Hallow Point (28 page)

Same swanky glass revolving door. Same carpeted pathway winding between forests of decorative columns and actual trees, both. Same menagerie of every kinda Seelie you could imagine—staff’n guests—same counters and tables, same array of hotel bars servin’ the same array of a million kinds of rotgut.

And, as it happened, the same pain-in-the-ass spriggan sittin’ and drinkin’ in one of ’em. With the same beige overcoat, pixie-puke-orange fedora, and bushy red beard that didn’t need a trim so much as a good brushfire. He was six foot tall at the moment, which ain’t his tallest or his shortest, but the height he tends to favor when dealin’ with us normal-size folks. I knew he could break nine when he got good’n steamed, if not even taller, and the sight of me was always enough to stoke the boiler.

He’da given you a whole heap of reasons he didn’t care for me. Me, I figure he was just threatened. I worked as the Lambton’s house dick for a while before him, and I’ve got a solid hunch he’s afraid I was better’n he is.

Wouldn’t surprise me if I was, either.

“Goddamn it, Mr. Oberon, didn’t y’make enough trouble fer us last time y’were—”

“Slachaun, I got no time to play today. Can we just skip right to the part where you stomp off all sullen and resentful to tell Ielveith I need to see her? I promise, we can compare pecker sizes
twice
next time, to make up for it.”

“First off,” he shouted, puttin’ on about five inches, “that’s
Mrs.
Ielveith to ya, boyo!”

“It really isn’t.”

“And second, why’n the name’a any god y’care to invoke would I—?”

“Come over here’n search me.”

“—even want to—What the hell’d y’just say?”

“Search me. You know what you’ll find?”

With his jaw workin’ that way, even Slachaun’s beard looked bewildered.

“Uh…”

“You’ll find that I got nothin’ on me but my wand, identification, and a list of names.”

The clatter of glasses and chatter of conversation at the bar had completely stopped. The spriggan was just sorta scratchin’ under his blinding hat. He’d faded back to about six feet again, too.

“Fine’n dandy, but—”

“What you will
not
find,” I bulled on, “is anythin’ of value. No wad of cash. No shiny jewelry. No pretty magic gewgaw. In short, you’ll find exactly squat that I could offer Ielveith as a gift. So c’mon.” I patted down the sides of my coat. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Nah, I’ll… I’ll take yer word fer it. But I never
asked
if y’had—”

Would you believe me if I said I wasn’t gettin’ a certain kick out of interrupting every last thing he said? ’Cause I sure as hell wouldn’t.

“Now,” I said, “you’re supposed to be a detective, yeah?”

“I
am
a—!”

“So let’s try some inductive reasoning. You know how much I hate comin’ home, so why am I here? In Elphame, and specifically here at the Lambton? I don’t have enough scratch on me to bunk here for the night.”

“Y’need Ms. Ielveith’s help. Same as always, leanin’ on the hard work o’ others ta—”

“Right. And we both know my last visit wasn’t a lotta fun for her, so it ain’t too probable she’s gonna help me just outta the goodness of her heart. Not on anything heavy, anyway, and we also both know I wouldn’t be here for anythin’ small. Since we just established I don’t come bearing gifts that might buy me some consideration, what’s that leave, Slachaun?”

I’ve said it before: for all his temper, and people skills to make Vlad the Impaler blanche, the spriggan actually ain’t too shabby at his job. He understood the song I was singing.

“Either what y’need’s big enough that ya’d put yerself in debt for it,” he grunted sourly, “or it’s somethin’ y’figure she’ll help y’with for her own interests.”

Bugganes
and spriggans. Like everything else bigger’n me, it was all about knowin’ how to handle ’em.

“Not bad. Now, in either of those cases, you wanna be the one to explain why you didn’t give the boss the chance to hear the skinny’n make up her own mind?”

He just sorta deflated back to his normal three feet’n change.

“I’ll go tell Ms. Ielveith yer here.”

“You stomp off sullenly and reluctantly do that.”

* * *

Ielveith’d greeted me friendly enough, but she also didn’t make too sincere an effort to hide her suspicion. When I’d gotten into some of the basics of why I was droppin’ in on her, she started shakin’ her head.

“You cannot
possibly
be serious,” she said when I’d finished.

“Well, I
can
. I just usually make a point of avoiding it.”

