“One more Guild director and we’d have a quorum,” Eagan said.

Gerin frowned “Not funny, Manus.”

Eagan rolled his eyes and leaned toward me. “He’s been like this all afternoon. He can’t understand how a sick old fairy can tire of talking politics.”

“And yet, he’s well enough to meet with underlings. No offense, Connor,” said Gerin.

“None taken, sir” I said. My ass.

Manus wagged a finger at me exaggeratedly. “Gerin’s here as a Guild director, Connor. No ‘sir-ring’ to the High Druid allowed.” The smile of a man used to having his way. I decided the best response was to smile myself.

A sudden cough racked Eagan. He took several moments to get under control. Gerin instinctively placed his hand on his back, but didn’t do anything else as far as I could tell. Eagan wiped his hand across his forehead.

“A drink,” he said, gasping.

Gerin sighed and pointed to a sago palm. “He hides whiskey in there from his brownie.”

I got up and stepped to the large frond plant. Rummaging in the stalks, I found a flask, which I handed to Eagan. Gerin had the stern lecturing look I hated as a kid. Dananns had a wicked propensity for alcoholism. I didn’t know whether Eagan had a problem or not, but Gerin’s reference to Tibs as “his brownie” made me want to break out the booze just to annoy him.

Eagan chuckled through a swig. “It’s medicinal.”

Gerin just shook his head.

Eagan directed his gaze at me. “I need to ask you a favor. Ryan macGoren had some dealing with Alvud Kruge. I want to know what it was.”

Ryan macGoren, the golden boy of the Danann fairy social set. Handsome, powerful, rich, and a Guild director on top of it all. The whole package for the right woman. A couple of years ago, I probably would have been hanging out with him. Now, his type annoyed me. Did not see this coming. “Why don’t you just ask him?” I asked.

Eagan leaned toward me for emphasis. “Because I need him as an ally right now, and the question coming from me might be considered insulting under the circumstances.”

I could see his point. Asking a supporter about his relationship with a savagely murdered colleague might put a damper on a friendship. At the same time, the Danann clan of fairies has its share of internecine politics. MacGoren was powerful in his own right, and given that he was made a director at the Guild in a relatively short time, he had powerful friends that Eagan might not like. “Why me?” I said. Eagan glanced at Gerin. “You have a certain reputation that could be used to advantage.”

“I think this is ill-advised, Manus,” said Gerin.

“I know you do. But you can’t ask either without risking insulting him.”

“It could appear I’m interfering in the Kruge investigation,” I said. Eagan smiled slyly. “You’ve dealt with Keeva macNeve before.”

Gerin shifted in his seat. He had managed to spend the entire conversation not acknowledging me.

“Manus, Connor is powerless. As strong a fey as Alvud Kruge was, he died horribly. If this inquiry gets tangled in the murder case, Connor will have no chance if he stumbles across the murderer.”

I didn’t know whether to be touched that Gerin cared or insulted that he didn’t think I could handle the situation. That he likely was right was beside the point. Either way, his attitude annoyed me. Eagan took a swig from the flask and grimaced. “He did a fair job of surviving Castle Island last spring.”

Gerin snorted. “I’ve read those reports, Manus. He’s lucky he’s not dead. He’s lucky we’re not all dead.”

Eagan gave Gerin a wolfish grin. “I like luck.”

“I’ll do it,” I said.

Gerin frowned and sat back in the chair. He rubbed his staff as if he were agitated. “You know his coming here was observed. Everything you do is observed. People will ask questions.”

Eagan raised an eyebrow at me. “Ah, yes, well, how’s Tibbet, Connor?”

I chuckled. He may be ill, but he was sharp. An old flame taking me to the big house while the master was ill was not the worst cover I’d ever heard. “I hope she’s at least driving me home afterward.”

“Of course,” said Eagan.

“I still object to this, Manus. He has no abilities. He has no Guild authority…”

Eagan held up a hand. “He has a Guild director’s ID.”

“Purely by chance. Let’s not let Briallen’s propensity for not following the rules cause us to break rules ourselves. If I may say so, you seemed fixated on macGoren. I don’t know that I’m comfortable with one of my people being pulled into your personal politics.”

“It’s not that personal, Gerin. These questions need to be asked. Normally, I would ask Keeva macNeve to look into this, but it would not be appropriate in this case. I want an objective ally here.”

Gerin did look at me then. I felt an odd probing sensation, though whether he was actually trying to do something to me or it was his innate force of will I could not tell. “If I recall, allies do not fare well with this man,” he said.

I wish I could say I was insulted, but I really shouldn’t be. I knew I’d left a few pissed off people in my wake at the Guild. It’s why no one comes around anymore now that I’d lost my abilities. They were willing to put up with me when it might help their careers. Now, I’m yesterday’s news. I didn’t need to be reminded of that, though.

Eagan looked at me a long time before he spoke. “People expect unpopular people to ask unpopular questions, Gerin. They often don’t think beyond the annoyance of the questions and forget to wonder about the reasons behind them. It’s an advantage. I think Connor will know what to do to protect himself.”

I hoped I did. “I can take care of myself.”

Gerin shook his head and sighed. “If your course is set, then it must play itself out.”

“Yes, it must. Tibbet is waiting outside, Connor. It was a pleasure talking to you,” Eagan said by way of dismissal.

It didn’t seem like I had been very much a part of the conversation. I stood and picked up my jacket. As I shook Eagan’s hand, it felt cold and damp. I turned to Gerin and bowed again. Apparently, the High Druid didn’t think much of me. I tried not to look as humiliated as I felt.

“I’ll let you know what I find,” I said and walked out. As I stepped into the cold October air, Tibbet waited in the car near the back of the greenhouse. Eagan must have done a sending to let her know the meeting was ending. I jumped in to get out of the cold.

“You don’t look happy,” she said as she pulled around the house.

“It’s nothing. I just feel like a mouse that’s been tossed between two cats.”

She chuckled. “Those two can do that to you. Do you want me to drop you anyplace special?”

“Home. Home would feel special right now.”

She rubbed my thigh. “Oh, dear. It must have been bad. Just ignore them, Connor. That’s what I do. They play too many games between them.”

“Sage advice.”

We indulged in catch-up conversation through the rest of the drive. She had not really been doing much since Eagan fell ill. That was fine. Other than almost dying and saving the world last spring, things had pretty much settled down to boredom for me, too.

When she arrived at my building, Tibbet put the car in park and slid across the seat. She wrapped her arms around me and hugged. I let my nose nestle in her hair. One of the things I love about Tibs is her scent. She always smells like warmth and comfort.

“Everything works out eventually,” she said.

“Thanks.”

She pulled back, a playful smile on her lips. “Do you want me to come up?”

“You don’t have to do that, Tibs.”

She eyed me with the hint of confusion. “I know that.”

By that, I guessed she didn’t realize Eagan had asked her to pick me up to cover our meeting. I should have realized. If she knew, Tibbet would have told me immediately when I got in the car at the OCME.

“I’m sorry, Tibs. Bad timing. I didn’t mean anything by that.”

She ruffled my hair. “No harm. Take care of yourself, handsome.”

I tugged her hair. “You, too, gorgeous.”

Once inside my apartment, I went straight to the computer. During a case, I keep meticulous files. I logged the information from my visit with Janey Likesmith, cross-referencing it to Moke’s drug-running gang. I leaned back, the desk chair letting out a squeal I never remembered to oil. Farnsworth had been running drugs. Which meant he was probably a gang hit. Which meant we were likely never going to find the perpetrator.

I sighed and started a file on Ryan macGoren. After watching any connection between Farnsworth and the Kruge murder evaporate, Eagan had handed me a back door into the murder investigation. No one could blame me for looking into Kruge as part of researching macGoren. I paused and considered. Pride was rearing its head again. I missed the Guild. Not the political crap Eagan and Gerin were pulling me into, but the chance to work on big cases. It’s where I belonged. I could feel that in my bones. But as Gerin had made abundantly clear, I wasn’t in the big leagues anymore. I could get hurt. I pushed the thought roughly aside. I didn’t care. If I had to risk my life to prove them wrong, I didn’t have a problem with that. Because if I wasn’t willing to risk everything, Gerin was right that I had no abilities. At all.

7

I took a run to the deli to pick up some dinner. When I got back to my apartment, a little mote of light spiraled above the futon. Judging by how dim and fading it was, the glow bee probably had been chasing me down all day. When I approached it, it put a burst of speed toward me and tapped my forehead, vanishing.

Midnight. Yggy’s.The low energy of the glow bee made Joe’s voice sound faint. You don’t understand a glow bee like a sending; you actually hear it. People impress messages on them with their own essences. When it lands on you, the essence releases the message. It’s quick, though. Try and put too much information into a glow bee, and it takes a while to sort out. On the other hand, too cryptic a message, and you find yourself scratching your head anyway. Joe and I had been exchanging them since I was a kid, before I was able to do a true sending. Now that I can’t do decent sendings anymore, we’re back to glow bees.

Yggy’s. Interesting location. About the midpoint of the Avenue just beyond what passes for retail shops but before the commercial warehouses begin. Not the worst place in the Weird, but starting to venture into that territory. It was a crossroads bar, one of those places where an elf can sit down with a fairy and either have a civil conversation or end up rolling around on the floor. I had almost forgotten Joe was setting up a meeting with his gang connection, and Yggy’s would be the perfect place for it. The bar’s one rule was no essence fighting.

Murdock didn’t pick up when I tried his cell. He hadn’t checked in at all, which was unusual, so I was relieved when he called me from his car just before midnight. Yggy’s would be a good place for him to check out, learn more about how the fey can sit down and have a drink without all the race drama. I was happy when Murdock called me from downstairs. It was getting chilly at night, and I didn’t want to have to walk in the cold down to the bar. I tossed some newspapers from the passenger seat of his car into the back, where they landed, not accidentally, on a romance novel. Murdock has a secret passion for them. You might call it a secret, searing passion of towering desire. With flowing hair, ripped abs, and corsets. I tease him about it. He doesn’t read the good kind. Every once in a while, I find a paperback lying around my apartment that he’s left in a subtle effort to get me interested. I have read a couple, well researched, well written, but in the end, not so much my thing. Murdock thinks I’m single because I don’t get romance. I point out he never goes out with someone more than twice.

“Okay, gang fight. Two nights ago. What happened and when were you going to tell me?” I said, as he pulled an illegal U-turn and drove the wrong way up Sleeper Street to the Avenue. He threw me a look that was at once surprised and annoyed. “What’s with the attitude? I was just going to bring it up.”

“I heard about it from Keeva, who took much joy in my lack of knowledge, thank you. Why didn’t you mention it the other day?”

He frowned. “I don’t know. I must have been distracted by the fire. Nothing much to tell. A face-off between the TruKnights and the Tunnel Rats.”

I grabbed the dash as he took the corner a little too fast. “Okay. TruKnights I know are elf and fairy kids. That makes the Tunnel Rats our dwarf boys?”

He nodded. “Don’t know much about the dwarves. Keep to themselves mostly. You saw the colors: black hoodies and yellow bandanas. They claim a small area south of where the Farnsworth kid was found.”

“Still leaving the question of why a human kid was wearing the colors of a dwarf gang,” I said. He nodded. “Except for the dead kid, all the members are dwarves as far as we know. The report didn’t have much detail about why the fight happened. The TruKnights claim turf just east, so based on what you picked up from the Tunnel Rats you met, it was probably turf related. Two elves ended up in the hospital pretty cut up.”

