Blood Kin (29 page)

Rhys got up and headed to the phone.

“Wait, Rhys.” Tucker stopped him with a gesture. “Are we sure we just shouldn’t go on up to the enclave—all of us? I’d feel more comfortable getting you out of Dodge right now, Keira. We’ve still got a rogue Sidhe running around out there possibly responsible for at least one murder.”

“Not to mention the dead Sidhe’s Mark,” Niko reminded him. “There are still many loose ends. I agree with Tucker. As Adam’s second and Protector”—he nodded to Tucker with a small smile, using the word as we Kellys did—“I advise we all leave the city. Your Gareth is on the case and can keep us informed.”

“I’ll call Raine,” Tucker said. “She was going to hang out in case we needed her.”

“Hold your horses, bro,” I said. “I’m not all that sure I want to turn tail and leave yet. We’ve got two vampires, a high-ranking Sidhe and two shapeshifters, one of whom is a former Berserker. I’m thinking we can handle one lone Unseelie Sidhe who may or may not have anything at all to do with any of us.”

“I’m an advocate of your safety,” Adam said. “Our combined abilities and powers notwithstanding, it’s not a
matter so much of strength or who has the upper hand, but of politics.”

“Okay, now you’ve lost me,” I said. “Politics?”

“If this Sidhe is someone sent by my father,” Adam said, “the fact of which I’m now fairly certain, we could very well cross some treaty line, or perhaps unknowingly spark a conflict. I am of the opinion that we go north. Minerva can help sort this out.”

“No.” I stood my ground. “I’m not simply turning tail and running away. Not this time.”

“Then what would you suggest?” Adam regarded me solemnly.

“I’m concerned about the Sidhe we haven’t yet found,” I said. “If he—or they, however many there are—are indeed Underhill. And if there’s a way into Faery at Victory Square, then I suggest we go there. We”—I indicated the group—“can deal with anything thrown at us.”

“She does have a point,” Rhys said to the room in general. “I’m game. Bro?”

Tucker gave me a look that was a cross between surprise and kudos. He nodded at Niko, who did the same. “If that’s what you want, Keira, then let’s be on with it.”

Adam, still surly, muttered, “I’ll go with you, however—” He motioned toward Daffyd, who sat in silence, lips tight as if to hold words back. “I do not think it is a good idea for him to be out there with us.”

“I’ll stay with him,” Rhys said. “And I’ll call Gareth to meet you all.”

“He’s a Mountie, brother, maybe it’s not a great idea to have him mixed up in this. I don’t want to have him need to—”

“Call him,” Tucker said. “In case we do need the presence of the law.”

“C
AN’T MAKE
it,” Gareth said. “I’m in the middle of wrapping up this case. At the morgue.” He paused, perhaps making sure he was not being overheard, then continued. “Since the victim is not … ah … Canadian, there are also certain matters I will personally need to deal with.”

“I understand.” I bet there would be matters. What would an autopsy of a Sidhe reveal? Probably a lot more than pointy ears. And how exactly would that be officially accounted for? I suddenly wondered if Gareth’s career as a Mountie was purely, as the RCMP motto put it, about
Maintiens le droit
. Upholding the law was a noble calling and keeping the lid on knowledge of the supernatural was probably in the public’s best interest … but said lid was also definitely in the Kelly Clan’s best interests. Perhaps my childhood imaginings about Gigi’s influence weren’t so farfetched.

“Besides,” Gareth added, “you four are better suited anyway.”

“I’m good with that.” I nodded to Tucker, Niko and Adam, all of whom were listening in. The three of them agreed. “If you change your mind, we’re heading to the Victory Square Cenotaph to see if there really is access to Faery there.”

“Faery?” Gareth asked. “I thought you were checking here, under the Victory Square hill—‘under-the-hill, ’ right?”

“Oh, sorry, Underhill is sort of a generic word for the Sidhe world—Faery,” I explained. “If there is access here, we can pretty much come out anywhere in Faery … or a specific place if someone’s done a particular location-bonding ritual. We’ll have to wait and see.”

Gareth muttered something I couldn’t understand.

“What was that?” I asked.

“Nothing, never mind,” he said. “Be careful, damn it. And tell my dear papa that he’d better damned well keep a sharp eye on that Sidhe. We still don’t know if he’s responsible for any of these deaths.”

