Uncertain Allies cg-5 Page 8

  Briallen sipped her port. “Leonard doesn’t have a druid essence separate from a human essence, Connor. He has his own unique signature, one that reads more human than not. He’s human, but some essence pathways read druid. For all her flaws, Moira Cashel was a talented druidess. If I can think of a spell to suppress the druidic aspects of Leonard’s essence, I’m sure she could.”

  “By why didn’t we see it before?” I asked.

  “I think when you boys were caught in the spell backlash at Castle Island, Moira’s protection spell was probably damaged. When she . . . died . . . her spell did, too. Whatever her motivations in other matters, she was trying to protect her children,” said Briallen.

  “That’s the part I don’t understand,” Murdock said. “When we worked the Castle Island case, you said interbreeding between species caused problems, that the kids didn’t live past puberty.”

  Case studies showed mental and physical defects whenever two different fey species interbred. The more unlike the species, the greater the chance that progeny wouldn’t survive. “They don’t most of the time,” I said.

  “Moira had seven children. We’re all fine,” he said.

  I used my recall to review the case studies I had read back then. Druids looked human. We blended in without any problems, which was one of the ways Moira fooled her husband. “None of the cross-species cases we saw were druid/ human. Maybe that has something to do with it,” I said.

  Briallen tilted her head back in thought as if searching the ceiling for an answer. “Gillen Yor was researching cross-species children.”

  I glanced at Murdock. “I know. That’s where I got my original data from.”

  “You never told me that,” he said.

  I nodded. “I didn’t exactly ask him, and I know how you get about stuff like that. Does it matter now?”

  He shook his head in exasperation. “I guess it doesn’t. It still doesn’t get us any answers.”

  Briallen gazed into the fire. “Sometimes we look for answers when we should be looking for questions.”

  “Like what?” I asked.

  “Like why Scott Murdock? Of all the men Moira could have picked, why him?” Briallen asked.

  “Are you saying it wasn’t accidental they met?” I asked.

  “I’m saying she married a man whose death is causing an international incident. I’m saying one of her sons has helped you stop some catastrophic events. And I have to wonder why?” Briallen asked.

  “She knew something. Maybe she had a vision of the future,” I said.

  “Why would she want a future where my father ends up dead? Or herself? That doesn’t make sense,” Murdock said.

  A thin, bitter smile creased Briallen’s face. “Welcome to the fey world, Leonard. Even our own lives mean little in achieving our goals.”

  She stared at the fire in a way that made me wonder if she was warning Murdock or lamenting her own fate. Briallen had lived through a lot, and no matter how much she danced around it, I believed she was an Old One. She knew pain and sorrow in Faerie and hoped to see an end of it here.

  I didn’t think that was going to happen for any of us soon.

  10

  After dinner, I left Briallen’s house and found a quiet place down near the Reserve Channel, a small dive, long and narrow. Timeworn wooden stools lined the bar, old Colonialstyle chairs surrounded pitted tables and a three-piece band crammed into the corner next to the bathroom. The patrons slunk in and out, not furtive, but tired and dejected, the type of clientele for which drinking was a necessity, not an entertainment. It was the kind of place people went when something rocked their world and not in a good way.

  A fairy from one of the lesser Celtic clans stood at the microphone, singing a song of loss and more loss while the band played melancholy flute and drum. She must have had a decent voice once, broken now by drink and who knew what else. Fairies, especially Dananns, had a weakness for alcohol that turned into a problem with no effort. The rasp in her voice worked for the room. Scattered applause broke the silence whenever she finished a song.

  I sat on a stool in a dark corner. I didn’t recognize anyone, but that didn’t mean no one would recognize me. Between those who remembered me from my publicity-rich Guild days and those who had more recent grudges, I had too many people to avoid. Staying home was easier—and safer—but sometimes wallowing alone in a room with other wallowing people fit the bill.

