Murdock crossed over Harbor and took the left. We were in the alley across the Avenue from the Unity alley. So far, it made sense. It was the direction I had sensed troll essence trailing away when Murdock and I checked out the back door of Unity. We crept down the narrow lane, large warehouses looming up on each side of us. Sunlight fell in complex patterns on the ground as it filtered through the network of fire escapes above. Old wooden pallets, an array of boxes and bags and tossed papers littered the gutters. At the end of the alley, a rusted car sat to the left.

“Go to the end and take a right,” Crystal said.

We made the turn onto a wider service road between more warehouses. Even though we were more exposed to the sky overhead, the light felt dimmer. We were starting to move into the Tangle.

“Go about three buildings down,” she said.

Murdock guided the car around piles of rubble, trash, and masonry discarded with no fear that anyone would object. The warehouses down here were no longer active, most of them burnt-out and boarded up. It had been a long time since city services ran garbage trucks. Murdock stopped the car. Crystal leaned forward and peered through the wind-shield, then out the side. She closed her eyes.

“Wait here and take the left when the alley appears.”

Murdock craned his neck to look up through the wind-shield. “There’s no alley turn here.”

“There will be,” said Crystal.

I scanned the buildings for the telltale signs of a spell, but there was so much ambient essence, nothing stood out. “The Tangle’s full of illusions, Murdock. People put them up all the time. Sometimes they forget them and leave them running,” I said.

We sat for twenty minutes. “Are you sure this is the right place?” I asked. She nodded. “Yes, it’s about the right place. It didn’t take this long that night. Maybe it’s broken.”

A few minutes later I was about to suggest Crystal rethink the location when the brick wall to our left shimmered and vanished. Without a word, Murdock backed up and turned into the alley that had been hidden. Crystal led us through two more similar illusions and an odd series of turns around buildings that seemed to have been built in the middle of the road.

“We have to get out here and walk,” said Crystal. We were in a stretch of alley that managed to look dark even in the early afternoon.

“You want me to leave the car here?” Murdock said.

“It’s not like it’s a Rolls,” I muttered and let myself out. For such a trash heap, he worried about it an awful lot. Murdock and I walked a few feet behind Crystal as she made tentative steps forward. Ahead, old Jersey barriers lay in a heap like a very large game of pick-up-sticks. Crystal turned to her left and faced a gaping hole torn through the brick wall of a building. She seemed frozen in place.

“Where next, Crystal?” I asked when she didn’t move.

She looked up at me, then back at the hole. “We went through here.”

She didn’t move, so I stepped around her and peered inside. Not much to see, just a large empty room covered with the ruins of the collapsed ceiling. The far wall was just gone. Where we stood, the light felt dim. Out beyond the other side of the building, it looked stark and harsh. I could feel the buzz of essence, an old resonance slithering over my mind. The darkness in my head didn’t like it. Something had happened here, something wrong. There were places like it all over the Tangle. Throughout most of the Weird, people avoided using too much Power for fear of the backlash. But here in the Tangle, all bets were off. No one cared what happened to anyone here.

“You ran straight through,” I said to confirm my thought with her.

“Yes,” she said behind me, her voice small.

I think I knew what was out there. We were close to the end. “I’ll go first,” I said. Murdock pulled his gun and covered us. I walked across the room, feeling pain whispers all around me. When I reached the far wall, I stopped with Murdock at my side. We faced a long narrow courtyard, more an oversize air shaft. Opposite, a storage shed had been built into the side of the adjoining warehouse. Not much remained, its left and right walls still standing, but its front and roof gone. Between the crumbled walls, in the midst of raw debris, Croda stood. She was about eight feet tall, stout, and thick-limbed. Her right arm was thrust up above her head, and her back was arched. Her face was bulbous, a small round tusk sprouting from each side of her wide, flat nose. And her mouth—her mouth was stretched wide in terror, sharp teeth visible, thick tongue protruding. The sun shone hard and white on her dead, petrified face. Now I knew why I had made Moke so angry. We walked across the broken stones until we stood next to her. Crystal stayed back, refusing to come any closer than the perimeter of the shed.

I cleared my throat. “What happened?”

“We hid in there. We thought no one saw us. There was a loud sound like a big wind, and Croda pushed me down behind her. The next thing I knew, everything was flying apart. Sunlight was coming in, and Croda was screaming. Something reached in and grabbed Denny. Croda stopped screaming, but I could hear fey-fire. I couldn’t see very well, but it looked like two people were in the air fighting. I think one was a fairy dressed in black, and the other was the troll from Unity.”

I looked over her and frowned. “A troll? In the air? Indaylight ?”

She nodded. “I don’t get it either. The troll had Denny, then the guy in black grabbed him away and flew off. I waited until I didn’t hear anything anymore. Croda told me if anything happened to her, I should find Moke and tell him what happened and that he would take care of me. So that’s what I did. I’ve been there ever since.”

Murdock was standing on the opposite side of Croda from me. He moved nothing but his eyes, examining the frozen figure. She looked like a statue with clothes on. I started doing my own exam.

“She’s petrified,” I said for his benefit. “Literally. As best I know, trolls don’t just turn to stone when exposed to sunlight. They’re attuned to stone. They call it the bones of the earth. It’s their fey ability. When they’re exposed to sunlight, their bodies become hyperconductors and immediately begin absorbing minerals from everything nearby. The sun acts as catalyst for a petrification process that happens in minutes.”

“Sounds painful,” said Murdock.

I nodded. It had to be. Effectively, she had mineralized, every cell in her body turning solid with compounds of iron or carbon or silica or whatever other elements were in the soil. The land we were on was an old industrial area. All kinds of chemical waste were below us. She glittered dully in the afternoon light, like a dirty cut gemstone in muted shades of white, black, red, and blue. I couldn’t help thinking she was sadly beautiful in death in a way she could never be in life.

“…run, Dennis. Get out of here…” a male voice called out. Both Murdock and I jumped back. Crystal screamed and ran. The voice had come from Croda.

“What just happened?” Murdock said.

“Give me a minute,” I said. I let my eyes roam over her, trying to find something out of place. Squatting down, I looked behind her and found the source of the voice. In Croda’s left hand, the one hidden behind her back, was a small obelisk that fit almost entirely in her palm. Murdock came around to my side. I stood and looked at Croda. “She has a ward stone fused into her hand. It must be a recorder. Her whole body is a ward stone now.”

Wards can be charged with essence and spelled for all kinds of things. The ones back at my apartment worked like alarms. Some can immobilize anyone that comes within their fields. And some can work like glow bees, only they can record a lot more. To listen to them, you just have to hit them with the right amount of essence. I must have touched Croda, and my body essence triggered the recording. I placed my hand on her arm. I could hear a faint whisper, but nowhere near the clarity of the first time.

“What’s wrong?” said Murdock.

“I don’t know. Who knows what her body structure is now. The connection must be intermittent.” I looked at him. “I hate to say it, but we need a stronger fey to pull the data off the ward.”

Murdock looked around the courtyard. “Where’s Crystal?”

I didn’t have to look. Her fear was so strong, I could sense her essence through the building passage.

“I’m pretty sure she’s hiding in the backseat of the car.”

“At least the car is still there,” he said.

I laughed and shook my head. We picked our way out of the shed and walked back to the shattered building. A glitter of light caught my eye, and I stepped to the side.

“You find something?” Murdock asked.

He joined me near the edge of the courtyard. Sitting on the ground, half-covered in dirt, was the round, reflective helmet of a Guild security guard. It must have been knocked off in the fight. “I think we know where Crystal’s fairy in black was from anyway. Got any gloves on you?” I asked. Murdock patted his coat pockets and came up with one. I slipped it on and picked up the helmet. Definitely Guild issue. There were no identifying marks on it, though. There didn’t need to be. The inside of the helmet retained the essence of the wearer. I looked at Murdock. “We have a problem. Let’s get out of here before we’re seen.”

I hurried into the building, with Murdock on my heels.

“What? What did you find?” he said, as we came out on the other side.

“Crystal?” I called out. She poked her head up inside the car. I turned to Murdock.

“You need to make that safe house call now. That kid’s got a target on her a mile wide,” I said.

“What the hell are you talking about, Connor? Whose helmet is that?”

I looked up and down the street but did not see anyone. That didn’t mean there weren’t ears to hear.

“Not here.”

We got in the car. “Don’t back up. Take us out to Drydock Ave and loop around the Weird. I don’t want anyone on Harbor Street to see us if we can avoid it. Crystal, keep your head down.”

Murdock drove quickly up the service road. Unfortunately, it took us deeper into the Tangle. The buildings loomed in, soot-stained and ominous. Years of fey occupation had left their imprint. What had once been standard industrial buildings had taken on grotesque flourishes. Gargoyles hugged lintels and rooftops. Windows had become leering portals of twisted stone. An odor permeated the car, acrid and chemical, evidence of spellcasters. My head started ringing like it did whenever I was near a scrying. From the pain, several people must have been trying to read the future. I closed my eyes against it, but it didn’t help. The pain was inside me. A few moments latter, it subsided and was gone. I opened my eyes. We were out of the Tangle.

“Take me home,” I said.

We didn’t speak the entire way. When Murdock pulled up in front of my building, I hopped out and went around to his side of the car. “Get Crystal into hiding, then call me. I’ll fill you in.”

“You’re not going to tell me now?” he asked.

I made my eyes shift significantly to Crystal, and Murdock got the message. I wasn’t about to get her more involved than she already was. “Call me later.”

I leaned down to look at Crystal. She was clearly terrified. “You did good, Crystal. Just listen to Detective Murdock, and you’ll be okay.”

“Thanks, dude,” she said softly.

I tapped the door. “Call me,” I said to Murdock.

“Will do, ‘dude.’” He gave me a quick nod and pulled away.

I looked down at the Guild helmet still in my hand. Something dangerous was going on that I didn’t have a handle on. Odd people were crossing paths. It seemed too bizarre to be just about drug runners out of the Tangle anymore. Whatever was happening wasn’t going to like seeing the light of day. And the one thing I knew was key to putting it into place, was figuring out why Ryan macGoren’s essence was inside a Guild security helmet at a murder scene.

12

After doing the digging on macGoren’s business, I decided to see if I could get the other side of his story. Kruge obviously wasn’t going to talk, but I thought someone else might. I hoofed it up to the subway and rode it into Copley Square.

The Teutonic Consortium consulate looks completely out of place in the Back Bay neighborhood near the square. I don’t doubt it’s just the way the Consortium likes it. It’s a Bauhaus concrete structure in the middle of Victorian town-houses on Commonwealth Avenue. Out front stands a two-story statue of a grim-looking Donor Elfenkonig, the Elven King, dressed in light battle armor, one hand holding a sword, the other a staff. The staff used to be a niding pole, which is essentially a cursing staff. A horse’s skull sat on the top, not so subtly pointed at the Ward Guildhouse several blocks away. Because of the Guildhouse’s own protections, it never had much effect, but it annoyed the hell out of a woman who lived directly across the street from the consulate. She sued and would have never have won in court, but she did in the media. The Consortium might be guilty of many things, but even it didn’t want to appear to be cursing a retired old lady. They removed the horse head to stop protesters from hitting it with paintballs. I walked into the lobby for the first time in years. Unlike the Guildhouse, the consulate had been decorated to impress. In contrast to the austere exterior, wooden panels carved with intricate forest scenes lined the lobby walls. Depending on your politics, you either thought they looked like dramatic pastorals or jackboot Disney illustrations. The bunnies were pretty tough looking. Overstuffed seating arrangements filled the rest of the room, soft velvets and earth-toned brocades. Near the inner door to the main offices, photographs of Consortium notables hung with grandiose descriptions of their contributions to the world.

I stepped up to a reception desk behind which sat two male elves and a dwarf, all dressed in the same style plain gray tunics.

“Guten Tag.I would like to speak with someone to arrange a meeting with the Marchgrafin Kruge, please.” I knew better than to ask directly for the widow Kruge. That would have shown a distinct lack of ignorance of her status.

All three looked at me sharply, and one of the elves chanted under his breath. I could feel a protective shield build between us. No surprise. The Consortium had pulled Eorla Kruge from her estate for protection before I even left her husband’s murder scene.

“Name, please?” said the other elf.

“Guild Director Connor Grey.” I pulled out the Guild ID, which I still had from yesterday. I was definitely moving in the wrong circles again.

The elf took the ID and muttered over it, checking for the Guildhouse essence seal. He told the other two in German it was authentic. “Please wait, sir,” he said as he picked up the phone. And I did, a long hour before another elf arrived from within the building. He was tall, dressed as security in red and black, and had a billy club on his waist. “I am the Marchgrafin’s assistant. How may I help you?”

I stood to face him. He didn’t look like a keeper of business calendars. “I’d like to see the Marchgrafin.”

“She is in mourning, sir, and not to be disturbed.”

“I understand. I need a few minutes of her time on an urgent matter related to her husband.”

“She has had many such requests,” he said.

“From Guild directors?”

He didn’t respond.

“You have my credentials. Perhaps you would prefer to call Guildmaster Eagan to confirm my mission further?”

His face made it clear that he didn’t like the subtle threat to go over his head. He walked to the reception desk and consulted with the other two elves. They cast looks at me several times. A few moments later, they stopped talking as the security agent considered. I hoped he didn’t call Eagan. The Guildmaster would back me up, but I hated having to get an adult’s okay. The agent picked up the phone and dialed. He spoke for a bit, then hung up and ignored me. I overheard enough to understand he called a superior rather than Eagan. Another twenty minutes went by, and two more security guards arrived. The first came back over to me.

“Are you armed, sir?” He didn’t call in two more agents because he thought I was defenseless.

“Of course,” I said.

“We will extend your rank the courtesy of retaining your weapon, but you may not draw it or appear to do so. You will not be allowed within twenty feet of the Marchgrafin. If you hesitate to follow any directives issued by any of the Marchgrafin’s assistants, the consequences shall be swift and severe. Is that amenable to you?”

