petty vindictiveness. If only it all meant something real, and things would change for the better. But they wouldn’t. No matter who got a seat at that particular table, it’s always the same show, different channel.

  I found it all sad, though. A man dies and his colleagues—even his wife—start to squabble over his corpse. Not pretty, but very Guild. I’m sure there had been a fight over who got my stapler after they kicked me out of my office. I noticed it was missing.

  Now I had my own little games to figure out. Nigel’s behavior irritated and confused me. I had trusted him with my life, yet now I wondered if that had been misplaced. My lack of ability did not matter to Briallen. She could have changed her designation of alternate anytime in the last two years, but she didn’t. She could have done it because she saw this coming or because she thought I would regain my abilities. Either way, it showed she still had confidence in me. And she was trying to help me heal. Nigel had not approached me in the entire time since my accident, and he now brushed me off as if I were some novice trying to get his attention.

  Then there was Ryan macGoren. Between the company he was keeping and his overfriendliness, he had to have some agenda. If he were with Keeva, she had to have mentioned me to him. And yet he tried hard to ingratiate himself with me when I knew damned well she probably had little nice to say about me.

  I kicked myself for annoying Gerin Cuthbern. The High Druid of Boston was not someone to be trifled with, and I had managed to block his plans. Eorla would have found the legal loophole against him eventually, but by then Gerin would have had the upper hand if she had to come out swinging against an installed director.

  I laughed. All these years, I had wanted inside that boardroom. In less than twenty minutes, I had managed to irritate one director, get insulted by another, be ignored by a third, and be befriended by one I wouldn’t trust out of my sight. Whatever possessed me to want a piece of that action stumped me now. With any luck, I wouldn’t have to deal with any of them again.

  But I knew my luck.

  Chapter 9

  I took the elevator down to the subbasement to see Meryl before heading over to macGoren’s gala. She hadn’t called in a couple of days, and I didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Of course, I hadn’t called her either. When the doors opened, she was standing in front of them.

  “I had a dream you we
re eating bones,” she said.

  I smiled. “Hi.”

  “Hi,” she said. She joined me on the elevator and hit the button for the next subbasement level up.

  “That’s it?” I said.

  She nodded. “Yep.”

  Meryl has a dreaming ability, and a strong one at that. Mine is embryonic by comparison. She also has a geas on her to tell people when she has a dream involving them. Geasa are fickle. They’re obligatory restrictions or rules someone has to follow. No one likes having them, but everyone likes to be in a position to give one. The good thing is, it takes a certain amount of ability or authority to make them stick because they tend to be caught up in fate. If it doesn’t suit the Wheel of the World, it’s not going to make any difference. Most people don’t reveal their geasa because others can manipulate them. Say you aren’t allowed to cross a bridge or something dire will happen. If someone knew that, likely they’d put something on the other side of a bridge to keep it away from you. They can be that petty.

  “Was I making soup?” I asked.

  “Nope. Just eating bones,” she said. The doors opened onto the level where the Guildhouse had several research labs. It smells of chemicals and herbs and burnt things. The people that work there often smell the same. Meryl wasn’t prone to escorting me around the Guildhouse. So, the fact that she had brought me to the research labs probably meant one thing.

  “Ah, Janey Likesmith called you,” I said.

  I stepped out, but Meryl didn’t. She just pointed. “Third door on the left.”

  “You’re not coming?”

  “Nope.” She had a cold, neutral face.

  I paused in the hallway. “Are you angry about something,” I said.

  She held the elevator and seemed to be trying to choose her words. “For future reference, do not give out my phone number without asking, do not put me on the spot by volunteering my services, and do not assume I am your secretary on call to arrange lab time. Got it?”

  I cringed. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “Quelle surprise,” she said and released the door.

  Ouch. It had seemed like such a logical thing at the time. Now I knew why she hadn’t called. I’d have to think of something to make it up to her that didn’t involve getting myself arrested.

  I hit the third lab down the hall to find Janey hunched over a ward box. “How’s it going?” I asked.

  She looked up sternly, and I steeled myself for another lecture for something I hadn’t thought about, but she relaxed as soon as she saw me. “Oh, hi, Connor! Thanks so much for this.”

  “Don’t thank me, thank Meryl,” I said.

  Janey nodded. “I got the feeling she wasn’t too happy about my being here.”

  I leaned against the door. “Not you. Me. I should have asked before I gave you her number.”

  Janey arched an eyebrow. “Ah. Yes. I can see how that might annoy someone.”

  The lab Janey occupied was deeper underground than her space at the OCME, but looked brighter and more professional. Her wooden worktable held several standard microscopes as well as odd stone-and-glass contraptions designed to work with essence. The funny part is the common equipment was contained in warding fields. In a fey lab, metals screw up the work because it causes warping of essence. The more sophisticated tools require essence to make them work and a delicate touch to keep that essence from interfering with whatever is being studied. “So, has this helped?” I asked.

  Janey smiled broadly. “Definitely. I haven’t had tools like this since college. I felt rusty coming in here, but I’ve found some interesting things for you.”

