Unperfect Souls (25 page)

Hel didn’t look different from when it was Helmet. Lighting in the wide, square dive ran to blue spots and a flashing dance floor, the better to distract people from seeing much. When the bar was Helmet, the faint odor of damp bodies in cramped spaces permeated an atmosphere of heady sex and drugs. It was amusing to watch who went home with whom at last call.

The change of clientele didn’t change the look. Hel even played the same loud dance music, but the new patrons had that sharper edge of menace the Weird was too well-known for. Nobody danced, probably because they had no idea what to make of modern music. Being Dead made it tough to keep up with the latest dance trends.

The most visible change was that everyone was Dead. It was inevitable they’d find a place to gather. That’s what bars were for, to bring together the like and like-minded, people who wanted to hang out with others with a shared sensibility, drink, or get laid. Being Dead didn’t change any of that. In fact, the Dead had a higher appetite for everything. They all seemed to know each other, definitely drank more than average, and I wouldn’t want to compare notes on dating with them. Take away the risk of dying, and everyone was willing to try anything and more of it. Of course, they still got killed, but what was a mortal wound if you woke up fine the next day?

Murdock and I grew up in a city that had embraced the fey to an extent. I didn’t think twice when the people around me had wings or pointed ears. The scary solitaries gave everyone pause, but that was the point. Individually, solitaries were odd-looking, misshapen, and unattractive by mainstream standards, but the rest of the fey didn’t raise an eyebrow. Until I saw these solitaries who were Dead clustered in a dark bar wearing outdated clothes bordering on costumes, sporting jewelry that went out of fashion centuries ago, and displaying a penchant for physicality not much admired in our more enlightened times.

“Is this job ever going to get easier?” Murdock asked.

“Now what would be the fun in that?” I said.

We eased our way through the crowd. I ordered beer for me and water for Murdock. In bottles. From the end of the bar, we had a clear view of the goings-on. The novelty of our presence wore off among those who had noticed us, and they returned their attention to whatever they were doing before we arrived. For all their strangeness, the Dead acted like anyone else in a bar—laughing, glowering, cruising, drinking, and arguing. Except dancing. Still no dancing.

A woman, a Teutonic norn, leaned over and ordered a drink at the bar. A Dead norn. When druids and dwarves read the future through scrying and dreams, they see patterns and events on a grand scale. A norn’s ability sensed what was and what was to be on a more individual level. Our eyes met, then she indifferently watched the front of the bar. The bartender set a plastic cup by her hand. She sipped through the stirrer, staring at us. Her wide brown eyes slid from me to Murdock. “You don’t belong here.”

Murdock cracked a smile. “Said the Dead girl.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, looked at me. “I remember you.”

Not the first time I’ve heard that in a bar. By her dated clothing, the odds that Murdock or I had known her in life were slim. I decided to be polite. “Then you have me at an advantage.”

“I saw you in Niflheim.”

Niflheim was the Teutonic perception of TirNaNog. I searched my memory, trying to place her, but came up empty. I had spent my time in TirNaNog running away from the Dead and trying not to get Dead myself. Not a lot of time to socialize. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember you. I was kinda busy.”

Her eyes visibly dilated as she stared. “You’re like me. You touch the Wheel.”

Murdock and I exchanged glances. He knew what the Wheel of the World was. He got that it was about faith and destiny, but he couldn’t bring himself to remove his Catholicism from the concept. Where the fey see a world that Is, Murdock sees the hand of God, especially after the previous night.

“We all touch the Wheel,” I said.

She feathered essence over me, and my body shields activated. They were too damaged to protect me from anything, but the norn wasn’t attacking. She was curious. I winced as the dark mass clenched. Its rejection of the seers apparently wasn’t limited to scrying.

She paled and backed away. “I see no path for you, druid.”

“I’m trying to find one,” I said.

“Everyone has a path, even if they cannot see it. A norn sees what others can’t. If you have no path, druid, that bodes ill for you and everything you touch.”

I sipped my beer. “Thanks. I’ll update my will.”

“What was that all about?” Murdock asked.