Rhys, who was across the room talking to Daffyd, looked up slightly and nodded, a gesture Daffyd obviously missed. Evidently, my Sidhe cousin’s hearing wasn’t as good as my brother’s … or he was concealing that he’d overheard.

“We’ll take care, Gareth. If you learn of anything else, make sure to call Rhys. I’m taking the cell, but I have no idea if—”

Gareth’s laugh interrupted me. “You think you might not get good reception in Faery?”

“Well, hell, I have no idea,” I said. “Last time I was there, cell phones didn’t exist. So how would I know?”

“Only you, dear aunt, only you would think to be concerned if your cell phone service area included the Sidhe realm. Talk to you all when you return.” He disconnected the call.

“Shall we, then?” I motioned to the door and the three men followed me out.

“S
ORRY TO
bother you again,” I said to John, the guitarist. I’d seen him as we arrived at the park—the walk there was now almost as familiar as a stroll around the ranch—strumming on his guitar, lost in whatever melody had taken him. His partner, Rodney, sat next to him, hands sliding over the drum skin, as if remembering how he’d been keeping rhythm a few hours ago. The festival had ended earlier in the evening but, as always, several stragglers remained behind. A couple of boys ran through
what was left of the crowd, checking in trash bins, looking on the ground, perhaps hoping to find dropped money or something of value they could then sell. “Did you happen to see another bardish-looking guy at the festival?” I described the dark-haired man as best I could without actually having seen him.

John rubbed his chin, tilted his head and nodded. “Yeah, pretty sure we saw him. Remember, Rodney? Up over by the Cenotaph. He didn’t play, though, so I didn’t pay much attention. He was there for a bit, then wasn’t.”

“When was he there?”

“Not really sure of the time. Guess it was not long after sunset?”

Rodney nodded, still concentrating on his bodhrán. “Yeah, about then,” he said. “Never did see the other guy again, though. The one with the flute.”

“Too bad,” John said. “Guy played beautifully. As if …” He looked off into the distance, eyes unfocused. “Gorgeous music.”

“Thank you kindly.” Tucker tugged at my arm. “Probably should go on now, sis,” he said quietly. John nodded and returned to plucking guitar strings.

I gave the guys a “what next?” expression as we walked toward the Cenotaph.

“In my opinion, there’s still too many people around to try figuring out how to find the door to Faery,” I said, trying to keep my voice low. “Canadians might be polite and let other people be, but if someone started messing around a war memorial in the middle of the night, I’d lay bets that someone would call the police. Damn it, I should have thought of that when I talked to Gareth.”

“I think we’ll be fine, sis. We can sit there for a while and wait until the rest of these folks—Hey, you there!”
Tucker sprang forward and grabbed the arm of a boy, one of the ones I’d seen rummaging around in the bins.

“What … what’d I do?” the boy protested, struggling to pull away from my brother.

“Where did you get that?” Tucker growled. “That flute?”

A shiny silver flute peeked out of the boy’s jacket pocket. From my vantage point, I couldn’t see much more than the end, but on that end, I saw at least one or two curlicued symbols—Faery writing.

“I—”

“Don’t say nuthin’, Daniel.” The other boy, who’d been further away, came running up, yelling angrily. “We got given that. So leave us alone, ’fore we call the law.”

“I’m with the law,” I said in a serious tone. “We’re investigating a death. Where did you get that flute?”

“Some guy,” said the second boy. “We helped him out. Said his name was Gilliam or something—”

“
Gwil
im, Jack,” Daniel supplied.

Jack shot Daniel a “shut up” look. “He gave the flute to us for helping.”

“Gave?” Tucker’s tone was more growl than words.

Daniel nodded, then on hearing another growl from Niko, who’d come up to flank them, started shaking. He held out the flute. “Here, you take it—please, don’t tell the cops.”

I considered both boys, too young to be mixed up in this. Too young to be on the streets, for that matter.

“What do you think, Tucker?” I asked. “Shall we believe them?”

Tucker, taking my lead, played bad cop. “I’m not so sure they weren’t the ones who—”

“We didn’t, we didn’t, we swear …” Daniel blubbered
the words in between tears. “He was already dead,” he said. “Honest.”

“How did you know he was there?” Adam joined us. “Did you see what happened? How he died?”

Jack, arms wrapped around himself, all semblance of bravado gone, answered. “Yes,” he whispered. “Danny and I were there. Trying to get some sleep in the back of the store. Old man Mosel still had a key to the place. He used to let us crash there. Woke up when I heard some noise. Thought it was someone else coming in to crash, but then saw the musician guy fighting with another guy who looked a lot like him, except he had dark hair. We stayed really quiet. The dark guy did something with his hand and the musician guy went down. The other guy picked up a knife and stabbed him, then used a big walking stick or something to bash his head in.”

