Elvendude (23 page)

"Guess they figure they'd be the last ones transporting half a mil in coke with an illegal vehicle," Roach said. "Or something. Sure would be helpful to know what
color
the damned truck was. All they had were these lousy black-and-whites."

Sammi put the photos back in their ragged manila envelope and frowned. The same question kept rolling around in her mind.

When did Zeldan Dhu Gate here?

Given the time discrepancies, it was impossible to guess. An exact date, or even an approximate one, might give her an idea what he'd been up to, and where he might be now. These pictures answered at least one of those questions.

"What about the lab results of those kids?" she asked. It had been less than a week since the autopsies, but she thought she'd ask anyway.

"Nothing yet. Wasn't garden variety coke, which they would have found right away. All they know is that they all died of heart failure."

That sure narrows it down,
she thought grimly. "What about the other earlier samples of Black Dream?"

"Have a look yourself," Roach said, tossing her a coffee- stained file. "I'm gonna go take a leak."

"You do that," she murmured, opening the file.
Disgusting humans.
Lab reports were not her specialty, but she poured over the technical jargon anyway, hoping to glean important clues to what they were dealing with—and what Zeldan was selling. All the samples came packaged the same way, in black-stoppered amber vials. Black was not a color commonly used by drug traffickers in their area, so its color was thought to be significant, perhaps suggesting its lethal qualities. The drug was cocaine with something added to it, something that changed the cocaine into something else, something that still had their lab techs scratching their collective heads.

One detective had scribbled a note in the margin of one of the lab reports. "This stuff's not of this world," read the barely legible script.

She closed the file.
Of course it's not of this world. It's from Underhill. Courtesy of Zeldan Dhu.

From her purse she took out the Polaroids from the Wintons' mass death. She shuddered whenever she saw them, in part because the King nearly ended up as one of the bodies. Or perhaps not; she didn't know what effect Black Dream would have on elves. She doubted it would be anything harmless.

On her desk next to Roach's she studied the photos, along with the ones taken by photographers at the scene, and read the reports over again. The only recurring fact that struck her as odd was that Daryl survived, and practically everyone else at the party hadn't. She remembered the dialog Daryl had had with Roach, who had repeated it to her early that afternoon; the kid didn't look the slightest bit disturbed over what happened, and he didn't seem too concerned about the consequences.

With a father like his, who would?

When Roach returned, he sat down next to her and propped his feet up on the desk. "By the way, Sammi, did you hear about Swink?"

The name rang a bell, but she wasn't entirely sure if she recognized it. "I guess not," she said. "What happened?"

"Swink was one of our best motorcycle cops. Some asshole in a Volkswagen threw acid or something in his face when Swink pulled him over. Blinded. For life, the doctor says."

Sammi stared at him. "Blinded?"

"Yeah, funny thing was, they didn't find any acid burns or anything. They're thinking it might have been some kind of laser weapon or something. Still—"

"In other words," Sammi interrupted, "nobody really
knows.
"

"That's my guess," Roach said. He looked as if he was about to doze off. "Perps still at large. Black Volkswagen bug. No tag."

"That narrows it down," she said grimly.

When Sammi finally came home, it was past midnight and Adam had just arrived with the others and was putting the young ones, Petrus and Wenlann, to bed in their new digs. Moira had arrived with a carload of possessions, having decided that she needed to be with the others for security reasons. Besides, it made no sense for her to live alone, now that Adam knew who he was and what was going on.

After some discussion, the group had decided that Spence, who had been living in an apartment less than a mile away, would not be moving in. Too many young, teenage kids moving in with a lady cop would be too difficult to explain to Sammi's supervisor, if it ever came to his attention. The four new arrivals from Avalon would be enough to deal with, and explain, as it was.

Once the two littles were in bed, Adam and his horde gathered in the kitchen. Samantha, Moira and Marbann sat at the kitchen table, while Niamh scavenged in the refrigerator for something to munch on. Adam had left Spence to close up at the Yaz.