Dead kid. Murdock can do that, just refer to him as a dead kid. He’s much better at emotional detachment than I am, at least when he’s working. It’s a cop thing, to an extent. He’s seen more murders than I have, so he’s got an extra layer of protection against the horror of it. Not jaded so much as resigned.

We left the working lights of the Avenue behind and entered a more desolate stretch of road that led to the warehouse district. Murdock pulled the car to the mostly empty curb. It wasn’t an area where you left an unattended car parked for long. We got out and walked toward the harbor.

“I’m still convinced the blood on the kid’s shoe was Kruge’s,” I said. Murdock gave me a lopsided smile. “Of course you are.”

Joe chose that moment to appear. Murdock is getting better at not being startled by a flit popping into view without warning, but you can still see the surprise on his face when it happens. He has to work on that if he ever wants to do undercover work with the fey.

Joe swirled around us, clearly pleased. “Right on time, guys. I just checked and our guy’s inside. Let’s go, let’s go.”

“What’s the rush, Joe?” I asked.

I didn’t get an answer, or, rather, I didn’t get an answer from Joe. Yggy’s is on the dead-end side of Congress Street north of the Avenue. A few people milled around the black-stained door with a “Y”

painted in the middle. No one reputable. We were eyed with wary curiosity, but no one bothered us. The door slammed outward, followed by an airborne body that landed firmly in the gutter. Murdock and I exchanged glances.

Stinkwort laughed nervously. “I guess he decided to meet us outside!”

At that same moment, we were close enough for me to sense the guy’s essence. I stopped short and glared at Joe. I didn’t need an introduction, and I didn’t need the guy to roll faceup for me to recognize him. Murdock paused a step ahead of me, turning back with a questioning look on his face. Stinkwort zoomed ahead. “Cal! How are you doing, bud?”

Cal opened one eye and smiled. “Hey, Joe, what do you know?”

Joe crossed his arms, sat down on Cal’s chest, and looked up with a self-satisfied, I-dare-you-to-get-mad-at-me smile.

“Hi, Cal,” I said.

When he realized it was me, he opened his other eye in surprise. “Well, well, what do you know, little bro?”

I didn’t hide the displeasure I felt. “Leo Murdock, meet Callin Grey. My brother.”

Naturally, Murdock was surprised as hell. “You have a brother?”

Cal reached up a big, meaty hand. “Pleased to meet you, Leo.”

Murdock shook and found himself pulling Cal off the ground while Joe fluttered up. “Same to you. And it’s Murdock.”

Cal stood a good five inches taller than either of us. We look nothing alike. He takes after our father—broad shouldered, barrel-chested, rough-cut facial features—but has our mother’s coloring—ash-blond hair, light brown eyes that can appear yellow. He has an infectious smile that belies an unpredictable temper. Which is how he ends up in gutters a lot.

Joe clapped his hands. “Drinks are on me!”

“My favorite words,” said Cal. He reached for the door handle to Yggy’s.

“Didn’t you just get thrown out?” I said.

He gave a sheepish smile. “Nah, not really. Just a prelim.” He sauntered inside with Joe on his shoulder.

“You don’t look happy,” said Murdock.

“More ambivalent. Let’s see where this goes,” I said.

I opened the door, and Murdock passed inside. No one really stood as bouncer at Yggy’s. It was the kind of the place that if you needed to rely on a bouncer to get you out of trouble, you didn’t belong there in the first place. When the management wanted someone removed, the bartender usually asked one of the meaner, drunker customers to take care of it for a free round. There were always takers. Immediately inside the door stood a coat check that no one ever used, but the coat-check girls, usually elves, always got tipped for their outfits, or suggestions thereof. After a short hallway, a large square bar area filled the front of the place. Stools surrounded it on all sides and could easily seat a few dozen people. Beyond that was a dance floor that was primarily an excuse to place wooden barrels to lean on when the bar was full. And beyond that was a pool table. For the right price, pool wasn’t the only action the felt saw.

Cal waved to a sallow-looking fairy with shaggy black hair sprouting from various points on his skin. Not all the Celtic fairies are from the pretty Dananns clans. The fairy frowned and gave him the finger.

“My table’s back here,” Cal said over the low din. Yggy’s is bar-loud, not club-loud. You can carry on a decent conversation without having to raise your voice too much over competing conversations and the new-wave-retro harp and fiddle classics on the sound system. Not far from the pool table, we slid around a battle-scarred table with four chairs in the style every New Englander knows as colonial. Joe flipped over the empty black plastic ashtray and used that as a seat. Cal waved four fingers at a waitress, who nodded and disappeared toward the bar.

Cal smiled down at Joe. “Someone said he had someone I needed to meet. Someone implied it was a date.”

Joe put on an innocent look. “I never said date. Why does everyone think I want to set them up on dates?”

“Maybe because strange women end up with our phone numbers?” I said.

“Not true!” he said. He winked at Murdock. “It’s not always women.”

Murdock shot me a sly glance. Joe thinks I don’t date enough and believes if he throws enough variety at me, someone will stick. Murdock can’t understand how anyone can be without the company of women for more than a week. Since I don’t rise to their baiting, they keep wondering if my interests lie outside the assumed. Of course, not rising to their baiting also means they keep baiting. I think we all enjoy it.

“How ya been, bro?” Cal asked. I hated the “bro.” Even though Cal always used it, it felt like an affectation. The constant reminder of our relationship was a constant reminder that we were hardly buddies. When I lost my abilities two years back, Cal managed to show up at Avalon Memorial a week later, mildly sober, with enough contrition for the delay to indicate he meant it. It still irked me that he took so long. Our parents called the day I woke up, and they were in Ireland.

“Okay. Not much change. You?”

The waitress returned and dropped three tumblers of whiskey in front of us and a smaller one for Joe. We tapped glasses. While the three of us sipped, Murdock placed his back on the table. He wasn’t on duty, but I could tell by the way his eyes kept shifting to the crowd, it was not the kind of place he liked to drink in.

“I’m okay,” Cal said. “Been doing a little of this, a little of that.”

We always started this way. Wary. Not going too deep.

“Heard from Mom and Dad?” I asked. Safe, yet unsafe, territory.

He shook his head. “You know them. They’ll remember us eventually.”

I didn’t respond. Like all siblings, Cal and I have very different relationships with our parents. Cal sees their lack of contact as indifference. I see it as two people who get incredibly caught up in each other and their own lives. They care. Cal never realizes they call him more than me. But then, they worry about him more. If and when they return from meddling in Celtic politics, Cal will complain they won’t leave him alone, and I will pretend I don’t like their attention.

No one spoke for a long minute, while Joe hummed to himself watching us. I’ve got to give it to the little guy. He never quite gives up on getting the two of us back together.

“So, Joe’s led me to believe you travel in interesting circles these days,” I said. Cal sipped his drink again, eyeing Joe. “Does he, now? Perhaps Joe might be more careful what he says where.”

Joe barked like a dog at Cal. It’s one of his nervous tics when someone throws a dig at him that lands.

“I didn’t say anything about your buried treasure, secret harem, or wine cellar. I just told him you might know about gang stuff down by the Tangle.”

From the look on Cal’s face, I think he would have preferred Joe told us about women or money. I already knew about the booze. Cal downed his whiskey and nodded at the waitress. Not a good sign.

“Why would I talk about something I know nothing about with a cop?” asked Cal. Murdock’s mouth went to a tight, straight line. Murdock hated being made as the law. Of course, Cal wasn’t stupid. Wearing a trench coat and tie in Yggy’s and not drinking a free shot were dead giveaways. I felt Murdock’s essence spike, and I could tell Cal felt it, too. He gave me a look that told me he found it odd. The waitress dropped him another drink on her way by.

“We’re just looking for background, Cal,” I said.

“Still don’t know why you’re talking to me.”

I sighed. Every time Cal and I encounter each other, the animosity starts. It goes back a long way. We’re never at outright war with each other, but there are too many issues between us for outright peace. “Look, Joe brought us to you. If you can’t help, fine. I’m not looking to cause you trouble.”

“Calm down, Con.” He nodded at Murdock. “You trust him?”

“With my life. I can’t say the same for him. I almost got him killed on our last case together.”

Murdock chuckled. His essence settled down, more human normal.

Cal leaned forward, not looking me in the eye. “What do you want to know?”

“What about the Tunnel Rats?” Murdock asked.

Cal shrugged. “Enforcers mostly. T-Rats don’t usually start something, but they’ve been known to end things pretty quick.”

Murdock leaned forward, too. “My info is they’re all dwarves, but we’ve got a dead human kid wearing their colors. Would they have killed him for wearing their colors?”

Cal shook his head, examining the swirling amber liquid in his glass. “No, they’re not that sick-petty. They might rough someone up for it, but it’d be odd for them to go that far.” He paused. “Oh, wait—did the kid have knots in his bandana?”

We both nodded. “That’s why. The kid had something he didn’t want his gang identified with, but the T-Rats wanted done. So, they let him wear their colors. Knots in a bandana are a heads-up that the kid isn’t a T-Rat but has their protection.”

“Sounds dangerous. If someone wanted to kill a Tunnel Rat, why would they care if someone was pretending to be one?”

Cal smiled. “’Cause they don’t know if they’re bringing double hell down on themselves. Someone might not be afraid of the T-Rats but scared spitless of an associate. Kill the associate, get the T-Ratsand the associate’s gang in on your fight uninvited.”

“What can you tell us about this dwarf named Moke who runs the gang?” I asked. Caught mid-drink, Cal almost choked on his laugh. “Moke’s no dwarf. He’s a nasty-ass troll straight from the Kingland. The only thing the T-Rats are afraid of is their own boss eating them.” He laughed and shook his head. “Moke a dwarf. That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in a while.”

I tried not to feel the heat in my face. Cal likes to know better than his little brother. Even after all these years, he could take something I was naturally ignorant of and make me feel stupid ignorant. “Why would dwarves answer to a troll?”

“’Cause he pays good money. Like I said, the T-Rats are hired fists. You run enough drugs down here, you need some strong-arm behind you. They are easy to buy.”

“Drugs? What kind?” asked Murdock.

Cal paused before answering. Murdock and I had seen that look before, the shuffling of the mental index cards deciding what to discuss and what to pass over. It did not make me happy that my brother had to play that game with us. I had to wonder how he had been spending his time these days.

“Fey stuff,” Cal said finally. “Small junk, mostly euphorics. Keeps him flush. The kind of stuff human kids go for instead of the hard stuff.”

“Like weed,” I said.

“’Xactly. Lots of cash in it. Small bills. Easy. A lot of competition, though.”

“Two nights ago there was a fight with the TruKnights,” said Murdock. Cal’s eyes shot around the room as he hunched forward at the table. “Very nasty. The ’Knights are fairies and elves. The one thing they agree on is they’re better than everyone else.”

“Well, two elves ended up in the hospital. Would they have killed the kid to retaliate?” Murdock asked. Cal shrugged. “Might’ve. The ’Knights aren’t afraid of anybody. I hear Moke’s poking at C-Note, and C-Note’s not happy.”

“C-Note?” Murdock said.

Cal got that look on his face again. He finished his drink and waved his hand in a circle over the table. The waitresses immediately came with a new round for everyone, including Murdock, who hadn’t touched his first.

“Let me get someone over here, see if he’s willing to talk,” said Cal. I felt him shoot a sending into the room.

