It sent a chill down my spine to think about it as we pulled up in front of one of the old Mission District storefronts. Back in the 1940’s, it was probably a charming neighborhood grocery store. Today, the front door and windows had been plastered over with squares of plywood or sheet metal. The sandy-colored stucco was coated in grime and an extra layer of illegible graffiti tags.
Esteban shut the car’s motor off. It was dead quiet in the lot outside the building. He checked his shoulder holster before we got out. I gave him a questioning look.
“I doubt we’ll run into trouble,” he admitted. “But you never know.”
“I’m glad one of us thought ahead,” I said encouragingly. The most lethal thing I had on me was a bottle of breath spray at the bottom of my purse. And I was leaving that under the passenger seat.
We walked around the side of the building, senses alert. Here, even the dim streetlights failed to illuminate much of anything. My eyes were already starting to play tricks on me, spotting movement in the shadows.
Esteban pushed open a badly dented chain-link gate with a silence banishing squeal. I gritted my teeth but followed him inside, expecting at any moment to be greeted by an irate night watchman or rabid guard dog. Mentally, I cursed myself for such cowardly thoughts and put them out of mind.
It turned out that we had very little to worry about. Without bothering to knock, Esteban pushed open the building’s badly peeling service door. He snorted, and then waved me inside. The watchman, if you could call him that, was a portly gentleman who was slumped inside the doorway in an easy chair, snoring away.
I paid the sleeper no mind. The interior of the building was what grabbed my attention. Wooden folding tables and metal chairs had been lined up with parade-ground precision. On each table, dining spots had been precisely marked out with little folded paper napkins and a plastic trinity of fork, spoon, and knife.
And although the walls could have used a new coat of paint and the ceiling lights some extra bulbs, every scrubbable surface gleamed. While Esteban surveyed the room, I spotted the door marked LA COCINA and hurried over.
I almost slipped on the freshly mopped floor as I pushed through into the kitchen. I steadied myself against a nearby fridge, noting again that every nearby surface had been scoured to near-aseptic perfection. The one flaw in all the cleanliness was a stack of dirty dishes piled high in a sink full of soapy water.
My heart leapt into my throat as I spotted Shelly lying on the floor nearby. I called out for Esteban as I knelt by her side. Shelly lay on her back, dressed in a pair of women’s work pants, a tattered sweatshirt, and an apron with so many stains that it could have doubled as a Rorschach inkblot test.
Shelly’s clothes hung loose on her frame, as if she’d lost fifteen pounds on some hellish crash diet. Her complexion had gone waxy and ashen, which made the deep black circles under her eyes look like generous smears of greasepaint makeup. I immediately touched her wrist, seeking a pulse and fearing the worst. She let out a garbled, unintelligible mumble.
Esteban came pounding through the door and promptly slid on the slick floor. He flailed his arms and grabbed the refrigerator to keep from taking a tumble. As he steadied himself, I checked Shelly’s other vitals. Her skin felt cool, almost clammy. Pulse was slow and steady. Her knuckles, elbows, and the pads of her fingers had been rubbed or scraped raw.
Not knowing what else I could do, I gently shook her shoulder. She woke immediately, with an explosive exhalation, as if coming up from a deep-water dive. Her eyes focused on me blearily through her smudged pince-nez glasses.
“Dayna? Are you real?” she asked, in a whispery voice that sounded as raw as her poor hands. “I can’t rightly tell if anyone is no more.”
“I’m real,” I assured her. “I’m getting you out of here.”
“Can’t leave,” she said, and a look of fear came into her eyes. “I got dishes to do. Lots of dishes, and people need me–”
“We need you too,” I said. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ve got lots of dishes that need washing at my place as well.”
“That’ll do fine,” she murmured. Her eyes closed, and she sagged in my arms.
Esteban’s eyes went wide. “Is she…”
“No, her pulse is steady,” I said. “She’s suffering from clinical exhaustion. We need to get her out of here.”