  Learning that Murdock was okay was a good thing. For months, I had hoped that the answer to what had happened to him might provide a clue to a cure for me. If he could develop abilities, maybe a way existed for me to get mine back. I didn’t get the answer I had hoped for. Murdock was fey. There was no work-around. The dark mass was in my head and would be in my head until I figured out what it was or I died. With any luck, the two things wouldn’t happen at the same time.

  Something rustled in the garbage can near me in the corner. I slid away from it, not wanting a rat jumping out at me. The Weird lay hard by the harbor, and rats were more common than dockworkers. During the day, you might catch a furtive movement in the shadows, but at night the little furries ventured about with little fear. An always-dark bar was like a home away from home.

  A thumping sound came from the barrel, and I moved off my stool. I wasn’t afraid of rats. I was afraid of what a startled rat might do. They avoided people, but they had tiny brains and didn’t know the difference between someone trying to avoid them and a big scary mammal looming over them.

  A crumpled ball of paper popped out, then an empty beer can. The barrel wobbled as something inside shrieked. I backed away as it fell over with a loud crash, newspapers and more cans scattering onto the ground. Heads turned at all the noise as a bright pink ball of essence shot across the floor and hit the wall.

  “I’m trying to be inconspicuous here, Joe,” I said.

  He rubbed his head. “There’s a big brown rat in there with the longest tail I’ve ever seen.”

  I picked up a brown-paper shopping bag, rolled up and dangling its broken rope handle. “This rat?”

  Joe made a show of dusting himself off. “It was dark.”

  I tossed at him. “What the hell were you doing in there anyway?”

  He straightened with dignity. “Looking for you.”

  “In a trash barrel? What would make you think . . . never mind.” It took me a second, but I saw the setup.

  Joe fluttered to the stool and sat down. “What are you doing here?”

  “Pondering the meaning of life and the Wheel of the World,” I said.

  He peered off at the dark bar. “Really? The beer’s that cheap here?”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  Joe banged his fists against his forehead. “Can’t you get drunk like a normal crazy person?”

  I righted the barrel and glanced around. After the initial noise, the bar patrons had gone back to staring into space. “I don’t think I’d fit in this barrel.”

  Joe pouted, letting his eyes grow wide with sadness. “I wish I could ponder life, too, but my hands are empty.”

  “Would you like a beer, Joe?”

  He grinned. “Why, yes, I would love to discuss philosophy with you, kind sir.”

  A strange vibe swept the room, an air of tension that prompted people to look toward the exit. Drinkers at the bar shifted in their seats, leaning toward each other to whisper. Joe flinched and squeezed his eyes shut. “Ow! People need to tone down their sendings.”

  “I’m not getting anything,” I said. I couldn’t do sendings anymore, but I could receive them. Whatever was happening, no one thought I’d be interested.

  Joe shook his head. “Another fire. Big one over on the haul road.”

  Ever since a quarter of the neighborhood had burned down the night of the riots, people had been jumpy. The bar was on the edge of the burn zone, and while some might argue not much was left to burn, that wasn’t a joke to people who lived and worked nearby.

  “Is the fire department
responding?” I asked.

  “Lots. It’s a big one. Do they have nuts here?” Joe asked.

  “Just one. Let’s go check out the fire,” I said.

  Joe gave me a horrified look. “But the beer is here.” “We’ll get some later. Promise,” I said.

  Outside, a muddy orange light smeared across the night sky, never a good sign when it came to fires. I hurried down the sidewalk, dodging puddles and broken cement and made it to the haul road in two short blocks. Thick smoke plumed off the top of a warehouse. From the number of units on the scene, the fire had gone to at least six alarms. On the corner, an elf in a green uniform stopped us. “This is a secure area. You need to move on.”

  “I’m here on business for Eorla Elvendottir,” I said. It wasn’t quite true, but he didn’t need to know that.

  “No one gets in. Move on,” he said.

  I stepped around him, while Joe circled my head. “I’m Connor Grey. I work for Eorla. You can check with her or Rand.”

  My body shield flickered on as I sensed the elf charging his hand with essence. In a blur, Joe had his sword out and in the guy’s face. “He said you can check with someone, got it? Or do I have to play tic-tac-toe on your face?”