Joe turned his head in the direction the sending went, then grinned. “I thought so,” he said. A tall, thin man stumbled into a group of people near the pool table. He straightened up, flipping a head of curly red hair back, and bowed an apology. He continued toward us. I couldn’t help smiling as I recognized his essence. He dropped himself down in the empty chair and slumped.

“Well, well, well, the Grey boys together again. What’s it been, twenty years?” He had a grin that could only be described as jovial.

“Not quite that long, Clure,” I said. The Clure was an old buddy, a drinking one by definition. The Cluries are a clan of hard-drinking fairies, the friends of bars everywhere. The Clure was both name and title, though he didn’t insist on the “the” when you spoke directly to him. He led his local kin group, which basically meant he either started the party or knew where one was. We had gone on plenty of tears when Cal and I were in our twenties and not quite so at odds. “Clure, this is Murdock. Murdock, Clure.”

Clure extended his hand. “Felicitations, Officer.”

Murdock got annoyed again. He had to either drop the attitude or the clothes if he wanted to blend in.

“Pleased to meet you,” he said.

Joe was lying flat on the ashtray now. Alcohol did funny things to him. He hung his head upside down off the side of the ashtray and smiled.“Fatla genes, Cluricane?” he said in Cornish. The Clure smiled down at him. “Just fine, my little pysky friend.”

Cal pushed one of Murdock’s glasses across the table, and the Clure downed it with relish. “We were just discussing C-Note,” he said.

The Clure let out a whoop that made several heads turn. “Talk of the town, that one. That troll’s making trouble for everyone, including himself.”

Another troll. Interesting. Trolls are disagreeable and contrary by nature. Given their nocturnal habits, they tended to have friends in low places. For that matter, they were the low places.

“C-Note runs the Tangle,” Cal said with a low voice.

“And he’s trying to run a lot more,” the Clure added.

“He runs the TruKnights,” said Cal.

“What happened to Gandri?” said Murdock. The TruKnights were high profile enough that most cops knew some, and everyone knew their leader. Former leader, apparently.

“C-Note took him out without blinking a yellow eye,” said the Clure. “The TruKnights didn’t protest. They respect power. Are you drinking that?” He pointed to Murdock’s other drink. Murdock pushed it toward him. At the same time, I felt the Clure broadcast a sending for a table round. Joe took that moment to flutter up and drift away toward the pool table. Nothing bores him faster than talking about things he isn’t the slightest bit interested in. Getting me and Cal together apparently was the only thing he wanted to accomplish, and that was done.

“What’s this got to do with Moke?” I asked.

“So, you heard about that, huh?” said the Clure. “C-Note’s looking to expand, and he stepped up on Moke in his own turf. Moke had to smack that back. He sent the T-Rats in for a good show. He’s also got the T-Rats hassling C-Note’s runners.”

“What’s the run?” asked Murdock.

“A few guns, not many. Not C-Note’s style. Or the Weird’s for that matter. C-Note’s pushing some drugs Moke’s not happy about.”

Cal slowly swirled the dregs of his drink. “Float,” he said.

The Clure nodded. “Yeah, Float. The kids love to dance with it,” said Clure. The waitress dropped a new round on the table. Clure raised a glass. “I prefer the gift of the gods!” He downed the shot and pulled Murdock’s over without asking.

“I’ve never heard of Float,” Murdock said, voicing my own question. Cal cleared his throat. He swayed in his chair. He’d killed three shots in less than a half hour and had a fourth in front of him. I doubted those were the first of the evening. “You will. It’s C-Note’s stuff. Makes you feel happy mellow high, like you’re in a cloud. Strong shit. He’s practically giving it away to seed demand. He’s turning kids into evangelists. When they’re not raving about Float, they’re raving about C-Note.”

“So, what, Moke’s looking for a cut?” I asked.

The Clure shook his head. “Not with this stuff. C-Note’s controlling distribution. Rumor has it he’s even manufacturing the stuff. Moke’s more worried about his own operations going under.”

Murdock looked at me. “So C-Note’s provoking Moke. Moke gives back. Turf battles. The Farnsworth kid got caught in the middle.”

“But why was he in the middle? What would Unity be doing that Kruge didn’t want anyone to know?” I asked.

Murdock shot me a warning glance. “That’s just speculation.” I let it drop. Cal might trust Murdock on my word, but for Murdock, Cal and the Clure were too unknown for him to discuss cases in front of them.

The Clure stepped right up to it, though. “Kruge! Poor guy. Wouldn’t know fun if it bit him in the ass. He was C-Note’s thorn. Kept trying to mess up his drug running.”

Murdock played with an empty glass. “We’re not looking at that. I’m looking into the kid. The Guild’s taking care of Kruge.”

As the Clure shrugged indifferently, his eyes hesitated a second at something over my shoulder. I turned a casual look. Things seemed normal for Yggy’s, maybe a few more elves at the main bar than usual, but nothing I thought odd. When I brought my attention back to the table, I caught Cal and the Clure exchanging glances.

“Anything else I can help you with, Officer?” the Clure asked.

Murdock shook his head. I had a million questions, but I could tell Murdock wanted to drop it. I was willing to let it go. I could always hook up with the Clure later.

The Clure pushed back his chair, stood, and bowed. “Gentlemen, enjoy the show.” He sauntered off into the crowd. I noticed the first person he went to was another Clurie. Once you realize who they are, they’re easy to spot. They all look like brothers. Happy drunk ones. And speaking of which, mine was hunched over, pondering his drink.

“You okay, Cal?” I asked. It was always a loaded question. Depending on his mood, Cal would either take it as criticism of his drinking or inappropriately personal. And still I ask it. We both have bad habits. He frowned and grunted. Murdock gave me a look that said he was done. He began to get up.

“You know who this guy is you’re hanging around with, Murdock?” Cal said. I compressed my lips. Cal was prone to listing a litany of my sins.

“A little bit,” said Murdock, lightly with a smile. He’s been around drunks enough not to take them seriously. “He’s a pretty good guy, I think.”

Cal fixed a watery stare at Murdock. “He’s a liar.”

“Cal…” I said.

He brought a wavering finger up to his lips. “Shhhh, little bro.”

“I have to be somewhere, Cal,” said Murdock. It was a nice try, but Cal wasn’t buying. Cal waved him back into his seat. “Not yet. Not yet. I have to tell you about my little bro.” He took another sip of his drink, while Murdock gave me a sympathetic shrug. “When we were little, I found the box. Remember that, little bro?”

“Murdock doesn’t need to hear this, Cal.” Old aggravation settled over me. No matter how many years went by, the same damn story had to come up.

“Course he does.” He looked at Murdock again. “When we were little, I found the box. Now the box, Murdock, is a rite of passage for druids. I’m not going to tell you how they hide it because it’s a big druid secret, and I’d have to kill you or fry your brain or something, but I found it like I was supposed to, and I couldn’t get the damned thing open.” He wobbled his head at me. “Now this little guy, he comes in and sees me with the box. Remember that, little bro?”

I started getting that sick feeling in my stomach I get whenever the box comes up. “Yeah, Cal, I remember.”

He nodded, looking back in his drink. “Yeah, he remembers. He comes in pretty as you please and flips the box open.”

Murdock looked interested yet puzzled, and I couldn’t blame him.

“So I took the key out and brought it to our da,” he continued. “And Da said, where did you get this?

And I said, I opened the box. And Da said, no you didn’t. And I said, sure I did, ask Connor, he was right there. And Da went to Connor and said tell me who opened the box. And Connor said, well, you tell him, Connor, tell him what you said.”

I refused to play this game. I just stared at Callin, wishing it never happened. He shook his head. “Fine, don’t say.” He looked at Murdock. “He said, Callin did, sir. And Da said, are you sure? And you know what my little brother said?” A big grin split his face. “He said, yes, ’cause my big brother’s going to be the greatest druid ever.”

Callin slapped the table with a laugh, then downed his drink. He smiled from me to Murdock to me again. He reached over and pawed the side of my head. “He’s a liar, Murdock, but he always tells good ones.”

We sat in uncomfortable silence. I hated when Cal brought it up. Something broke inside him that day. Our da was disappointed in his lie. Cal idolized our da, and the disappointment crushed him. What made it worse was that Da blamed Cal for my lie because Cal knew I’d back him up. Cal never could get past the fact that I had been forgiven the lie because of my loyalty, and he had not because of his pride. Things only got worse as my abilities proved much stronger than his. It’s one of those moments in life you wish you could take back. Too many times, when I’ve had my own share of what Cal was drinking, I thought about that day and whether things would have turned out differently if I told the truth, whether Cal would have. But we’ll never know.

A commotion at the bar blessedly broke the moment. We all turned to see an elf pushing a dwarf repeatedly in the shoulder. Another elf took that as his cue to start in on a druid standing next to him. Both elves wore red leather jackets with black bars running down the sleeves. TruKnights colors. I scanned the bar and saw more of them, even a couple of fairies, and all of them hassling someone.

“I don’t think you want to be here anymore, Murdock,” I said quietly. He looked away from the bar and did the same scan. Cops don’t run, but they’re not stupid either. His hand instinctively went for his radio. He was stopped by the hard, firm grip of my brother’s hand.

“Don’t,” said Cal, quiet and tense. I looked at him. The drunk telling stories suddenly looked suspiciously sober. Murdock started going for his gun.

“Wait, Leo,” I whispered sharply. I hardly ever call him by his first name, and it had the effect I hoped it would. He paused. Cal nodded back to the bar, and we turned.

The Clure stood swaying before the elf. “Gentlemen, what seems to be the trouble?”

“Take a walk, Clure, this isn’t your business,” the elf said.

The Clure leaned past the elf and picked up a full beer glass from the bar. He tilted his head back and drank in one gulp. “Ah, my friend, but you’ve made it my business. You’re breaking Yggy’s rules. Keep it personal. Take the gang stuff outside.”

“Those aren’t our rules,” said the elf.

The Clure smiled deeply as the bar became quiet. It was then that I realized that stationed in every nook and cranny of Yggy’s were a helluva lot more Cluries than I had first thought. “I don’t tell people rules they already know, my friend. I just remind people that neutral ground is Cluries ground, the rest is up to them.”

“TruKnights make their own rules, Clure. Mind your step, or we’ll mind it for you,” said the elf.

“Wrong!” The Clure cried with delight, his smile going wider. The elf did not see it coming. The beer glass came flying around with a roundhouse punch that threw him against the wall. In moments, every Clurie was in a frenzy.

Cal jumped up. “Nice seeing you, bro,” he tossed at me before he ran off into the fray.

“In the mood for some fun?” I asked Murdock. A chair whizzed over our table, and we ducked. He laughed. “Nah, let’s go.”

By the time we made it halfway to the door, the place was a full-scale riot. Most of the tussle consisted of Cluries and TruKnights, but a few opportunists were getting their jabs in. My shields activated automatically, feeble and weak. They wouldn’t keep a bottle from beaning me, but at least it wouldn’t knock me out. Someone grabbed my shoulder and spun me around. Before I had a chance to react, a fist flew past me and into the face of the elf holding me. He sank to his knees, a deadweight.

“Nice reflexes,” I said.

“Don’t mention it,” said Murdock. His essence surged around him, bright and clear. I’d never seen such a thing in a human normal. His eyes had a glint in them that made me nervous. He barreled his way through the bar, pushing bodies left and right with no effort whatsoever. I followed in his wake, too stunned to say anything. We stumbled out the door in a crush of several other people, half of them laughing and the other half swearing.