I smirked. “Amenable’s not the word I would have chosen, but sure, that works for me.” I couldn’t help myself. The Consortium is so damned officious. He led me through the inner doors, and the other two agents fell in behind us. My head began to ache as they chanted, little nosey cantrips testing my defenses. For once, my missing abilities worked in my favor. The lack of even minor defenses conveniently sent the message that they weren’t worth my trouble and probably was giving them a minor anxiety attack. We rode an elevator in silence to the third floor. When the door opened, another set of security guards guarded the floor lobby. They were not taking any chances with Eorla. We walked down a long, stately hallway of pilasters and landscape oils and several closed doors. They led me into a large receiving room, easily thirty feet long and half as wide, a library lined with books I’m sure no one ever read. A healthy fire kept the room a little too warm. A single chair faced me across the wide floor, but I was not offered one of my own. Two of the guards entered with me, and we all waited while the third disappeared without saying anything.

A door at the far end of the room opened, and I was surprised I did not have to wait long for the Marchgrafin. She swept into the room with the first security guard at her heels. There was no mistaking who was in charge. Here we were in her element. I could feel the resonance of Power before she even reached me, some of it from her rings, but her personal essence was considerable. Apparently, she had not been given the dictate of twenty feet because she continued walking past the chair. The security guards behind me immediately stepped in front of me to block me from her. I smiled at her. She did not change her expression, but stared at me for several moments.

“Leave us,” she said without moving her gaze.

Behind her, the first security guard stepped forward to stand by her side. “We have orders, m’lady.”

She merely shifted her eyes at him. It didn’t take a genius to understand a sending argument was going on between them. The guard lowered his gaze and flushed. “As you wish, m’lady,” he said with a curt bow. He spoke to the other two guards in Old Elvish, telling them to take up positions outside the door. I found it amusing that they assumed I spoke neither German nor their own language. Once they had vacated the room, Eorla nodded and turned away from me.

“Let’s sit by the fire,” she said in a firm voice that said she was used to directing. As I took a side chair from along the wall, I realized she was pulling her own chair forward. “Here, let me,” I said.

“I’ve moved more than enough chairs on my own.” Not bitchy, just matter-of-factly. I liked that in a royal elf, though I hadn’t expected that from Eorla.

We settled before the fire facing each other. She was quite beautiful, beautiful in that uncanny way a woman can be where you can’t quite believe anyone can look that way. Her haughtiness enhanced her attractiveness, though she was clearly a woman who drew her strength from who she was, not what she looked like.

“I know you are here-born, as they call it, Connor Grey, yet I sense something ancient about you. You have an old weapon with you?” she asked.

Without hesitation, I pulled my dagger from my boot. It really was ancient, a gift from my mentor Briallen, and had already saved my life once. It had a worn and stained sheath, but the hilt shone like newly forged silver and gold, with a large ruby on the pommel. Without hesitation, I held it out to her. If I had anything to worry about from Eorla Kruge, the blade wouldn’t help me. When she reached for the dagger, a few runes on the old sheath glowed a light blue when the field of her essence came near. Her hand hovered over the pommel, then closed into a fist without touching it. “It has been many years since I held a blade. I do not think now is the time to start again. Can you turn it for me?”

Eorla leaned forward and examined the dagger as I displayed it from several angles for her. As I pulled the blade out slightly, she grabbed my arm. “Don’t. I sense it has an edge that yearns for blood. It is an undaunted weapon. Draw it only with purpose. I have seen it once before, a long, long time ago, in a very sad time.”

“I just thought you’d like to see some of the inner engraving.”

She leaned back in her chair. “Thank you. Why do you claim to be a Guild director?”

I shrugged. “It was more a half-truth. Would they have called you otherwise?”

“If I knew you were here, yes. It’s not every day one gets to meet the man who almost killed Bergin Vize.”

I hesitated before responding. In Germany, many people considered Vize to be a hero. The guards might have been uncomfortable leaving Eorla alone with me, but now I felt uncertain being left alone with her. “He almost killed me, too.”

She nodded. “I know. Why are you here?”

“A young human boy was murdered the same night as your husband, and I believe the deaths may be related.”

The corners of her lips pulled down. “I was not told of this.”

“The Guild thinks he’s not worth the trouble. I was hoping you could tell me anything regarding your husband’s murder that might help?”

A bitter line crossed her face. “This division between fey and human is exactly what Alvud fought against. The night he died, Alvud said he had a meeting with a troll. I know the Guild is focusing on a troll woman that worked at the Unity offices. They do not seem able to uncover any new information. Are you saying you have?”

“I found some blood evidence in my case that may have been your husband’s.”

Eorla frowned. “I can’t tell you how odd it is to have someone say that to me.”

“I’m sorry. Can you tell me who might have wanted the Marchgraf dead?”

“I told the Guild a drug dealer made threats against Alvud. He was quite concerned about it.”

Keeva hadn’t mentioned she was looking at drug dealers in addition to Croda. “Did you tell the Guild that?

“Of course.”

I had two trolls working drugs. Moke wanted C-Note out of the way enough to pit his gang against him. Framing C-Note for Kruge’s murder certainly wasn’t beyond belief in a drug lord dispute. C-Note wanted control of the Tangle enough to kill the head of the TruKnights.

“What about business associates?” I asked.

Eorla considered for a moment. “My husband had many businesses, Connor Grey. None of them seemed worth his life.”

“Can you give me an example? What about real estate?”

She gave me a sly, knowing look. “I see. You are here about Ryan macGoren and Gerin Cuthbern. They have been trying to buy Alvud’s properties in that neighborhood.”

I kept my face impassive at the mention of Gerin Cuthbern’s name. In my business, you always want to look like you already know everything, but this was news. Still, you used what you could on the fly. “I know why macGoren wanted the land. But I don’t understand why Cuthbern was interested.”

“Because macGoren wanted it. Alvud was short on cash, but he was concerned that macGoren would force people out of their homes if he sold the land. Gerin and Alvud were old friends. Gerin was just as suspicious of macGoren’s motives. He offered to fund Alvud’s project by buying the land and keeping it out of macGoren’s hands.”

“You’ll pardon me, Marchgrafin, but how does someone of Alvud’s stature need cash?”

She smiled grimly. “People often make that mistake about monarchies. Titles do not automatically mean money. Alvud spent a great deal on his causes. He saw wealth differently than some people.”

I looked at the fine cut of her clothing, the quality of the material, and decided to push the line.

“Differently than you?”

She gave me a low laugh. “Aren’t you the brash one? Yes, I have money, but if my family caught wind of my giving it to Alvud’s causes, the flow would stop instantly. They don’t share our politics. That’s as personal a question as I will answer. What else would you like to know?”

“Do you think macGoren wanted the land enough to kill?”

Eorla sighed and shook her head. “In another world, maybe. That’s the way things used to be in Faerie. You fought for what you wanted. But here, in this place, I doubt it. In my life, I have seen people kill for a crust of bread. My husband wasn’t killed. He was savaged. Only a madman would do this. I think Ryan macGoren is an aggressive businessman. I don’t think he’s a madman.”

“What did the Marchgraf need the money for?”

“A drug rehab program. If you have a drug lord who was going to lose his territory and his client base, I believe you have your motive.”

I tried to smile, but it was awkward. “I tend to agree with you. The Guild seems more at a loss than we do.”

Eorla nodded in slow agreement. “It’s always about territory, isn’t it? Who owns it; who uses it; who wants it. Gerin has offered to buy the property from me and deal with macGoren. I may agree to that. That place was Alvud’s interest, not mine. I would prefer to work through the Guild.”

I smiled. “Gerin will work against you.” It didn’t feel like telling tales out of school. Eorla wasn’t stupid.

“Precisely. He preferred Alvud over me because Alvud personally worked to solve problems. He liked to meet the people he was helping and left the politics to me. My skills have always lain in that direction.”

“You must have made a formidable couple,” I said.

A melancholy smile flickered on her face. “I shall miss him terribly.”

“I truly am sorry for your loss.”

She sighed and looked into the fire, then back at me. “My grief has not reached me yet. The idea that I shall never again hear my husband’s voice in this world is beyond my comprehension. When the time comes, I will mourn him deeply. Now, though, I keep seeing his smiling face as he kissed me and left our last embrace.”

I felt the sound of her voice in my chest. To have lived with someone for centuries spoke of a relationship I could not even begin to fathom. I reached out and squeezed her hand, amazed that I did. One doesn’t touch an elven noble without permission. She didn’t object, even placed her other hand on mine. Despite what she had said, she was grieving already and sharing it with me. The Consortium needed more people like her and her husband.

I stood. “I’m sorry to intrude.”

She looked up at me, her eyes deep and glimmering. “Vize is a fool, Connor Grey. Dangerous, but a fool nonetheless. Do not let revenge consume you. Men like Vize make many enemies. Let the Wheel decide his fate.”

Hearing that was a nice surprise. Other than her offense at Nigel’s remark about Vize—which could have been playacting—I hadn’t had a sense of how she felt about her radical countryman. “And if the Wheel includes me in his fate?”

“Then that is the Wheel of the World. If that is Its will, you do not need to seek It. It will seek you. Remember that.”

“I will,” I said with a bow.

“Good luck.” She dismissed me by turning to the fire. Normally, that kind of treatment by a royal ticks me off. It fit Eorla, though. She would have been exactly who she was with or without the title. I pulled my collar up around my neck as I stepped out of the consulate. The air had gone chilly, and the October sky had become a hard, white sheet. After the warmth of the receiving room, I felt even colder. I walked east toward downtown with my hands jammed in my pockets.

Manus ap Eagan was not worried about a real estate transaction. With macGoren’s public promotion for the Seacorp development, Eagan already knew about it. He obviously suspected something more, or he wouldn’t have asked me to look into it. I had to agree with Eorla Kruge, though. MacGoren had nothing to gain with Kruge dead unless he hoped to take advantage of a grieving widow. But if he knew Kruge, he must have met Eorla. She was not a woman you could take advantage of easily. My cell phone began vibrating with saved messages as soon as I was a few buildings away. I had set the ring to vibrate, but it hadn’t gone off inside. The consulate probably had signal jamming in the building. Three messages had come in with a Guildhouse number, so I called to pick them up.

“Connor, it’s Keeva. We have a situation. Get yourself to a secure location and call me immediately.”

That didn’t sound good. The next message came up.

“Connor, call me, dammit.”Keeva again. She actually sounded concerned. The next message was from a different Guild number.

“Hey, it’s me. Just checking if you were dead. If you aren’t, call me. If you are, call me anyway.”Okay, for Meryl to put in a check-in call, something definitely was up.

I was only a couple of blocks from the Guildhouse. At the end of Commonwealth Avenue, I entered the Public Garden, a turn-of-the-century Victorian walking park surrounded by intricate cast-iron railings. Even at the tired end of fall, it manages to look attractive. The formal paths wind through a strange collection of statuary as well as landscaped flower beds and specimen trees, all now dormant. I decided to call Keeva first. As I hit dial, my shields sprang up with such force, I hunched forward in pain. Simultaneously, a bolt of essence grazed my shoulder, and I spun off my feet. I could feel heat across my back, but no direct pain, so I didn’t think I was on fire. I rolled to my feet and ran for cover behind a tree as another bolt flew past me. I ducked down as tree bark splattered through the air. I felt a cold pressure slam into my forehead, a forceful sending.Where are you? Keeva’s voice reverberated in my head.

I couldn’t send my thoughts back. One of the many things I couldn’t do anymore, my mental sendings just went astray. A bolt hit the tree as I realized I’d dropped my phone when I got hit. It lay about ten feet away. Another bolt struck, and the tree groaned and crackled. It hit close enough for me to recognize what it was—elf-shot, the expression of essence that the elves used. I dove away in a tumbling roll and grabbed the phone. Essence struck around me from two directions now, and I scrambled on my back trying to find the source. I wedged myself between a statue and the fence encircling the park. More fey-bolts shot around me, but the bane of the fey proved itself in my favor. Between the bronze in the statue in front of me and the iron in the fence at my back, the shots warped around me and went wild. I had landed in a safe zone between conductive metals. I called Keeva.

“Where the hell are you?” she said when she picked up.

“Under fire in the Public Garden.”

“Give me your exact location.”

“I’m behind the statue of…” I twisted to see whose statue I was under. A fey-bolt struck it in the neck, and the head toppled down next to me. The abolitionist senator Charles Sumner stared eyelessly at me.

“I’m behind the headless statue.”

“Security’s on its way.”

The bolts of essence intensified. Whoever was out there was getting closer. I recognized a new noise, the loud hum of Danann fairy wings. In moments, more fey-fire rained down, only this time scattering in a pattern around me. Bolts stopped striking near the statue. Something dark swept overhead. Seconds later, a Guild security agent landed next to me, his featureless helmet tilted down at me. Without a word, he grabbed me by my shoulders and hauled me up. He spun me around, wrapped his arms around my chest, and launched us into the air. Several more security agents above us laid down a covering fire of essence to block another attack. We rose above the park, but I lost sight of my defenders as we swept behind the line. Below, I could see several people running, mostly humans getting out of the way. Here and there, shots of essence raked through the park from figures dressed in black and red leather. TruKnights.

The security agent flew me away from the fight, over the final block toward the Guildhouse. As we rose above a hotel roofline, I could see the area in front of the Guildhouse cordoned off and more security agents stationed both on the ground and in the air. The agent brought me in close, avoided the front, and landed us on a balcony of one of the highest turrets, the landing platform for the security division. Without a word, he took off again. I stepped into to a large room and found more security agents preparing for duty.

“Someone will be coming for you, sir,” a young Danann said as passed me and ducked into an adjoining room. I went to the door and watched him lifting boxes from the floor. A line of lockers covered one wall with a gym-style bench in front of them. Above, a number of helmets sat on a long shelf.

“Are those helmets always there?” I asked.

The Danann straightened up. “You’re not supposed to be in here.”

