Hallow Point (20 page)

“Gimme that again?”

“Uh, Caro. Miles Caro. Say, wasn’t that the guy you were askin’ around about the other day?”

Well, dunk me in the river and call me Ophelia. How’dya like that? Guess the poor idiot
had
gotten into something over his head. Least I had an answer for his family, even if it wasn’t the one they wanted.

(And yeah, that’s the slight overlap I mentioned earlier. Big case gave me the answer to a little one, is all. Sometimes weird coincidence really is just weird coincidence.)

“Any idea who Manetti’d been running for, lately? Any chance it was Scola?”

“Shit, what do I know, Mick? It
coulda
been, sure. That bastard hired him often enough. But it coulda been any one of a couple dozen others, too.”

The upholstery
fwoomped
under my head as I leaned back, staring at the line where wallpaper met ceiling. Tiny grey spider in one corner paused in his web-building to stare right back.

Then, since “web” made me think “Webb,” and I really needed my focus right now, I ignored it.

I sighed, really for their sake, not mine. So they knew I didn’t wanna do this.

“You guys know of anyone else in the, ah, business might also use some of the… special tools you do?”

Didn’t either of ’em look happy I’d asked. We were startin’ to tread on some uncomfortable ground.

It was Bianca who answered. Guess he’d given up trying to keep any of the business from her.

“You already know about Scola—” she began.

“Right.”

Now Fino jumped in again. “Guy called Eli Housemann. North Sider. Rumor has it he uses that, uh, whaddayacall? That Jewish hocus-pocus?”

“Kabbalah,” Bianca and I said at once.

“Yeah. That. He ain’t been around much last couple years, though.”

No shock, there, since I was
why
he hadn’t been doing much. Got into a case involving him back in ’29, though I never met the guy. Wasn’t able to get anything the state could use to convict, but Pete’n me’d managed to gum up his magic safeguards enough that his operation sorta fell to pieces. I called it a win.

Didn’t seem worth getting into right now, though.

The both of ’em tossed a couple more monikers my way. Ricky Kincaid, Saul Fleischer, Finn Skelley…

Two things, right off the jump.

One, while it wasn’t exactly a phone book they were givin’ me, it was more names than I expected. Really didn’t care for the notion that so many of Chicago’s low-and-mighty even knew magic existed, let alone used it.

And two…

“Can’t help but notice,” I said, “that, other’n Scola—who I already knew about, and who you guys wouldn’t mind seeing pushing up daisies—there’s not an Italian name on your list. How much you wanna bet that, if I dig into it, I’m gonna find out real easy that everyone else you’ve named is a North Sider, not Outfit?”

Bianca, at least, had the grace to look a little embarrassed. Fino just grinned—friendly enough, but with some real bite behind it if you got a close enough slant.

“I owe you.
Maddon’
, there ain’t words for what I owe you. But I got other loyalties, too. I can’t rat one to satisfy the other. I won’t.”

I coulda
made
him. Right there. But the both of ’em would know what I’d pulled, and right now I was a lot better off with Fino “the Shark” as an ally, not an enemy. Still, I was seriously considering it when he continued.

“I’ll tell you this. There ain’t a lotta guys in the Outfit have any truck with the kinda shit you’re talking about. Those that do, least according to rumor? None of ’em been real busy last few weeks with anything but normal business. I’d have heard otherwise.”

“You sure about that, Fino?”

He was all stone, now. “Sure enough for this conversation, Mick.”

“
Capisco
,” I said. He’d just told me I’d pushed that question ’bout as far as it’d stretch, and if he hadda tell me again, it wouldn’t be so politely.

It’d do, for now. If I hadda come back later and make him sing louder, well… I’d deal with the troll under that bridge when I came to it.

“Thanks.”

I stood, and the pair of ’em scrambled to do the same.

“I’ll pop in on Adalina real quick, and…”

Huh. Now
there
was a thought. I didn’t wanna worry ’em any more than they already were, but I didn’t want ’em caught by surprise, either.

“Fino, Bianca… I can’t much go into what’s happening, but there’s a
lot
of Fae in Chicago right now. Far more’n usual, and that includes the Unseelie. They all got a particular reason for being here, but that don’t mean one of ’em might not try to grab Adalina while the gettin’s good.”