Joe popped into the air over us. “See, I knew you guys would have fun together!”

“Yeah, thanks, Joe,” I said. I twisted to check if my jacket got ripped. It looked okay. Murdock flexed his hand open and shut a few times.

“Let’s go before the beat cops show up,” he said.

We walked up the alley, occasionally dodging someone running. “Oh, it’s Yggy’s. No one calls the cops unless someone gets killed,” I said.

“And then I’d have to stay,” he said. Good point.

We jumped into his car. Joe lingered above the sidewalk. “That’s it? You’re leaving?”

“It was work, Joe, not social,” I said.

He looked over his shoulder, disappointed.

“Go on, if you want, Joe. Tell Cal…tell him it was good seeing him.”

He smiled. “See you!” He blipped out.

Murdock pulled into traffic. “That was interesting.”

“Yeah, we need to find this Moke,” I said.

“I meant that you have a brother.”

“We don’t hang much. Long history,” I said.

“I didn’t get the whole box thing,” said Murdock.

I didn’t say anything for a moment. Druid rituals are secret, like Cal said. Some of those secrets make sense because they’re about manipulating essence. Some of them are just the bonding of members of closed societies, and druids are all about bonding. Some things, though, are open secrets.

“It’s the first step on the druidic path,” I said, deciding I could tell Murdock what every potential druid learns on the playground. “Our abilities manifest around puberty, and the first sign is when a kid can see through the glamour hiding a box left where he might find it. If they can open the box, they’re ready to start training. Inside is a key. We take the key to an adult druid we respect, and he arranges our testing and training.”

“So Cal wasn’t ready, and you were,” said Murdock.

I nodded. “I idolized Cal as a kid. He’s three years older than me. Back then, I didn’t understand the significance of seeing the box at such a young age. It meant I was powerful—more powerful than Cal. I shouldn’t have been able to see the box for a few more years. Cal was embarrassed he got caught in the lie. Then he was angry that not only had I manifested my abilities early, his didn’t show up until almost two years later than most druid kids do. By that time, I was finished with my first-level training and had attracted a lot of attention that he thought I didn’t deserve. Somehow, he got in his head that what happened to him is all my fault. It’s kind of screwed up our relationship ever since.”

Murdock nodded. He comes from a big family, four boys and two girls, so he knows the whole sibling rap in spades. Deep down, Cal and I know we can always rely on each other, but the competitive thing still gets in the way.

Murdock pulled onto Sleeper Street and stopped in front of my building. “So what’s the key open?”

I gave him a small shrug. “It’s symbolic. It’s the key to knowledge, which guides our nature and leads us to truth. Knowledge, Nature, Truth. If High Druid Gerin Cuthbern had a podium, it’d be on a seal above it.”

Murdock shook his head. “You know, we puny humans just enroll in prep school.”

I laughed. “So, we look for Moke next?” I said, getting back to the point of the evening.

“Sure. If he’s that big a deal, someone in the g-unit will know where to find him.”

I got out of the car, candy wrappers and receipts chasing after my feet. “Call me.”

“Duck next time,” he said and pulled away.

I let myself in and walked up the stairs. Sleep would not be a problem after the whiskey shots and adrenaline rush of the fight. I tossed my jacket on the armchair in my living room, kicked off the boots, shucked the jeans, and dropped myself on the unmade futon. I stared at the ceiling, thinking about gangs and bar fights. And Cal. Between the drinking and the life he leads, he never seems to get anywhere. The old guilt creeps in whenever I see him because I can’t help but wonder if I hadn’t been as good as I was, would he have ever lost his self-confidence? I sighed. Everyone makes their own road, but it didn’t make me feel any better.

We all have our doubts, but we, or at least I, try not to cause them for other people. Unless it was Keeva, in which case, I still needed more to convince her I was right. I rolled restlessly onto my stomach, thinking about how some dumb kid found death on his own road. And given where my own road seemed to be going, what my destination would end up being.

8

The Internet is an addictive beast, a trail of crumbs leading not home but deeper into the forest. It’s much like the druidic path in that respect. You start off with a purpose, and if you stay focused, you achieve your reward. But if you are distracted or dazzled along the way, you find yourself on untrodden routes to nowhere of interest except to yourself.

I managed to research a fair amount on macGoren before venturing off into the wilds of the Web. He hadn’t been in the States very long by fey standards, but he certainly had been active. In less than ten years, he had acquired sizable tracts of real estate around the city. His appointment to the Guild board seemed to be the culmination of some very well placed connections, both human and fey, as well as a driving ambition to lead. Not all that unusual for a Danann fairy. Being born and raised in a monarchial society tends to have some obvious nurture ramifications.

Despite his lack of disclosure, I didn’t have to think too hard about Manus ap Eagan’s desire for knowledge about macGoren. While it might be easy to say the Guild runs power plays, it’s more true that power plays run the Guild. Information always, under all circumstances, is key to how you play, and macGoren was a new player with little local history to discern motives and abilities. Eagan wanted an ally on the board. That he be a willing one or a blackmailed one was a footnote. As far as I could tell, macGoren was not worth the worry. Yet, anyway. He seemed to be playing a straightforward Danann game: show up with shiny wings, woo the right fey, and toss the right amount of money at human normals. If I had to guess, he could be a contender for Eagan someday, but that day was still far off. Eagan’s own machinations had a half-century head start. The latest potential rung in macGoren’s climb was a development company known as Seacorp. MacGoren had collected a group of local wheeler-dealers to spearhead economic projects for the city, and some had gotten it into their heads that some nice big buildings on the harbor would be just the ticket. That the site happened to be the Tangle was a minor impediment if the attendance at investor presentations was any indication. When people talked about cleaning up the city, the Weird was the first place to be mentioned, and most had the Tangle in mind. MacGoren was just playing local politics. MacGoren’s latest kick seemed to be to run dinner galas as charity fundraisers. In reality, they’re promo and networking events designed to attract investors for Seacorp. Normally, you need an invitation to one of these things, but I’d gone to enough of them in the past to know how to bluff my way in. MacGoren had one of his parties scheduled for this evening, and I intended to be an unexpected guest. But first, I checked my watch to be sure I would be at the Guildhouse in time for the directors’ meeting. No sense irritating the movers and shakers when I was just getting in on a technicality. Besides, I do not have a reputation for being punctual, so showing up ready and on time would throw anyone who expected less.

I admit I fussed about dressing, finally deciding that going upscale might benefit me in the long run with the board. Deep purple and black vertically striped dress shirt in silk, black medium-weight wool pants, no pleats. Black dress boots. Two-button jacket. The October sun was warm enough that I didn’t have to hide it all under a coat. It might have been two seasons old from when I had the money to burn, but it was all classic enough that not everyone would know.

I actually arrived early, did the same security dance from the previous day, and slipped into an elevator with almost a half hour to spare. The executive offices of the Guildhouse sit one flight up from my old office. Like any top management office suite, the rarefied and static atmosphere allows corporate leadership to function in unnatural silence. At this level, the floors were circular, and I padded around the thickly carpeted curve of the hallway to the boardroom in the center. The Guildhouse décor amplifies the dull sensation with its vaulted stone ceilings and its sound-deadening ancient tapestries hung along the corridors. All contrived, of course. The building went up in the sixties, so the choice of stone was intended to evoke history and grandeur. So it was easy to hear the angry voices before I even reached the door. Despite being early, I had managed to arrive late for an argument. On one side of the boardroom table, Gerin Cuthbern gripped his staff with a gnarled hand. As High Druid of the Bosnemeton, he automatically had a seat on the Guildhouse board. Pinpoints of white light flickered in his eyes, something I had seen occasionally and was always glad that they weren’t directed at me. Which, apparently, did not seem to prevent a tall elven woman from getting right up in his face.

“I will not stand for it, Gerin,” the woman said.

Nigel Martin stood at the far end of the room, a cell phone pressed to his ear. He seemed to be paying more attention to his caller than the argument, which I knew was unlikely. Nigel never missed a thing.

“The Guild does have rules. I’m sure the Consortium can appreciate that,” Gerin said. His voice dripped with reasonableness, which I’m sure was not the main topic of conversation. Opposite them, Ryan macGoren lounged idly against the wall, with his arms crossed and a bemused expression on his face. I recognized him immediately from my research, the wavy blond hair, aquiline features, and rippling wings in full display. Danann fairies in general are not prone to modesty, and he was no exception. You could feel the air of privilege about him.

“Do not even think it. You know Alvud never anticipated this,” the elven woman said. Not wanting to step into the argument, I sidled along the table and stood next to macGoren. He caught my eye and smirked. Without moving his body, the fairy slipped a languid hand out from the crook of his arm and offered it to me. “Ryan macGoren. Pleased to meet you finally.” He spoke in full voice, as if the argument wasn’t happening five feet away.

I shook his hand, wondering about the “finally” part of his hello. “Connor Grey.”

He shifted his attention back to the woman and smiled. “The grieving widow,” he stage-whispered. Eorla Kruge—the Marchgrafin, if I remembered her Teutonic monarchial title correctly—certainly was a fine-looking woman. She wore her ebony hair in a silvered mesh, and her large, almond-shaped eyes held an intelligence that only the Old Ones have, eyes that have seen much in years human normals cannot even conceive. She wore a body-hugging dark green velvet business suit embroidered with silver and black leaves. Rings glittered on her hands, some plain bands of silver or gold, and others of emeralds and black sapphires. She resonated Power like a fuel cell. And she was pissed as hell.

“Eorla, you know the seat isn’t hereditary. The Guild is an elective body,” said Gerin. The argument fell into place for me instantly. Eorla wanted to sit on the board. I couldn’t blame her. I had wanted to do the same. Usually, someone has to die before any real turnover happens. Of course, if she thought that like I did, I’m sure she wasn’t hoping it would be her husband.

“This is ridiculous, Gerin. You know you can’t have a Guild board without Teutonic representation. How is that going to appear?” Eorla said.

“It will appear as the charter intends. We elect someone. We have other members that can represent your interests for now,” he said.

She thrust her finger at him. “Who haven’t even shown up for this meeting, and that is beside the point. Alvud and I have worked years for fey unity, and part of that is showing the world the fey can work together. You can’t do that without an elf visibly active on the board.”

Gerin had not changed his expression since I walked in, like he was patiently waiting for Eorla simply to agree with him. “And where are the dwarf directors and the representative for the solitary fey, Eorla?

Manus invited them. I find it interesting that your allies choose this time to embarrass the board. How is that unity, Eorla?”

She pulled her hand back as if to strike him, then caught herself. “Do not dare to mock me, Gerin. You know this board needs the leadership I can provide.”

Nigel closed his cell and strolled over. “I think we’ve covered this point several times now. Can we bring a more civil tone to the discussion?”

Eorla whirled on him. “Civil? Don’t think I didn’t hear every word Manus ap Eagan said to you. You tell him that ‘the elf bitch’ will be sitting at this table whether he likes it or not.”

Nigel put on his placating face, which I had seen work in more than one situation where he wanted to get his way. “The Guildmaster is not feeling well, Eorla. He spoke out of turn. I will speak to him about that, but right now we need to remember why we are here.”

Eorla wasn’t buying it. She drew herself up and threw back her head. “I know exactly why I am here, Nigel. If this vote goes through, I will bring Maeve into it.”

Nigel narrowed his eyes. “That’s a sharp and narrow bridge to walk, Eorla. Don’t depend on the High Queen to bow to your wishes again.”