“I’m not ‘in here.’ I’m at the door.”

He moved toward me. “Well, step back. We’ve had some problems, and no one’s allowed in without permission.”

I nodded at the helmets. “One’s missing, isn’t it?”

He placed his hand on my chest, not threatening, but with enough pressure that told me to step back. He looked out the door. Apparently, after satisfying himself that no one was within earshot. “How do you know that?”

“When did it go missing?”

“Four days ago.”

I nodded. The timing was right. “Do you know whose helmet is missing?”

He spoke without looking at me, checking on the room instead. “They’re not assigned. People just grab them. The landing bay is shielded. The helmets register when they leave and when they return, so we don’t have to keep a head count in an emergency. Someone took off from here four nights ago and didn’t return. It was the middle of the night, not a regular shift change, and no record of a security call.”

“How’d they get in?”

He shrugged. “The ready room door is warded, but anyone with the right security level is allowed in.”

“And it’s a pretty high level if I remember.”

He nodded. “Look, I don’t know how you found out, but we’re keeping it internal for now. It’s not going to look…hey!”

He shoved me and ran for the landing bay. About a hundred feet out from the bay, security agents jostled for space as they came in for a landing. One group in tight formation carried someone, and another swept in from above too quickly. A flurry of wings and bodies bumped and pushed together. Whoever was carrying the passenger lost his grip. I watched horrified as I recognized Nigel Martin falling through the air. Agents dove after him.

With my senses on hypersensitivity, I saw a plume of essence ripple the air around Nigel. His descent slowed as he spread his arms. Like a bad joke, the agents attempting a rescue shot right past him. Nigel righted himself and rose, levitating the remaining distance to the building. He stepped onto the platform like he had just stopped by for a cup of tea. Within moments, agents swarmed around him in concern. Not realizing I was holding my breath, I exhaled in relief. I should have known Nigel would pull that trick. It takes enormous control and energy, but high-level druids can do it. I had managed to get myself only a couple of inches off the ground before my accident, but then, I was still young by druid standards. Nigel had age and ability.

Looking bemused, he pushed his way through the anxious crowd. “I’m fine, gentlemen,” he said. He stopped short when he saw me, a curious expression on his face. “Connor, good to see they didn’t drop you, too. I imagine your luck would not have extended to the spontaneous return of your abilities.”

You could have heard a pin drop. The security guards pulled away from him. It took a moment for me to realize my mouth was hanging open, and I clamped my jaw shut.

“That was a horrid thing to say,” Keeva said behind me. I turned. She stood at the door, wearing her signature black jumpsuit, her unglamoured wings fully open and shimmering with white and silver light. She stepped to my side. “Are you all right?”

I removed my coat and examined the scorch across the back. “Yeah. Could use a new coat, though. Thanks for the backup.”

“Part of the job,” she said and looked significantly at Nigel. “That goes for both of you.”

“What the hell is going on?” I asked.

Keeva looked around her. Half of the people in the room still had their helmets on. I could surmise what she was thinking. No telling who was listening.

“Let’s go to my office,” she said and left the room. I fell in behind her, and Nigel followed us into the hall. Keeva had left some underling holding the elevator for her, and we stepped in. Keeva punched a floor number on the panel, anger on her face. “We had simultaneous attacks on Guild directors. Gerin and Ryan are at Avalon Memorial.”

The elevator doors opened. We cut across to the opposite side of the building, not speaking with any other people, and rode another elevator up to Community Liaison. Once in her office, Keeva strode around her desk and sat down, gesturing for us to sit.

“Gerin was meeting with Ryan when they were attacked by one of the human xenogangs. A flamethrower.” She grimaced. “They had a flamethrower. Gerin has minor burns.”

“How’s Ryan?” I had to ask. I wanted to know for my own reasons, but Keeva didn’t need to know that. Yet.

“He’s in surgery.” She paused for a moment. I had to hand it to her. She was demonstrating enormous control.

I looked at Nigel. “Where were you when this was happening?”

He arched an eyebrow. “I was with Manus ap Eagan.”

With a heavy sigh, Keeva dropped her head back and looked at the ceiling. “There was an attempt to break through the gate at the Guildmaster’s home. The last report we had on the dwarf director was that he had not left the Consortium consulate in days.”

“Convenient for him,” Nigel said.

“That’s what I was thinking,” Keeva said.

“Why would you think the Consortium is involved?” I asked.

Keeva and Nigel exchanged glances, but it was Nigel who spoke. “The dominant gang causing trouble in the city consists of elves, and it’s run by a troll. Can’t you put it together, Connor?”

“Are you saying the Consortium is behind this?” I asked.

Nigel nodded. “I’ve been monitoring their movements since the Fey Summit last spring. The Consortium is planning something. I think this is a trial run to test the will of Seelie Court.”

I looked from one to the other. “Alvud Kruge is dead,” I said.

“Your point?” Nigel asked.

“MarchgrafAlvud Kruge, Nigel. Do you really think the Consortium would kill one of its own people, married to a royal family member?”

“Kruge was hardly an ally of the Elven King. I don’t put anything past the Consortium,” he said. I couldn’t believe they were so obsessive about politics that they were missing the obvious. “He was killed by a drug dealer, guys. The gang that attacked me were TruKnights. They’ve been trying to take over the Weird.”

“There’s not a gang in the Weird delusional enough to take on the Guild,” said Nigel.

“Apparently, this one is,” I said.

Keeva looked at Nigel. “Let’s assume you’re right, Nigel. Given Connor’s attackers and a few of the others, would the Consortium recruit out of the Weird?”

He nodded. “It would make excellent cover for them.”

Keeva turned her screen back. “I agree. I’m putting security sweeps down there until after Kruge’s funeral at least.”

“You can’t hold a neighborhood responsible for the actions of a rogue gang, Keeva,” I said. She didn’t look up. “It’s just a visible presence until we know more.”

“Keeva, I know what you’re really suggesting. You can’t put an entire neighborhood under martial law without more reason.”

“Caution is enough right now, Connor.” She began typing.

I looked at Nigel in disbelief. “You can’t condone this.”

Nigel stood and went to the door. “I do. These are troubled times that call for strong measures. Despite agreeing to a cease-fire, the Consortium has not changed. They still seek the destruction of the Seelie Court. Do you need anything from me right now, Keeva? I have security plans to work out with Gerin. I think you should see them.”

She shook her head without looking up. “Thanks. I’ll send you and Manus updates.”

Nigel hesitated. “Connor, Gerin will be calling a meeting of the Bosnemeton tonight. Remember the path you once sought.” He bowed his head and left.

She ignored me as she read whatever she had typed, probably an email by her body language. She clicked the mouse, no doubt sending a squad of security agents to the Weird to hassle anyone who spelled funny.

“Something doesn’t fit, Keeva.”

She leaned forward on her desk and put her head in her hands. “I know. But I can’t make sense of it.”

I felt a twinge of sympathy. Keeva might be many things I don’t like, but most times her heart is in the right place. When she remembers she has one. “How are you holding up?”

Stricken, she looked up. “I’ve got two royal delegations I’m trying to keep separated, a funeral with a change in venue, a murder investigation going nowhere, and the entire board of directors attacked. How do you think I feel?”

“I’ll help any way I can.”

She nodded vaguely. “I thought you were dead. Your apartment was broken into. Why the hell did it take you two hours to answer your phone or my sendings?”

“I was blocked. I was checking my messages when I was attacked.”

“Nigel’s right, you know. There are factions in the Consortium that would like nothing more than to see the Guild in chaos.”

I shifted in my seat. My coat might have taken the most of the essence that hit me, but my shoulders were definitely tender. “That’s a huge risk. They’d have to be pretty confident to pull it off. And now that he’s out of the room, I have to point out your blind spot. You’re assuming Manus and Nigel had nothing to do with this.”

The look of surprise that came over her face made me feel embarrassed. “Wow. I knew you had trust issues, but that’s pretty extreme even for you.”

I shrugged. “I’m being an investigator. Manus is definitely sick—I saw that myself. But you heard Nigel. He has just as much motive to make the Consortium look bad as they do the Guild.”

“Do you really think Nigel would resort to murder?”

“I’m not saying that. But I don’t think he’s above using this situation to push the Consortium into a corner.”

She seemed to consider the idea. “Kruge is the key to this. We figure out who killed Kruge, then we figure the rest.”

“It was a drug dealer named C-Note. Eorla Kruge thinks that even if you and Nigel don’t.”

“And why would you know her opinion?” Anger had returned to her face. I rolled my eyes in answer. “Because I listened to her, Keeva, which apparently you haven’t. She told you a drug dealer might be a suspect.”

“Wouldn’t that fit your cover plot? She would support your theory if she were trying to throw us off the Consortium.”

“Keeva, her husband’s dead. That’s a level of political ambition even you can’t imagine.”

She laughed, a bit weakly for my taste, but she laughed. “That’s why we’re looking for Croda. She may have been the killer herself somehow, but we’re also running down her drug associates.”

I didn’t say anything. Not without knowing why Ryan macGoren had been at Croda’s murder. “You don’t need to put an entire neighborhood under martial law. You need to go after C-Note. His gang attacked me. It’s him, pure and simple.”

She gave me a suspicious look. “You seem awfully confident. What evidence do you have?”

“Word is C-Note’s muscling in. Dennis Farnsworth died on another troll’s turf. His name is Moke. He says it was C-Note’s people.”

Keeva smiled. “Putting aside that Moke may be playing you, has it occurred to you that your attack was coincidence? You’re not really a director, you know. Maybe this C-Note’s gunning for you because of Farnsworth.”

I pursed my lips. I hadn’t considered that. Crystal placed Farnsworth and Kruge in the same room. And there was still the matter of Croda’s recording ward. I didn’t think that was a coincidence.

“It’s not the Consortium, Keeva. I feel it in my gut.”

Keeva stood and moved for the door. “I’ve got a major security situation to handle, Connor. Don’t leave the building. I have enough people to worry about.”

“Are you arresting me?”

She shrugged. “Call it what you want. Now go find someplace to sit. I have work to do.”

I decided now was the time to push her. “I have a question before you go. Why did Ryan lie about being with you the night of Kruge’s murder?”

Her glare snapped back instantly. “He didn’t lie. He had his dates mixed up.”

“So, where was he?”

“Here. At the Guildhouse. He was here the entire time.”

“Do you trust him?”

She gave me a long look, and opened the door. “Yes. I’m not a fool, though, Connor. And as much as I hate to admit it, I checked the security log. He was here. I was checking a blind spot.” She strode away. I trailed after her and walked down the hall to my old office. I sat behind the desk, spun the chair around, and put my feet up on the windowsill. Outside, Guild security agents did aerial sweeps of the surrounding city blocks.

Given the right motivation, I could believe anyone was capable of anything—even murder. But as the list of players expanded, the list of motivations seemed to expand even more. Clearly a power struggle was in play, both down in the Tangle and in the Guildhouse boardroom. The only connection between them was Ryan macGoren, and his involvement made no sense. I wanted to tell Keeva about the helmet, but she played games, too. And so did Nigel. And Gerin. Any one of them could be in a position to protect macGoren or hang him. I couldn’t decide who to trust, if any of them. My issues with the Guild were turning into fears. If they could turn my home into a prison camp, I had no recourse than to keep my mouth shut until I could prove publicly what had happened. As I stared out the window, I felt more alone than I had in a long time. It’s bad enough to watch your back with enemies. It’s worse when you have to do it with allies.

13

I lifted the receiver from the office phone on my desk. It had a dial tone, so I punched in Meryl’s internal extension. She picked up right away.

“Hello?” Her voice had an odd, guarded tone.

“Hi, it’s me,” I said. I swung back to the window to watch yet another squad of agents fly in the direction of the Consortium consulate. I’m sure Keeva was on the phone explaining to Consortium security that they weren’t spies. I’m sure she wouldn’t be believed.

“Grey?”

“Yeah. Why do you sound funny?”

“Because I’m looking at the caller ID on my phone and wondering if I’ve been sucked into the past somehow.”

I chuckled. “You watch too many science fiction movies. I’m hiding in my old office. Care for a visitor?”

“Sure. You’re not dead, right?”

Glancing to my left, I smiled. Virgil had moved his gargoyle self from his lower perch to the nook right outside my window.

“No. Minor scorching. I’ll be down in a sec,” I said and hung up.

A familiar cool flutter touched my mind. I had felt it before, like a sending, only more subtle and less identifiable. It was how gargoyles communicated.

A circle contains and excludes but defines itself,Virgil said.

That sounded like an abstract philosophical game. Gargoyles never make any sense when they speak. At least, I don’t think so. They only make sense afterward, and then you kick yourself for not understanding. I’ve tried to figure out Virgil, but I only end up second-guessing myself. I think he’s sincere in trying to help. Why, I don’t know. I’ve known very few people that gargoyles have spoken to. As far as their conversations go, Virgil was downright chatty with me, but most of the time I had no idea what he was talking about.

You don’t send your thoughts to a gargoyle like you do to other fey. You think loudly, and they appear to overhear. I’ve never had a conversation with Virgil unless we were near each other. It made me doubt gargoyles could actually do sendings, but no one knows much about what they can do. I relaxed my mind and thought,Sometimes I feel my entire life is running in circles.

Jested truth makes dangerous folly. The stroke of a sword injures the heart of the wielder and his foe. I didn’t like the sound of that. My dagger was a sword, after a fashion, but I didn’t know how to make it turn into a sword. The one time I did it, it felt more like the sword was using me than the other way around.No jokes, then, Virgil.

When he didn’t say anything, I thought he was finished speaking. It’s really hard to know when the conversation is over when you’re dealing with a talking stone that doesn’t move. Bones,he said.

I stared at him, pointlessly trying to read something, anything, into his words. Sometimes runes are carved on bones, which are thrown to read the future. Elves favored it, but I didn’t know anyone who actually knew how to do it.