Bianca gasped, clutching at her rosary. Fino’s breath seemed stuck in his throat.

“I’ll try’n strengthen the wards,” he said finally.

I nodded.

“Do that.”

It probably wouldn’t help. As I said, Fino didn’t have whatever his mother had had, when it came to witchcraft. But it couldn’t
hurt
.

“Don’t worry about leaving a back door for me. We’ll deal with that after. And remember,
iron
. Your boys’ heaters would probably hurt whoever or whatever came after Adalina, but not enough. Iron knives, pipes, fireplace poker, whatever.”

“You got it, Mick.
Grazie
.”

“Yeah. Watch your backs, kids.”

I got two steps towards the stairs and stopped.

“Y’know, now I think about it…”

They both waited. Think they could see the wheels spinning.

“You been hearing about any spilled blood that
ain’t
related to the Outfit at all? Anything private or outside?”

You could tell the Ottatis’d been hitched for a good while: their headshakes coulda been choreographed.

“Nothin’ jumps to mind,” Fino said. “I mean, usual small-time shit you see every day in this burgh, but nothin’ outta the ordinary. Kurtzman, maybe, but everyone’s pretty sure that was a accident.”

“Kurtzman?”

I knew the bird he probably meant; even worked with him myself a time or two. Martin Kurtzman, an accountant who often consulted with the cops when goin’ over Mob books. Since you can imagine how well the Mob liked him for that, the guy had cops stationed far enough up his keister they could brush his teeth. Last I’d heard—though it’d been a spell, I admit—guy was doin’ just great.

“Yeah.
Gavone
made a bad left and turned himself and his flivver into a fucking tree ornament. Lotta made guys’d love to take credit for it, but like I said, it was probably an accident.”

Another one.

That was, what, the third time an unrelated “accident” had come up over the course of this job? And every one of the poor saps was important in some capacity or other. My “this ain’t kosher” bump was startin’ to itch.

Then again, accidents happen, and I was payin’ more attention to things than I had been, so who the hell knew what was what?

Took me a sec to realize the Shark’d followed up his answer with: “Why’d you ask?”

“Curious. Tryin’ to figure what the Unseelie are doin’ and where. It ain’t like them to be this quiet.” I briefly pondered the notion that there was some connection between the two—the Unfit and the accidents—but I couldn’t get it to track.

Aw, hell, what was one more hinky wrinkle to add to this whole shindig?

I didn’t figure either of ’em was planning to just shake hands, and I really didn’t care to hassle with any more hugs today, so I just turned and resumed the long and arduous trek across the room to the stairs.

“Oh,” I added at the last, “tell Archie I said ‘hello.’”

“Sure.”

“Actually, tell him I said, ‘hello, hello.’”

“Right, ’cause he ain’t ever heard
that
one before.”

I already knew which door was hers, but even if I hadn’t, I would’ve. Not even ’cause Fino always had one of his torpedoes standing guard outside, just in case. I
felt
it. An aura, a presence. Fae, sure, but not any kinda Fae I could recall ever meeting.

Last couple times I’d set foot in here, I’d
almost
thought of something. Something about that sensation poked at the ol’ grey cells. Not a memory, even, but a casual thought about a memory. I felt it trying to catch my attention; trying to catch my eyes across a crowded ballroom, sorta.

But I never could grasp it. Couldn’t even be sure it was real; the “memory” might not exist at all. Might just be that the familiar-yet-alien feeling was mucking with me, makin’ me think I recognized something I didn’t.

I dunno. Whatever. I nodded to today’s gorilla and pushed the door open.

Place was neater’n when I’d first seen it. Emptier, too. All the books and stuffed animals and other girl stuff had been picked up and put away. Big honkin’ radio was gone, at my suggestion—Adalina didn’t need anything that technologically advanced lurking nearby while she recuperated.

Bianca hadn’t wanted her to be without music, though, so she’d replaced the radio with an old wind-up music box. Most days, she was the only one who bothered to key it up.

And there in bed, surrounded by pink and lacy everything, was Adalina.

She’d seemed human, once. Not what you’d call a looker, but not abnormal. Now? Her eye-sockets had drifted to either side of her head, her lips thinned to almost nothin’, her skin tight and whiter than any stiff in the morgue. Her hair was still healthy’n thick, oddly. I think that made it worse.

