Unfallen Dead (12 page)

Dylan spread his fingers above the dagger. It rocked a bit, then left the floor. As Dylan stood, the dagger rose higher until it hovered above his hand. The light in the room gave it a soft glisten except near the tip, where Belgor’s blood dulled the shine.

“Breton,” Dylan and I said at the same time. We shared a comradely smile.

“I’ve seen its mate in the Guildhouse storerooms,” I said.

Dylan let the dagger drop lower. “Can you sense the druid essence?”

I suppressed a small flutter of annoyance. I couldn’t tell if he was asking out of curiosity or condescension. “It’s druidess, if you want to be precise.”

He let the dagger settle back to the floor. “You’re ability is more fine-tuned than mine. I’ve never been able to sense gender.”

I smirked. “No comment.”

He met my eyes, and we both grinned like schoolkids. He turned to Belgor. “I’m sorry, Mr. Belgor, but we’ll need to search your shop.”

Belgor backed toward the counter. “Sincerely, Guildsman, there is no need. She was a troubled soul to be sure. I have no desire to press charges.”

Dylan slid his hands into his coat pockets. “Very kind of you. Unfortunately, we have to follow procedure. If you do not wish to cooperate with the investigation, you can discuss that later with an advocate. In the meantime, we should collect evidence in case you change your mind.”

Belgor rubbed his lips and looked at me. “As you wish, Guildsman. I want no trouble.”

Dylan smiled. “Good. Please let me know if you have any questions.”

I didn’t look at Belgor as we left the shop. Dylan stared at the slice of night sky above the small lane and tugged his collar up. “Getting nippy. Do either of you want to go for dinner?”

“I’m on duty for another hour, thanks,” Murdock said.

I hesitated. “Sure.”

Dylan extended his hand to Murdock. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

“Same here. I’ll catch up with you later, Connor.” Murdock shook and walked back to his car without another word. He’s not big on the hello and good-bye. Dylan watched him leave without comment, not amused so much as curious.

A black car with Guild diplomatic plates pulled into the lane. Dylan opened the back door and slid inside, while I got in on the opposite side. A brownie in plain Guild security uniform manned the driver’s seat. Dylan leaned his head back against the seat. “I’m starving. Do you like No. 9 Park?”

I snorted. No. 9 Park Street was one of the best restaurants in the city. Not liking the place was like not liking air. “Who doesn’t?”

“You heard the man, Loddie. No. 9 Park.”

The brownie pulled away from Belgor’s shop.

“Interesting guy, that Murdock. Have you worked with him long?” Dylan asked.

I gave him a knowing smile. “Like you haven’t read the files to know.”

He smiled with warmth. “You were always better than me at asking a question you already knew the answer to.”

I made myself more comfortable as Loddie pulled onto Old Northern Avenue. “So what do you want to know? He’s a good guy, a good cop. He cares about what he does and doesn’t like bullshit. He started asking me to take on consulting jobs when we met at the gym. That’s about it.”

“The gym? So you’re friends as well?”

That was what he really had wanted to ask the first time. “Yeah, I’d say we’re friends. We work out together and occasionally have dinner. We don’t really socialize beyond that.”

Dylan nodded. “And this Belgor. Do you work out with him, too?”

Dylan goes for a clueless dry humor that always made me chuckle. Especially because with him, more often than not, Dylan’s faux cluelessness is not so far from the real thing. “The only reason Belgor would be in a gym is if someone wanted to try lifting him. He’s an institution in the Weird. He could find out what you had for breakfast, and you’d never figure out how. Murdock hates him because he usually covers his tracks too well to get arrested. I tolerate him mostly. One of these days he’ll go too far, and he’ll end up spending time behind bars.”

Dylan pursed his lips. “Fencing stolen antiquities might be too far.”

I looked out the window. “Yeah, well, you’ll have to catch him doing something like that. You never know, though, he might surprise you and help your investigation.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dylan glance at me. “I don’t think I’d be surprised at all.” His tone was amused and matter-of-fact and confirmed he knew damn well something was up at the shop. I would have been disappointed if he didn’t.