I don’t understand.As usual, I thought, hoping it wasn’t loud enough for Virgil to hear. Bones,he said. The coolness floated away. Virgil was done speaking. I stared at his little naked body, wondering if he ever felt self-conscious with his goods hanging out for all to see. He moved somehow, though I had never seen it happen, and yet he never moved his hands from his knees to hide his groin. Maybe he felt no shame. Maybe he didn’t understand it. I grinned as a thought occurred to me. Maybe it was because he had nothing to hide.

If possible, the Community Liaison offices were even emptier than the last time I was there. Everyone must have been running around outside dealing with the hysteria. I would have mobilized everyone if I were in charge. I would lock down the Guildhouse, sure, but I wouldn’t try to take on the Consortium and an entire neighborhood simultaneously.

I took the elevator straight down to the subbasement. Meryl smiled for a fraction of a second when I walked into her office, then wrinkled her nose. “You smell like burnt cow.”

“It’s new.” I turned to show her the scorch marks on my jacket.

She whistled appreciatively. “Nice miss.”

“Yeah. It was fun.”

She leaned back in her chair. “So, is it a fascist wet dream out there?”

I nodded. “Nigel thinks the Consortium is behind the attacks.”

Meryl snickered. “Nigel thinks the Consortium is behind everything. I swear the man is itching for a war no one wants.”

“He was never this single-minded before.”

She gestured at me. “He’s pissed at them. They took out his main man.”

That took me by surprise. “Me? Are you talking about me? He’s pissed because of my injury?”

She nodded. “Before you lost your abilities, the scuttlebutt was that you were being groomed in case hostilities broke out. You were one of the few here-born with major potential.”

You could have knocked me flat with an eyeblink. Nigel wasn’t one for compliments, but now that I looked back, I could see what Meryl meant. He was always pushing me to work harder, trying to get me to join the Druidic College, teaching me ways to use my abilities even when he wasn’t happy that I had gone the Guild route. It made a sort of sense. “I never realized. No one ever said anything.”

She grinned. “Ha! With your ego? Are you kidding me? No one in their right mind was going to give you more reason to strut around like a peacock.”

I didn’t say anything. Meryl wasn’t the first person to comment on my arrogance, only the most vocal. I don’t think I impressed her enough for her to be diplomatic.

“I’ve changed.”

Her grin broadened. “No shit. Almost dying a couple of times has done good things for you.”

She had a point. When your life hits bottom, you can’t help reevaluating things. Losing my livelihood and being abandoned by people I thought were my friends made me understand what it’s like to be on the other side of privilege.

“Look, I need to get out of here. There’s a meeting of the Bosnemeton tonight, and I have to do something before that.”

Her eyebrows went up and hid behind her bangs. “Do something?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Keeva’s got the building locked down tight, and I don’t want to be followed.”

“And you’re not going to tell me what it is?”

“Nope.” We had a playful staring contest involving lots of smirking and grinning. At last, Meryl sighed.

“Okay. I’ll show you a way. But I want details later.”

“Deal,” I said.

I stood as she got up from her desk. She started around it, then walked right through the wall of her office. Impressed, I stared at the illusion. The space between an overflowing credenza and an old filing cabinet looked like a perfectly normal wall. It took a lot of ability to maintain, even more when you had to contend with the amount of essence and warding in the Guildhouse. And I hadn’t sensed it there at all. Meryl was damned good at what she knew how to do.

“Coming?” Her voice sounded muffled coming through the illusion, as though she were calling out from a good distance.

I walked through the wall after her, feeling the spiderweb tingle of essence skim over my body as I went through it. Meryl waited on the other side with a small flashlight. We were in a narrow tunnel that looked much like the other subbasement hallways, only without the doors. Behind me, I could see Meryl’s office as clear as day.

“You’re full of surprises,” I said.

“Did you really think I’d have an office with only one door?” she asked. She turned and led the way along the tunnel. The light dimmed the farther we went from her office, and she turned on her flashlight. “I found this tunnel by accident one day. Took me a while to create the opening in the office, but it was worth it.”

I could feel warding along the walls. If I had to guess, I’d have said we were moving between Guildhouse storerooms, which were filled with all kinds of things that had essence to spare. As a chief archivist, Meryl kept it all in check, making sure nothing disappeared or reacted with something else or exploded. By the odd fluctuations in warding, I could tell there had to be more openings, but Meryl didn’t seem inclined to give a tour.

We reached the bottom of a flight of stairs. Meryl paused and held up her hand. After a few murmurs, a small ball of blue light no bigger than a glow bee danced up from her palm. Still murmuring, she tapped my forehead with her free hand, cupped both her hands together, then tossed the light ball. It swirled up into the darkness.

“There. I’ve opened the warding for you at the top. No one will see you leave.”

“You’re a marvel,” I said.

“I know. Just go straight up. Don’t let me catch you using this without me.”

“Thanks.” I kissed the top of her head and started up the stairs before she had a chance to hit me. I’ve given her the top-of-the-head peck before, and she hates it. Or seems to. As I went higher I heard a low hum that slowly grew louder. The stone steps vibrated beneath my feet.

“Don’t get hit!” Meryl called up from the darkness.

I reached the top. Seeing nothing but blackness, I stepped forward into another warding. And almost got hit. A subway train hurtled past. I jumped back so fast, I almost fell back down the stairs. After surviving an attack by elves, it would be just my luck to get hit by a train. I could hear giggling down below. Shaking my head, I went through again and found myself on the tracks next to the Boylston Street T station platform. The train that that almost hit me was loading passengers. I ran a few feet along the track, slipped between a gap in some fencing, and jumped onto the nearest car before the doors closed. I didn’t bother sitting since I needed to change lines at the next station. Down the aisle from me, a well-dressed older woman dozed in her seat, her purse clutched in her lap. She wore a large felt hat with a long pheasant feather. I could just make out the tops of two familiar pink wings coming up the other side of her. Joe peered at me from over her hat and put his finger to his lips. Hovering above her, he bent the feather down and tickled her nose with it. She shifted in her seat without opening her eyes. He did it again, and she waved her hand up. As the train screeched on the curve into Park Street station, he knocked the hat off and vanished. The woman startled awake, looked down at her hat, and glared at me. I tried to maintain an air of innocence, but she looked convinced I had something to do with it. The train pulled into the station. I hurried down a flight of stairs to the Red Line. I used to take cabs everywhere. I used to have a car service at work when I wanted it. Now I take the subway and hope I don’t miss trains. It bothered me at first. But then I learned public transportation is what real people do. Only the fey thought they were too good for it. But sometimes I still missed the car service. My next train came in, and this time I sat as close to the corner as possible. Right on cue, Joe appeared unobtrusively on the next seat, hiding between me and the wall of the car.

“That was naughty,” I said.

He shrugged and smiled. “It was an ugly hat.”

“I guess you do have a point.”

He stretched out on the seat. “I heard you were attacked. Elves really don’t like you, do they?”

“A lot of people don’t.”

He chuckled. “I have a message from Callin.”

“I was hoping that’s why you were here.” Even though it had been only yesterday since I had called Callin about C-Note, the connections between C-Note and Kruge had become more firm. I really wanted to meet the troll.

He jabbed me with his toe. “Hey, I don’t have to run messages, ya know. I’m not a glow bee.”

“Sorry. I’ve had a long day already. What does Cal have to say?”

“He said C-Note works out of a club in the Tangle called Carnage. Cal said they’re moving a large amount of some drug called Float tonight, so C-Note will probably be there.”

I frowned. “And why does Cal know something like that?”

Stinkwort rolled his eyes. “You guys aren’t happy unless you’re suspicious of each other, are you? Did you ever stop to think maybe he doesn’t like your friends either?”

“Does he like you?”

Stinkwort gave me his ear-to-ear smile. “Everybody likes Joe!”

I laughed as the train pulled into South Station. Joe winked out before anyone saw him. I rode the escalator, an old wooden one with slats angled down that gave just enough traction to keep you from falling onto the person behind you, up to the street.

Light was already fading as I walked along Summer Street. Joe reappeared when I made the bridge, far enough away from downtown so that people wouldn’t gawk at a flit, close enough to the Weird where he might be ignored. I could see a Guild security squad flying an open surveillance pattern above the Northern Avenue bridge.

“Feel like going for a walk?” I asked.

“Sure. Well, I’ll watch you walk,” he said as he fluttered along beside me at shoulder level.

“How do you always manage to find me, Joe? People had no idea where I was this afternoon, but you manage to show up in a subway car.”

He gave me a confused look. “I look for you.”

“No, I meanhow do you look for me? How do you know where I am so you can show up?”

Joe pursed his lips. “I look for the nothing with the spot. You’re the only thing like that.”

“Thing?” I asked pointedly.

He laughed and twirled around again. “Everything is a thing. I look for the thing I want to know, and I find it and then I go. You used to have a flavor, but now you have nothing with a spot in it.”

“This is making my head hurt,” I said. If I ever needed to understand why people get so frustrated studying flits, this would be Exhibit One. Flits have an inability to clarify anything they think is self-explanatory.

“Right! That’s the spot!” he said.

The spot. Oddly enough, I think I understood what he was trying to say. It’s exactly how the doctors at Avalon Memorial have described the thing in my brain from the reactor accident: a dark smudgy spot that shows up on diagnostics but seems to have no mass. They have no idea what it is. Its physical shape tends to change over time. But it never goes away. The doctors, however inept I might consider them, have always had the courtesy not to refer to the rest of me as nothing. But that’s Joe. He doesn’t mean anything by it. It’s just his way of stating what, to him, is obvious. I stayed on Summer Street, avoiding the Avenue since that’s where Keeva’s goons seemed to be focusing their attention. Occasionally, they would hover into view above us but drop back pretty quickly. We were basically walking a vague boundary line between neighborhoods, where people from the Weird and Southie stumble into each other, turn around, and go back to where they feel more comfortable. I made a point of keeping a steady pace and keeping to the open to avoid arousing suspicion. Unfortunately, to get to where I wanted to be, I had to pass near the Kruge crime scene. There, the security agents had been keeping a constant post, watching everyone who walked by. And walk by we did. I felt a little ping as one of the guards tested my essence, but, given my physical condition, he must not have been impressed because no one followed us.

Turning off Summer Street, I strolled another few blocks, taking a roundabout path to bring me to the Tangle. It was getting near sunset and, as much as Joe made a damn fine bodyguard for his size, I didn’t want any TruKnights to see me after my earlier encounter.

Joe’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “Are we going to see this C-Note guy?”

“Not yet. Later, if you’re interested. Right now, I need to preserve some evidence.” We wound through alleys on the perimeter of the Tangle, damaged, sooty places glowing with essence in shades of blue-white and yellow and red. Joe seemed to think he was on a roller coaster as he rode their strange currents with a look of glee. My head had a constant buzz, annoying, but no more painful than my usual headache.

We finally came to the building where Crystal had hidden with Croda. Stinkwort became quiet, his face grim. Flits are sensitive to essence in ways no other fey are. They feel it more, and the nastiness that I felt in the old building probably only hinted at what he was feeling. We came out into the courtyard. Joe gasped when he saw Croda.

She was as we had left her, perhaps a little more menacing looking in the shadows of twilight. My senses picked up no new scents in the area, which gave me some assurance that the site hadn’t been compromised.

Joe hovered up near her face. “How sad. I remember her.”

“You knew her?”

He nodded with a melancholy air. “Yeah. She used to have a cave near Caerdydd in the old country. Loved baby rabbits. Used to eat them like popcorn.”

One thing about being socialized in the Convergent world was hearing something like that and being startled and not startled. Stinkwort was from a time and place where horror was mundane. I knew these things intellectually, but the reality is still disconcerting.

I reached down and tugged at Croda’s hand with the ward in it. It didn’t budge. I tried pulling from various angles, but she had truly become stone. I think if I’d had a sledgehammer, I’d still have had a hard time. I stood back and looked at her, trying to figure another way.

“What, pray tell, are you trying to do?” Stinkwort asked.

“I need the ward in her hand. I need to know what’s on it.”

“Why don’t you just play it?”

“My baseline essence isn’t strong enough. I wanted to avoid calling up more if I could.”

“Is that all? I’ll do it.” He landed on her hand and sat down. A subtle pink glow surrounded him as he let his essence flow. It spread down and wrapped the ward.

“…you’ve gone too far, and I…”crackled through the air. Shots of Stinkwort’s essence glimmered all through Croda, grabbing at bits of the recording that seemed to have flowed out of the ward and into her body. Voices echoed from different angles of her body, sometimes faint, sometimes clear, too often indecipherable.

“…C-Note. Float is more than you…”By the accent, I’d peg that as Kruge.

“…telling you to stay out of it, Kruge, I’m warning…if you’d only stopped following…”Rough, guttural, had to be C-note.

Kruge, again.“…and you. That glamour doesn’t fool me. I’ve seen enough to…to see right through it…worse than I…I’m stunned you would…”

Then a vaguely female voice that must have been Croda.“…it’s him, sir, know it by the feel…”

Kruge:“…macGoren. Manus will hear…messenger. Leave him…”

C-Note:“…too much. You leave me no choice…”

The sound of something falling, maybe a chair, then Kruge:“…run, Dennis. Get out of here…No!…”

A crackle of essence-fire, followed by a jumble of voices.

C-Note:“…no witness. You’ve forced me…”

Kruge:“…stop! stop!…” A substantial amount of hissing played out, the unmistakable sound of essence-fire, then an anguished shriek that had to have been Kruge. Another scream that I took to be Croda. Struggling sounds came next, and the discharge of more essence-fire. Then Croda again, her breath ragged as she ran:“…children, got you…”

A girl screaming. It had to be Crystal, her voice coming through hysterically.“…Denny! Denny! Say something…”

“…hush, hush. They’ll hear…Denny…his spark is gone, child…”

More sobbing and the pounding of Croda’s loud footsteps and heaving breath.