“Norns see personal futures. She basically told me I had none.”

The crowd shifted, and Jark’s vibrant red-orange signature registered nearby. I spotted him sitting in a dark corner. I nudged Murdock. “Let’s try not to provoke him any more than we have to. Keep a weapon accessible, though.”

Murdock unbuttoned his coat. “Most definitely in here.”

Jark held court at a crowded table. He pretended not to notice us, though with all the sendings fluttering around, someone had to have warned him the law was there. The conversation stopped as we sat. The onlookers watched curiously, their eyes shifting from us to Jark and back again. Jark’s smile rippled the scars on the side of his face. He lifted a pint of beer and drank half in a gulp, landing the glass hard on the table. He wiped a gray-streaked beard. “What brings you to this place?”

“You can speak English,” I said.

He snorted. “The plain of Niflheim holds many men from many places.”

“You didn’t mention that at the morgue,” I said.

“You didn’t ask,” he said.

“You said the Hound killed you,” I said.

The crowd around us shifted. People stepped back or moved away completely. Jark downed a long draft of his beer. “And yet you have not hunted him down.”

“Funny thing about that. We heard you’re afraid of the Hound,” Murdock said.

Jark snorted. “Then you’re hearing wrong. Me afraid of the Hound? That’s a lie. The Hound hunts the Dead like a snake. He has no honor. He lurks in the shadows and strikes out of cowardice. I don’t fear men who won’t face me in a fight.”

Jark reached for his beer again, and Murdock pulled it away. “Wrong, Jark? Wrong like you admitting you killed Sekka and here you are drinking a beer? Or wrong like you were lying when you said that Sekka killed you?”

Jark lowered his chin and stared. “I would watch your tongue. No one calls Jark a liar.”

By Murdock’s flat stare, I knew he was about to explode, but antagonizing a berserker was not the way to go. I leaned between the two of them. “We seem to have some wrong information, then, Jark. Maybe you can clear up—”

Murdock interrupted me. “I’m calling you a liar.”

Jark glowered. “I said watch your tongue, whelp. You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”

A smile twitched in the corner of Murdock’s mouth. “Did you just threaten me?”

Jark drew himself up and puffed out his chest. “I will do more than threaten you, you impudent dog, I will . . .”

Jark didn’t get to finish. Murdock’s body shield flickered on as he yanked the table out of the way. Jark rocked back in his chair with his hands in the air, the sudden exposure as comical as the surprise on his face. He obviously wasn’t used to anyone coming back at him. Murdock grabbed him by his tunic and slammed him against the wall.

Murdock pressed his face in close. “You will
what
?”

Jark struggled, color draining from his face at the realization that the human he called an impudent dog was strong enough to pin a berserker to a wall. “I will have your head for this.”

Murdock shook him like a doll. “Really? I’d like to see that. You didn’t seem so tough when I beat you down at the morgue. Remember, my friend, if the law doesn’t recognize what you guys do, it doesn’t recognize what happens to you either. I’m going to tell you this once more. I want the Dead to stop hunting the solitaries. If they don’t, I’m coming back for you, Jark, and I’m going to rip your worthless head off again, only this time I’ll make sure it gets washed out to sea.”

Murdock flung him to the floor. “If one more person dies, start looking over your shoulder.”

He straightened his jacket and strode away through the crowd. No one stopped him. Everything had happened so fast, I was amused to find myself still in my chair with my beer in my hand. I chugged the rest of my bottle as Jark sat up. I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, twirling the bottle with two fingers, scanning the crowd. I tossed the empty bottle at Jark, and he batted it away. “I suggest you take his advice. You don’t want to make him angry.”

I followed in Murdock’s wake, enjoying the stunned and fearful looks on the customers’ faces. I couldn’t blame them. After what Murdock did, I didn’t want to see him angry either. He waited in his car by a handicapped ramp. I got in, and he gunned it into the street. “That was impressively ballsy, sir. Did you miss the part where I suggested not provoking him?”

Murdock stared out the window. His body shield flickered as he restrained his anger. “I don’t know how things work in Dead People Land, but I’ll be damned if I let anyone talk to a cop like that.”