  Leaning across the table, she pulled a stone object closer. It looked much like an old-fashioned celestrial globe, only with several lenses attached and a small tray in the middle. On the tray, I recognized one of the drug stamps Dennis Farnsworth had been carrying. Janey maneuvered some levers, then stepped back for me. As I leaned in to look, the damned little thing on the tray gave me a sharp pain just like the other one had at the OCME. I looked through a series of stacked lenses and was greeted by what I expected, a lot of cells jammed together. “I don’t really know what I’m looking at.”

  “Live cells,” Janey said.

  “Okay, I can see some movement if that’s what you mean,” I said.

  “For one thing, I would think the cells should be dead by now. There’s an essence on the stamps keeping them alive.”

  I pulled myself away from the lens. “Why would someone go to that much trouble?”

  She pursed her lips. “Potency, I would guess. I managed to pull the essence protection off and examine the cell essence directly. I have to say, it makes me uncomfortable. The cells have no cell wall, like animal cells, but contain chloroplasts and a large vacuole—sort of a water sac that plant cells have. I don’t think these cells should exist. I think this is from some kind of animal/plant hybrid.”

  Other than the creep factor, the ramifications were not going anywhere fast for me. “Well, from the strong essence, the plant part is oak. Can you tell what kind of animal?”

  She shook her head. “I’m baffled. There’s an essence catalog next door that I tried cross-referencing with, but nothing comes up. I think you’re looking at a rare solitary fairy or elf species. It’s related to the oak family, but I don’t know how. For want of a better word, Connor, I’d almost say we’re looking at blood cells of some kind.”

  “Well, that’s gross and different,” I said.

  “It’s also where the compulsion is coming from. There seems to be yet a third essence mixed in it via spell transfer. Whenever I try to separate it out, the cell structure collapses and fades. As an educated guess, I’d say the spell enhances the compulsion ability inherent in the cells. I’m trying to conserve a sample. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  I sighed and leaned against the table. “Well, I guess this confirms that the kid was involved in drug running, which is what Murdock suspected all along. If you can afford the time, I’d appreciate it if you could keep working on it.”

  She retrieved the sample and put it in a glass warding box. “Oh, sure. I’m a little slow on my end of things at the lab, so I can slip a few hours in here and there.” She lifted the ward box and peered at the stamp. “What do you think the ‘F’ stands for?”

  “It’s a ‘D.’ It’s ogham for oak,” I said.

  She wrinkled her nose. “No, it’s not. It’s the futhark.”

  Without getting any closer than necessary, I could see my mistake. The ogham for oak is a line with two short strokes coming off it. Given the essence, I just assumed it was a “D” for “dair,” the Celtic word for oak. Looking again, though, Janey was right. The two short strokes were slanted, not straight. It was an “F” rune, not ogham, the first letter of the futhark, the Germanic lettering system.

  Realization struck me. “You’re right. It stands for ‘Float.’ It’s new. You’ll probably be seeing more of it.”

  She considered it for a moment. “It’s always something new. Does this help your case?”

  “Yes and no, to be honest. It connects a few dots but makes the picture more tangled,” I said.

  She nodded. “I’m intrigued by the binding spell on it. There’s something elven about it, but I can’t place it.”

  I pushed myself away from the table. “You’ll let me know if you come up with anything?”

  “Of course. And thanks again,” she said.

  “Please, please, please, thank Meryl. And don’t tell her I asked you to,” I said.

  She gave me a knowing smile. “Ah, that’s the way of it.”

  “What?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing. I’ll tell her.”

  Despite the bright sun, a cool breeze caught at me when I left the building. October in Boston can be balmy or freezing. I bunched my hands in my jacket as I walked back to the Weird.

  Dennis Farnsworth had been running drugs. I rolled the words around in my head, letting myself get com
fortable with them. It’s not the way I hoped he went, but there it was. Fair enough. I could live with that. Lots of kids think it’s a way to make a little cash and get out of a rough neighborhood. They don’t get that it just sucks them in deeper. It’s not the best idea, but I’ve been living down in the Weird long enough to understand that the bad ideas are sometimes the only ones.

  I could walk away from the case, let Murdock close the file, and move on. No one would question us. Just another dumb kid in a string of dead kids. People don’t expect gang hits to get solved. The only people who care are the families and the gangs. The only time it gets bigger than that, when some politician or preacher or chanter starts up on gangs, is when someone squeaky-clean dies by accident. The scholar on his way home from Boston Latin High who gets caught in the cross fire of a drive-by or some office worker on a subway platform who accidentally gets bumped in front of a train during a brawl. Then it’s news, and justice gets talked about. But Dennis Farnsworth died near the worst part of the worst neighborhood in Boston. And now the weather.

  But I had loose ends. Dennis Farnsworth had been wearing the colors of a gang led by Moke. Moke had a turf rival in C-Note. C-Note was running a new drug called Float. Why would Dennis have been wearing one gang’s colors and running another gang’s drugs?

  I pulled out my cell and called a number I didn’t call that often. To my surprise, it still worked.

  “Hey, little bro,” Callin said.

  “Hey. How’d you make out last night?”

  “Not bad. Yggy’s is neutral again. I appreciate the brotherly concern.”

  I ignored the sarcasm. “Listen, I was wondering if you can tell me where to find the gentleman responsible for that.” Given that someone had been right on my heels when I found the Nike, I decided to be cautious with what I said.

  “Maybe. I know a place he shows up sometimes.”