“…in here. Hide and quiet ’til night. Hush, now, hush…No! No! He’s coming!…he’s found…”

The metallic screech of the roof coming off the storage shed. Screams from Crystal and Croda, the latter quickly drowning out the former as the troll died. A constant sobbing, very loud, as Crystal crouched right up to the ward stone behind Croda.

We could hear the essence fight Crystal described, the sound of static and bursting of stone, garbled voices, then one phrase at a distance in a new voice:“I will have it.” Ryan macGoren. I recognized him clearly. Then the sound of wind and Crystal’s sobs fading out.

Joe released his essence, and the glow faded back into him. He had a pale cast to his skin that could not have been from what was for him a minor expenditure of essence. “That was awful.”

I nodded. The anguish in Croda’s death cry had sent chills up my spine, and Crystal’s sobs were gut-wrenching. I looked up at the troll’s face, now twisted forever in pain. “We have to hide her, Joe. I’m betting C-Note didn’t realize she had a recording ward or that Crystal was hiding with her. If he did, he wouldn’t have left her here. I don’t want anyone else stumbling in here.”

I dragged pieces of the storage shed roof through the debris and leaned it against Croda. It felt rude to do, but at least it caused significantly less damage than what I had intended by breaking off her hand. I had no idea how trolls felt about their dead, but now I wouldn’t have to find out if breaking her would have been some kind of sacred violation. Somewhere, Joe found an old tarp sizable enough to cover most of her. Between that and the roof sheeting, at a glance no one would notice she was there.

“Let’s get out of here,” I said. In silence, we made our way back. Night had fallen, and I felt it was worth the risk to go directly down the Avenue. I just wanted to be away from the courtyard as quickly as possible. Walking through the Weird, I could see angry faces glaring up at the hovering Guild agents. I could not believe how many Keeva had sent.

When we reached my building, an agent stood guard at the door. He stepped out from the building as soon as we turned the corner, but relaxed his posture as we drew near.

“Good evening, Director Grey. We’ve had no activity since this morning,” he said.

“Thanks,” I said, trying not to sound annoyed. He was just following orders. Keeva and Nigel were to blame, not him. I went up the stairs, and another guard waited outside what was left of my door.

“Good evening, Director Grey. Your apartment is secure,” he said.

“Yeah, I heard,” I said. Joe flew in ahead of me and went directly to the kitchen cabinet where I kept cookies. I surveyed the shambles of my living room. Truth to tell, it was only slightly worse than usual. My apartment door lay to the side of the entrance, the hinges sprung and a big dent across the middle. I picked it up and turned to the agent.

“Nothing personal, but if you have to be here, I’d prefer you stood down the hall.”

The agent looked down the hall, gave a curt nod, and walked away. I propped the door in the opening. Even before I went into my study, I knew what I was going to see. My computer was in considerably more parts than one would think possible. At least they hadn’t destroyed my books. I slid my hand down the side of the filing cabinet and retrieved my laptop. I had backup files hidden in the kitchen. I’d had more than my share of destroyed computers, so I’d learned to plan for them. I’d have to reload my video games, but at least the data would be intact.

Joe sat on the edge of the counter eating Oreos. Before he even asked, I poured him a glass of milk. He refuses to touch my refrigerator, so I humor him.

“I’m hitting the shower,” I said. Cheeks bulging, he nodded and waved. Hot water soothed aching muscles. Between wrenching my shoulder and rolling around in the Public Garden, my body was not happy. I had just gotten over some major injuries in the past few months, and some of them throbbed with remembered pain. In the midst of my shampoo, I caught Gerin’s sending about the Bosnemeton meeting. He certainly waited until the last minute. I’d barely have enough time to dress and get to Thomas Park in Southie before it started. I didn’t particularly care for the sound of an old man’s voice in my head when I was wet and naked either.

“I’ve got to go to the Bosnemeton,” I said to Joe as I pulled on a black sweater and jeans. I had to rummage to find my druid meeting robe. It’s bleached muslin, not my favorite color. I always feel silly wearing it, but as High Druid, Gerin insisted on traditional garb.

“I’ll come, too,” said Stinkwort.

“You know Gerin will have the place warded against everyone but druids.”

He pouted. Flits can pretty much get in anywhere they want. The only exceptions I know are druid Grove meetings, the odd Unseelie Court warding they run into, and the first day of new security at the Guild. They break the latter pretty quickly. Some people thought that was a problem, but I didn’t. As a species, flits were exceedingly loyal to the Seelie Court at Tara, and not one had ever been accused of being a spy. “Fine. I’ll wait outside.”

I moved the door and, once in the hall, replaced it. Pointless, but it made me feel better. Down on the Avenue, I hailed a cab. It was the only way to get to Southie in time, and though I wasn’t rolling in cash, I had a little extra to spend this month. Joe entertained himself by squeezing in and out of the cash slot in the Plexiglas barrier between the front and backseat. The cab driver tried hard not to be fascinated. I pulled out my cell and called Meryl.

“You’re in a cab,” she said.

“Do I want to ask?”

“They started tracking you a little over an hour ago on Old Northern. The security monitor says you just left your apartment, freshly bathed and got in a cab.”

“It says Ibathed ?”

She giggled. “Naw. I threw that in as a guess. What’s up?”

“I’m on my way to the Bosnemeton.”

“You’re late. Gerin’s doing the ‘we are separate, but one’ crap.” I rolled my eyes. If I hated Guild politics, druid politics could be even worse. The roles of men and women were still being adjusted, and Gerin was an old conservative.

“How’d you like to go dancing later?”

“Sure. Who’s asking?”

“Funny. Ever hear of Carnage?” It was a rhetorical question, I knew. I had given up trying to stump her with questions about anything and had almost reached the point of just assuming she knew everything about everything. It’s a thought pattern, I am sure, she would like to encourage.

“Youwant to go to Carnage?”

“You know it? I have a little business to take care of there with Murdock, but it shouldn’t take me that long. I thought you might enjoy going.”

“Uh, yeah, I know it. I’ll go.”

“Good. It’s a date.”

“It’s not a date. It’s a field trip for me to be amused at the sight of you in a dance club.”

“Ha-ha. I’ll meet you after the meeting.” We disconnected.

I called Murdock. “I’ve got a line on C-Note tonight. Do you want in?”

“Depends. Are we investigating the Kruge murder, which is not our case, or the Farnsworth murder, which is?” he said.

“Yes.”

He chuckled. “True. I was just checking to make sure you were still on the case. I do have to justify your consultant fee, you know.”

“Stickler. Swing by Thomas Park in an hour or so and pick me up.”

“Will do.” He disconnected.

I dropped my head against the seat, wondering if I had a security agent following in the air. Nigel had made no secret of the Bosnemeton meeting in front of Keeva, so I didn’t quite see the point. Every member of the Grove in the city who could be there would be there. Gerin liked nothing more than to strut his stuff in a crisis, so this meeting would be the usual boring posturing. I would have skipped it if Nigel hadn’t taunted me. It felt a lot like reverse psychology, but I wasn’t going to give him a point to score later by not showing up.

I had trusted Nigel with my life, and now I felt that trust misplaced. Was I really just a soldier to him? A pawn in his political games? Wasn’t I more than that to him? I thought he cared. To think otherwise would be a blow. Not to my ego. My ego was still tougher than it should be. It hurt, though. And confirmed for me all the more to work the cases Murdock called me for. I had a pretty good idea now what it was like to be dismissed because of powerlessness. If I could ease that pain for someone else, like some poor kid who died in the Weird, maybe it would ease my own a bit. I thought a lot of people cared about me until my accident. Some did, including the little guy in front of me who was trying to fit the door lock in his mouth.

“Stop that. It’s got germs all over it,” I said to Stinkwort.

He made a sour face. “And you have no idea how it tastes.”

14

The cab let me off near a side entrance to Thomas Park in Southie. I stood on the sidewalk pulling the robe over my head. I wasn’t alone. Only the more conservative druids like to walk around in their robes, so almost every meeting of the Grove seems to begin with a dressing room on the sidewalk. I walked up the steps into the park with Joe by my side.

The Bosnemeton grows on one end of the park on a hill overlooking Boston and the harbor. During the American Revolution, the Continental Army fortified the hill and scared the British all the way to Canada. While a nice New Englandy tower went up to commemorate the event, no one realized at the time that druids had planted oak trees at the other end of the new park. Before anyone knew it, a sacred grove was born, and the first fey/human court battle began. Eventually the whole church and state tussle went away and an uneasy truce was called. So now the druids can hold meetings of the Grove as long as they don’t annoy the neighbors, and the neighbors don’t go into the Grove. You never approach a druid Grove directly, but trail along a winding path. Once you start on the path, you must enter the Grove before turning back to the world. I started on the way, nodding to the warders who always took a post outside to keep tourists away.

My sensing abilities kicked in on their own as I neared the entrance. That happens sometimes. All the ambient druid essence in the air, not to mention the Grove itself, can enhance abilities. On the final approach, I could see a thin layer of anairbe druad . It’s an essence barrier—literally a “druid hedge”—much like a body shield, only created by spells. Druids are particularly adept at making them. The skill used to come in handy during battles to protect fighters. The one on the Grove was mostly for privacy, and held a warding that prevented non-druids from entering. As I passed through it, Joe hovered outside, his eyes roving over the haze for a break in the spell. He never finds one, but he always tries. Majestic white oaks encircle a single tree in the center of the Grove, a few curled leaves clinging to their stark limbs. The meeting had already begun. Gerin Cuthbern stood beneath the central tree wearing his long white robe and the double torc around his neck that symbolized his rank as High Druid. Senior druids who act as Elders of the Grove stood next to him including Nigel and Gillen Yor. Gillen makes me smile. He’s a short, cantankerous sort, who looks like he dresses in whatever oddments might have been handy when he rolled out of bed. At meetings, his robe always looks like he gave up putting it on halfway through.

If I ever needed a reminder of how far I had fallen, the Bosnemeton provides a nice geographical representation. Ranked in a semicircle in front of the Elders were the members of the Grove, the more experienced druids in front, fanning out and back to those with the least control of their abilities in the rear. I took my place near the rear, with mostly teenagers behind me. Not far in front of me, Callin stood, eyes bloodshot and a bruise on his cheek. When he noticed me, he nodded, then turned his attention back to the front.

Gerin is a stickler for form. Which means I spend a lot of time going over my grocery list in my head while he warbles his way through the invocations. Nigel always looks patient, Gillen considerably less so. I’ve learned to catch naps on my feet, which has the added benefit of looking like I’m meditating. After an interminable time, Gerin called out“Awen, the spirit is here!”

On the stone table in front of Gerin lay his copper blade of office. On the other side of the tree, druidesses stood, their cup sitting on its own table in front of them. The women’s white robes accentuated a pallor on all their faces. They didn’t look happy, but they rarely did when only the High Druid led a meeting. Gerin liked to put up a thin barrier between the two sides of the Grove. He says it symbolizes the halves we each bring to the whole. The women think he’s a chauvinist pig.

“My brothers and sisters, tonight we speak of the rule of law,” Gerin intoned. Someone snorted loudly behind me. I glanced over my shoulder. Most everyone had their hoods thrown back. The only people who pulled their hoods forward were either embarrassed by their position in the Grove or wished to remain solitary for the meeting. Or cold. After the warm season, Gerin usually charged the Grove’s warding with heat, but tonight he hadn’t bothered. Between the robe and my jacket, I was warm anyway. I finally decided the snorter was a short guy near the entrance with his hood pulled all the way down. Like all situations that lend themselves to pecking order, those in the back got away with commenting and laughing at the proceedings without fear of Gerin’s anger.

“Will you get on with this,” Gillen muttered loudly enough to hear.

“My brother, I am the voice of the Grove. Do you challenge it?” said Gerin Gillen made a disgusted face. “Let’s keep it moving. I’ve got work to do.”

Gerin didn’t react to him, but faced the crowd, or rather the men. He kept his back to the women. “My brothers and sisters, we are under siege. I have been attacked in my own city.” He waited while those few who hadn’t heard what happened could be properly aghast, as though someone’s attacking a druid never happened. It was rare for the High Druid to be attacked, but hardly shocking. “It pains me, brothers and sisters, that the respect for this Grove has fallen so low.”

He began to ramble in his arch manner. Sometimes I think he’s read too many ritual guides. I know he’s written too many. While I let my mind drift, a swift pain in my head brought back my attention. It was just a spasm, but it felt like my brain had cramped.

Gerin held his staff across his body as he talked. Most druids no longer used them. They’re big and bulky and have an aggravating tendency to get forgotten under restaurant tables. But then that’s Gerin.

“And so I propose an opposition to the Guild for their failure to protect.”

“What an odd thing to say, Gerin,” Nigel said in a dry tone.

“I am High Druid of the Bosnemeton Circle, Brother Martin, in case you have forgotten how to address me.”

Nigel placed his hand over his heart and gave a shallow bow from the waist. “My pardon, High Druid. But the fact remains, you are more representative of the Guild than anyone here.”

“Save you, Brother Martin.”

“Save me,” Nigel said.

“And you have failed this Grove, Brother Martin. When the opportunity arose to bring strength to the ruling council of the Guildhouse, you passed it by. I would not stand here with burns if you had stood by me when we had the chance.” From my angle, I couldn’t see any burns. I wasn’t going to be the one to ask him to lift his robe.

“Oh, please, Gerin—High Druid—it’s not a ruling council. It’s a board of directors. I’m not interested in Guild politics,” Gillen snapped.

Surprisingly, an annoyed murmur ran through the crowd. Granted, Gillen did not have many admirers, but everyone usually respected him. Not that he cared either way.

“That’s the point, Brother Yor. The Guild fails to rule where it must and fears to rule where it should. The Grove had an opportunity to change that, and we failed. You, Brother Martin, failed us, with the aid of Brother Grey.”

There are times when I love being the center of attention. This was not one of them. Having several hundred men in ceremonial robes glance in your direction when you’re blamed for something is not pleasant.

“Connor Grey merely sat in for Briallen, as you know. And if she were there, she would have pointed out the same flaw in your thinking as he did,” said Nigel.