Esteban bent down and slipped one arm under Shelley’s back, the other under her knees. Then he grunted, lifted with his legs, and stood back up. He blinked, surprised.
“She’s a lot lighter than I thought she’d be. I’m not sure that’s a good sign.”
“Come on,” I said, as I held the kitchen door open for him.
I alternated between supporting Shelly’s head and opening doors until Esteban deposited her gently in the car. The back seat of a Barracuda wasn’t exactly roomy, but the snug fit would prevent her from rolling around too much. Esteban got the engine started and back onto the closest freeway.
“You think she’s on any drugs, legal or otherwise?” Esteban said, over the rush of wind.
I considered. “I’m pretty sure she’s not.”
“Good. That would look bad on her work record.” While he kept one hand on the wheel, Esteban pulled out his phone and started dialing. “First Samaritan is the closest place with an all-hours emergency room, I’ll let them know we’re on the way.”
“No, don’t do that!” I said, and I put my hand over his. “We need to bring her back to my place.”
Puzzled, he set the phone down. Esteban navigated the light wee-hours traffic and finally pulled into my driveway half an hour later. Again, I held doors open as he carried Shelly inside and placed her in my guest bedroom. I couldn’t help but think of how I’d tucked Liam into the very same bed a few months ago, while doing my best to care for him when he was completely exhausted.
Shelly opened her eyes a creak. “Dayna, where are we? I’m so sorry I can’t help anymore…”
I sat next to her and rested my hand on her forehead. “You’re safe, you’re going to be staying at my place for a while. I need you to get some rest before you tackle my kitchen, okay?”
“That’d be nice…if I could somehow get to sleep.”
“Wait just a moment,” I said, and I went to dig in my medicine cabinet.
Luckily, I was able to find the leftover pills of zolpidem from when I’d dealt with a bout of insomnia four or five years ago. Then I got a cup of cool water and brought everything back to my friend. Shelly protested weakly, but I managed to get the pills and most of the water into her. I sat by her side for another few minutes, only getting up when I heard the first of many deep snores.
Esteban got up from the easy chair in my living room as soon as I closed the door to the guest room behind me. He looked worried, but I moved to quickly reassure him.
“She’s okay,” I said. “I got some water and sleeping pills in her, that should go some of the way to making things right.”
“That’s fine for the moment,” he said. “I’m no doctor, but we need to take her to the hospital, for observation if nothing else.”
“They can’t help her, believe me.”
“Then we need to let her family know.”
“No! Esteban, you need to trust me on this one, the only chance she has is for me to work with her.”
He crossed his arms. “Then you need to fill me in on what exactly is going on here. Because it looks to me like you’re putting her life and both of our jobs on the line if anything happens to her.”
I took a breath and ran my fingers through my hair. “You’re right. You need to know.”
I gave Esteban a quick run-down on who Destry was, and the results of the confrontation between him, me, and Robert McClatchy. He looked stunned as I detailed my suspicions about what had happened to Shelly that same day.
“Destry’s power as a pooka, as a dream-horse, is immense,” I explained. “Probably even more so, given the reason he was born – to enter into mi
nd combat with the so-called ‘Creatures of the Dark’. You know how bad McClatchy has been out to get me, right? It took a lot of mind alteration to get him to back off. And I think that, in redirecting Bob, it’s made him more obsessed. More driven.”
“And in Shelly’s case, she was driven…to help?”
“I think it set up some kind of mental feedback loop that she couldn’t break out of. The only way she could cope was to go out and help people, but the compulsion became so strong that it wouldn’t let her rest. The point is, this is a magically created illness. I need to find a magical way to counter her obsession. Our medicine can’t do any more than treat the symptoms.”
Esteban digested that for a moment. He looked at me, astonished. “This ‘Destry’ did all that damage, and he’s one of your friends. But you’re worried about me when I go out on the job?”
I sighed. “You are ridiculously good at making me realize things.”