I didn’t respond. The city glittered by, deep red and amber streaks of light on the other side of the glass. The soundproofing of the car kept noise from intruding. The seat—the luscious leather seat—gave comfortably beneath me. It smelled new. Every Guild car I’d ever been in smelled like new leather, always. I could smell the faint cologne Dylan wore—he still liked sandalwood apparently—and the almost dusty scent of the brownie in the front seat. I closed my eyes for a moment, and, for that moment, I felt like it was ten years ago, cruising around New York with my best bud, in the soothing comfort of a chauffeured car on the way to a party.

“We’re here,” Dylan said.

No. 9 Park is housed in an old townhouse on Beacon Hill. Its high-end design makes what would be cramped under normal circumstances feel cozy. The black-clad staff moves with polished smoothness, trained to glide in and out of service without startling the diners. Crisp white tablecloths glow against the muted taupe walls, soft candlelight warming the blemishes away from patrons’ faces. Even though Dylan had been in town only a couple of weeks, it didn’t surprise me in the least that the host knew him. When she offered to take my jacket—which in a place like that is more a subtle directive than a suggestion—I was relieved Dylan had his back to me so he couldn’t see my face. He’d be suspicious if I insisted on keeping my battered leather with me. Left with no opportunity to slip it out unseen, I let the torc go with it. I doubted coat-check theft was a problem at such a place, but such things do cross your mind when you’re smuggling stolen goods.

Dylan ordered wine and leaned back against the banquette. “I love this place. It reminds me of the city.”

I chuckled. “Check the stats, Dyl. Boston is a city.”

He twisted his lips in an exaggerated smile. “You know what I mean. New York misses you, you know.”

I rolled my eyes. “New York misses nothing, and, before you ask, no, I don’t miss it. You’re doing well by it, though.”

A waiter appeared with the wine. “It’s been good,” Dylan said. “The Guildhouse is a challenge, but I’ve managed to make my way.”

I sipped the wine. There was a time when I would never consider how much something that good cost. “Something tells me this assignment is a stepping-stone.”

The edge of his lips twitched. “Of course. I get to use a visit to Auntie Bree as an excuse to further my career.”

That made my eyebrows go up. “I can’t imagine Briallen would be pleased to hear you phrase it like that.”

He snickered. “She’d laugh and call me a naughty boy. She’d be hard-pressed to claim innocence as to where I learned to lie honestly.”

I laughed, too. If Briallen had taught me anything, it was always to appear innocent to further my own ends. Of course, I had taken that too far and confused innocent with oblivious. People hadn’t called me arrogant for nothing. Some still did. “So what’s next? Department Director?”

Dylan lounged back. “Oh, I’m already that. I’m looking to move to a more elite position.”

He was too young to mean Guildmaster. “Black Ops?”

He looked around the restaurant. “You know Black Ops are mythical, Con. It would be an exciting thing to do. If it existed, I mean.”

I poked my cheek out with my tongue. “Of course. What was I thinking?”

The waiter placed a small collection of breads on the table. Dylan ran through several questions with him about the menu, convinced he was missing something, before making a final selection. The waiter topped off our glasses as he left.

Dylan’s eyes shifted back and forth as he looked down. It was a behavioral tic that meant he was sorting through his thoughts. I remembered it well. He glanced up at me. “You know the Weird pretty well, don’t you?”

“Sure. I live there.”

“Have you . . . have you noticed anything . . . different lately?”

I exhaled sharply through my nose. “In the Weird? How about every day? Ask me what you want to know, Dylan.”

“What do you know about the Taint, and have you noticed any particular people connected with it?” he asked.

I eyed him for a long moment. “This sounds like Ceridwen’s hearing.”

He gave an indifferent shrug. “The Seelie Court is very worried about the Taint.”

“Everybody is.”

“Come on, Connor. You asked me to be up-front. Return the courtesy.”

I sighed. “What we’ve been calling the Taint is the remnants of the essence from an out-of-control spell. It provokes hidden impulses and desires, usually violently. The only person who had any control over it is dead.”

“Have you noticed anyone trying to control it?”

I knew my smile had an annoyed curl to it. “Only the Guild.”

Dylan ignored the gibe. “What about the Teutonic Consortium?”

I rubbed my hands over my face before answering. “No, I haven’t. Now, can I ask you something? I know you’re loyal to both the Guild and the Seelie Court. If you’re trying to understand the Taint, can you please not assume it has some nefarious Teutonic plot behind it? You sound like Nigel, and he let that assumption blind him to the truth.”