“Irrelevant,” said Gerin. “The point is our unity. The Ward Guildhouse crumbles under years of Danann rule. It is the withered body of a dying man.”

Murmurs of agreement rumbled through the crowd. Gerin knows how to work a crowd. My head twinged at the shots of essence flowing around me as people conferred through sendings. Gerin was going into full chant mode, raising his staff, turning on the solemn voice. “It is the duty of a Grove—to guide the guideless, to teach the ignorant, to…”

“To rule both Grove and Guild? Is that what you’re after, Gerin?” asked Gillen Yor.

“Why not? Why not the Grove?” he said.

“Gerin has led us well!” someone shouted. No doubt a plant. More murmurs went up from the gathering and more surges of essence. Using ability in the Grove was frowned on, but I doubted Gerin was going to complain tonight. The essence pulsed against my head, sharpening my senses painfully. I let my body shields come up, a fuzzy little barrier that brought some relief.

“The Grove should run the Guild!” Gerin shouted. More shouts went up.

“Emotion clouds your judgment, Brother Cuthbern,” Nigel said. Sweet little dig not using his full title, but not crossing the same line Gillen had. More boos than cheers.

“I could have been killed. We must stop them,” Gerin said. Nice of him not to mention I almost got killed, too. People were getting caught up in the idea. Essence swirled around me in cascading waves. My senses were kicking into overdrive. I wanted to shout myself, but from the sharp knives of pain digging into my skull. I couldn’t understand it. I had been bombarded by essence before, and it had made the black thing in my head recede. I had actually been able to use my abilities for a short time. But this was different. The thing in my head seemed to clamp down harder. Maybe it was because the source was druidic, too similar to my own. Whatever didn’t allow me to tap essence, didn’t like other druidic essence either. I decided Gerin’s blustering wasn’t worth the pain. I pushed my way through the ring of men behind me, who were surging forward. They were all shouting Gerin’s name. I wasn’t the only one leaving. Just as I reached the entrance, Gillen Yor pushed past a knot of people and stomped through the druid hedge, grumbling under his breath. I stepped through the barrier and breathed a sigh of relief. The pressure abated immediately. Whatever games Gerin was playing, he played them inside the Bosnemeton.

I pulled my robe over my head as I walked down the stairs.

Joe popped in right in front of me. “What the hell is going on in there?”

“Gerin’s on one of his power trips again.” I rolled the robe up and tucked it under my arm. Joe glanced back up the stairs. “He needs to relax more. Did you invite him to the club?”

I laughed. “Not likely. Have you seen Murdock?”

Joe cocked his head. He was doing whatever it is he does when he looks for someone before teleporting. “He should be here any minute.”

I was about to comment that Murdock’s the only person who shows up late more often than I do, when I noticed a druid come stumbling down the stairs and stagger away. It was the little guy who had snorted loudly. He still had his hood up, but moved as if in pain. He put a hand out to steady himself against the stone wall surrounding the park. I went over to him.

“Are you all right?” I asked. He nodded and waved me away. Then the shoes beneath the robe caught my eye. I’d know those Doc Martens anywhere.

“How did you get on the men’s side of the Grove?”

A hand went up to the hood and pulled it open slightly. Meryl glared at me. “Rat me out, and you die.”

“Are you all right? You’re pale as a ghost.”

She nodded again. “Yeah, it’s just my girl-nads. That time of the month’s coming sooner than usual.”

“You can feel those?” I asked.

She narrowed her eyes at me. “Oh, now I remember, you’re aman . Of course I can feel them, you idiot.” She took a few deep breaths. Her body shields shimmered around her, and she straightened up.

“Ah, that’s better.”

“How the hell did you get through the hedge?” I said.

She grinned. “It wasn’t easy.”

Joe fluttered up. “Tell me! Tell me!”

“Sorry, Joe. Gerin would be annoyed if he knew I got in, never mind how angry he’d be if he caught me telling his secrets, even if I do think he’s an idiot.”

Murdock chose that moment to pull his car around the park. I opened the passenger door. “Do you want a ride or did you bring your car?” I asked Meryl.

She marched around the door and sat in the seat. She smiled. “I’m not taking my car into the Tangle.”

She gestured toward the backseat. “You get the compost heap. Hi, Murdock.”

He smiled. “Compost? Is it something I drove?”

I opened the back and pushed some trash across the seat. It wasn’t that bad. I’d seen it worse. Joe found it interesting enough to rummage around in it.

“Gerin turned the Bosnemeton into a boys’ club, and someone’s not happy,” I told Murdock. He looked at Meryl. “Don’t you ladies have your own island somewhere?”

Meryl smirked. “Yeah, right. It’s where we run around in star-spangled swimsuits.”

I think the biggest mistake I had made in my social life recently was introducing Meryl and Murdock. They took to each other like sarcasm and snark. At first I was their main target, but they finally moved on to the rest of the world.

We wound our way through Southie while Meryl explained druid gender politics to Murdock. She made several good points. Convergence had not been kind to the old order. Gerin liked to cling to the notion that women didn’t want to be involved in politics. Of course, he tends to forget that not a few druidessess have had more influence in Faerie than he apparently ever did.

We entered the Tangle. A blue haze crept along the streets, ghostly translucent in the dim streetlights. Small neon signs flickered here and there, subdued signposts for bars that didn’t want to draw attention but didn’t want to be overlooked either. No one moves quickly down here, especially at night, unless they’re running. The quick step is the fear step and draws the curiously malicious. No loud talking, and especially not laughter. It’s a place of hard coolness, the strut of confidence and threat. Meryl made Murdock park on an empty side street. Pulling up near the club would attract minimal attention, but more than we wanted.

“Ditch the coat,” she said to Murdock. He looked down at the camel-hair, one of his favorites. He took it off, folding it neatly on the driver’s seat. Underneath it, he had worn black pants and a white button-down shirt. “Egads, Murdock, this is the Tangle, not Newbury Street.” She turned to me. “Give him your sweater.”

I shrugged out of the turtleneck without debate, happy that I had decided to wear the black T-shirt. Murdock took off his shirt with a bemused smile and pulled the sweater on. He’s broader in the chest than I am, so it fit snugly, very sixties British spy movie. Meryl opened her robe and threw it in the car. Murdock and I stared. I’m not sure if our jaws dropped, but they should’ve. Meryl wore her red Doc Martens with white ankle socks, a red and white midthigh skirt in candy-cane stripes, and a strapless top in redfreakin’-vinyl that molded her curves from cleavage to waist. She flipped her magenta bangs and smiled. “Let’s go, boys.”

Murdock and I exchanged glances. “My dates never wear vinyl,” he said.

“Not a date!” Meryl called back. We caught up with her at the corner and came out into one of Boston’s amusing intersections called squares. Eight streets converged into a tight formation, buildings wedging in like slices of cake. No one in their right mind would try and drive through it without praying to whatever gods they held dear. As it was, a half dozen cars clung to the curbs, burnt-out husks of metal that had been there long enough to rust. One of them had a parking boot clamped to its tire, whether in tribute to the traffic department’s efficiency or indifference was unknowable. A cluster of people waited on a sidewalk on the far side of the square, some in outfits that made Meryl’s look demure. And the women were even more scantily clad.

“Don’t talk,” Meryl said as we stepped up to the club. No sign over the door, but down in the Tangle, if you didn’t know where you were going, you shouldn’t be there. Following Meryl, we skirted around the waiting queue.

On one side of the entrance, a dwarf worked the line, while on the other, a tall, lanky fey surveyed the crowd. He was one of the solitary fairies who didn’t have any prominent clan affiliation. Not with his yellow-barked skin and damaged, spiny growths like hair on his head. No high fairy clan would ever claim him as their own. He might even be Unseelie, one of the unwanted who banded together to protect themselves from the pretty fey with the nasty essence bolts. He turned unsettlingly white eyes toward Meryl, and his face cracked open in what passed for a smile. “Long time no see, M. What brings you down to party town?”

Meryl gave him a cool nod. “Hey, Zev. Just playing with some friends. Can you let us in?”

His white eyes glittered over us, lingering a moment on Murdock. “New policy. Fey only.”

She smiled coyly and stroked the bent thing in the middle of his face that I hoped was his nose. “I don’t see any humes, do you, Zev? You know me.”

Zev looked down at Murdock, then at the dwarf. When he was sure the dwarf wasn’t looking, he slipped a small stone in Murdock’s hand. It was a ward stone, and I felt Zev’s essence on it as Murdock put it in his pocket with a nonchalant move yet puzzled face. No one would mistake Murdock for an Unseelie with it, but it interacted with his essence enough to keep suspicion down that he was just a human normal. My senses were still hyped-up from the Bosnemeton, and I could see little flashes of purple light cascading around him.

Without a word, Zev gave us his back, unhooking the velvet rope as he did so. We walked through and entered the club. Inside, the hallway closed in tight with bodies, the walls glistening with some kind of phosphorescent life. The floor vibrated beneath our feet. We came around a corner to a blast of heavy bass, filktronica crushing out any chance of conversation.

The cavernous space of Carnage unfolded before us, four wide floors above ripped open to make more height. Crumbled concrete and jagged rebar hung over the main floor, where hundreds of fey danced in a pandemonium of light and sound. Old metal elevator cages enclosing a live band lined the edge of the second floor, five people with drums and electric lutes and harps. The singer groaned into a microphone, her voice adding a sensual growl to the rhythm of sound.

Meryl’s arms shot into the air, and she sashayed into the mix. I made a mental note to kill her for this later. I don’t like dancing. Murdock dove right in, though, taking right to the music. Learn something new about people every day. Of course, all the drugs in the air probably helped. I could smell plenty of weed and a couple of fey concoctions. I did my usual simple shimmy-in-place and looked around. Carnage was the current place for hot music and the seen scene. I recognized more than a few faces from the arts and leisure pages of theBoston Globe . The place was simply one in a long string of gathering places that placed a premium on edgy and illicit. I had been in more than a few despite Meryl’s belief. They burst into existence with regularity, only to fade when the mainstream found them or the cops did. A new one would spring up before the lights went up on the last one. All the menace was in the posturing. The most uncool thing to happen to you in the hottest club in town was to get thrown out of it. So, a strange mélange of people bumped and ground against each other who would never give each other the time of day otherwise. The Carnage crowd had a distinct Teutonic bent, with dwarves and elves from more clans than I had seen in a while. Not a few fairies swooped overhead, their eyes glazed with a feverish high. Squirreled away here and there were more solitaries, strange denizens who lingered in the shadows even here. You didn’t see many of them in Boston. They kept to themselves, feared for their lives, and made do with the lot life had given them. Copper-skinned men with overly long arms showed sharp teeth as they teased a skeletal woman, naked and pale, or an amphibious fey of indeterminate sex.

No flits, though. I realized Joe wasn’t with us, nor were any of his brethren anywhere that I could see. I thought he’d wanted to come. Knowing him, though, he had found something fascinating under Murdock’s car seats.

We spent the better part of an hour moving around the floor. What I couldn’t see in the darkness, I could sense. Fey essence everywhere, some minor spells working, mostly on glamours to make the hot look hotter. A lot of action seemed to be going on in alcoves around the upper levels but nothing that shocked me. I left Murdock and Meryl on the floor to get some water. With everything else going on in the room giving me a headache, I didn’t want to increase the head pain with alcohol. I didn’t want to think about the structural integrity of the building, but hoped the extra warding I was seeing and feeling was enough to hold it all together. Ripping the floors out to create the open space had weakened the structure, but someone who knew how to work stone materials, probably a dwarf or maybe C-Note himself, had used essence to strengthen what remained. Essence could be used to create tough barriers in and of itself. Bonding it to existing brick and mortar made it even stronger. I leaned against the bar and caught sight of Callin. He stood across from me, a section of gyrating dancers between us. He talked with a motley crew of fey who looked like trouble. I was going to have a conversation with my brother sometime in the near future. It would end in anger, I’m sure, but I at least had to try to understand why he chose to put himself on the wrong side of things so often. He finally caught sight of me but didn’t come over, making it clear he didn’t want us seen together. After a few minutes, he caught my eye again and with an imperceptible nod indicated a wide set of closed doors visible on the third floor above.

C-Note is up there. Don’t do anything stupid,he sent. The man was hanging out with drug dealers and gangs and was telling me not to do anything stupid. I couldn’t complain too much at the moment, though. He had let me know that C-Note would be here tonight when I asked him to find out. I shimmied my way back onto the dance floor to Meryl and her dancing fool partner. They couldn’t hear me, but I got them to follow me through the flailing arms and legs and wings to the steel staircases that twisted up to the second and third levels. Once above the band, the sound diminished. People milled about what was left of a floor that had become a balcony overlooking the dance floor.

“What’s up here?” Meryl asked.

I nodded behind me toward the sheet-metal door. “That.”

By the way Meryl’s nostrils flared, I could tell she was sensing what I was. “Haven’t you boys had enough of trolls lately?”

“I wish. Care to join us?”

She held up her hands in refusal. “I’m not a field agent.”

I couldn’t blame her. I was about to nail the connection between my murder case and Keeva’s. Guild politics being what there were, Keeva would find ways to make Meryl miserable if she caught wind of her involvement.

Murdock took up a flanking position on my right as we walked to the door. In the short time we’d been working together, Murdock and I had fallen into comfortable patterns. All my other partnerships had an element of competition in them. Not Murdock and me. We worked well together because we had our own areas of expertise. In fey situations, he had no problem letting me take the lead. In human normal, I let him take it.

An elf shifted in front of the door, a TruKnight by the black and red jacket. He didn’t say a word, just stared. Several others lurked nearby, pretending not to notice us.

“Tell C-Note I want to talk to him about Dennis Farnsworth,” I said. He didn’t move. Murdock stepped in closer. I had an uncomfortable moment as I felt his essence charging up, but he looked calm. He didn’t make any move for his gun, but from his stance I knew he’d have it in his hand before the elf knew it. “Open the door because you don’t want to make me mad.”