If Queen Victoria’d risen from the dead right then and spouted her “We are
not
amused!” routine, she’d still’ve gotten more of a laugh outta that than my fellow
aes sidhe
.

Ielveith was straight-laced, beautiful, kinda severe, and her office matched.

Yeah, I was in another office.

I’m so damn sick of offices I could scream. And no, I’m not gonna describe it in detail. You know what the Fae aesthetic looks like, you know what an office looks like. Paint your own damn picture.

She was ensconced behind the desk; I was plunked in a chair opposite; and Slachaun sat rigid on a sofa to my left, almost quiverin’ with the urge to do… something. I couldn’t say what, but if someone’d offered odds that I wouldn’t find it pleasant, well, I wouldn’t bet against it.

“Look, Ielveith—” I started.

“No. Mick, I’ve had enough trouble keeping out of Ylleuwyn’s sights since you were last here. The Lambton doesn’t play favorites, and in exchange, we don’t have enemies. Or we
didn’t
. I know what you’re looking for on the other side. A lot of us do. I wish you luck, but I’m
not
going to stick my neck—”

“Just take a gander at this, would ya?” I shoved the list into her hands before she could protest. “Any names ring a bell?”

“I just said I’m not—”

“This ain’t just for me, Iel. This is bigger’n me. Might even be bigger’n the Spear of Lugh.”

That got me an eyebrow, but her blinkers flicked down to the paper.

“I recognize a few,” she admitted, after a brief pause. “I’ve had a few dealings with Mr. Horton, here, actually. How is he doing?”

“Dead.”

Ielveith shrugged, let the paper drift down to her hardwood desk.

“Ah, well. They go so quickly. I still don’t—”

“They’re
all
dead, Iel. Every name on that list. All within the last few weeks. All in ‘accidents.’”

Her fingers scrabbled to recover the list, audibly crinkling the paper.

“Lemme guess,” I said as she went over it again. “In addition to your pal Horton, every name you know has some tie or other to some Seelie or another.”

“I only recognize a few, Mick.”

I decided to take that as confirmation.

“Sure. You wanna wager a free week in the presidential suite that the others do, too?”

The spriggan leaned forward on the sofa.

“What’re y’suggestin’, exactly?”

“I’m suggesting that the Unfit are workin’ some kinda Chinese angle. You know how much extra violence the city’s seen with all those redcaps in it? Zip. Bupkis. They’re keeping a low profile, and redcaps don’t
do
low profile unless they absolutely gotta. Meanwhile, a whole truckloada mugs got themselves chilled off. All rich’n powerful. And the only connection I found so far between
any
of ’em is the Seelie Court. So whaddaya
think
I’m suggestin’?”

“What you’re describing,” my host said slowly, her fingers clenched and nails scraping against the desk, “comes perilously close to an act of open war.”

“Yeah, I’d noticed that.”

“
If
it’s true,” she added. She wasn’t pacing, given the whole “seated in chair” thing, but she managed to convey the impression of it. “The idea of the Unseelie using the search for Gáe Assail as a diversion to target mortal allies of the Seelie Court is…”

“Pretty tough to swallow,” I finished for her. “And as soon as we find out that the rest of those names ain’t connected to the Court, or you can offer me a better theory that fits all the facts, we can just leave that ridiculous notion behind.”

“Slachaun?”

“Right, Ms. Ielveith.”

He didn’t even look resentful, now, just took the list and slipped from the office. Guess he saw clear as she did: if I was right, no matter how off the chance, this wasn’t just about me, or even about the spear. Not anymore.

The pair of us sat’n waited, sipping on dew-sweetened fruit juice and thinkin’ our own private and mostly unpleasant thoughts.

Even Ielveith’s connections weren’t gonna let her private dick dig into the whole friggin’ list, especially not over a couple hours. But between the Lambton’s important guests, her own political allies, and Slachaun’s drive—I’ll give him credit where he earns it, sure—they ran down a solid handful.

Enough that nobody coulda even tried to pretend it was coincidence anymore. Nah, they weren’t
all
allies or servants of Seelie Fae, but most of ’em were. And even those who weren’t? Were still among the ranks of Chicago’s elite who’re wise to our existence. They just hadn’t hitched their wagons to either Court.