The King watched surreptitiously as Niamh pulled out a bottle of ketchup, then a jar of olives. Then he examined a roll of raw biscuit dough packaged in a cardboard tube, scrutinizing the label. Apparently the heat from his hands caused it to pop open explosively. The elf squawked and dropped the dough, stepped away from it, eyeing the Pillsbury tube fearfully.

"Okay, Niamh," Samantha said, the noise having attracted her attention. "Out of there. You don't know what you're doing. Human food can be
frightening
."

"The game is still alive!" Niamh cried as he backed up against a cabinet. "Shall we behead it?"

Adam snickered, trying his best to show no amusement.
Good gods, I'm glad they laid that human spell on me when I got here. Figuring this stuff out by trial and error must be terrifying.

Niamh raised a Nike-shod foot and made ready to stomp on the dough.

"Don't you dare," Samantha said as she rescued the prey from the floor. "I'll bake these if you're still hungry. I just
cleaned
this place."

"Aye," Niamh said, shaking his head. "The humans have certainly gone out of their way to make eating complicated, they have."

Once the biscuits were laid out on the Teflon pan and placed in the oven, Samantha and the hungry elf came back to the table for the meeting.

"So tell me dear, how did your day go?" Samantha said lightly, but behind the lightness Adam sensed some dread.

Adam turned serious, which was difficult to do with the vision of the exploding biscuit roll still playing in his head. "Daryl Bendis is dealing Black Dream," Adam replied emotionlessly. "He was trying to unload some tonight at the Yaz."

Sammi let out a low whistle. "So. He's finally graduated to selling. I shouldn't be surprised, but I am. How do you know?"

Adam told her about the incident in the Yaz bathroom and the black-stoppered vial.

"You're sure it was Black Dream?" she asked.

"Black stoppers. All I know. Daryl was a waste, as he usually is these days," Adam replied.

"I hope you chased him out of there," she said. "The last thing our clan needs is police involvement at the place you work. Then there's the other probability."

"Which is?" Moira asked.

"This is connected with the Unseleighe."

She told him about the DEA pictures and the elven subjects. And only Unseleighe elves would have anything to do with something as dark as cocaine trafficking.

"Which further supports my belief that Zeldan is behind Black Dream production," Sammi said.

"If you find the source of Dream, then you find Zeldan," Adam said, and the prospect was more terrifying than he had first thought. He was careful to keep his fears hidden; he didn't want his Court to know he was afraid. "Lady Samantha, you're a cop; you're in a good position to do this."

"It won't be that easy," Sammi admitted. "The Unseleighe are good at staying hidden. Remember, they are elves."

Adam thought about Daryl, and what was happening to him.
Maybe this is how I can help him,
he considered.
By taking down his supplier.

When he looked up, Samantha was looking directly at him. "I think Daryl will be better at finding Zeldan than the cops will be. He is, after all, closer to him. And it would appear that he's working for him as well."

"Yeah, but . . ." Adam said, but his argument stopped there.
I'm not so sure I can use Daryl that way.
Daryl was still his friend, and it didn't feel right taking advantage of him. "He wouldn't tell me anything if I asked." Perhaps his human side was still trying to protect him.
This is getting confusing. Why do I have to be a teenage human on top of all this!

Adam wanted to change the subject. "Zeldan, Zeldan,
Zeldan!
He captured our palace, killed my family, and is probably looking for me. Why? What did we ever
do
to him?"

Marbann and Samantha exchanged looks. "It's a good question," Marbann finally said. "We never told him before, did we?"

Samantha shook her head. "We disposed of the Unseleighe threat so long ago that we had quite simply forgot they were a threat."

"They're a threat now," Adam pointed out. "What happened?"

Samantha took a deep breath, and Adam prepared himself for a long story. "Zeldan Dhu's clan was originally part of a larger Unseleighe group which our Outremer brothers defeated in a long, senseless battle. Some wanted to continue the battle to the end. Admitting defeat, the majority of the Unseleighe threw the troublemakers out. One of these outcasts was Zeldan's grandfather, Zantor, the leader of the new splinter clan.

"Zantor set out across uncharted and unknown regions of Underhill, just like our ancestors did, but for entirely different motives. They destroyed and killed everything they encountered. They were nomads and looters. Lone Underhill creatures by the score fell under their blade.