Oh, and the stink. Not bad—you hadda be close, or have the senses of a Fae, to notice—but definitely there. Fishy and fruity. And lately kinda burning, like alcohol fumes.

Already told you that Adalina was a changeling, left with the Ottatis almost seventeen years ago, now. What I
still
didn’t know was what the hell she was turnin’ into. It didn’t resemble any kinda Fae I knew, and it wasn’t followin’ the pattern of those swaps where the “kid” is just an enchanted doll or a lump of wood.

She’d been ensorcelled to hide her nature, exposed to Orsola Maldera’s witchcraft, and God knew what else. I couldn’t even be sure this is what she was
supposed
to look like. For all I knew, all the competing magics had queered each other until nothin’ was working right anymore.

I pulled back the sheets for a quick up-and-down. Physically, she was good, healing. Months ago, she’d almost died.
Shoulda
died. Her body’d been scoured by dust and sand and
iron filings
, in some places to the bone. I don’t think I’d have survived it.

Now? No trace of it, ’cept for a couple light spots where the skin still looked new. (Yeah, light spots, pale as she already was. They were more or less translucent.)

But she would. Not. Wake. Up.

She tossed. She turned. She muttered in her sleep. Like the Ottatis said, she ate when you fed her. But no more.

We’d long since tried all the herbal remedies, and I even snuck an elixir or two outta Elphame that weren’t ever supposed to cross to the mortal world.

Nada. Zip. Jack and bupkis.

I’d told the Ottatis I was still workin’ on it, and that was basically square. I
was
still lookin’, still listening, when I could.

What I
hadn’t
told ’em was that I was hunting blind. I’d long since run outta ideas.

I put one mitt on her forehead: she was cold and wet, almost slick, like even her sweat was sick. Nothin’ new there. She turned at my touch, flopping over on one side, kicking her feet under the blankets. Her muttering rose almost to a shout for a minute, before it faded again.

And I almost fell back from the bed, startled like I ain’t been in some time. Not by the shout.

By the
words
.

We’d all thought she was muttering bunk, but now I heard it
clearly
…

She was speaking Old Gaelic!

Which didn’t automatically make it any
less
bunk. Nonsense in an ancient language the speaker’s got no business knowing is still nonsense, and most of what she was spouting made about as much sense as a glass cabbage. After a short while listening, I was about ready to chalk it all up to just another curiosity on the grocery list that was Adalina; fascinating, maybe a potential clue, but nothing of any immediate use.

And then, “Ahreadbhar…”

Plain as day and twice as clear. Maybe five or six times as clear, given the weather we been having.

I leaned in, whole body rigid, probably close enough that it coulda given anyone who happened to barge in a
really
wrong idea. Absolutely still: I didn’t fidget, didn’t blink, didn’t even
breathe
.

Just listened.

Not a mistake, not a coincidence. It surfaced again, and again, one bit of value in the flotsam of her delirious nonsense.

“Ahreadbhar,” multiple times; “Gáe Assail” once or twice. Enough so I couldn’t doubt it if I wanted to.

She felt it. Deep in a sleep she hadn’t come outta for months, across Danu only knew how much of the city, while the damn thing was
veiled from mystical detection
… She knew. The Spear of Lugh was near, and through all that, she sensed it.

“What are you, doll?” I ran a gentle palm over her forehead, brushing some stray, clinging hairs back into place. I dunno, but I like to think it calmed her a little, that she wasn’t muttering and tossing quite so much after.

From a flogger pocket, I came up with the reel and string from an old fishing rod. That was what I’d grabbed outta my drawer, back when Ramona and I left my office. See, I’d picked it up on a case where… Eh, don’t matter. Point is, guy who owned this is dead—twice—but during his life, fishing had been his only escape from the rest of the world. It’d brought peace, and a lot of it, to a troubled man.

Powerful symbolism, that.

I put the old hunk of junk on Adalina’s night table, held a hand over it, and let just a bit of magic flow through it. Sorta crank-starting the symbolic power it held, if you wanna think of it that way. Still no guarantee it’d do squat, but just maybe she’d sleep a bit more soundly.

But me, I didn’t look to have any rest in my immediate future. All this new stuff I’d learned about the girl was amazing, and maybe useful in the future, but for now? Now I still had a job to do, and this wasn’t gettin’ me any closer to done.