“Explain something to me, Mick,” Ielveith asked. We were both packin’ up to leave, me to get my tail outta Elphame, her to go finish up identifying the Fae connections to the rest of the list. We figured, solid as our evidence was, it’d take
overwhelming
proof to cut through the political bullshit that’d otherwise entangle the whole damn Court when she tried to warn the rest of ’em about this.

“Sure, if I can.”

“Why?”

I halted in the middle of the room. “Why what?”

“The Unfit. Sure, this is clever, if this really is the first step in a bigger play. Except… They risk losing the race to the spear by splitting their attention this way, don’t they? Bad as it’s going to hurt us to lose so many of our mortal connections, isn’t Gáe Assail a much greater prize?”

Fact is, I’d had that exact thought. And it weighed on me, heavy, that I didn’t have an answer.

What were the bastards up to? Why escalate hostilities now? Why risk the grand prize pursuing an honorable mention?

What the burning, flickering hell did they know that I didn’t?

“
H
eya, Franky.” I spoke soon as he clicked on the lights, since the place was curtained up tight enough to be where nighttime slept. He’d been out when I showed, but I don’t mind waiting.

Actually, that’s hooey. I
hate
waiting. But I’m pretty good at it.

I never seen Four-Leaf freeze that way. Pretty sure Medusa woulda moved on, figurin’ she’d already given him a once-over. Handful of roaches, who’d scattered when I let myself in but slowly re-emerged during my wait, scattered again, fleeing the light. Even motionless, Franky managed to give me a pretty strong impression he wanted to do the same.

“Don’t do anything rattle-brained,” I told him. “I’m just wiped out enough that chasing you down would seriously sour my sunny disposition, but not so much I wouldn’t catch you up.”

Franky gulped hard enough to swallow a bowling ball, and took a step away from the door.

“How’d you live like this?” I asked him. “I seen cleaner walls in a nuthouse, the roaches just got done dialing pest control to deal with the silverfish, and the carpet don’t need to be vacuumed so much as aerated and tilled.”

“I—” he started, quivering.

“Yeah, I know. You’re lying low. And I gotta say, this was a pretty solid choice. Ain’t even any gold stashed away. Nobody’d think to look for you in a dump like this, and if they did, they wouldn’t find anything to suggest you’d been here.”

“That… That was the idea. So how—?”

“I’m a detective, Franky. Nobody hides from me if I don’t like for ’em to.”

By which I meant I’d gone to one of our mutual low-life acquaintances and did the whole “shake him down then bribe him” dance, but I didn’t figure he needed to know that.

“Mick…” He raised both hands, in a way some woulda described as “beseeching” and others as “pathetic.” In the sickly yellow light of the lone bulb, his skin was sallow and his green glad rags looked to be dyed with pond scum. “You gotta understand—”

“You ran out on me, Franky-boy. That ain’t mannerly.”

“Jesus, Mick! I’d just been ear-mickeyed by a
rusalka
!”

“Which I saved you from,” I reminded him, slowly rising from my seat (a moth-eaten chair with less stuffing than a soup-kitchen turkey).

“Come on, pal!” His back bumped up against the door, hard enough I could see my reflection in his glasses start to shake. “You know what kinda mess it is out there right now! I didn’t want any part of that! I just wanna keep my head down until this all blows over, you know?”

“Sure,” I told him, nodding. “I know. And I want a cow that gives pure cream and plays the harp. We’re both just gonna have to soldier on.”

“Mick…”

I was right up on him, now. I’d hafta either crush him against the door or kiss him to get any closer.

“What’s gonna happen here,” I said softly, “is that you’re gonna answer a whole
heap
of questions. In detail, and without even
thinking
of pulling my leg. About
anything
. Then, depending on what kinda song you sing, you might maybe run a few errands for me.

“After that,
maybe
, if everything’s gone how I need it to, and you’ve gotten through it without queering anything I need done, I might forget that you ran out on me.”

For just a sec, he got mad. I saw it in the clench of his jaw, heard it in the rasp of his breathing. On the square, I think I’d have developed a dollop more respect for him if he’d taken a poke at me.

End of the day, though, Four-Leaf Franky’s basically a coward, and he knows I know it. He sagged, so me’n the door were all that kept him upright, and nodded. I went back to the chair, if you wanna call it that.

“We’ll start real simple,” I said. “Even when you’re lyin’ dormy, I know you keep an ear to the ground—when it ain’t got a
rusalka
’s fishhooks in it, anyway. Tell me about anything big been going down the last few nights.”