Keeper started his spell. Like Erin had done with her Psychometry, he sang the spell. Keeper had a mellow baritone that you could feel in your chest as well as hear. The blue light began to condense on the silver surface of the mirror like fog on a window. The blue color of Fae power filled the disc. Droplets started to fall onto the table. Keeper sang on.
All at once, the blue light flared up and then vanished altogether. We beheld a blasted landscape through the mirror. It was like looking down from an airplane window. The viewport moved past a rust-colored field of slag where the sand had been turned to glass. Nothing moved except us.
Our view turned as we traveled across a barren flat. Keeper’s song took on a questioning tone and I felt he was looking for something or someplace. We saw massive pillars of rock that climbed up into a blood-red sky. Smoke and ash drifted overhead in heavy, choking clouds that blocked any possible view of stars or moons. Fissures in the ground spewed fire, and while there was a sulfurous glow that lit the landscape in a sickly yellow hue, much of the light came from the abundant flames that erupted in spurts and gouts across the plain.
Keeper kept singing as he raised his hand to indicate a structure that was not created by nature. It was a stair-stepped triangular gate in the distance. As our viewport drew closer, I could see it was a pyramid shape. Three of the sides were constructed like a letter “A” with a triangular window cut out of the wall while the fourth side was almost completely open. It was about the size of a twenty-story building.
There was energy inside the apex of the structure but instead of blue, it was the orange-red color of magma. Shafts of power routinely jumped from the top of the pyramid to the ground. Finally, inscribed in stone, was a circle that covered the floor of the structure. Dozens of runes or other symbols I didn’t recognize danced in shiny black shapes. Their appearance was similar to the shifting ink that had been on the napkin where I had drawn the tattoo design from Barry Mallondyke’s neck.
What was this place?
Erin yelped and we both jumped back when a scaly claw burst out of the mirror into the room. It was a cheap ambush, like the cat that jumps out of a dark closet in a horror movie. My heart started pounding hard nonetheless, and I bit back a curse.
The claw had seven talons, sharpened like daggers. It felt the air around the mirror tentatively, sweeping as far as it could reach, seeking for something it could touch. It had a Stain, of sorts, but instead of floating over the skin, the pattern was under the skin. Like a living tattoo. I shuddered. Keeper, with ice-cold veins and nary a flinch, kept singing.
The claw withdrew and a face came to fill the empty space. A row of eyes beneath a spiky brow looked out at us and then a snout tested the air. A gravelly voice that rumbled like thunder made sounds I couldn’t begin to interpret. The face pulled back until its entire visage was visible to us. The creature’s glamour struck me with force. It reminded me of the Alder King’s glamour, except instead of filling me with loyalty, it enveloped me in despair.
Surrender to me, was its message. There is no hope.
Keeper made a wave of his hand, a dismissive gesture, and stopped singing.
The viewport snapped shut and the power drained away. Keeper took hold of the silver mirror and laid it down on the table as its power faded. Erin and I looked at each other, then back at Keeper who turned to face us with a grim expression.
“Okay,” I said. “I have some clean underwear back in my car, so I’m just going to go change and then you can tell us what that was all about.”
Keeper gave half a smile and put his hands together. He cracked his knuckles, which sounded like walnuts breaking, and took a deep breath that he let out through his nose in a long, cleansing stream.
“The being you saw was a deamhan,” he said. “We call that place Tairseach-Cosantóir or the Guardian Gate. The gate prevents the deamhans from entering our realm. This, in turn, prevents the deamhans from entering the mortal realm.”
He held his hand out in front of him, opened flat with his palm facing down. “This is a crude representation, but you can think of the mortal realm as a plane of existence like this.” Keeper then put his other hand underneath the first, at a ninety-degree angle. “Ya know that when ya enter the Faerie realm, it is a plane of existence that is perpendicular to the mortal. The two planes intersect and that’s why ya can go back and forth between them.”
Keeper moved the first hand to a position underneath, keeping it oriented the same direction. “This is the Deamhan realm. It is perpendicular to the Faerie realm. Again, the two realms intersect. But the Deamhan and mortal realms are parallel to one another. They can’t intersect.”
“So you can go back and forth between the Faerie realm and the Deamhan realm. But why would you want to? Who would want to go to that hellish place?”
“No one, lad,” Keeper replied. “But once in a great while, a new deamhan is created. The new deamhan is banished to that lower realm. The Guardian Gate is the only way in, and ‘tis usually a one-way trip. The deamhan is put through the gate into the lower realm where it remains for eternity.”
“Holy crap. Where do these new deamhans come from?”
Keeper put a heavy hand on my shoulder. “They’re us, lad. Mortals and Eternals and Halflings alike. Them that have turned aside from all that is good. Deamhans make themselves from the cloth of Humankind and Fae. It’s our job in this realm to find them and condemn them and make sure they never again return. That’s our work, ya see? One purpose of our realm. And there are those who would take our work and make a ruin of it. On their way to becoming deamhans themselves, usually, or misled into falsehood by wicked people.”