The elf smirked. Any fey would. Most elves are pretty good at sensing essence since they like to manipulate external sources rather than their own. Despite Zev’s ward stone muddying Murdock’s essence so it didn’t feel human, the TruKnight clearly thought whatever Murdock was, he was no match for an elf. After seeing Murdock in action at Yggy’s, I almost wanted to watch him wipe the smirk off the guy’s face. I felt a soft flutter in the air around us, which meant the elf was sending. Sure enough, he nodded a moment later and opened the door.

After we entered, he closed the door behind us, muffling the blasting music to a pulsing bass vibration. The room stretched long and cramped. The air was thick with smoke and incense that my head problem hated. Fey lounged on couches along the walls, elves and dwarves mostly, but with a few drugged-up fairies and brownies. The ones that bothered to notice us gave condescending smiles. The rest were either deeply involved with each other or stoned on something. At the far end sat a table, and behind the table sat C-Note.

As trolls go, he had been hit with the ugly stick more than most. His wide, pockmarked face was cut by a long, sinuous nose with nostrils a man could fit his fist in. He watched us with tight, round eyes nestled deeply at the bridge of that nose, long tendrils of eyebrows twisting up into a thick mane of greasy brown hair. Even seated, both Murdock and I had to tilt our heads up to look at him. By the expanse of his chest, I’d guess he hailed from the mountains. Most of the Teutonic trolls from there seem built from the raw bedrock.

C-Note rubbed a dull gem on a leather cord around his neck. As we approached, I could see a long, black staff of wood clenched like a royal scepter in his large, taloned hand. A leash wrapped around the other hand and trailed to a collar worn by a naked woman. She crouched on the floor beside him, silvery white skin laced with healing wounds and bruises. Her coarse hair hung to the floor, charcoal gray and matted. She looked at us with no emotion, eyes a deep brilliant green yet empty. Just the hint of saliva glistened at the corner of her parted lips.

“What can I do for you, Connor Grey?” C-Note asked. I recognized the growling sound from the ward stone Croda had.

“You know me. Good. This is Detective Murdock,” I said.

He showed rows of sharp little teeth. “I know him, too. He’s been hassling some of my friends.”

“Your friends are thugs,” Murdock said. Good for him, I thought. It paid not to show intimidation. Not that I had any doubts about Murdock.

“Who’s your date?” I asked.

He looked down at the woman and jerked the chain. She shuffled closer but didn’t change her expression. “Just a pet.”

I clamped my jaw shut. I had no idea what she was about, if she chose to be where she was or not, but the situation made the hair on my neck stand up. The collar on her neck seemed to be constraining her body as well as her essence. I could feel an ache in my head. With all the drugs and essence flowing freely, the pressure in my head had decided to take the worst time to build.

“Where were you Sunday?” I asked.

He leaned back in his chair. “Why should I answer that?”

“Because we have evidence you were at a murder scene, and I’d like to know the tall tale you’re going to tell about not being there,” I said.

A wheezy rumble that I took to be chuckling came up from his chest. “You have nothing to threaten me with. The Guild would have sent someone. Thank you for amusing me, though. Now get out.”

A dwarf with a black hoodie stepped closer. I looked down at him and smiled. “Banjo, right? I told Moke you guys work for the highest bidder.”

“I work for myself. Get moving,” he said. He didn’t have to ask me twice. I wanted out of the room. There’s no direct connection between physical size and essence, but trolls throw off a lot. Between C-Note and all the other fey in the room, my head was splitting with pain. Amused eyes watched from several corners as we left, the patronizing looks of superiority. It works wonders on the less self-assured. The door opened with a burst of music and closed carefully behind us, too indifferent to give us a good slam. Not that I would have welcomed it. The essence situation was no better out on the balcony and came with a pounding bass line just in case they missed any of my aching synapses.

“Did you get a good sniff?” Murdock asked.

I nodded and tapped my nose. “Yeah. He’s definitely the other troll I sensed in Kruge’s office. We’ve got our murderer.”

Murdock moved to the makeshift railing and looked down at the dancers. I joined him.

“It won’t help us in court. It’ll just be your word,” Murdock said.

“It’ll help with the Guild. We’ve got Crystal, the recording and essence confirmations from me, and Keeva’s medical examiner.” I ticked them off on my fingers. It was definitely enough evidence. “He just bought himself a murder conviction.”

“That doesn’t help our case,” Murdock said.

I didn’t respond. He was right. Taking down C-Note for Kruge’s murder would work with the evidence we had but bring no justice for Dennis Farnsworth. Lots of fey crimes weren’t considered crimes by human standards and vice versa. Murder overlapped, sure. But satisfaction in one court rarely meant satisfaction in another. But no human court would trust a fey ward stone as firm evidence or the word of a hooker’s daughter as credible. The only satisfaction Dennis’s mother would get was in the fey world, and that might not be enough for her. I still had to figure out macGoren’s involvement. Maybe it wasn’t just going to end up with C-Note.

We made our way downstairs and found Meryl dancing up a storm all by herself. She had attracted quite the crowd of onlookers, some of them basking in the glow of her natural essence, some of them turned on by a lone woman dancing with such confidence. Clouds of fog steamed onto the floor, laced with an herbal concoction I recognized as a euphoric. I glanced at Murdock, saw the glitter in his eye from the drug reaction. I followed his gaze to the vents above us. C-Note had come out of his office to check out the scene.

He leaned on his black staff as he watched the crowd. Only his eyes moved, faint points of light buried deep. A Danann fairy soared up and hovered in front of him. Her wings undulated with the rhythm of the music as her head fell back in an ecstatic roll of pleasure. Her body swayed to the right and back. Another Danann joined her, and a third. The three of them began to move in unison, arcing backward to dive toward the dancers, only to loop away just above their heads. I felt a shiver as I realized they were mimicking the rhythm of C-Note’s staff. He was playing with his compulsion drug. Then I realized, the dancers moved in a rhythmic shuffle, hands up and moving as if in a breeze. They wound in a coiling circle, lost in the music, yet nearly synchronized in their movements. Float apparently was fairly potent. Flushed with exertion, Meryl appeared in front of us. “I see the Big Ugly is still on the loose. I’m thinking he didn’t confess and beg for mercy.”

I smiled down at her. “Something like that. You looked great out there.”

She nodded at the dance floor. “It was fun until the fog. There’s something in it I don’t recognize. I’ll take my own drugs, thank you.”

“Float. It’s what C-Note’s been dealing.”

Meryl cocked her head and narrowed her eyes. “Do you feel the essence? It’s odd.”

“What’s odd?” asked Murdock.

“The essence,” I said. “Most drugs are what you would expect—some kind of chemical-based reaction. They have essence like everything else, but this stuff has more essence infused in it. It gives me a headache, actually.”

Meryl pursed her lips. “I have cramps again.”

Murdock shot me a look that was all about what-the-hell-did-she-just-say.

“Thanks for sharing,” I said.

I felt Meryl bring on her body shields. “Thought so. They’re gone. I had cramps just like this at the Bosnemeton.”

“Why are we having this conversation?” I said.

She poked me in the chest. “You just said Float gives you a headache, and you had one earlier at the Bosnemeton.”

I looked up at C-Note, but he was gone. The headache had spiked again in his office. Meryl grabbed my arm and pushed out her body shield. A momentary coolness spread over me as it interacted with my own essence and the heat in the club. The pain in my head instantly became its usual dull background buzz. She released me, and it spiked again. Too bad I didn’t have enough body shielding to pull that trick.

I could barely hear our conversation, so we moved into a hallway that led deeper into the building. I leaned in close to them. Probably one of the few places that doesn’t look suspicious is a loud club.

“Kruge seemed to be arguing with C-Note about Float getting out of control. If Meryl’s right, it’s already spread beyond the Weird.”

“But what does it do?” Meryl said.

“Janey Likesmith says it has some sort of compulsion in it.”

Murdock startled us by laughing. “I was wondering why I wanted to dance so much.”

“At least you can dance, unlikesome people,” Meryl said, eyeing me.

“Focus, please. We need to find out what’s in this stuff,” I said. Meryl raised an eyebrow. “We?”

“You don’t want to help?”

She shook her head. “I told you, Grey, I’m not a field agent.”

I gave her a slow smile. “Are you afraid of Keeva?”

She smiled back. “Hardly. I just want to make sure I steal enough office supplies before getting booted out of the Guild for getting involved in another one of your harebrained ideas. Besides, this is no outfit to play Nancy Drew in.”

She had a point. The only women I knew who wore vinyl tube tops and miniskirts on secret missions were comic book superheroes. I can just imagine what Meryl would do to me if a supervillain looked up her skirt.

I shrugged. “Okay, I’ve got my cell phone in case I need the cavalry.”

“Don’t be too long. I’d kill for some Chinese food right now,” she said. I gave her a coy smile. “A kiss for luck?”

She pecked Murdock on the cheek and smirked at me. “Good luck.”

Murdock looked surprised, then embarrassed, then cocky.

I annoyed her by chuckling. “Thanks. Let’s go.”

As we walked away, a sending hit me like a slap at the back of my head.Be careful. I glanced back, but Meryl had moved over to the bar.

“What’s the plan?” Murdock asked.

“Callin told Joe that a major shipment of Float was moving tonight. I’m guessing that fog on the dance floor was a quality check, and it’s still here.”

“So what if it is? We don’t know if it’s illegal yet.”

I had considered that. Lots of fey drugs were technically legal, only because human courts had no real way of determining what the heck they did unless they were sampled. And no court yet had upheld a ruling based on the idea that someone in the DA’s Office testified they got high.

“Because we need to know why it’s important enough to C-Note to murder one of the most prominent people in Boston.”

The sounds of the club receded as we took a dim side corridor grimed with the evidence of an old fire sooting the walls. The only essences I felt back here were the lingering trails of people consummating their desires, Murdock’s strange billow of more-than-human colored by Zev’s ward stone, and the thrumming of raw essence holding the stressed building up. We moved deeper into the darkness, the band whispering its bass line through the floor like a warning.

15

We picked our way through a collection of needles and condoms and discarded clothes to a boarded-over door marked as an exit. With a few yanks, we made enough space to slip through into a stairwell. Dead buildings have a stink of their own, an organic smell that’s a rank mélange of dampness, dirt, and unwashed bodies. We made our way up to the second floor and stopped on the landing. Murdock leaned over the railing and looked up. “Big building. This is going to take a while.”

I tapped the side of my head. “Maybe not. I can feel this crap. It’s above us.”

What I didn’t say was that I could feel Float as pain, a constant pressure from the blockage in my head. I don’t know if it hurt because my abilities wanted to reach out to the essence or because they wanted to avoid it. We moved up two more flights, the pressure increasing. As we turned on the landing to the next floor, I stopped. “Here. The pain lessened when we came up here.”

We moved back to the fourth floor and pushed against an access door. It gave grudgingly from long disuse. An intersection of hallways faced us, shattered walls with gaping holes revealing empty rooms streaked with graffiti. A green triangle with a futhark rune for “F” figured prominently, the sigil of the TruKnights. When you find yourself on gang turf, it always feels like trespassing, no matter what badge you may have in your pocket. Turf is turf, and you know when you’re on someone else’s uninvited. The floor vibrated from the dance floor directly below us. Eerie lights flickered through chinks in the flooring, lighting tendrils of smoke that trickled up from downstairs. Despite the pain, I opened my mind a crack, letting my sense feel the essences in the air. It hurt like hell, tight pinpoints stabbing at my temples. I was going to have a hell of a residual headache the next day.

“Back here,” I said. My voice felt louder than it was. I could feel Float essence increasing as we wound our way through a warren of rooms. It flared up suddenly, as if someone had opened a door. I stopped. Murdock had his gun out of his waistband even before I had chance to say anything. I nodded in front of us.

A wall hid our view, an open door to the left. I could feel the distinct signature of a living being, the raw essence that I used to identify people, but I couldn’t quite place what was in the next room. I sensed something else, a mix of energies and smells that spoke of an herbal lab, like an unventilated version of the one back at the Guildhouse. Something squeezed my brain like a claw, and shots of blackness dotted my vision. Not good. I had to pull back and tighten my range.

We edged toward the door, the silence broken by the steady thump of the club music mixed with the softer sounds of a working lab, things boiling and dripping, the steady hum of a gas flame. I peered into the room. We were on the short end of a long room, laboratory counters laid down the middle to the opposite side. Glass and copper tubing coiled from a series of glass vessels, a fantastical array of decanting apparatus strung across the space. I could feel a presence, rich and intoxicating, that pushed back against the ache in my head.

“Someone’s in here,” I whispered. I crouched and slunk into the room. The distillation gear pulsed with malevolence. Float. I could feel its essence battering at my mind.

On the far side of the room, a woman lay on a table. It took a long moment to realize she was bound and another to see that it was the woman C-Note had had leashed. Leather straps held her down, one across her head, torso, hips, and legs. Still naked, she looked even more tragic. An IV line ran from her arm to a bag hanging off the table, dark blood dripping with slow rhythm through the tube. She sensed my presence and shifted her eyes toward me, more aware now than when I had first seen her. I stood and motioned Murdock in behind me. He moved in, gun out, and flanked me on the other side of the lab table. I crept down the room to the woman.

“Free me,” she said, not so much an order, but stated in a way that said she expected me to help. There was no question as far as I was concerned. I started undoing the strap across her torso.

“What are they doing to you?” I asked.

“Stop,” said Murdock.

Surprised, I looked over at him, then down at the woman. A wave of essence cascaded over me. It felt warm and pleasant, dulling the strange headache that Float gave me.

“Free me,” she said with a bit more force this time.

My hand went back to the strap. Murdock stepped forward, a look of concern on his face. “Connor, what the hell are you doing?”

Confused, I looked up at him. “What gives, Murdock? She’s in pain.”