“We didn’t want to be next,” Daniel said.

Both boys were now shaking.

“Did you see where the dark man went?” Adam asked.

Jack shook his head. “Back out to the street,” he said. “I didn’t follow.”

Daniel nodded. “I did,” he said.

“Dumbshit, takin’ a chance like that.” Jack hit Daniel’s arm.

“Ow!” Daniel rubbed where Jack hit him and poked the other boy in the side.

Jack flinched. “That hurt, damn it.” He hunched over, as if protecting his side.

Tucker narrowed his eyes. “You injured?”

The boy began to shake his head, but changed it quickly to a nod. “S’nothin’. Cut myself.”

“Bled all over the dead guy,” Daniel said, in a tone between proud and embarrassed.

“So you followed the dark man,” I prodded, hoping to get some more information.

“Yeah, miss. I wanted to make sure he was gone.” Daniel looked around at the few festival stragglers. “He went fast, really fast, almost missed him, but I could’ve sworn he came right here,” he said, pointing to the Cenotaph. “To the memorial thing. Then, I guess I lost him, because he wasn’t there anymore.”

The four of us realized what had happened at the same instant. The Sidhe had to have gone Underhill.

“Thanks for the info, boys. We won’t tell the authorities,” Tucker promised. “Here.” Tucker pulled out a few bills and passed them to Jack. “Go and get yourselves some food and a place to crash tonight.”

Jack snatched the money out of Tucker’s hand and the boys hurried down the street, neither of them looking back.

“We’re definitely going to have to figure out a way to get down there,” I said, running my hands over the stone of the monument. “Daffyd said he didn’t know the ritual. I’m totally at a loss here. When I lived Below, I never came Above, so never needed to know how to get back.”

“I think I know how,” Adam said, a grimace crossing his face. “I’m not sure—”

“Adam, don’t,” Niko said, putting a hand on Adam’s shoulder.

Tucker frowned. “Why not? If he knows how to—”

Niko faced Tucker, eyes blazing. “If there is indeed an entrance here, to Faery, to the Unseelie Court …” He let his words trail off, but we all knew exactly what he meant. Adam was still persona non grata in his father’s Court, despite the fact that he was still the official heir. Doors to Faery didn’t work like human doors and had nothing
to do with human geography. A door to Underhill here in Vancouver could lead to anywhere in Faery; it might be a direct gateway to the heart of the Unseelie Court—and Adam’s father.

“I’ll take my chances.” Adam put his hand over Niko’s.

I put my hand over theirs. “You are not going in there without me.”

“N
OW
?” We’d been sitting on a bench near the Cenotaph for what seemed to be hours, but was probably only less than a quarter of one. Impatience, thy name is Keira Kelly.

Adam stood and looked around the park. Victory Square was fairly well illuminated by streetlights around it and tall lamps along the curving concrete paths. Only John and Rodney remained at the bottom of the hill, both men seemingly absorbed in whatever music they were making at the moment. No one was passing. No one was watching.

“Now. Follow me.” He began to walk, measured steps, a cadence we could easily follow.

In line like ducks or a grown-up version of a school trip, we trooped behind Adam, widdershins around the Cenotaph, careful to keep silent. Adam muttered below his breath, words I could barely hear, but almost understood. Words in a language I’d heard until age seven. A language I no longer wanted to know, but which still lurked beneath my memory.

One circuit, then another, a third and finally, I felt it. Power. Energy growing, shimmering sounds, light fading in, out and back again, turning the usual comforting glow of the nighttime street lamps into something unearthly.

The sounds and scents begin to blend, memories from childhood flash through my mind. My mother, striding
through candlelit hallways, shining dagger at her belt, silver, not base metal. She drags me by one hand, impatient. I’m only five or so. Flash of light and another memory, a song, a bard in the front singing about a lady fair and a horse … or perhaps the lady was the horse?

I reached out, hand searching for some purchase, some way of grounding …

A silent pop, pressure of air changing as we stop, a rectangular nothingness—a doorway—now hung in thin air to the right of the Cenotaph. The air seemed charged, particles of light and sound swirling around us and the door. I sent a silent plea to whatever powers that be that we were invisible to passersby.