Keeper held his hands out again, flat, with his palms facing together but separated. “The mortal realm above and the Deamhan realm below never cross ways. Always near but never touching.” He turned one hand ninety degrees. “Only by the Faerie realm is there a passage. That’s why the Faerie realm has the task of keepin’ the world safe.”
He picked up the book he had brought and laid it on the table. As he thumbed through the pages, he continued, “Ya heard of summoning, I suppose?”
“Yes. Eternals have to be summoned to the mortal realm, but Halflings, like Fáidh and I, can go between realms whenever we like.”
“Good. In a similar vein, ‘tis possible for a deamhan to be summoned, but only to the Faerie realm because here is where the planes are joined. When a summoning is made, it creates a way between the Faerie realm and the Deamhan realm. The caster must also know the deamhan’s name and he also has to make a sacrifice to do it. It’s possible for the deamhan to later reach the mortal realm from the Eternal, but they lose much of their power in the doing of it.”
Keeper stopped on a page. He jabbed a stout finger at a diagram there and then put his arms around both Erin and I. “I tell ye all this so ye can understand the importance of what this all might mean. This is the Jeweled Gate. The making of such a gate is likely impossible. Even less likely that it’ll work. However, there could be lives lost even in the attempt. So trying to stop it, if this is indeed what’s happening, would be well worth the effort.”
Keeper nodded at the page. “That’s a crude sketch at best. Done that way for a reason. There’s no need to be giving anyone instructions for making one. But at least ye’ll know it if ye see it.”
The line drawing depicted a circle, of course, with an intricate pattern around its circumference and several lines crossing through at different angles. I recognized the design. It was a pentagram. There were indications of other components but the overall symbol was unmistakable.
“How long would it take to build one?”
“Oh, lad. Would likely take a dedicated mage many months. Years even. ‘Tis a highly-complex design and there are several layers to it. Each layer has to be completed in order before the next layer can be added upon it.”
Erin was smart enough to a
sk the important question: “What does a Jeweled Gate do?”
Keeper sighed. “The most horrifying thing possible, I reckon. It opens a passage directly between the Deamhan realm and the mortal. Worse than a summoning and passing by the Faerie realm, it would set loose deamhans in all their strength upon Humankind.”
Chapter Nineteen
Corporation
I’d never experienced a deamhan’s power before, but I knew I never wanted to feel that way again.
“If Caimiléir is building a Jeweled Gate, we have to stop him,” I said. “The thought of deamhans entering unhindered into the world—our world—has me on edge like you wouldn’t believe.”
“Me too,” Erin said softly.
We had departed Corrchnámhach with an admonition from Keeper to watch out for each other. Sounded good to me.
Outside, we walked shoulder-to-shoulder through the titanic oak forest. We had a lot to think about so we walked in silence. My ego was still feeling bruised because Erin wasn’t sure about us as a couple. I hoped that the quiet wasn’t uncomfortable or awkward for her. I didn’t mind it. I needed to think.
The portal we had used to come here was still standing at the edge of the path.
“How long do these portals stay open?” I asked.
“Isn’t your brain exploding?” Erin replied. “Are you sure you can handle more new information?”
“You’re right. I’ll have to throw out some old information to make room for more new information. What was your name again?”
“Ha ha.”
“So, how do the gates work? What if someone went back and closed the gate? Would we be stranded? Or what if someone was stalking you and followed you here and then killed you and went back through. They’d never find your body.”
“And people say I’m morbid.”
“Legitimate questions.”
“All right. There are different gates or portals. Ours employs a spell that is safer than most. Magically, portals have only one side. They originally face toward you and when you go through, they turn inside-out and face the other way.”
“And turn ninety degrees,” I said. “Quite the gymnastics.”
“Right. But don’t think of it in terms of geometry or physics. Magic is magic.” I nodded and Erin went on. “Right now, at my house, there is no portal because it’s facing here. And a portal imprints on you at the moment you use it. Basically, only we can see it because we came through together. We could take other people back through the gate with us though.”
“Over the river? Maybe through the woods?”
“Shut up!” Erin rolled her eyes but smiled too. “And the portal remains tethered to you as long as you are in the same realm. If you leave the realm, the portal closes itself. A gate, on the other hand, is a door that stands open both ways until it runs out of power or is closed by breaking its pattern. Got it?”
“Got it. I’m still getting used to the idea that I’m an eighteenth-century prince. The more I can learn, the more real it becomes for me.”
“I understand. I’m sure I’d feel the same way. We both address problems by gathering all the information we can, don’t we? Then we decide what to do.”
“Probably led to our choice of careers.”
We went back through the portal together, arriving in the storage room. Erin picked up the insert and the light faded. Then she put the pattern back on the shelf.
“How long were we gone?” I asked.
“A few minutes,” Erin said. She pointed to a clock on the wall.
“Cool. So when do I get an awesome name for the other realm? You’re Erin here and Fáidh there. I’m just Got. Or Luck.”
“If you like, you could go by ‘Prionsa.’ That means ‘Prince,’” Erin offered.
I wrinkled up my nose. “For a second I thought you were going to say ‘Princess.’ Don’t think I’m ready for a tiara.”