He kept scanning the windows and door behind him. “I’m just wondering why something as strong as a troll would feel the need to restrain a small woman.”

He had a point. Of course, size meant little in the fey world. I’d seen Joe take down a Danann fairy in a swordfight. I dropped my hand.

“Why do you stop? What does this man say that makes you stop?” She sounded genuinely surprised and confused.

I felt it again, an essence surge surrounding me. Looking down, I realized I had put my hand on the strap again. I pulled it away. “Don’t you understand him?”

Her eyes went to Murdock. His head flinched a moment, but he remained where he was. “I do not know this language,” she said.

“What is she saying?” Murdock said.

I tilted my head at him. “You don’t understand her either?”

He shook his head. “It’s Greek to me.”

“Free me,” she said. I felt the compulsion to release her again. I forced myself to listen to her speak, heard rough rolling sounds through an auditory illusion of English. “How are we speaking?” I asked.

“You are druides. I am drys. By the wood, I beg you, free me, cousin.”

My jaw dropped. As she said it, I knew it for truth. Many fey like to style themselves as higher beings, even gods and goddesses. But they’re nothing more than different species. A drys, though, a drys is the real deal, essence incarnate, the heart of the oak. I didn’t believe they really existed. I thought they were just mystic mumbo jumbo.

“Shit, Murdock. I think I just found religion,” I said, loosening her restraints. “Trust me, Murdock, it’s okay. We have to get her out of here.”

He nodded, but didn’t move to help. “Make it fast. I don’t like this.”

I pulled the needle out of her arm and helped her into a sitting position. Even seated, I could see she wasn’t going to be able to walk out easily. She slid off the table to stand unsteadily. Searching the room, she pointed. “The staff. I will need it.”

I followed her gesture to an oak staff leaning in the corner near a closed door. I took it in my hand, almost dropping it in surprise. A field surrounded the wood, thin, but strong. “The wood’s alive. Why put a field on a staff to keep the wood alive?”

“It’s all that’s left. If it dies, I die. He needs me,” said the drys.

“Yes, he does,” a voice said. Murdock dropped behind the table, his gun sighted on a figure in the doorway. The drys stood between us, her overwhelming essence blotting out everything to my senses. I hadn’t felt C-Note at all.

The drys lifted her hands and stepped toward him. “I would be free. You promised.”

“You will be soon,” he said.

She moved closer to him, her hands raising higher. “Please, I cannot wait. You will have to bury me if we wait any longer.”

He lifted a clawed hand toward her, and she paused. “Get back on the table, Hala, or I shall not be happy. You know what happens when I am not happy.”

She drifted away from him toward the table, a look of anguish on her face. He extended his hand toward me. “The staff, please.”

I held it across my chest and stepped back. I could feel my mind straining to use the staff, lift it toward him and knock him back. It would hurt me, but I still wanted to do it. Hala’s eyes bored into mine. I could feel her in my head willing me to act, demanding I comply with her desire. I lifted the staff even though I knew it was pointless. The mass in my head wouldn’t let my ability through. I knew that, but she had control over me. This was the compulsion in the drug. It was the drys. C-Note had figured out how to use her blood to control it.

The troll took a step forward. “This is pointless. You cannot escape.”

“Stand down,” Murdock said.

The lock on my mind released as Hala turned her attention to Murdock. C-Note turned toward him. “There are volatiles in here, Detective. Do not be foolish. You must know it’s useless to use a gun against me.”

Murdock chambered a round. “I’m not too bright.”

Without hesitation, C-Note thrust his hand at Murdock. As he did, I was aware of every movement, every fraction of a second. Something about Hala augmented my senses. I could actually see the essence swirling out of his hand and wrapping itself into a spell of yellow fire. I couldn’t stop it with ability, but I had the staff. I swung it into the path of the spell. The field on the staff sparked, and I felt a jolt. The spell veered over Murdock’s head and hit the end of the lab table in a shower of sparks. Murdock spun toward the explosion, dropping to the floor. With barely a shrug, C-Note flipped the table at him. In an instant, Murdock’s essence blazed up around him. He caught the edge of the table as it fell toward him and tossed it away.

C-Note didn’t move. I think he was shocked. I was. He recovered and lifted both hands, Power beginning to emanate between them. The drys took the moment to pick a side.

“No!” she screamed and lunged at him. She hit him in the back, and he staggered with arc lights of essence springing wildly from his hands. Murdock was right, she packed a wallop for such a small person. A cascade of lightning sprang to life throughout the room. The front of a cabinet burst open, its contents shattering on the floor. The shock of lightning hit it, and flames leaped up. C-Note recovered his balance. Essence built up in his hands, a shimmer that would turn into visible light any moment. A swirl of more essence rolled from the drys and surrounded him. C-Note stiffened, and the power drained from his hands.

“Enough. Let us leave this place,” she said.

He turned toward her, anger in his face. “Do not defy me. I will bring more pain on you than you can ever imagine.”

“How the hell did you get control of a tree spirit?” I demanded.

C-Note’s eyes flicked from the drys to me. “Once I found her, it was only a matter of time.”

Hala’s eyes went to the lab table with its menagerie of glass. “He twists the will of the wood with his mind. He spreads it like plague. He takes my Power and controls people’s minds.”

Billows of smoke rolled through the room, and I moved back to the windows. “Let’s move this,” said Murdock. “Something tells me this building’s not up to code.”

I glanced at the fire. “I want to know what you’re doing, C-Note.”

“Connor, the fire…” Murdock warned.

The smoke thickened along the ceiling. C-Note looked up at it, not too happy, either, but I wasn’t letting him off the hook.

A surge of essence welled up from Hala. “Tell him.”

He glared at her, setting his jaw. I could see him struggling to resist. Impatient with him, Hala spoke. “The Guild. He strikes at the heart of the Guild. He seeks to rule. I have heard him swear to do it.”

I could see C-Note’s essence building. Almost effortlessly, he shrugged off Hala’s spell. “And I keep my promises,” C-Note said. A shock of white fire blasted from him, knocking us from our feet. More lab equipment toppled, glass breaking, liquids flying across the floor. My head screamed as my body shields came up. I felt pricks of glass deflecting off me. My vision blurred as I huddled on the floor. Hala’s essence augmented my shields, but the mass in my head fought against her. Flames shot up as something ignited. I scrambled back. Murdock stumbled toward the door. The fire leaped between us. I rocked to my knees. “Murdock! Get Meryl!” I shouted. He stood indecisively, his gun sighted on C-Note. The troll threw a bolt of essence at him. It missed, hitting the wall behind him. The floor shook as the essence reinforcing the building absorbed the hit. Murdock ducked through the door.

C-Note tilted his head, and I felt a tremor run through the building. He was pulling any available essence into himself, drawing it from the spells holding the building together. As he pulled it into himself, the walls began to buckle as they lost the essence holding them up.

“I never imagined you would get this close. I am impressed,” said C-Note.

“Murdock! You can’t fight him. Go!” I shouted over the noise.

He didn’t answer, but I felt his essence recede. I stood and leaned on the staff. It felt slick in my hands, vibrating with essence. Hala stood between me and C-Note, oblivious to the fire. Her eyes blazed with emerald light. C-Note stared back, his own eyes a feral yellow. I could feel pulsing waves of essence from both of them. The room trembled as they absorbed energy from their surroundings. C-Note pulled faster, though. He had the advantage. The building was mostly steel and concrete, of little use to a nature spirit like Hala, whose abilities tapped into organic matter like wood. C-Note stepped forward, and she backed away. The air vibrated with Power as he pulled more essence out of the building.

“I will die before I let you touch me again,” Hala said, her voice resonating with Power.

“You will die when I say,” said C-Note. He thrust his hands out, and she fell back with a groan. The staff shook in my hand. It was living wood, probably the only thing in the room from which Hala could draw essence. She didn’t tap into it. Instead, I could feel her trying to absorb what she could from the building, the odd bits of wood essence trapped amid all the stone and metal. I stood helpless. Hala’s essence was augmenting my body shields, but they were only defensive in a fight. I couldn’t use the staff itself, so I held it out to her. “Take it!”

Mistake. It seemed to break her attention, and her own shields wavered. “Keep it away from me!” she cried out.

I wasn’t going to argue. I could see the fear in her eyes, but I didn’t know why. My gaze roved the floor, looking through the scattered equipment. I edged toward the door. Without taking his eyes from Hala, C-Note gestured toward the door Murdock had run through. The fire danced across the floor and blocked the exit. The floor began to undulate from the stress of the two of them drawing essence. Hala stepped back again, broken glass piercing her feet. I looked down at the glass. Sometimes essence works like electricity. Sometimes like light. It doesn’t work well through glass. I opened the window. Cold wind whipped my hair. No fire escape, but a wide ledge. It ran along the building to the corner, past the burning wall. We’d have a few seconds of protection.

“Hala, take my hand!” I held it out to her.

She looked at me, uncertain. It seemed to finally dawn on her that this was not a winning fight. Keeping her shield up, she grasped my hand and let me pull her out onto the ledge. The wind lashed her hair into a frenzy. She didn’t even shiver.

“Hit him with everything you’ve got!” I yelled.

She let loose a burst of essence that bloomed like a star in the room. C-Note reeled under it and fell back. We ran. I pulled Hala behind me, her body spent of its Power. The windows rattled as C-Note recovered and tried to grab us with a binding spell. It passed harmlessly through the glass. As we reached the corner of the building, wind blasted at us around the corner. I steadied myself with the staff.

“Don’t let it touch me,” Hala said, her voice strained. If possible, she looked even more ill. We sidestepped around the corner. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw the fire escape. The relief vanished instantly. The wrought-iron stairs ended two flights below. We had to go through a window or up to the roof. I decided to go up.

The tar roof rattled under our feet as I helped Hala over the parapet. At the back of the building, smoke roiled upward. “We have to keep moving,” I said to Hala.

We ran for a stairwell penthouse near the front. A blast of essence hit us halfway to the door. I sprawled on my face, and the staff skittered away from me. I rolled over to see Hala lying facedown. Beyond her, C-Note was pushing his huge bulk through the penthouse at the back of the roof. He pointed at us, and let loose with another blast. It flew over our heads and shattered the front stairwell penthouse. I rocked to my feet. With two quick steps, I grabbed the staff and hauled Hala up at the same time. I could feel her strain to gather essence from around us, but we were out of her element. I hustled us toward the front.

“He’s not trying to kill us,” I said. Hala didn’t respond. He could have killed us twice over by now, but he’d let his shots go wide. He wanted Hala alive. We made it to the remains of the penthouse. C-Note shot another blast, sending bricks and wood timbers into the air. Without a thought, I hugged Hala to my chest and flung both of us into the exposed stairwell. She landed harder than I did.

“Come on. We can make it,” I said. She pulled herself up, heavy with exhaustion. Holding her waist, I forced her to walk down the stairs. The essence holding them drained away and vanished. Gravity asserted itself, and the stairs sagged beneath us with a nauseating slowness. With a roar, the remains of the roof flew up, taking part of the stairs and walls with it. We fell, tumbling over each other, arms and legs tangling, and collapsed roughly on the floor.

A knife of pain stabbed into my forehead. I curled into a ball, retching. I cursed loudly. Of all times, someone was scrying. I shook off the pain and crawled to Hala. Her head lolled against my shoulder.

“Come on, come on. He’s coming.”

Her eyes fluttered. “Don’t let him get the staff.”

I had dropped the damned staff again. I searched frantically through the chaos of the hallway, feeling my way more with my ability-sensing than vision. Its essence flared against the dullness of the building. I grabbed it and rushed back to Hala, as plaster dust from the ceiling poured on our heads. With a thunderous sound, C-Note plunged through the ceiling in a rain of brick and mortar. As he landed awkwardly, I pushed Hala into an adjoining room.

The wall exploded behind us, and the building shuddered. The essence holding it together receded, coalescing up and out in the hall as C-Note pulled more into himself. Cracks appeared in the floor, and it canted sideways. We tumbled against the far wall. Smoke from the spreading fire poured in from the next room.

C-Note stood at the door. “Give me the staff.”

I didn’t bother answering. He wouldn’t just let us go if I gave it to him. C-Note stepped into the room. Whether from his weight or from its own overloaded stress, the floor groaned loudly. With a screech of metal, it slumped and shattered into the club below. I could hear screams as the music stopped. I clutched Hala to my chest as we perched on a small patch of floor still clinging to the wall. Fifty feet of open space yawned below us. People scattered from the dance floor. The rumble of an explosion shuddered up from below, and the lights went out.

In the surreal silence that followed, the fire surged into the remains of the room. With my back to the wall, I could feel the building swaying with a nauseating rhythm. Hala was lying next to me, unconscious.

“This isn’t the way to die with a naked woman,” I said. I stroked her hair. She either didn’t hear me or didn’t think it was funny.

Gusts of wind pushed the smoke back. On the opposite side of the cavernous hole in the floor, C-Note hung with his arm wrapped around an exposed beam. He stretched a clawed hand toward us. The staff moved, pulling away from me. I tightened my fist, but the field around it made it slick. I gripped it with both hands. C-Note flexed his hand, and the staff wrenched itself from my grasp. It sailed across the open space to the other side, flying directly into his outstretched hand. As he closed his taloned fingers around it, the staff shimmered and morphed into the black staff he had had with him earlier. Hala jerked her head up with a scream. C-Note pointed the staff, and she began to slide away from me. I grabbed her hands as she clawed frantically, her eyes wide with fear. We both slid toward to the edge. With a subtle flick, C-Note lifted the rod. Hala flew from my hands, her fingers raking my skin. She flailed backward through the air, screaming. She didn’t fall but careened across the gap. C-Note held out the staff. Hala’s body twisted into an ugly smear of flesh and bone. What was left of her hit the staff and she imploded, a burst of green essence that the rod sucked in.

C-Note swung himself into the exposed hallway and faced me. “You fight a pointless battle, Connor Grey. A new day dawns, and the old order passes away. I will bring order where there is only chaos.”