Unfallen Dead (5 page)

My eyes sought a small piece of worked stone on the bookshelf that ran around the top of the wall of my study. Dylan had made it years ago when he was interested in stone carving. A smooth sphere fit snugly inside a larger sphere cut with Celtic knotwork. The inner sphere moved freely, and the knotwork had affirmations engraved in ogham runes. The one most easily read said
“Life is a series of trust moments.”
After our worst case together, he gave it to me. At the time, I thought he was being overly sentimental, but it was one of the few things I kept when I lost almost everything else.

He had seen how a life could be snuffed out in a moment. Even though we hadn’t spoken to each other in a decade, he knew what had happened to me. And yet, the ease with which he talked, how he took for granted what he did, gave no hint of anxiety that it could all disappear. No hint he could end up like me or, worse, a dead homeless guy like Josef Kaspar.

Maybe that was why Dylan had shown up. Briallen always said the Wheel of the World works the way It will. Sometimes It’s clear, sometimes puzzling, but It’s always what It is. Maybe It was showing me that I didn’t have that life anymore, but I still have a life. I still do for a living what I did before. Only I do it differently, without assuming essence abilities will make things right. I had only to engage my mind to figure out how to work with the more mundane tools I had now. But if I could do that and still have enough money to buy the couture sweater Dylan had worn tonight, I’d feel a helluva lot better about it.

The Fey Guildhouse loomed over Park Square like an eccentric fortress constructed of New England brownstone. The building occupied an entire city block and rose a full twenty-seven stories above the street, peaking in several towers that in turn sprouted their own little turrets. A series of balconies and ledges staggered up the sides, taking in views of Boston Common to the north, the harbor to the east and south, and the Charles River to the west. The higher up you went, the more important you were. At least that’s the theory I used to subscribe to. Now I’m convinced the opposite is true.

Gargoyles crammed every ledge, nook, and cranny of the old place. They clustered in the front portico, clinging to the pillars and the spines of the ceiling vaulting. Essence attracted them, and the Guildhouse vibrated with it. They especially liked the roof, where they basked in the updraft of the building, and the main entrance, where they savored the living essence of people going in and out.

I paused under the dragon head above the main entrance. It’s big, intentionally threatening-looking, and not really a gargoyle. Maybe in the old, pre-Convergence sense, when all carvings of fantastic people and animals were called gargoyles. But the dragon had no animated spirit, and that’s what counts as a gargoyle these days. After Convergence, some of them, for want of a better word, woke up. No one knew why any more than anyone knew why Convergence happened. The ’goyles talked to people sometimes, strange mental communications that seemed prophetic but frustratingly obscure.

What made me stop, though, was not the gargoyles but the lack of them. Entire sections of the ceiling were bare. No one ever saw a gargoyle move, but they did move somehow. I had a hunch they were checking out the residual essence up at Forest Hills Cemetery. It had to be irresistible to them. More were almost certainly down in the Weird, tasting the strange drafts of twisted essence left over from the control spell.

The Guildhouse’s stark entry hall felt chill from lack of sufficient heat. It was the reverse in the summer. It’s not that the Guild can’t afford to heat and cool the monstrosity. It’s that they don’t want people feeling too comfortable as they wait for help. And wait they did. More people than ever had problems only the Guild could solve, which meant more people left the Guild with their problems unsolved.

The line for help and relief looped back and forth through a roped queue that was longer than I had ever seen. I hated to admit it, but I used to laugh at those people. Now I’m one of them. Since the duel with Vize, which left me with the dark blot in my head and a monthly disability check in my pocket, my Guildhouse pass privileges had been revoked. But today, I skipped the public queue and used the shorter one to the right reserved for people with temporary passes or appointments.

I flashed my subpoena at the receptionist, a young elf with too much makeup who wore an ill-fitting rust-colored security uniform. The uniform was designed for the brownies who made up the majority of the street-level security guards. It looked good with their tawny skin and sandy blond hair. The elven receptionists, though, wore street clothes until security was tightened, at which point they were made to wear the uniforms. With her pale skin and dark hair, the elven receptionist didn’t look happy with her outfit.