Eorla moved a threatening step closer to him. “So that’s what this is about, is it? You and Gerin are angry that I persuaded Maeve to compromise at the Fey Summit last spring? I wasn’t the only voice against you, Nigel, and some of them were Danann.”

Here was the Guild dance of words and political revenge in full flower. As a member of the royal family, Eorla had high rank in the Teutonic Consortium. Last spring, the Seelie Court and the Consortium had held a Fey Summit to try to resolve their differences. On the surface it was about whether the fey should work together to figure out how to return to Faerie. In reality, it was military strategizing. Many Celtic fey—Nigel among them—wanted to increase the fairy warriors guarding the demilitarized zone outside the Consortium territory in Germany. Eorla brokered a deal with Maeve that if she didn’t send the warriors, she’d convince the Elven King to back off his expansion threats. The Seelie Court is packed with Danann fairies who agree with her. So far, it’s worked. The scuttlebutt is that Nigel didn’t think it was a good idea. But then, Nigel has never trusted the Consortium.

Nigel smiled at her. “And while Maeve compromised, a Consortium operative staged a terrorist attack not four miles from here. Despite her actions afterward, Maeve’s reputation was damaged among her own people. Do not think she will risk more for these compromises of yours.”

Eorla’s eyes shone as rage flowed off her in waves. If I hadn’t been in a room with some of the most powerful fey in Boston, I would have been looking for the exit. As it was, my head started ringing with all the ambient essence. My sensing ability even kicked in a little.

When she spoke, Eorla had dropped her voice to a cutting edge. “That is a dangerous lie, Nigel Martin. That terrorist was not a Consortium operative. If you tell that tale to smear my people, you will get more than you bargain for.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Is that a threat?”

She smiled at him. “I was counseling kings and queens long before you were even born, Nigel. I don’t need to threaten. You may have Maeve’s ear on occasion, but so do I. Do not forget that the treaty made at Tara is only a start. But I have something you don’t: Donor Elfenkonig’s ear, too. You may think this Guildhouse is not important enough for me to use that influence, but you would be wrong, Nigel.”

“Please, Eorla, I am only asking that we follow the rule of law,” Gerin said. She turned her head toward him. “Where was your precious rule of law when my husband was murdered, Gerin? You couldn’t even provide him with proper security. There is rot in this city, and the Guild must root it out instead of playing these druid games.”

Nigel folded his hands in front of himself. “We will take your concerns under advisement, Eorla. But now, this meeting, for directors only, must commence.”

She stared at Nigel for a long moment. With exacting slowness, she pivoted to Gerin, gave him an eyeful, and strode to the door. She paused. “There are those among the fey who prefer this constant strife. I do not. Continue down this path of division, gentlemen, and you will answer to me.”

MacGoren made sure to wait long enough for her to be gone before he applauded. Gerin sighed heavily, lowering himself into a chair. “She will be a problem.”

MacGoren scoffed. “Oh, let her have the damned seat. It’s not like we allow the Teuts any real power.”

Several eyes shifted toward me, and away. Nigel cleared his throat. “Yes, well, I wouldn’t put it that way, Ryan. Perhaps we should table the motion. We do not need to rush the decision.”

Gerin leaned forward. “What better time to speak to Kruge’s ideals than now, when attention is focused here? We have a quorum, let’s install someone with whom we can work, Eorla’s wishes be damned. She’ll tire and go back home soon enough without Alvud here.”

“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.

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 were 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 comfortable 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.”

“Where can I meet you?”

“Can’t. I’m in the middle of something. I’ll send Joe when I know something.”

I felt oddly let down. “Okay. Great. And, um, Cal?”

“Yeah?”

“I am glad you’re okay.”

There was a short silence. “Thanks, man.” He disconnected. I tried not to dwell on Callin. Most times, I can put him out of my mind. I didn’t even know where he lived at the moment, but he obviously spent a lot of time down in the Weird. I could try and take comfort in the fact that the Clure still hung around with him. The Cluries weren’t so bad, more amoral than anything else. Fun as hell. Small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.

I was still playing the connections around in my head a few hours later as I stood outside the Rowes Wharf Hotel. MacGoren’s comment earlier to Keeva about a gala prompted the memory of having seen Seacorp’s promotional schedule on their Web site. The latest dog and pony show for their waterfront project was scheduled at the hotel tonight. Given that Keeva was going to attend, I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone and try to get an update from her on the Kruge investigation as well as see what else I could learn about macGoren’s business.

With a mixture of envy and annoyance, I watched many of the city’s high-powered fey—the beautiful ones that the press calledflitterati —entering the lobby. At one time, I mingled with these people, drank with them, ate with them, and slept with more than a few. Now, on the rare occasions I run into them, they get that faraway look in their eyes as though they cannot place where they know me from. The price of falling from on high is the angels tend to look busy when you drop by to say hello. I slipped past security with laughable ease. Tricking myself out in a long leather coat and lots of black just sealed the deal. Picking the right entry point, in my case a city employee, strutting like a privileged fey, and I was sipping mediocre champagne before my presence even registered with anyone. Since the Seacorp project involved hard-core real estate, major property owners circled around each other. MacGoren, of course, several high-ranking Consortium elves, and more dwarves than I had seen together in a long time. If memory served me correctly, and as a druid it usually did, dwarves didn’t own much land near the Tangle, but they had to be concerned about their own nearby investments. Seeing all these dwarves made me think of Moke. Murdock had left me a message that he had some information and would fill me in later. Later was starting to look pretty late. I probably should have asked Cal about Moke, too, but that would have been pushing my luck with him. It didn’t take much for us to trigger silence between us, and me looking like I was just hanging around him for information would probably piss him off again.

Waiters circulated with drinks and hors d’oeuvres, paying particular attention to the various city officials. If macGoren wanted the project to move forward, he had to make the mayor and local reps happy. I mingled with a crowd perusing placards off the lobby. Maps and projections of potential development ranked down a long hallway that led to a banquet room. I did not see anything that I had not already researched, although the fact that all the land under consideration had not been secured seemed to be conspicuously absent.

As I studied a color-coded map of the piers on the south end of the Weird, I felt an essence coalesce behind me like a spear.

“Interested in investing?” Keeva asked.

I turned and smiled. She was in full impress mode, a lovely deep blue wool skirt, leaf-patterned blouse, and ivory-colored brocade vest setting off her flowing red hair. The small necklace she wore cast a glamour that made her seem to move in a haze of soft light. “You could say I’ve invested in the Weird for some time.”

She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “Ah, yes. The Weird. Of course you’d go there.”

“That’s what the point of all this is, isn’t? Getting rid of the Weird?”

She shrugged. “Yes, Connor, that is the point. Does the city, any city for that matter, really need a neighborhood called the Weird?”

I pursed my lips. “I would think the people who live there think so.”

She gave me an exaggerated bored look. “Why are you here, Connor? Can I have at least a little time off from aggravations?”

“Old friends, you might say. Why are you here? Playing hostess?”

She shook her head. “Not really. I’ve been so busy, this is the first night in a week Ryan and I have been able to see each other.”

“And you love a big party,” I said.

She toasted the air with her glass. “And I love a big party.”

“So, you two an item?”

“You could say that.” She smiled smugly, the kind of smile that dared me to think their relationship was anything less than pure attraction. I’m sure that was there. I’m also sure that each had a private little pros and cons sheet on the other.

“How’s the Kruge investigation?”

She checked our surroundings before responding. Even when she did, she pitched her voice for my ears only. “Still haven’t found the troll Croda. She’s the only connection to Kruge we have that we haven’t been able to clear. Why, do you know something?”

I shook my head. Keeva had a habit of not asking for help. She had to be coming up really dry to ask me outright if I had heard anything.

I gestured with my glass. “And here’s the man of the hour.”

MacGoren moved in behind Keeva, wrapping his arm around her waist. Even to my doubting eye, the smile she gave him looked genuine. He tapped my glass, showing a wide smile. “Hello, Grey. Are you intercepting Briallen’s social invitations, too?”

I did my best to smile at his joke that I was sure was an unspoken dig. “Something like that. Nice turnout.”

He glanced around him, assessing the gathering. “We’ll see later in the evening. I’m gauging interest.”

I looked at the map. “Looks like you’re pretty interested. Don’t you own most of this land?”

He nodded several times, his eyes roaming the maps as though he were confirming that all his properties had been noted. “You know your neighborhood well. There are some major pieces that need to be picked up to move forward, but, yes, a lot is mine.”

I already knew that. An interesting bit of coincidence was that Dennis Farnsworth had been found on macGoren property. “A murder victim was found on some of that land.”

MacGoren turned his smile into a pensive look. “Yes, I heard. It’s sad when young people get caught up with drugs.”

I kept my face and voice nonchalant. Janey Likesmith would file her research with the Farnsworth file, but it was too early for Keeva to have received it, never mind mention it to macGoren. “Who said anything about drugs?”

The smile quirked back on his face. “I just assumed. You know that neighborhood.”

“Yes. I live there.” Running down macGoren’s holdings the previous night, I found two large parcels that were divided by a sliver of land he did not own. I brushed my fingers on the map. “Isn’t this area where Alvud Kruge had his office?”

The smile hadn’t left his face. “Alvud was interested in the project, if that’s what you’re asking.”

I pursed my lips. “Alvud,” not “Kruge.” A little more familiarity there than I would have thought.

“Interesting,” I said. “A man with a reputation for social change was interested in destroying the neighborhood he was trying to save?”

I caught a chink in the smile. “Improving is the word, Grey.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Kruge was going to sell?”

MacGoren shrugged. “We talked about it. Alvud was not one to stand in the way of progress.”

I glanced back at the maps. “Well, he’s not standing in anyone’s way now.”

MacGoren threw his head back and laughed. “Now there’s black humor. Good thing I was with Keeva the night he died, or I’d be worried.”

I locked eyes with Keeva, and she stiffened in macGoren’s arms. She caught it, too. “I’d rather not talk about work,” she said.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize we were working, Keeva,” I said.

She extricated herself from macGoren’s embrace and took his hand. “We should be mingling.”

MacGoren looked curiously at us both. “Yes, well, good to see you again, Grey.”

I bowed my head. “And you.”

I watched them walk away. She had just told me she hadn’t been with macGoren in a week, and yet he lied and said they were together the night Kruge died. I half expected Keeva to turn back, give me a look that said she recognized that. But she didn’t. I decided to give her the benefit of the doubt, for now. I had a feeling that macGoren was in for some interesting pillow talk tonight. I wandered through the reception, eavesdropping where and when I could. It’s remarkable what people will say loudly to each other in a noisy hallway as if no one else could hear their gossip. I was disappointed, though. No real gems came up, certainly nothing more interesting than my own conversation with macGoren. I had his connection to Kruge that Eagan was looking for, but it didn’t look all that interesting yet. I didn’t believe for a moment Kruge was interested in selling to him. Alvud Kruge was the major topic of conversation. I didn’t think anyone would mention Dennis Farnsworth, and I wasn’t disappointed in that regard. Most of the people there had given to Kruge’s causes at one time or another. They were the type. They just didn’t seem to understand that his causes were about people like Farnsworth. Throw a little money around and hope it solves a problem. Kruge did more. He got his hands dirty on the street.

As I watched macGoren work the crowd with Keeva at his side, I had to wonder what dirtied his hands. Seacorp was a big project. He stood to make millions. What he probably didn’t know was that the Weird was as much a concept as a place. He could bulldoze it, but these people would just move elsewhere. And they would remember what he had done. There’s payback in that eventually. Especially if the foundations are laid on pain and rejection.