“It’s a burden,” he admitted, putting his hands about my waist. “This was one heck of a date night, but I have to admit, I thought what happened was good.”
We shared a quiet laugh. I drew myself in against his warm body and kissed him, hard.
“Actually, what happened was a lot better than good.”
We walked back outside, where the moon was now shining full and bright above the ragged cloud cover. He pulled my purse out from where I’d hidden it, returned it to me with one more kiss, and then started up the ‘Cuda with a roar.
I gave him a wave as he turned back out onto the street. I still felt the warmth of his lips on mine. Felt his male hardness against my body, pressing up against where I wanted it.
But I had to put that thought, those delicious feelings, all aside. Now that I’d found Shelly, a whole new set of problems emerged. I knew that I couldn’t keep her out of sight forever. I needed to get her help.
And I didn’t have the slightest idea what to do next.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
My hand barely fit around the coiled-lizard shape of the iron door handle that led to my tower room. I’d never really noticed how huge the entrance to my tower demesne was. Now I wondered if there was something faintly ironic about it.
The door opened with its usual meaty-sounding clunk of iron and wood on stone as I stepped inside. Only this time, it startled Fitzwilliam’s court wizard awake from where he’d been kneeling next to the table. Galen’s human torso had been sprawled out on the tabletop, head cradled in one hand, an empty tankard of ale in the other.
“It’s not ready, it’s not ready!” he insisted, as his senses snapped into focus.
“Whoa, there,” I said, closing the door more quietly behind me. “Sorry to wake you like that. I didn’t expect to find you here.”
“Nor I you,” the wizard admitted, and he got to all four feet and stretched his arms. He let out a centaur-sized yawn, and added, “I was up all night working on the King’s project. It is turning out to be considerably trickier than I had foreseen. I earnestly hope that you are encountering better luck.”
“Well, that depends how you interpret three different things.”
I opened one of the room’s shutters a crack and peered out. Chill air spilled in, along with a sparkle of snowflakes. The season’s first snow had arrived a full month ahead of schedule, and the palace grounds were now frosted with a thin rime of white.
“What, perchance, might these three items be?”
“Well, first off, I got a ‘snow day’ from the King’s court today.”
Galen gave me a puzzled look. “You have explained to me about this ‘snow day’ before. Yet I do not believe the snow has yet crested a human’s toes in depth, nor shall it. I remain skeptical how this meager amount could have affected–”
“I was speaking figuratively,” I closed the shutter and stood by the hearth, where several large embers continued to glow, casting off a drowsy heat. “It’s kind of a human in-joke. On my world, I mean. Getting a ‘snow day’ means that you got an unexpected break in your schedule.”
“I comprehend. My thanks for supplying clarity.”
“No problem. I just wish I could feel better about getting this day off.” I started to pace the room as I talked. It was a nervous tic of mine, sure, but I needed release of some sort. “Lord Behnaz and Ivor got into a shouting match over who should get the remaining money to pay their people if the Noctua don’t act on Fitzwilliam’s budget.”
“That sounds depressingly familiar.”
“You’d think. Only this time it got to the point where all the knights at both tables were ready to draw swords. Fitzwilliam finally got sick of it, so he dissolved the meeting until ‘everyone decides to start acting like adults’.”
Galen snorted. “In that case, we may have seen the last royal court for the better part of a millennium.”
“Would I be so lucky. Anyway, the second thing is that I got the lab test results back on this horn feather, the one that’s supposed to be from the Albess.” I reached into one of the pockets that had been cunningly hidden inside my custom-made cloak, pulled out said feather, and handed it to my centaur friend. “It’s from an older female owl, but there’s no telling if it’s from Thea. But give it a sniff, what do you smell on that feather?”
Galen’s reaction was instantaneous. “No doubt. That is definitely sulfur.”
“Yes. Based on the scent and some burn marks that someone tried to hide, I’m thinking that it was a dragon that attacked Thea, not a wyvern.”