Whenever I got into the Guildhouse these days, I took the opportunity to roam where I could. Certain floors were warded against unauthorized staff, but enough of the building was open that I could have some fun. That usually meant visiting Meryl Dian, druidess and archivist extraordinaire. We had had something going on for a couple of months, though I can’t figure out quite what.

When the elevator arrived, a brownie security guard surprised me by acting as an operator. I nodded to him. “Subbasement three, please.”

He held out his hand. “May I see your pass?” I turned it over.

He returned it. “You’re cleared for the twenty-third floor only, Mr. macGrey.” As he faced the floor panel, I jabbed the SUBBASEMENT button, and we descended. He glared. “I’m sorry, sir, but you are not authorized anywhere but the twenty-third floor.”

“I’m visiting a friend,” I said.

The doors opened onto a long, vaulted corridor lined with bricks. The brownie held his hand against my chest while he pressed the 23 button. I placed my own hand on him the same way and pressed him against the wall. “I didn’t say you could touch me.”

I stepped out of the elevator.

“Sir!” the guard yelled. He threw a tangle of essence at me, a binding spell that settled on my shoulders like cold static. Brownies aren’t that powerful, so I found myself moving in slow motion instead of stopping. Annoyed, I started to turn back, but the elevator door closed and broke the spell. I shook off the static and walked down the corridor.

Just before her office, I heard Meryl yell, “Muffin!”

Her office was empty. I continued deeper into the underground maze that led to the Guildhouse storerooms. At an open door, I stuck my head in with a smile. “Would you like blueberry or corn?”

Meryl threw a glare over her shoulder that relaxed into a grin. “Rat, actually. I need help.”

Holding a malachite orb, she stood in a narrow aisle between wooden cupboards, many of which had gouges in them. Above her, a gold dagger hovered. I leaned against the door-jamb and crossed my arms. “Help. From a rat.”

She closed one eye and looked up. “If I recall, Muffin helped you out of a tight spot once.”

I smiled because it was true. “Do I want to ask what’s going on?”

“C’mere. I’ll show you.”

She held out the orb. When I took it, my feet rooted to the floor, and the dagger swung toward me. I cocked my head back, but the blade came no closer than a foot. “Nice piece. Breton?”

Meryl leaned over a nearby case and reached her hand behind it. “Fifth century. You do know your weapons.”

“Why is it pointed at my head?”

She wedged her whole arm behind the case. “It seeks living essence. It’s like Thor’s hammer, only I think it works with anyone.”

“Thor’s hammer,” I said, dubious.

She waved her hand behind her. “Next aisle over.”

I peered through a shelf to the next aisle, trying to decide if I was being played. I never knew with Meryl. Ever since we became friends—real friends, I think—she had shown me things in the Guild’s storerooms I had no idea existed. When I worked at the Guild, I could have come down here anytime I wanted, but back then I didn’t have a clue about what was there. Now I saw only what Meryl let me. She loved her job and was fiercely protective of her charges. “You have Thor’s hammer?”

She giggled. “No, silly. I do have a sawed-off sledgehammer someone used in a robbery a couple of decades ago. Still has the robber’s essence on it.”

I examined the malachite orb. The essence charge produced a static spell holding me in place, one like the brownie tried to throw at me, only this one worked. “What exactly are you doing?”

Meryl tried to wedge her head into the gap between two cabinets to see behind them. “Since the dagger seeks living essence, I had it stabilized with the aspidistra.” In the wreck of the odd scene, I hadn’t noticed the forlorn plant on the display case. “I used that orb as a ward stone to anchor the plant so no one would move it. Then I put an amplifier ward on the plant because its essence is so weak. I think one of the rats knocked the amplifier behind this case. It looks like the damned dagger has been trying to stab its way out of here for weeks. It almost stabbed me when I came in.”

“And it’s not stabbing me because . . . ?” I asked.

“Because I modified the orb you’re holding to create a buffer. It wasn’t a problem with the plant.”

She threw off her center of balance so that her feet barely touched the floor. Since she couldn’t see me, I made no effort to hide my enjoyment of the view. Meryl may be short, but she’s got great legs. She’d probably use them to break my neck if I ever mentioned that out loud. She slid back off the case with a frown. “I can’t feel it back there, and this case is too loaded with crap to move. I’m going to get another one.”

