Elvendude (34 page)

Samantha raised her eyebrows. "Oh really? His suppliers?"

"Yeah, his suppliers. And I think he knows his suppliers aren't exactly humans."

"Gods," Samantha groaned. "Just what we need. Daryl involved with the Unseleighe."

"I think he needs protection," Adam continued, reaching for his car keys. Then he remembered, they didn't go to anything anymore. "Once he starts turning people in to the police, the Unseleighe are going to be after him."

"I think we should all go over there," Marbann said. "It sounds like the young human needs our help."

The only operating vehicle left for them was Sammi's cop car, the '93 Chevy Caprice. It was built to move fast, and had ample room for passengers, and proved to be the perfect vehicle for Adam and his clan to migrate to Daryl's house. Marbann, Moira and Niamh piled into the rear seat, careful to cast glamories before leaving the house. Adam, Spence and Sammi, who drove, took the front after carefully stashing the secret Avalon weapon in the trunk, among the other cop bric-a-brac.

Definitely nonissue,
Adam had smirked as he closed the trunk.

Sammi had left Wenlann and Petrus with instructions to "guard" the Gate. This was only to give them the illusion they were doing something important; the two littles were simply not combat ready, and possessed only the rudimentary skills of elven magic.

They'll be safe here,
Adam thought as Sammi sped out of the driveway.

When they pulled up in front of Daryl's house, they found an ambulance, a coroner's station wagon, a black-and-white, and the white van Sammi and her new partner did surveillance in. The front door of the house was open, and Adam saw someone standing just inside.

"They must have called Roach," Sammi said, explaining the van. "Depending on how far Daryl is willing to go on this, the gear in that truck might come in real handy." She opened her door and got out.

"We leave the situation in your most capable hands," Marbann said from the rear of the Caprice. "Summon us if you require help." The others stayed behind while Adam and Samantha went inside.

"We'll do that," Adam said, casting a brief but longing look at Moira.
Gods, she looks sexy when she's tense,
he thought before following his "mother" up to the house.

What struck Adam as being strange was the absence of interest from the neighbors. All along the richly appointed neighborhood block, lights had been turned out or shades drawn. It was almost as if the other humans wanted to shut off what was happening at the Bendis' home. Adam doubted this was the first time police had shown up at this address.

A uniformed officer met them at the open door, and Sammi presented her credentials. It didn't seem to be necessary, only a conditioned reflex, as the officer seemed to already know her.

"The body's upstairs. The coroner just arrived." He looked down, looking disturbed. He was young cop, and apparently had little experience in death.

"Where the hell are the parents?" Samantha said.

"Not here," the cop said. "Kid doesn't know where they are, either."

Adam saw Daryl, crying his eyes out, in the dining room. A suit was questioning him, an older cop he assumed was Sammi's partner.

"This is my son," Sammi said briefly. "He's riding with me on this one."

"It's pretty bad up there," the cop warned, but they were already on their way up the stairs.

The coroner and his assistant waited in the hallway with their gurney, looking annoyed. Another cop was taking pictures of the boy when they came into the room. Justin lay on his side, staring upward. He looked terrified, his face frozen in fear, and Adam wondered why.

"There was a crack pipe and five empty vials of the stuff. It's already bagged for evidence."

Sammi exhaled loudly. "Five? I don't believe it." She stepped around the body, looking down in detached but sincere sympathy. "Did they have black stoppers?"

"Oh, yeah. Black Dream, I think the street name is." The cop snapped another picture, a closeup of Justin's face. "His heart must have given out on the fifth one," the cop commented. "The coroner will let us know for sure if it was heart failure."

"Has the room been searched?"

The cop shrugged. "Not really. We wanted the pictures, first."

"Of course," Sammi said as her foot hit something just under the bed. It sounded like glass bottles. She reached down and pulled out a shoe box, which had twenty or thirty vials of Black Dream. The cop whistled.

"There's got to be more," she said.

Adam took a long look at Justin's body, the whiteness of the skin, the total lack of movement. The only thing animated about him was that hideous face, and Adam wondered what he might have seen. Then he looked away.