Erin changed her clothes again and I drove her back to the station in my car. We listened to Bon Jovi, “Livin’ on a Prayer.”
She hopped out but before she shut the door, I asked her if she had any workout clothes.
“Yeah, I keep a bag here at work,” she replied.
“Will you help me with some more magic lessons tonight?”
“Absolutely, helpless.”
I didn’t even blink. “Great, helpmeet. My business partner runs a gym called the Iron Foundry.” I gave her the address. “Meet me there and we’ll see what kind of progress we can make. Six o’clock.”
Erin smiled, “I’ll be there. Prionsa.”
Still not growing on me.
* * *
Back in my office again, at last.
Everything was set up as it had been before, including my laptop. The only problem was an uncomfortable urge to look out the new window to make sure nobody was walking around with a gun. I was going to have to get some curtains.
I tried to stay focused on my work. I connected the thumb drive to the laptop and copied all the files I’d stolen from the Starlight Spa. Going through them was a laborious process, but what else can you do?
Finding Charles Mayer was easy. I knew the day he’d gone to the spa thanks to our last conversation. He’d gotten the massage with the coupon, but he’d also paid for a wrinkle-reducing facial treatment. Male vanity, alive and well at $136.00 an hour.
Finding Barry Mallondyke proved more difficult. It should have been within a day or so of his death. The tattoo was temporary, after all. I had to assume it would only be effective while it was fresh, like Mayer’s. The spa was busy enough, for a seedy dump. I had to wonder if some of the entries were code for less-than-savory services. And the list of clients included an abundance of “guest visitors” paying cash. Ultimately, Barry could have been any of the anonymous clients over the few days prior to his death. Because the spa appeared to be suitably busy, it looked like they were keeping track of their income. The goods and services might be questionable but it appeared, at first blush, that there wasn’t a lot of money going under the table.
I moved on to other files. I found I had records for their payroll. None of the names were ones I recognized. There were receipts for equipment like massage tables and laser treatment machines which didn’t interest me. Then I found a spreadsheet for the regular monthly expenses and things got interesting. There were the expected monthly utilities: electric, gas, garbage, water. And a lease payment to a property management company. I searched online and found a website and social media accounts. Most interesting was the notation on their website that they were a subsidiary. Another quick search and I found the parent company. The CEO was none other than one Lonnie MacPherson.
Sweet. I bet myself a shiny nickel that the Lonnie MacPherson would turn out to be the father of Milly MacPherson Mallondyke.
Another day, another lead.
Two more minutes online and I got to keep my nickel.
I found a photograph, about three years-old, with Lonnie MacPherson, his wife, and their only daughter. The tag on the photo said “Milly Graduates from Brown University” and showed a slightly younger version of my client.
Boo plus yah.
Milly’s dad held the lease for the Starlight Spa.
Amad was at the spa when Charles Mayer had been given a magical tattoo.
The tattoo on Mayer was similar to the tattoo on Mallondyke.
Ergo: cahoots. Milly’s dad was connected to Amad the Merciless.
I doubled up and bet myself a shiny dime that at least one of the two either killed Barry Mallondyke or knew who had.
The analytical part of me tried to remember if Milly’s dad had an alibi for the night of the murder, and I couldn’t remember if the subject had even come up. I’d have to check it out, but the magical part of me insisted it didn’t really matter. If you had a buddy that could open a portal for you to the Behindbeyo
nd, you could be halfway around the world and it wouldn’t matter. You could establish an alibi, travel anywhere in a matter of moments to commit a crime, and travel back before anyone missed you.
The thought was chilling. The conventional wisdom in law enforcement was that there’s no such thing as a perfect murder. I was starting to peel back the lid on just how wrong that idea could be.
The biggest question was still why.
Unless I found another reason, the mutilation of the body was done out of spite. I wasn’t a father, and history was replete with dads who wanted to murder their sons-in-law, but I looked at the picture of Lonnie with his arm around his daughter and just couldn’t give it any weight. Milly had been so happy in her marriage, and Barry had been a good provider. What was there to hate?
I leaned back and rubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands, making little stars wash across the view inside my eyelids. There had to be more to this.
I searched for all the holdings linked to Lonnie MacPherson’s business and subsidiaries. He had a dozen small business locations that he was leasing out, a few larger office buildings—but none in Miami Beach—and even a couple of apartment buildings. Diversified real estate. Those were the commercial properties. I searched for industrial properties and, holy mostaccioli, he had about twenty. Most were south, starting at Wynwood and going as far down as Leisure City. A spread of more than twenty-five miles.
Well, I had my work cut out for me tomorrow.
A split second later, I realized tomorrow was Sunday. I had an appointment to meet Chief Cuevas and Milly’s father at the Palmetto Golf Course in the morning to talk about my progress. I had precious few things I could talk about.
How much should I disclose? MacPherson might know that Nat and I had forced our way into the Starlight Spa. He’d be worried about what I’d found out. I’d have to skirt around that incident. Until I had more information—like actual evidence—I couldn’t tell a potential suspect too much. Until I had proof, I wouldn’t want to let him know he was even on my radar.
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