I looked up. “Why do I get to stay with a crazy dagger?”

She stepped around me. “Because you’re spell-stuck until I release it. I won’t be long. Maybe.”

I glanced around the room. Essence swirled around me in various intensities. The room had a lot of metal in it, the essence warping around it. Meryl apparently stored more than one weapon here. I felt sparks of what people called True essence, the residual signature of something pre-Convergence, direct from Faerie. True essence was rare. And Powerful.

Something rustled. I crouched to see if Meryl’s erstwhile helper, Muffin the Rat, had arrived. An odd sigh sounded, and I bolted upright into abrupt silence. A slight vibration trembled in the air, as though something passed overhead. A glance upward showed nothing but shadowed shelves and dark ceiling corners.

“Hello?” No answer. A soft hiss, like the sound of air escaping, tickled on the threshold of my hearing. The thought of snakes flickered in my mind, but the room didn’t seem to be holding anything to attract them. Unless poor Muffin wasn’t as agile as Meryl thought he was. The hiss became louder. I startled at a flurry of unintelligible voices.

“What the hell . . .” I muttered. I tried to release the orb, but it wouldn’t leave my hand. Now I knew what Meryl meant about being stuck. The voices trailed away. The sound of metal sliding on metal pricked my ear. I knew that sound. It’s the distinct sound a sword makes when it’s pulled from a scabbard. I heard the slight crunch of a footfall on grit.

I opened my sensing abilities and regretted it immediately. The heightened state of my ability picked out every mote of essence in the room. Colors raced in a rainbow of shades, so many overlapping that a touch of nausea hit me as they spun, colliding and separating. I couldn’t sort out a damned thing, but I had sensations of movement, people walking the aisles toward me.

Despite the weapons in the room, none was close enough for me to grab. I considered the dagger, but I didn’t know the full extent of its properties. It might have conditions I wouldn’t like. My skin prickled as cool air wafted over me with a ragged sigh.

A voice yelled behind me. “What are you doing in here?”

The ceiling lights brightened, and my body shields slammed on as I twisted toward the door. The security-guard brownie from the elevator had his hand on the light switch, his eyes bulging in their sockets. Even the calmest brownies turned into a boggarts when prevented from performing their responsibilities. They became maniacal and didn’t stop until they completed what they set out to do. This guy was managing to keep himself from going over.

I gave him a sheepish smile. “Hi . . . um . . . Meryl Dian asked me to help with something.”

Since even my meager shields dampened my essence, the dagger swung toward the brownie’s stronger essence. He stepped closer, one eye whirling up at the dagger as the other stared at me. “I don’t believe you. What do you have there?”

I held up the orb. “This? It’s a ward stone.”

He held out his hand. “Give it to me.”

I looked down at the stone and back at the brownie. Restraining a smirk, I held it out. “Okay.”

His fingers wrapped around the orb, and the stationary spell slipped off me. I stepped away before he realized he couldn’t move his feet. He twisted to face me, his eyes bulging fully. His cheekbones hollowed out, and his body began to elongate. “Get back here!”

“I’m sorry. I have to find Meryl.” I closed the door against a shriek of frustration.

Meryl wasn’t in her office, so I continued to the next open door. The room inside was well lit and meticulously organized, with shelves holding ward stones of different sizes, herbal jars with tidy labeling, and a wide variety of working tools, both fey and mundane. “I can’t believe how neat your workroom is.”

Meryl rummaged through a box on a table. “Yeah, I keep it pretty organized. I thought I had another amplifier stone ready, but I can’t find it.” She placed another box on the table. Flipping it open, she removed several finished bricks of quartz. They were high-end-quality ward stones that could be infused with essence to work or maintain spells. The ones from the box were new, so they had no charge on them.

“Do you ever hear voices in the storerooms?” I asked.

She examined one of the stones and fingered a chip in the veining. “Just the temp on his cell phone when he should be filing.”

“No, really.”

“Yeah, really. Bob spends more time trying to get a signal down here than he does filing.” Meryl stopped shuffling things on the table. “Wait a sec, how did you get out of the storeroom?”