"Their victories came so swiftly and decisively that they became overconfident. When they encountered Elfhame Avalon, by then well established, and having been warned by Outremer, we were ready for them. Zantor didn't know this. He and a small party attacked the palace at night, expecting an easy slaughter. Aedham the First, your grandfather and King of Avalon, was ready.

"There was indeed a slaughter, but of Zantor and his people, not ours. Grandfather Tuiereann personally slew Zantor with a dagger tipped with Death Metal. Zantor was armed with a sword likewise poisoned. Grandfather won despite the disadvantage in weapons.

"Then, once the raiding party was killed, Avalon warriors spread out and attacked the Unseleighe camp. The Unseleighe knew something had gone horribly wrong, and when they realized their leader was slain, they had no will to fight. They fled, beyond the mountains, to regions unknown. Over time, Avalon had forgotten the threat. There had never been a serious one in the first place."

Samantha calmly got up, put on some oven mittens, and pulled the pan out. "Anyone hungry?"

Niamh stared wordlessly at the repast set before them. In addition to the biscuits, which now served as mere garnish, there was a small roasted ham, with apple slices around it. Potatoes, onions and carrots shared the pan. The food's steaming aroma made Adam's stomach rumble.

During all the brouhaha, I'd forgotten I hadn't eaten in a while,
Adam thought as he helped serve dinner to the others.

"Under the circumstances, I think that kenned food would be acceptable, don't you think?" Samantha said, as Moira brought a stack of plastic plates and utensils to the table and began passing them out.

"Don't care," Niamh said. "I'm hungry."

"I'll take some up to the littles," Moira said as she disappeared into the garage with a plate of ham and vegetables.

"Anyway," Samantha said, as the group dug in hungrily. "
That
is what happened."

The Unseleighe killed my family,
Adam thought, his rage now renewed. "We were only defending our home."

"Forget about finding reason in the Unseleighe's actions," Marbann said. "We've tried for millennium, without success."

Sammi nodded as she rubbed her face tiredly. "We have a link, now. If Daryl's selling Dream, then perhaps we can follow him back to the source. What are the chances of his returning to the Yaz?"

"Good," Adam said, feeling a little tired himself. "I doubt my threats to call the cops had any effect on him. I don't think he believes me. We've been friends for—"

"Too long," Marbann pointed out harshly. Then his tone softened a little, and he added, "We can't cure humans of all diseases."

"Then perhaps we should wait for Daryl to slip up," Moira said. "When he leaves the Yaz tomorrow, provided he arrives, let's follow him."

"We wouldn't even need a concealment spell," Sammi pointed out. "Though it wouldn't hurt. He knows what that car of yours looks like."

"Let's sleep on it," Adam said. He didn't like the idea of using Daryl to get at Zeldan, but at the same time he saw no other way. "It's been a long day. I believe that when we awaken, the solution will be clear to us all."

Nightfall in Dallas.

"Tell you what," Li said, as he rode with Daryl in his Corvette. "I'll buy enough rock to get us both good and fried, then I'll show you where you can take the rest of the product. I owe someone a few favors, anyway."

"Sounds good," Daryl said, trying not to sound depressed. "Look in the
Jetsons
lunchpail down on the floor."

But Li was already into it. He even had his own pipe, and this one had water in it.

Snap, crackle, pop
. Li handed him the pipe.

Daryl took his turn and buried himself in the ritual silence, and Li did the same. When he tuned in the Edge, "Radioactivity" from the Kraftwerk Mix album poured through the speakers. Coaxing his 'Vette up to 80 mph he sailed down Highway 75 south, which eventually led him out of the Dallas area and into less traveled lands. Daryl didn't care where he went, and neither did Li, apparently.

Every few miles or so, Daryl glanced out at the road to make sure it was where it was supposed to be, and not three yards beneath the car. Though the flying car phenomenon had been kind of neat at the time, he preferred a car that stayed on the ground, particularly when he was smoking rock. Too many things might go wrong. It was probably why the cop pulled him over in the first place.