10

I had a nice surprise outside the hotel. Murdock was waiting for me in his car, parked in the fire lane outside the hotel. I had left him a voice mail telling him where I was going, but I didn’t actually ask for a ride. For a change. Maybe he’s getting to the point where he just assumes that. At least he hasn’t bitten my head off about it like I’m sure someone else would.

One of my goals in life was to answer two questions. When did Murdock sleep? He had a habit of working long hours before I even rolled out of bed and yet somehow still had the ability to work past midnight. How did he manage to look freshly dressed? My clothes wrinkle if I think about wearing them. His shirt and pants always looked just pressed.

I opened the passenger door and removed a pizza box from the seat. I left it sitting prominently on a trash can in front of the hotel’s revolving door. Then I fell into the seat, and he pulled out. He glanced at me with amusement. “You smell like money.”

“Yeah, I need a shower,” I said.

Murdock skipped the turn onto Old Northern Avenue that leads to my street. We continued down to Summer Street and hung the left over the channel. “Where are you taking me?”

“The gang unit came through with an address for Moke. Thought we could shake his crib a little,” he said.

“Could be fun. Speaking of trolls, I asked Cal to get us a line on where we can find C-Note. If I can get close to him, I can see if his essence matches anything I found at Kruge’s office,” I said. Murdock drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “You mean Kruge’s office where Kruge was murdered, which is a case we are not working on? That Kruge’s office?” He had a lazy smile on his face when he said it.

“Yeah, that Kruge’s office,” I said. He just shook his head slowly with the same smile. When Murdock and I were at Yggy’s last night, his essence had blazed around him unlike any human essence I had seen. In my natural, unfocused state, I’m aware of the essence around me like a type of peripheral vision. I sense stuff, but it’s just sort of hanging there unattended. We leave essence everywhere we go, and the essence of where we go even lingers on us as well. Murdock’s car, for instance, always has a residue of his essence because he spends so much time in it. Mine’s there, too. It doesn’t fade because it’s constantly reinforced. The champagne flute I left at the reception has my essence on it, but that will fade because I’ve had only brief contact with it. I focused my senses on him. Murdock’s essence glowed next to me, not as brightly as at the bar, but more than it ever had before it changed. On our last big case together, he had taken a hit from a bolt of fey energy that almost killed him. Instead, it supercharged his body essence somehow. I can tell he doesn’t understand what that means yet. If the fight at Yggy’s was any indication, though, he’s faster and stronger than he ever was. It’s not easy for a human to knock out an elf, and he did it with one punch. We approached the Reserve Channel, an inland water access that divided the southern edge of the Weird from South Boston. Summer Street crosses the channel and continues into Southie. In typically confusing Boston mapping, Summer Street also takes a right turn and runs along the channel. It makes giving directions interesting. Murdock took the right and pulled over. Long, dark warehouses lined the street facing the channel. “What’s the address?” I asked as we got out the car.

“It’s more a location,” he said and started walking down the embankment to the bridge. This end of the channel had had a small inlet in it at one time. Over the years, as the neighborhood went downhill, the inlet had become a dumping ground until it was mostly filled in. You could have walked across it now. Right to the bridge. “You’ve got to be kidding,” I said. He glanced at me over his shoulder. “Hey, he’s a troll.”

We picked our way toward the bridge through sodden garbage. Out on the water, several boats in winter wrapping swayed at their moorings on a floating barge. Moke had a picturesque view as long as he didn’t look down.

In the summer, the channel can be fragrant, and not in a good way. The cold weather kept the odor down, but the air still had the raw, flinty smell of dirt and dirty water. We went under the bridge. An amazing amount of trash lay scattered around—clothing, slumped cardboard boxes, a mangled shopping cart, split plastic bags of household garbage. Against the retaining wall stood a collection of major appliance boxes, packing crates, and skids woven together into a shantytown. Here and there, the homeless huddled around small fires. Murdock ignored them and made for a large heap of green corrugated roofing panels. A thick stench hit my nose, two days past fetid. Murdock banged on one of the panels.

“Moke. You have company,” he said. The way he pushed back his coat, I knew he had unsnapped his holster. He banged again. “Moke! I don’t need a warrant to come in there.”

We could hear rummaging sounds and some actual growling. Murdock stepped back as a double-height panel shifted opened.

“Awright, awright. Keep yer hat on,” a deep voice said.

The panel swung out on a makeshift hinge. A troll shuffled out, his head bobbling on a long neck that protruded from a wide hunchback. His gray face held round black eyes, a number of yellow teeth protruding from between his lips, and one of the longest noses I’ve ever seen, misshapen and hooked downward. His hair consisted of several greasy strands that dangled straight down to his chin. He stank, of course. His patchwork suit looked so soiled that soap and water were clearly not part of the program. He leaned forward onto his hands and squinted down at Murdock. “Hemph. Police. You tell that Ms. Beruthy I didn’t take no cats. She got so many, she don’t know if one’s gone anyway. And they taste terrible, too.”

“We’re not here about cats. We’re here about goats,” said Murdock. He narrowed his eyes at us. “Hemph. Stupid joke. Older than you.”

“Are you Moke?” I said, just to confirm Murdock’s information. There might not be many trolls in the city, but too often people assume there are fewer than there actually are. You just don’t see them. He nodded. I resisted the urge to hit him for destroying my blood evidence. But you don’t hit a troll unless you want to break a hand.

“Word is you run the T-Rats,” Murdock said.

His great head swayed between us. “Don’t like T-Rats. Hide from them.”

The hard part about interrogating a troll is that you can’t intimidate him with size or strength. Grabbing him by the neck and trying to shove him against the wall would make a scene that we’d both laugh at.

“What about Dennis Farnsworth? You know him?” I said.

He stared at me and didn’t speak. Trolls can stay incredibly still, so still it’s not unusual for someone to walk right past their large shadowed presence without even noticing them. Murdock and I exchanged a glance. Unfortunately, it was one of those glances that said this is what Murdock submitted my consulting fee invoices for.

I looked up at Moke and decided to try and provoke him into talking. “Rumor has it the T-Rats are underpaid and easy pickings. C-Note will pay double their current cut if they ally with the TruKnights.”

Nothing.

“So, Detective Murdock and I are spreading the word. Sounds like a good deal and would stop the fighting.”

More nothing.

“Everyone knows the T-Rats are in it for the money. Not a loyal one in the bunch. I’ll tell you this since you don’t like them, but one of them led me to some evidence in the Farnsworth murder.”

“That’s a lie. Was a flit that did,” said Moke.

Success. I smiled at him. Trolls don’t trust anyone easily, so they value loyalty more than most. Murdock would make a good troll, but he bathes too much.

“And you set the building on fire,” I said.

“’Nother lie. Was TruKnights.” Moke settled back on his haunches.

“I didn’t see any TruKnights. I saw T-Rats.”

“You was on my turf. Fire had elf-stench.” Another little trick trolls have. While druids can sense the essence of people, trolls can sense who manipulated essence. All fey manipulate essence and, unless they use their own, they pull it from their surroundings. If I found a ward stone, it would have essence running in it, but I’d have no idea who put it there unless whoever did it had been near it recently. Trolls can sense what kind of fey did it long after they’re gone. Sometimes even the exact person.

“Why would the TruKnights kill the kid?” said Murdock.

Moke rocked his head. “Not all runners run for joy.”

Joy was the current street slang for drugs. “Are you saying the kid was delivering something else?” I said.

Moke’s hunchback rolled in what I took to be a shrug.

“Who was he running for? Kruge?” I said.

Murdock glared at me. I have to admit it was an amateur mistake, but the guy annoyed me.

“Yeah. Kruge,” said Moke. Of course he’d say that.

“All right, I’ll play. About what?” I said.

Again with the hunchback. “Kruge not like a lot. Not a lot like Kruge.”

“A name,” said Murdock. I could sense his essence start to spark up. Not a good sign. “Give us a name, or I’ll haul in half the T-Rats, and we’ll see how long the rest of your crew survives against the TruKnights.”

Moke growled and stretched his head toward Murdock, who had the good sense to step back. No telling what might come out of the troll’s mouth, or what might end up in it. Murdock unholstered his gun. Moke cocked his head at it, probably debating whether a bullet would itch or burn. It would take more than one to slow him down.

“Kruge hate C-Note most.”

No surprise there. “So do you. What makes you think I believe that?”

He worked his tongue over his teeth. “Croda knew. Kruge told her C-Note was trouble. Needed help.”

“What kind of help?” said Murdock.

Moke rolled his shoulders. “Maybe he had a goat needed eating.”

I smirked. I couldn’t help it. Not everyone gets to throw Murdock’s sarcasm back at him. “Where’s Croda?”

Moke shifted his eyes toward me. He made no other movement, but I could feel his disposition change, a sense of anger and fear enveloping him. Anger I was used to from trolls, but fear? Trolls feared little. They could take a bolt of essence to the face and keep coming. They had few adversaries who could match them in a physical fight. And their own innate ability to manipulate essence was not inconsequential. A fearful troll is not a good thing.

“Why bother Moke? C-Note trouble, not Moke.”

“We’re bothering you because a kid is dead, and we’re not happy,” said Murdock. He shrugged again. “Go bother C-Note. C-Note kills. Moke just make people happy.”

“Sure, happy, and occasionally battered and bruised if they don’t pay for their happiness,” I said. It was my turn to get the growl. Trolls love to growl. Between their odor, their looks, and their size, the growl makes the picture complete. My feeble little shields flared up around me like a warning system, only one that would not stop a troll bite. Unlike Murdock, who had a better sense of self-preservation, I stepped up on Moke. His face loomed over me, twice as wide as my own, a foul odor wafting out of his mouth. I clenched my jaw.

“Let me tell you something, Moke. I am going to go see C-Note, and I am going to bother him. But right now, I want to know where Croda is, or I will come back at noon and tear the door off your hidey-hole.”

Never underestimate the speed of a troll. Moke’s huge hands pinned my arms to my sides, and he roared as he lifted me off the ground.

“You dare!” he screamed, his voice reverberating against the underside of the bridge.

“Drop him!” Murdock yelled. He had his gun out, judiciously pointed at Moke’s head. Moke roared again and swung me at Murdock. I slammed into Murdock, and pain shot through my shoulder. Not such a good idea after all. Murdock went tumbling into a heap of trash as Moke stalked across the debris-strewn ground and shoved me against a support column.

“You want to see me kill? I show you kill!” I bit my tongue as he shook me. I could feel every bone in my body rattle. My head banged against the column, my shields screaming as they tried to soften the blows. With a futile effort, I tried to tap my essence, tried to reach deep within myself and breach the wall that blocked my abilities. A knife blade of pain sliced in my brain, and blood shot out my nose into Moke’s face. Not the counterattack I was hoping for.