  The elf glared but dropped his hand. “I will remember this.”

  “Good,” said Joe.

  Flits were not to be underestimated, to be sure, but seeing such a large being back away from Joe was damned funny. We left the guard on the corner, glaring at us. “Tic-tac-toe?” I asked.

  He nudged me with an elbow and winked as his sword vanished behind its cloaking glamour. “Yeah, good one, huh?”

  “As always, buddy.” Joe liked movies. His taste showed in the lines of dialogue he picked up.

  As I picked my way over thick yellowed fire hoses, I spotted Murdock next to an EMT truck. “Hey, Leo. I didn’t expect to see you down here.”

  The fire lit his intent face in harsh yellow. “A call went out about a break-in. We’re still shorthanded, so I thought I’d back up uniforms if they needed me.”

  Several fire trucks lined the front of the building. Every ladder truck was in service as plumes of water rained down on the burning building. A misty halo lingered in the air. “Is that Kevin’s unit?” I asked.

  “Yeah, first one in as usual,” Murdock said.

  The last time I had seen Kevin Murdock was on his station’s ladder truck the night of the riots. He was the youngest Murdock, and that night he looked like a lost boy, bewildered by the carnage around him.

  Two firefighters appeared in the front entrance. They staggered a few feet, pulling off their helmets, then leaned on their knees, coughing, as EMTs rushed to their sides with oxygen. “Looks intense,” I said.

  “They’re having trouble venting. Something about the insulation,” he said.

  The granite front of the building was covered with elaborate carving that resembled a forest. Over the door, a damaged sign carved into the lintel indicated the building was a stone-quarry supplier. “Why would someone break into a stone supplier? It’s not like you can shove a slab in your pocket.”

  “Won’t know until we question him. Best we can tell, he set the fire to cover his escape,” he said.

  “He?” I asked.

  Murdock shook his head. “He’s still in there. We had to pull our guys out when the fire started. Firemen are on search and rescue now.”

  The radio inside Murdock’s coat screeched and garbled. He had it tuned to the firefighter frequency. I never learned to understand a word on those things. “What’s going on?”

  Murdock lowered the volume. “They’re pulling out of a section of the building. Too much heat.”

  “Did they find the guy?”

  Murdock played with the radio tuning. “I think so. Sounds like it was some kind of fey. They’re talking about a shield blocking them.”

  The wind shifted and dumped a pall of oily smoke down on us. My eyes teared up. The radio squawked. Murdock tensed as he adjusted the signal. “What’s happening?” I asked.

  “Something collapsed,” he said. Firefighters in full gear stumbled from the shattered doors. He walked toward the confusion near the front of the building.

  I followed him. “Why are they coming out?”

  Murdock waved me silent as his scanned the firefighters. “Kevin has the perp. I don’t see him.”

  He hurried to a group of men near the chief’s car. Words were exchanged that looked pretty animated. Murdock’s body tensed, and he thrust an arm toward the building. An argument ensued, several men stalking away in angry disgust. More followed them, pulling back from the building. Murdock shoved his way past them. I caught him near the front of the building. The heat from the fire pressed against my face. “Where the hell are you going?”

  “The building’s destabilized. The chief won’t let anyone else in,” he said.

  “But what about . . .” I stopped at the look on Murdock’s face.

  “Kevin and two others are trapped in the back,” he said.

  The firefighters nearby had removed the masks, horror and anger etched on their faces. They took care of their own. They didn’t leave each other behind. Every once in a while, a fire comes along that doesn’t give a damn about that.

  Murdock paced closer to the building. I grabbed his arm. “Leo, let’s think this through.”

  He shook me off. “I can’t let this happen.”

  “Do we have his position?”

  “Rear loading dock. The exit’s blocked.”

  I stumbled after him down the side alley. Between the smoke and hose spray, I lost sight of him. “Leo!” He didn’t answer. As visibility went down, my sensing ability responded. In the haze ahead, his body shield faded into the distance. I struggled to keep up with his retreating crimson essence light.