“But for pity’s sake, why? Why would it matter to a murderer to make such a fine distinction between one type of reptile and another?”
“That’s the question of the day,” I said, resignedly. “I’ve been trying to puzzle that beauty out since last night. Not that I got a lot of sleep, for that matter.”
“Indeed. I suspect that the third item in your inventory plays into your lack of slumber.”
“I found my friend, Shelly. With Esteban’s help, she’s sleeping at my place.”
Galen’s face brightened. “Why, that is most excellent news!”
“It’s good news,” I admitted grudgingly. “But I’m not sure I can help her. She was still out of it this morning. I almost stayed behind to watch over her. Half of me figures I should’ve stayed, instead of playacting ‘Dame’ for Fitzwilliam’s court.”
“I must object strongly to that sentiment,” Galen chided me. “Self-pity does not become a Dame. And perhaps your title is nothing more than a plaything to you. But to us here, in the world that Grimshaw, Liam, and I call our home, it matters a great deal.”
I grimaced. “Damn. That did come out pretty bad, didn’t it?”
“Undeniably awful. Be comforted that we are alone for the moment.”
“Believe me, I am.” I looked up at my friend. “Forgive me, Galen. I was a little out of line there.”
“Your apology is heartily accepted. Continue with your story.”
“I got Shelley to eat some chicken broth and a piece of buttered toast. Then she begged me for another sleeping pill to put her back under. I gave her a double dose, that’s enough to knock out a bear. She’ll be asleep until this evening, I think.”
“Should she wake up prior to your return, will she be safe? From herself, or others?”
I chewed my lip in thought. “No one’s out to harm her, so far as I know. As for keeping her from self-harm, I hid the rest of the sleeping pills away, and my car keys. But I can’t exactly lock Shelly in my house. She might decide to leave if she wakes up. I hope she doesn’t.”
“And the LAPD? Has Esteban notified them?”
“I convinced him not to. Her illness is one that only magic can cure.” I appealed to my wizard friend. “Galen, I’m really grasping at straws here. Is there anything you can do to help her?”
Galen set his jaw. “Not unless we have exhausted all other options. I would be just as likely to wipe all of her memories as fix her compulsions. My magic relies a great deal on what one might call ‘brut
e force’. It lacks the finesse needed to pry into the mind. Perhaps Destry has that talent, but it could only be honed with months or years of practice.”
“And even if he did have that practice,” I groaned, “I don’t have any way to contact him to ask for help.”
“Perhaps this view is unnecessarily bleak. Surely there will be a way forward for your friend, as there has always been for all of us. Perhaps–”
Galen’s encouragement was cut off in midsentence by a knock at the door. He gave me a questioning look. I shrugged and nodded towards the entry.
“You may enter!” Galen boomed out in his deep voice.
Looking every inch like an exotically colored stork, the Lord of the Pursuivant pushed his way inside. He looked happy as he spotted me and gave me another head-to-toe examination. From what I could tell, I passed the test.
“Marvelous, just marvelous,” Herald twittered. “I knew that I’d picked the right colors and sizes for you. But I am being rude, am I not? How do you like your new clothes? They make you quite the Dame at court, I’m sure!”
“I love the new look,” I said honestly. “And I’m getting less than half as many strange looks when I show up now, so I think I’ll also count that as a gain.”
“Then I hope it is enough to offset the bad news I must convey. Oh me, oh my, things are in such disarray. I’m sorry to tell you that the King told me himself that he wishes to delay the festival that was planned in your honor. He’s worried about the royal treasury, or at least that’s the reason he gave me. This is just so…uncivilized!”
I traded a look with Galen. Herald actually seemed disconcerted when he saw that the centaur wizard and I were grinning.
“You’d be surprised how welcome that ‘bad’ news is,” I said, grinning even more broadly as Herald looked on incredulously.
“Yes, apparently it is,” he demurred. “In any case, I have another duty that I must fulfil: I must have your decision on your knightly sigil.”
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