I knew this boy. I played D&D with him, countless times, in this very room. And now he's dead. It might have been Daryl.

It might have been me. . . . 

He shuddered, feeling suddenly unclean. The cop called the coroner in, and Adam left the room.

"We've got to talk to Daryl," Sammi said from behind him. She had the box of Dream with her, which rattled loudly as she walked.

They joined Roach in the dining room, where Daryl sat on one of the chairs, holding his head in his hands. He quivered as he sobbed.

"Let me talk to him alone," Sammi said. "My son here . . . he knows him."

Roach nodded and left the room. Behind them, the gurney rattled as the coroner wheeled the body down the stairs.

"Daryl," Sammi said. "You need to start talking to us."

Daryl didn't respond at first. Adam felt at first uncomfortable, then anger grew and spread as he considered the forces responsible for the drugs in the first place.

Zeldan. My enemy is now your enemy,
he thought.

Daryl sat up slowly in the chair. Not, as Adam first suspected, from reluctance, but from weakness. He looked deathly ill, and Adam was as shocked at his appearance as he was at seeing Justin's body. His face was sunken and hollow, like a skull. Dark rings dwelled under his half-closed eyes, and for a second Adam thought his father had hit him. But it was only the darkness of someone who'd been up too long, not the purplish welt caused by a fist. Adam had seen enough of those on Daryl over the years to know the difference.

Adam had half expected to see a calm but defiant human child who thought he knew everything and wasn't about to let the authorities rattle him. Instead, he found this shivering mess, whose tail had been decisively kicked.

"Good God, Daryl," Samantha said softly.

Daryl looked up at her slowly, blinking. "Yeah, I know," he said, and did something that passed for a laugh. "The stuff finally caught up with me."

Adam sensed surrender in the flat statement, which he'd never heard before.

"Where are your parents?" Samantha asked.

"Who the hell knows," Daryl said slowly. "Mom's playing bridge somewhere. Dad's probably out getting loaded somewhere." He looked at Adam. "Who cares?"

"We care," Adam said, pulling a chair up. He still felt awkward, but he meant what he'd said. He hoped some of that sincerity had leaked through.

Instead of a rude retort, Daryl said nothing at first. "We used to be good friends," Daryl finally said. "What happened?"

"You don't know?" Adam said, but he saw that Daryl did.

"Yeah, I know. All I hafta do is look in a mirror, right?" Adam said nothing. Then, after a brief silence, a tear ran down Daryl's face. "He's dead, isn't he?" he sobbed.

Adam didn't know who reached out first, but the next second he was holding his friend, who had wrapped his arms around Adam. He cried into Adam's shoulder and neck without restraint. Adam felt a tear squeeze between his own shut eyelids. "Oh,
God,"
Daryl moaned into his ear. "How did I get so deep in this crap?"

"Do you want out?" Adam heard himself say.

They withdrew from the embrace, Daryl looking slightly embarrassed. "Hell, yes, I want out. But there's no getting out, don't you see? I'm trapped."

Evidently he'd been doing some thinking about his situation and wanted to backpedal on his earlier remarks.

"There is a way out," Sammi said. She had left the room and reappeared with a Coke in a glass of ice.

"Yeah, right," Daryl snorted, but took the drink nevertheless.

"No, I mean it," she said. "Start talking to us."

Daryl shook his head, waving his arms shakily for emphasis. "No no no no
no.
You don't understand. They'll kill me."

Samantha held out the box of Black Dream and shook it. The loud rattle of glass indicated a fair number of bottles. "No,
you
don't understand. What I have here can put you away for ten years, even with parole."

Daryl glared at her.

"Mom, do you really . . ." Adam began, but he saw where she was taking this.

I get it. Good elf, bad elf. Right.

"You'll be almost thirty before you see freedom. If you don't start talking, right now, I'll push for twenty, with manslaughter."

"Do you really think threatening him will do any good?" Adam said.

Daryl looked as if his soul had been deflated. "Okay," he said lifelessly. "You win."