He tossed me through the air, and I landed on a cardboard shanty. Something struggled beneath me and shoved me aside. A lance of pain pierced my shoulder as I rolled. An old man appeared from within the box and ran off without looking back. I dragged myself to my feet, holding my arm against my side to keep it from hurting. Murdock was searching the trash for his gun as he yelled into his radio for backup. I backpedaled as Moke lumbered toward me. Turning to run, my ankles twisted, and I landed on my ass. I dug my heels into the dirt and tried to scramble away. No point. Moke was on me in seconds and grabbed me by the torso. Yeah, I screamed. I admit it. A troll lifts you and slams you against a retaining wall, damn, you scream. Black and red spots flashed in front of my eyes. Then I was in the air again. I plowed into a garbage heap. Stunned, I tried to will my body to move, but it wouldn’t cooperate. I heard a shot. Murdock had found his gun. I shook my head to clear it as I heard him fire again. When my vision cleared, an unexpected sight greeted me. A thin young girl with short blond hair, dressed in fatigues and pink ski jacket, stood with her back to me holding her hands up to the oncoming troll. Murdock fired again, but Moke only flinched.

“Stop! Stop! Moke! Stop!” she yelled.

He was almost upon her when Murdock fired again. “Stop!” the kid screamed. Moke skidded to a halt. For a moment, no one moved, the only sound the ragged breath of the troll. Murdock came forward, gun extended in front of him.

“It’s okay, Moke,” said the girl.

Breath still heaving, he turned his head toward Murdock. “Tell him to stop shooting me,” he growled. Keeping one hand up toward Moke, she turned her other palm toward Murdock. “Please! Stop! I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

I stumbled to my feet. “You’re a little late.”

Murdock gestured with his gun. “Back off! Now!”

Moke did exactly that. He took two steps back toward his hovel, leaving a dozen feet between us. The pain from my shoulder made me grimace as I walked toward the girl. She couldn’t be more than fifteen or sixteen, cute and scared as hell. She started to drop her hand. “Keep the hands where I can see them, and no one will get shot. Who the hell are you?”

She ignored the question. “Please don’t let him shoot again.”

“I asked you your name.”

She held her hands out in front of her again. “Crystal Finch.”

Even if I hadn’t been fighting a faint, I would have rocked back on my heels. The last place I expected to find Dennis Farnsworth’s girlfriend was under a bridge forcing a rampaging troll to back down. I flicked my head at Moke. “Do you really have him under control?”

She looked at Moke. “Are you all right, Moke? Can he put the gun down?”

Moke closed his eyes and stepped back against his makeshift door. “No gun. I stop. No gun.”

Murdock had not taken his eyes off the troll, sighting down his arm as he held the gun at Moke.

“Connor?” he said.

I looked at Crystal, and she nodded. “As long as he doesn’t move, I’m cool with it,” I said. Murdock backed toward us and away from Moke. He swung the gun at Crystal. “Open your jacket,”

he said.

“I think she has a knife in her left front pocket, but otherwise she’s unarmed,” I said. All fey are sensitive to metal, mostly because it screws up how we use essence. I can feel it at close range if I let myself, and given the weak field projecting off Crystal, I knew she didn’t have a gun. Murdock leaned forward and pulled a small pocketknife on a key chain out of her pocket and slipped it in his own. Then he stepped back and holstered his gun.

“If you leave Moke alone, I’ll take you to Croda,” Crystal said.

“I don’t think you’re in any position to bargain,” I said.

“Neither are you,” she said. I hate smart kids.

Moke and I tensed as Moke moved again. “You okay, Crystal?”

“Yeah, Moke. Thanks. I think I’ll be all right with these guys,” she called over her shoulder. He stepped back more. “You call. I come.”

“Thanks for everything,” she said.

Murdock pointed a finger at Moke. “Wait a minute! You’re not going anywhere. You’re under arrest for assaulting a police officer.”

Moke’s face broke into a jagged-tooth smile. “Not tonight.”

Everything around us began to vibrate. Dust rained down from the bridge, and the dirt in front of Moke erupted. A wall of rock rumbled out of the ground, rising in a massive heap. When it almost reached the undercarriage of the bridge, it crested like a wave and rolled down over Moke, sealing him in against the retaining wall. Murdock looked at me in utter disbelief.

I shrugged with my good shoulder. “It’s a troll thing.”

Murdock’s radio squawked somewhere nearby. He looked one more time at the rock wall and went to retrieve the radio.

I turned to Crystal. “Where’s Croda?”

“I need protection. Big-time,” she said.

“You’ll get it. Tell me where Croda is.”

As Murdock returned with his radio, I heard him call off the backup. Not that they seemed to have made any rush to get down to this end of the Weird.

She turned to Murdock. “I heard you guys talking. Are you really trying to find out who killed Denny?”

“You don’t answer questions very well,” I said.

She glared at me. “I’m trying not to die. Are you the good guys or not?”

“Good guys. Bad guys would have beat the hell out of the troll,” said Murdock. Crystal zipped her jacket and looked around. Most of the homeless who had been there when I arrived had made themselves scarce. “I was safe here. You’ve got to hide me somewhere until you get Denny’s killer, or I’m dead.”

“Tell us where Croda is, and we’ll take care of you,” I said.

She crossed her arms. “I can’t. I ran, so I don’t know exactly where she is. We can go look tomorrow when it’s light.”

“Let’s go now,” I said.

She began to bounce on her feet against the cold. “Dude, look at me. Every snitch in the Tangle will sell me out the moment we hit the Avenue. I’ll be dead before daylight. Hide me tonight, and I’ll take you tomorrow. Otherwise, I’ll call Moke back.”

I hate to admit she had a point. Her platinum blond hair would stick out, to say nothing of the jacket. The only neon pink in the Tangle is in the bar lights.

“The only thing I can give you is a lockup cell tonight. I’m not waking up my boss for a safe house until I know you have something,” said Murdock.

She shook her head firmly. “I won’t be safe there in jail.”

Murdock looked at me, and I shook my head. A sixteen-year-old girl was not going to spend the night in my apartment. Even if I thought it was okay, the gracious not–Mrs. Finch would probably claim I molested her daughter.

“I have an idea,” I said. I pulled my cell phone out and walked out to the channel to get a better signal. Meryl picked up on the second ring. She never picked up on the first. “Hey. It’s late even for you.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. She didn’t sound angry anymore. “I need a favor.”

“At this rate, when I call in all the favors you owe me, you’ll be my slave for the rest of your life.”

I smiled. “Really? You’d be into that?”

“Funny. What do you need?”

“Can I stash a sixteen-year-old girl at your place for the night?”

“You’re joking.”

“Not in the least.”

“Is this a kooky French comedy involving a maid?”

“No. That was last week. This week it’s a murder witness who has a troll at her beck and call.”

“She can stay, but not the troll. I’m still finding maggots from last time.”

“Funny. Can you meet me on Summer Street by the Reserve Channel?”

I heard a heavy sigh. “Which one?” I told her and disconnected.

I went back under the bridge. I could tell by their faces that Murdock and Crystal were not getting along. “I found a place for you. If you don’t bring us to Croda tomorrow, Murdock puts you in a cell.”

Crystal looked uncertain for a moment, then nodded.

Murdock pulled at my sleeve. We moved out of earshot.

“What’s the deal?” he said.

“Meryl will take her for the night.”

He nodded toward Crystal. “She says she won’t talk until daylight.”

I glanced back at her. She looked tired and scared. A kid scared enough that she only felt safe with a troll under a bridge. “If she saw what happened to Kruge, I don’t blame her.”

Murdock turned to look at her again, assessing what he wanted to happen. “Think we can trust her?”

I shrugged. “She managed to keep a troll from killing me. Let’s give her a shot.”

My cell phone buzzed against my thigh. Meryl’s number lit the screen. “Let’s go. Ride’s here,” I called to Crystal.

We made our way up the embankment to find Meryl leaning against a black car smoking a clove cigarette. She wore a long leather coat with matching black gloves and her standard Doc Martens.

“Crystal, this is Meryl. She’s going to take care of you,” I said. Meryl took a drag and eyed her up and down. “Just so we’re clear, he doesn’t mean that in a milk-and-cookies kind of way.”

“Not a problem,” Crystal said.

Meryl jerked her head back. “You look cold. Get in.”

I waited until Crystal had settled herself inside the car. “You have a Mini Cooper. Very nice.”

She smiled. “Astute.”

“I didn’t know you even had a car. I thought you’d come in a cab.”

Meryl smiled at Murdock. “Don’t you hate it when he wants to chitchat at two in the morning on a work night?”

He laughed. “I’m not touching that one.”

She looked back at me. “Hmm. Blood all over you, and, if I’m not mistaken, something’s wrong with your shoulder. Did the kid do that to you?”

I smiled. “She’s pretty tough. Would you mind helping me out a little?”

She rolled her eyes. “More favors.” She crushed out her clove and placed her hand on my shoulder. Even through the glove, a soft white light glowed. Warmth spread inside my shoulder, easing the pain. I could imagine the ligaments and muscles knitting back together. She released me, and I rolled the shoulder. It felt much better. By the time I woke up, I doubted I’d feel a thing wrong. She turned to Murdock. “You’re pretty banged up, too. Here, this is on the house.”

She placed a hand on his chest and called up her essence again. Murdock closed his eyes and smiled. Meryl pulled her hand away and gave him a curious look. “Interesting essence you have there, Murdock.”

“So people keep telling me,” he said.

Meryl looked up at me. “So what’s the deal with the kid?”

“We just need to keep her out of sight until tomorrow. I think we all need some sleep, so how about we pick her up late morning or so?”

“Okay.” Meryl opened the car door and slid inside. She buckled up and rolled down the window. “I’ll drop her off wherever you want. You don’t get to know where I live.”

I dropped my chin and mock-glared at her from under my eyebrows. “Fine.”

She smiled. “Sleep well, boys!” She made a sharp U-turn from the curb and drove back up Summer Street.

Murdock shot me a sidelong glance.

“Do not say a word,” I said as we walked back to his car.

“What? You mean the whole flirtatious thing? I wouldn’t think of it.”

“Shut up.”

We jumped in his car. Murdock cut over to the Avenue, and we cruised toward Sleeper Street. At this time of night, few people walked the streets. Even the Weird settles down by dawn. You could find an after-hours party if you wanted, but it was a weeknight, and only the diehards and desperate were out.

“Another interesting evening with Connor Grey,” Murdock said.

“Hey! Talking to Moke was your idea.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “Yeah, but provoking him into using you as a bat and me as a ball was not my intention. What set him off like that?”

“The crack about ripping off his door at noon. Sunlight kills trolls. I guess he took it more personally than I intended,” I said.

Murdock pulled up in front of my building. “I have a doctor’s appointment in the morning. Pick you up around noon?”

“Sounds good.” I got out of the car and didn’t even watch him pull away. Up in my apartment, I chewed through a few ibuprofen and seltzer. Meryl might have sped up my shoulder healing, but she couldn’t touch what was in my head. It was pounding. I could feel the hazy black cloud in there squeezing whatever was left of my brain.

I stripped out of my clothes and crawled under the bed-covers. I lay on my back and stared at the ceiling. Dawn was just a few hours away. I would have to get up then and do my sun rituals. Sunrise was always too early for me. The thing I hated was that the nights when I wanted to sleep the most were when I needed to do the rituals the most. I had committed myself to doing what I needed to do to recover from my accident. The damned mass in my head never went away, but I felt stronger since I had gone back to the rituals. Hell, my shields hadn’t collapsed even when Moke threw me the second time. They didn’t work as well as they used to, but they had held.

Despite my curiosity as to how Crystal Finch ended up with Moke, I was too exhausted to care. Partying with a couple of fairies, brawling with a troll, and flirting with a druidess healer all in one night can take their toll. The sad part is, it felt like just a busy day at the office. That’s what the Weird can do to you.