“Pull over. This guy’s going to rabbit,” I said.

“You think he’s going to run somewhere?” He glanced in the rearview mirror and made a U-turn on Northern Avenue

I rolled my head toward him. “Leo, you just took down a berserker without breaking a sweat. He is angry right now and wants to do something about what just happened. We need Joe. Do you have any glow bees on you?”

He pulled a small bottle out of his inside coat pocket and held it out to me. Two motes of yellow light danced inside. It was bad enough I couldn’t do sendings anymore, but even something as simple as a glow bee didn’t work for me. I was able to imprint messages, but they took forever to reach their destination. Humans used them because they were a fey thing and fun, but weak essence made cell phones a faster option. But Murdock didn’t have a simple human body essence anymore.

I waved away the bottle. “Your essence is stronger than mine.”

He popped the lid and rolled one of the motes onto his palm. Curling his fingers over it, he cupped his hand to his mouth. “Stinkwort, corner of Tide and Oh No. Now, if you can.”

Hearing Murdock use Joe’s real name sounded odd. But no matter Joe’s preference, his real name had an intrinsic connection to him, and that connection was what made a glow bee work. Murdock opened his palm. The glow bee rose, danced in the air, then shot through the windshield. I tried not to feel jealous when pink light flashed in the backseat. A strong odor of alcohol wafted over the seat.

Joe stood on the console, unsteady on his feet. “What’s goin’ on? You boys got something you can’t handle?”

“Hey, Joe. We need you to follow someone,” I said.

He put a tough look on his face, then nodded so hard, he lost his balance. He fell face-first into the police radio, hovered up, and hit his head against the rearview mirror. Grabbing the dashboard on the way down pivoted him into the glove compartment. He held a hand out to steady himself. “I’m okay, I’m okay. The seat’s a little icy.”

“Do you remember the Dead guy from the headworks?” I asked.

He nodded. “Sure, sure. The dead Dead guy without the head in the headworks. I never forget a face.”

“He didn’t have a face then,” I said.

He grinned. “Right, right. I never forget a neck stump either.”

I shook my head. “He has his head back, and he’s reanimated. Can you track him?”

Joe’s eyes lit up. “No problem! Those walking Dead guys stick out like a sore thumb.”

“Last we saw him, he was in Hel.”

Joe pulled a long face, his eyebrows dropping low. “I thought you destroyed Hel.”

“The old Helmet, Joe. Just up the street. And for the record, we don’t know if I destroyed Hel,” I said.

Joe cocked his head at Murdock and pointed his thumb at me. “I don’t know how you understand this guy.”

Joe blinked out. Murdock chuckled silently. At least Joe made him lighten up. “Is he too drunk for this?” Murdock asked.

“Nah. He’s not even over his threshold capacity yet,” I said.

Got him. Drydock Ave,
Joe sent.

Murdock pulled onto the street. “Nice work, Mr. Grey.”

We turned down Tide Street again, passing Hel. A few people huddled outside smoking and talking. Murdock eased the car to the corner of Drydock Avenue. We faced the Black Falcon terminal, a massive building two thousand feet long. Cruise liners with a few hundred thousand passengers a year calling on the port of Boston docked at the terminal in one of the worst neighborhoods of the city. They never learned that, though. The Chamber of Commerce made sure shuttles and taxis whisked them directly to downtown without their having to soil their experience by seeing the immediate area.

Mountains of snow lined either side of Drydock. Traffic down there in the middle of the night was rare. I pointed out Jark’s unmistakable figure as he crossed the parking lot in front of the terminal and disappeared behind the building. Murdock drove down the street and stopped before we reached the access road. “Everything’s wide open from here. He’ll spot us if I make the turn.”

“He’s meeting someone,” I said.

“Just so you know, Joe’s going to make us buy him drinks,” I said.

“It’ll be worth it if we can stop the Dead,” Murdock said.

“Famous last words, my friend. I’ve seen him drink.”

Joe flashed into sight between us. “Damn, it’s cold out there. I’m sober again.”