Over the next half hour Daryl told them the whole story, when he started selling bottles for Presto, to the job he had at the New You Fitness Center. Adam's skin crawled as Daryl described Peter Pritchard, a.k.a. Zeldan Dhu, of the Unseleighe Court, and his arrangement at the health club dealing quantity. He pulled out a wad of twenties thick enough to choke a horse. "Take it if you want. It's drug money." He started emptying his pockets, and before he was through had added ten more bottles of Black Dream to the cache. "There's a bunch of coke under my dad's bed."

"Go get it," Samantha said.

Daryl did as he was told, moving laconically, like a zombie. "I think he's finally had it," Samantha said when he vanished into the master bedroom.

I'll believe it when I see it,
Adam thought. He hated to be skeptical of his friend's attempts to mend his ways, but he knew he was not only up against the power of the drug, he was against the Unseleighe Court.

"That's all that I know of," Daryl said when he returned from the bedroom with a large silver tray with a visible layer of cocaine on it. "Honest. I probably have stuff all over the house I've forgotten about. I know Dad does." He set the tray down on the dining room table.

"As long as we have your permission," Samantha said, "we can use it all for evidence."

"You have it," he said. Then, his expression became fearful. "Now. I have a few of my own requests."

Samantha waved at Roach to come back in. The cop had been lingering in the hallway ever since she'd shooed him away, and he returned with a big goofy smile on his face, apparently having heard everything.

"You heard the boy," she said. "Search this house." Then she turned to Daryl. "Go ahead," Samantha said. "You've been fair with us. What do
you
want?"

Daryl returned to the chair again, a little more steadily this time. "First, you need to get me into a treatment center. I'm so strung out on Black Dream right now I'm afraid I'll die without help."

Adam withered at the mention of the Dream.
My family did not stop the Unseleighe, and they followed us here, where we fled. We are responsible, if only indirectly.

"And I need protection. Lots of it. From Presto, from the Man, and from my father. After tonight, they're all gonna want my head on a stick."

"You've got it," Samantha said, and they shook hands.

"And there's the big thing," Daryl said. "That's going to happen tonight." He told them about the other little side project the Man and Presto had cooked up, and how it was about to happen real soon now.

He didn't make much sense, but Adam caught the gist of it. "If they put Dream into the water supply, I doubt it would have much effect. The water would dilute it."

"Unless," Samantha said. "Unless it's—"

"It's some sort of concentrate," Daryl supplied. They're convinced it will work. Lake Tawekoni is one of them. I don't know where the rest of it's gonna be dumped. Mort said something about it being millions times stronger than the original. . . ."

Samantha turned to Adam slowly, deliberately. "This is something we need to worry about. I don't like the sound of it one bit."

"And how much is it worth to you?" Daryl pleaded. "My life's on the line here."

"We will protect you," Samantha said. "You have my word. You will get everything you asked for, the treatment center, protection, everything. When is this water supply thing supposed to happen?"

The phone rang. One of the officers reached to pick it up, but Samantha waved at him not to. "Let Daryl get it," she said.

Daryl groaned, but went over to pick up the phone anyway. After a brief conversation with someone, he hung up the phone, paler than he was before.

"It starts happening tonight," he said, his words edged with panic. "Presto wants me at the New You Fitness Center in an hour. What do I do?"

"We've got to know exactly what he's going to do," Adam said. "Unless you can tell us more."

Daryl looked miserable. "I don't know any more than that. Honest."

"But all those people, possibly the entire population of Dallas, hallucinating gods only knows what," Samantha said. "It looked like whatever it was your brother saw, it scared him to death."

Adam flinched, hoping she hadn't just gone too far. Daryl shook his head slowly, said, "
I know what Justin saw.
"

Adam waited for him to continue. Instead, he started to break down and cry again.

"We need you to help us," Samantha said. "We've got to stop this."

"I know, I know . . ." Daryl said through the new tears. "Can't you just go in and bust him? Haven't I told you enough?"

Sammi shifted in her chair. "We need evidence. The kind we can take to court. Your father's a lawyer, you should know all about that."

Daryl rolled his eyes and looked disgusted. "Don't remind me. What do you want to do?"

Sammi waved at Roach, who had just come down from the upstairs. "Roach, do we have a wire in the van we can send in with Daryl here?"