  Behind the warehouse, the air cleared enough for me to see without tears filling my eyes. The neighboring building had collapsed, leaving rubble that blocked the alley. Ladder trucks at either end poured water against the back wall of the warehouse while firefighters rushed to remove fallen masonry in front of a buried exit door.

  Murdock and I scrambled onto the pile. Stone dust clung to my hands as I grabbed cinder blocks and bricks. The dust bonded to my body signature, a residual effect from an encounter I’d had with a troll. With a twinge of pain, I forced the dust off. It returned at the next touch of stone. I ignored it. It wasn’t painful and helped me grip the stones we were throwing aside.

  Door’s blocked.

  I spotted another of the green-liveried elven guard watching from a nearby pile of bricks. “No kidding. Think you can lend a hand here?”

  The elf tilted his head. “I am an observer for Her Majesty. I do not intervene.”

  I grunted. “Then stop with the sendings. It’s distracting.”

  “I have not sent anything,” he said.

  No other fey were around except him. “You didn’t do the sending?”

  “No, sir,” he replied.

  I frowned. “How long have you been in Eorla’s service?”

  He lifted an eyebrow in disdain. “Who might you be, sir?”

  “Connor Grey.”

  He gave me his back. “I am in Her Majesty’s service. I do not answer to anyone but Her Majesty.”

  Something didn’t feel right about the guy. I walked around in front of him. “There are people trapped in there. I need you to hit that wall with elf-shot, and I want you to do it now.”

  He stepped around me. “I will consult with my captain.”

  I grabbed his arm. It was a dumb mistake. He let out a sharp flurry of German, and his body shield activated, bouncing my hand off him. He lifted a hand burning with emerald essence. A surge of pink essence seared between us as Joe slammed his feet into the guy’s nose. The elf toppled off the pile of bricks.

  “Ya got a problem, bub? ’Cause I’m looking for one,” Joe said.

  Keeping his hands charged, the elf got to his feet. Blood trickled out of his nose. “
Interfere with me again, and I shall strike you down.”

  Joe menaced around his head, bursting in and out of sight, confusing the hell out of the guy. “You think so?”

  The black mass in my head shifted, responding to my rising anger. I braced myself against it with my body essence, grimacing with the pain. “We don’t have time for this. If you’re not going to help, get someone down here who will. I know your face, and Eorla will hear about this.”

  The black mass pressed with a palpable hunger for the rich glow of the elf’s essence. I resisted the desire to relax my will and let the darkness rise, angry that I had to let the man go. With enough rationale, I could let the darkness absorb his essence, justify it by judging his failure to act and receive the uncomfortable pleasure of his essence coursing through me.

  The elf wasn’t all that impressed with my threat, but he kept his eye on Joe. He dropped his hand and hurried up the alley. Eorla was going to get an earful when I talked to her next.

  “You okay?” Joe asked.

  “Yeah. Can you follow him for me? Something’s not right about him,” I said.

  “You’ll want to discuss it over a beer later, right?” he asked.

  “As always,” I said. He saluted and blinked out.

  The burning warehouse building glowed with the ambient essence of the Weird, a dull, dirty white that wasn’t full gray. My sensing ability didn’t allow me to extend through walls, but I was able to detect a faint shifting essence. Someone was moving inside. Since the firefighters were human, the one thing strong enough for me to pick would be the fey suspect. If the suspect was alive, that might mean the firefighters were, too. “I’m getting moving essence hits inside, Murdock. They’re still alive.”

  He focused on the task in front of him without stopping to acknowledge me. We cleared the top off the mound of debris and exposed the door. Frustrated, I slumped back on my haunches at the sight of the hinge. “Dammit. It opens out. We’ve got to get more people back here.”

  Murdock threw a brick at the exposed edge of the door. The brick exploded with the force of his throw, denting the metal. Something banged against the inside and a sending hit me hard enough to knock me off-balance.