11

My internal alarm clock woke me just before dawn. Gray light filtered into my living room, the cold gray of late fall. The soft hiss of the radiator whispered to me to get out of my nice warm bed. I ached everywhere. Meryl’s healing booster had focused on the shoulder, so every other muscle reminded me that, yes, I had been tossed through the air several times the previous night. I eased out of bed feeling every vertebra trying to decide whether it wanted to be closer to its neighbor or farther apart. I didn’t think about the headache. I always have a headache, so I only notice the pain if it’s reaching incapacitating levels. I slipped off my T-shirt and boxers and stood naked at the window, eyes closed, arms upraised. All across the city, hundreds, maybe thousands, of fey stood in the exact same posture, naked and waiting for the sun. I suppose if someone had a good vantage point and decent binoculars, the landscape made for a voyeur’s wet dream.

Being fey means being in tune with essence on a level that human normals cannot grasp. It means feeling a connection with the world, with nature, with other beings, through the essence that binds everything. Human normals don’t know what that experience is. Some have a vague sense—the sensitive types who get flashes of precognitive warning, or second sight, or dreams that feel important. The reality of the Convergent World, the world I was born in, my reality, never reaches the essence that Faerie has. Had. Still has. No one knows if Faerie is still there, missing the people and places that ended up here. But the fey here remember it and yearn for it. And so, each morning thousands stand facing east, preparing themselves for a ritual that reminds them of their abilities and keeps them connected to lost Faerie. Me, I just want the headaches to stop so I can get back to work.

I knew the moment the disc of the sun met the horizon. A flush of warmth fluttered in the center of my forehead and in the socket of my shoulder. Meryl’s healing spell continued its work, drawing a boost from the new day. I inhaled, my lungs expanding to their maximum, and I began to chant the ancient words of greeting. As the sun rose higher, I moved through the postures I had learned as a child, pose and voice and essence entwining to realign the pathways within my body that enhanced the ability to manipulate essence. As the sun rose, I moved faster, the chanting became more urgent, my intellectual mind receding as I became one with the flow. That is the core of being fey—the ability to lose oneself completely, to find one’s place in conjunction with the being of all things. As the sun lifted off the horizon, full white blaze above the heaving ocean, I thrust my arms down, my head back, and exhaled in exhilaration.

The problem with doing the sun ritual after a night of little sleep, is you want to stay up and enjoy the endorphins no matter how tired you are. I hit the coffeemaker and went into the shower. One of the nice things about living in an old warehouse not originally meant for residential use is that the heat and hot water boilers tend to be huge. Everyone in the building can probably shower at the same time and not feel a shiver. I still ached from Moke’s love tap, so I let the water massage my skin. Essence may improve my constitution, but it still didn’t make the bruises go away unless a healer manipulated them. I dressed in jeans and a black turtleneck, poured a cup of coffee, and settled back in bed to watch the news. Nothing startling, the usual chaos and mayhem of a big city. Two more gang fights overnight, one not far from my apartment. The news cycled again on the top of the hour, and a name caught my ear. Gerin Cuthbern stood in front of the Guildhouse, a distinct lack of any of the usual Guild public relations lackeys in attendance. Gerin wore an embarrassingly outdated white robe of druidic office, which told me right away whatever he was droning on about had to be good. I turned up the volume.

“…in this tragic time,” he said into several microphones thrust into his face. “We extend to Eorla Kruge our deepest condolences and our prayers. In what can only be a small gesture of gratitude for all the work Alvud Kruge did for this city, indeed the world, the Boston chapter of the Druidic College offers as a sorrowful gift a place of rest for Alvud’s body. His wish to leave his corporeal remains on these shores speaks volumes about how much he cared for Boston and its people. We can only respond by donating the land in the Forest Hills Cemetery for an appropriate burial and mourning spot for his friends and family.”

The video clip vanished and the perky blond anchor-woman popped back on the screen. I laughed and lowered the volume. Keeva, I’m sure, was blowing a fit somewhere. Given that she wasn’t standing by Gerin’s side for his announcement meant he had just thrown a big wrench into her funeral plans. The Guild had their media protocols, which Gerin well knew, and he had just done a great job of breaking them.

I had to give it to Gerin, though. He knew how to play politics. Staging his announcement in front of the Guildhouse certainly implied their endorsement, although those in the know would know better, and putting Eorla Kruge—a high-ranking Consortium member—in a position to reject a cooperative gesture from the High Druid of Boston was elegant. Neither the Guild nor the Consortium could criticize him without looking like they were using Kruge’s funeral as an excuse to play politics themselves. He was also laying the groundwork to make Eorla look ungrateful if she contested a director’s appointment. A brilliant move. The man knew how to play.

Getting an essence recharge at dawn is great, but it’s all a wash if I exhaust my physical body. It didn’t help that a dream had bothered me. Dreaming gives me a bit of anxiety these days. Last spring I realized my dreams had taken on a predictive bent, an ability I never had before my accident. After midsummer, the dreams stopped, and I thought they were just a fluke brought on by the possibility that I might die. Sort of a heads-up from the Wheel of World to keep me on my toes.

Prescient dreams are metaphorical, and since I have little experience with them, I’m not very good at parsing the metaphors. For that matter, I’m still not sure when I’m having a prescient dream or just sleeping on too full a stomach. My morning dream consisted of apples falling and a chain that moved like a snake. That segued into Moke swinging Meryl and me in his hands. I woke just as he was about to smash us together. Nothing that Freud wouldn’t be able to explain, particularly since, I have to admit, I was aroused by how it ended. At the same time, I had a sense of danger that I couldn’t articulate. The last time dreaming felt that way, I almost died.

I called Meryl. She mumbled something into the phone about death and mornings, but I think she agreed to drop Crystal Finch at my place by noon. Meryl actually hates mornings more than I do. She’s a Daughter of the Moon and avoids sunrise salutations except on the high holidays. I left Murdock a message to meet us.

She showed up on the dot of noon and summoned me downstairs with her cell phone. The Mini was parked neatly by the door, engine running, with Meryl in her leather and Crystal in her pink. They made an odd couple but were in an animated conversation.

Meryl powered down the passenger window when she saw me. “Thanks, Meryl. Was she any trouble?”

“He-llooo.She’s right here, dude,” said Crystal. She even waved. I hate the word “dude” from sixteen-year-old tough girls. I’m not their dude. As soon as I thought that, I felt way old.

“Shecan go wait in the vestibule,” I said.

Crystal glared at me, then turned to Meryl. “Thanks. Again. I really appreciate what you said.” Damned, if the kid didn’t tear up and hug Meryl. And damned if Meryl didn’t hug her back. Without another word, she got out of the car, looked quickly up and down the street, and ran to the front door I had left ajar. She closed it behind her.

I slipped into the passenger seat to get out of the cold. “That was sweet.”

Meryl shifted in her seat to look at me. “She’s had it tough, Connor. Cut her some slack.”

I stopped myself from making another sarcastic comment. Meryl was right. I had no reason to dislike the kid just because she had managed to put me on her schedule instead of mine. She had reason to be afraid.

“Did she tell you anything about Kruge?” I asked.

“No. We talked about Denny. He sounds like he was a nice guy. She didn’t need me interrogating her last night.”

I nodded. “Yeah, okay. I’m guessing a troll doesn’t have a very good shoulder to cry on.”

Meryl gave me a stern look. “She’ll help you. Just make sure you protect her.”

I slouched in the seat. “I’m not made of stone, Meryl. I got into this because a kid got killed. I’m not looking for it to happen to another one.”

She nodded. “I meant her feelings, Connor. You get a little single-minded sometimes. Remember, you don’t know what she’s been through. She did try to tell me what happened but froze up every time. Today’s not going to be easy for her.”

I heard a car come up and looked out the rear window. Murdock pulled in behind us and parked. I leaned forward and brushed Meryl’s nose with my finger. “Thanks. You’re a regular Jiminy Cricket sometimes.”

She smiled. “Do that again, and I will bite you.”

I chuckled. “I’ll call you later, crazy woman.”

I got out of the car, and she drove off. When I banged on the vestibule door, Crystal opened it and peered out.

“Are you ready?” I said it nicely. She nodded and followed me to Murdock’s car. I tossed a donut bag into the back and sat down. Crystal pushed away a pile of newspapers on the backseat and made herself comfortable.

“Good afternoon, everyone,” Murdock said. He pulled away from the curb and almost looked in his side view mirror when he did it. He felt different—smooth, for lack of a better word, as if his essence were spread over him in an even layer. Human normals usually feel that way to me because their essence is so weak. The fey tend to have variable flow about them, the essence more intense about their heads and hearts. Hismidach must have done something to moderate the extreme fluctuations I had been sensing.

“Where to?” I asked Crystal.

“The Tangle,” she said. Of course. Murdock had already turned onto the Avenue, so we just drove in silence through the main part of the Weird. He stopped the car at Harbor Street. We could see the yellow crime scene tape on the Unity storefront. A Guild security guard hovered into view at the far end of the street, then flew back up.

I twisted in my seat. “Okay, Crystal, first you have to tell us what happened at Unity,” I said. She looked out the window with a look I’ve seen before, a slack look of disbelief at what she had seen.

“Mr. K asked Denny to make a run for him. I went with him for the pickup.”

“Do you know what he was running?” I asked.

She shook her head. “It had something to do with Float. Denny bought some somewhere. I found it. I was pissed ’cause I’m clean now, and I didn’t want any drugs around. Denny said he wasn’t using. Mr. K asked him to buy it for him and that he had to bring it to Unity, then do a run.”

“Did Kruge use kids from Unity for runs a lot?”

She shrugged. “Yeah. Regular errands type stuff, if that’s what you mean.”

I looked over at Murdock. He didn’t say anything. At the end of the day, this was still his case. I let the moment hang to give him a chance to jump in, but he didn’t.

“Okay, so you got here and then what?” I said.

She wrapped her arms tightly against her chest. “Mr. K was here with Croda. He asked me to wait in the printing room. I couldn’t hear anything at first, but then there was shouting. I opened the door a crack to see what was going on, and there was this big ugly troll yelling at Mr. K…”

“Would you recognize him?” I interrupted.

“Huh? Yeah, sure. Croda’s the only other troll I met until Moke. Anyway, the troll said something about Denny having something and grabbed him. Mr. K got mad and pushed the troll and told Denny to run. Denny started running toward me, and the troll threw a fey-bolt at him.”

“Wait a minute, a troll threw a bolt of essence?” Crystal nodded. Trolls manipulated essence, but not offensively. They worked it within things, particularly stone, but I’d never heard they could send it through the air. Unless C-Note had figured out how to work around it. And the idea of a troll doing that was pretty scary.

“And then Denny…he…he…” She started to cry.

Even though I’ve seen enough manipulation-by-tears, Crystal’s reminded me to take it easy on her like Meryl asked. “It’s okay, Crystal. Tell us so we can figure out what to do.”

She nodded and took a deep breath. “The bolt hit Denny, and he flew through the air right at me. He hit the door, and we both fell. He didn’t move at all after that. I think…I think that’s when he died.” The last part came out in a whisper. She started to sob again.

“You’re doing good, Crystal. Take a breath and tell me what happened next.”

It took a few moments for her to calm down. Any annoyance I had for her from the previous night was gone. “The next thing I knew, Croda was in the room. I could hear fey-fire and screaming. Croda grabbed me and Denny and ran out the back door. She took us into the Tangle.”

“Can you show us?”

She nodded. “Take a left into the next alley.”