He pursed his lips. “I’ll let you in on a secret, Con. Part of the reason I am here is to track Teutonic spies. That part of my job led me to the Taint, not the other way around. I’m seeing a correlation. I’m not making any assumptions yet.”

“Fair enough.”

Dylan twirled his glass, watching the light reflect in the deep ruby wine. “You’ve had a rough time here.”

I gave an embarrassed shrug. “It’s been a roller coaster. I was pretty bitter about losing my abilities, but I think I’m getting over it.”

Dylan’s eyebrows gathered. “You keep saying you’ve lost your abilities, but you seem to end up pulling off some heavy-duty spells. You either have abilities you never knew you had or you sure as hell have some new ones.”

I hunched forward, cupping my wineglass. “That’s the big question. Most of what’s happened this past year seems lucky, but lately I’ve been starting to wonder. I know I’m blocked from doing lots of things I used to do. At the same time, I can do things I never could before.”

“Like sensing gender in essence,” he said.

I nodded. “Yeah. It goes deeper than that, though. Sometimes I can sense what species initiated a spell even if personal essence isn’t left behind . . .” Dylan looked surprise. “. . . yes, exactly like a troll. I had a run-in with a troll not so long ago, and I seem to have gained a faint duplication of his ability.”

“So, the question is, did you always have the ability to sense like that and never knew it, or do you have a new ability to absorb others’ abilities,” he said.

“That’s what I’m trying to understand.”

Our meals arrived, and the conversation drifted to reminiscing. We laughed over shared history as I ate quail with figs and steak au poivre. A decadent chocolate thing appeared for dessert. I relished every bite, marveling that I had forgotten how much I loved high-end food. Now that I knew about Dylan’s relationship with Briallen, I understood where he had developed his taste for expensive port.

“Do you have many solitary fey here?” he asked, as I finished telling him about the odd essence I had encountered on my way home from Briallen’s the other night.

I scraped little lines with my fork in the remains of the chocolate sauce on my plate. “Sure. More than most people realize. I certainly didn’t until I started living in the Weird.”

“Maybe a solitary you’ve never encountered before produced the presence.”

I shook my head doubtfully. “It wasn’t corporeal, though. With my essence sensing off the scale, I think I would have felt a body present, but it was more vague, like an afterthought. It was like fairy essence, but the whole thing felt random.”

Dylan leaned on his hand. “This is the type of thing I was talking about earlier. Do you think it could have been someone using the Taint to create a spell?”

“No, it wasn’t the Taint. I know what the Taint feels like. This thing felt odd and somehow directed at me.”

Dylan took on a serious look. “You know, you’re right. If I wanted to attack you, I’d send a blobby thing to point at you.”

I leaned back and shook my head. “You’re hopeless. How anyone promoted you is beyond me.”

He wore the patented Dylan macBain rogue smile as he met my eyes. “Good luck and charm.”

I smirked. “You’re half-right.”

Still smiling, he sipped his port. “Really? Which?”

I chuckled. “I lied. Neither.”

When the bill arrived, Dylan didn’t mention it as he slid a credit card into the check folder. There was no question who would be paying in that restaurant. Loddie waited at the curb when we came out. “Take the car, Con. I’m going to walk back to Auntie Bree’s.”

The sleek black town car idled in the chill night air that surrounded us. “I’m not going to object,” I said.

Dylan laughed, then became serious. “Come to New York, Connor. Name what you want, and I’ll make it happen.”

I searched the sidewalk as though an answer might be there. “The Guild tossed me, Dylan. You’d have to expend a lot of political capital to do that.”

He shrugged. “No, I wouldn’t. I’ve looked at your file, Connor. Your expulsion is on a pretty technical point. The Boston Guild may claim they’re afraid of the liability because of your loss, but they make exceptions to that all the time. Someone wanted you out. There’s a smoking gun lying on a mantel somewhere. Come to New York. We don’t have to abide by Boston’s decisions.”

I gave him a sheepish grin. “I’ll have to think about it. Can I take a rain check on the offer?”

He gave my arm a squeeze. “Of course. Take as long as you need.” He pointed at the car as he walked away. “Enjoy the ride, buddy.”