Summer (5 page)

“I loved him.” Katherine replied. “So much so that I’ve come to pay you my respects, because it’s what he would have wanted.”

“Detective Healy.” Siobahn paced back to her chair. “You’ve made your point. Come all the way in, please. Morris, see what you can do about the door before we attract the notice of our neighbors.”

Morris nodded. His protective sphere tightened around Siobahn.  Bran circled the room until he stood at Katherine Grey’s side. The exiles hissed and seethed as he passed.

“Not your usual bodyguard,” the detective said. “Where’s Barker?”

“Indisposed.” Siobahn settled herself on the edge of her chair. “Still recovering from
Buairt’s
bite. I’ve discovered Morris’ talents beyond driving.”

Bran’s eyebrows rose. He set himself at Katherine’s Grey left shoulder, alongside Carran, then watched with exaggerated interest as Morris cast a Glamour over the broken door.

“Pay your respects on your knees, Liadan,” Siobahn ordered the Grey Lady. “And I’ll worry less you’ve come to kill me.”

“I haven’t.” Katherine set a restraining hand on Bran’s arm. She lowered herself to the floor, shoulders bowed. “Come to kill you. My lady.”

Siobahn shifted her attention to the human. He rocked on his heels, hands crossed behind his back, brows still raised.

“No,” he said. “You’re not my queen, Siobahn. You’ve paid me well to guard your son, but you haven’t earned my loyalty.”

“Winter has,” Siobahn guessed. She felt the shift of attention in her exiles, even as they waited without moving.

“Winter is my friend.” Once again the human scanned the room. “Where is he?”

“Not here.”

“Not in D.C., either. I’ve a desk jockey meant to keep an eye on him while I’m away on vacation. My man says Winter’s gone AWOL. I assumed he’d come home. For the wake.”

Siobahn felt grief take a stranglehold around her heart.

“We burn our dead,” she said, sharp. “We don’t wake them. I’ve sent Winter on an errand.”

The mortal bristled under his coat. The stitches in his skull stood out against clenched muscles.

“You don’t think the kid deserves a break? Maybe a few days to recover? Or isn’t he allowed to grieve his daddy?”

Siobahn would have burnt the detective to ash but for the sly smile she glimpsed on Katherine’s mouth. The expression was gone as quickly as it came, but Siobahn wasn’t fooled.

“My son is Malachi’s get, and a warrior.” She pitched her voice so it echoed across the ceiling. “Grief is for the weak, and the idle.
Geimhreadh
is neither. He’s gone to avenge his father’s murder.”

“Smith’s dead,” said Bran. “Brains splattered all over Sixth Avenue. NYPD’s still looking for a suspect. I hear Barker’s on the top of their list.”

“Barker’s indisposed,” Siobahn repeated. “Michael Smith means nothing to the
sidhe
. He was but a pawn in a larger game.”

This time, when the Grey Lady smiled, she lifted her head.

“You fool,” she said. “You’ve actually done it. You’ve sent a child to best a monster. Your
own
child, Siobahn, and the last prince of the old blood. If Malachi weren’t already lost to us, this surely would break his heart unto death.”

She rose to her feet, the treason Siobahn expected, garbed all in mourning.

“You’re mad,” Katherine Grey accused, while around Siobahn the exiles began to stir. “You’ve been on the edge for centuries, and Malachi’s death has finally sent you over.”

“Crawlers,” Lolo said. He shone his flashlight left and right, but looked straight ahead. “Don’t stare. It just pisses ’em off.”

Barker shifted minutely. Summer felt the stir of power as he muttered a Cant under his breath. She hoped it was some sort of protective spell, because the stares from the tunnel’s edge made her shiver.

“Stupid boy,” Barker hissed. “You’ve walked us into a lion’s den.”

“No.” Lolo continued to walk. “Most of ’em aren’t violent, just high. They don’t want any trouble. They just want their fix, and to be left alone.”

Summer wasn’t so sure. She knew the effect
sidhe
beauty could have on even the steadiest of humans. The lost group sheltering in Federal Center Station looked anything but steady. Many of the slumped forms were still, caught in their own drug-fueled dreams, but a few took glassy-eyed notice, and one man with a tangled, ginger beard licked his lips as they passed, showing Summer his tongue.

“Lolo!” She hurried to catch up. “Maybe this was a bad idea.”

“You said you wanted to see the portal,” Lolo said. He dodged a pile of trash and the sleeping man curled around it. “It’s down here. They can’t hurt us, Summer. We’ve got Barker.”

Summer grabbed a handful of the back of Lolo’s coat. For once he didn’t make fun of her. She looked over her shoulder at Barker. The older
sidhe
kept his flashlight trained on the curving tunnel sides. His mouth was moving, but she couldn’t hear what he was saying.

“What about the
sluagh
?” Summer asked.

“The trains aren’t running. If there were monsters about, we’d be walking through a blood bath, not a flop house.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“Sorry,” he said, but Summer didn’t think he meant it. She wanted to hit him, but couldn’t make her fingers let go of his coat.

“I smell smoke,” said Barker.

“Up there ahead,” replied Lolo. “Bonfire. That’ll be where the big bosses are crashing.”

“Big bosses?” Summer repeated.

“Pushers,” Barker murmured. “Dealers. Lorenzo—”

But Lolo was already ten steps ahead, dragging Summer behind.

“Look natural,” he said. Summer couldn’t decide whether she wanted to laugh or cry.

The bonfire was more smoke than flame, but it gave off enough heat to warm Summer’s cheeks as they approached. It burned between the tracks and over, turning the rails warm several inches to either side of the blackened wood, and effectively blocking their way. Folding lawn chairs were set in a circle, exactly as though the tunnel crawlers intended to roast marshmallows and sing camp songs.

Four mortal men sat in a half-circle around the fire. Summer wasn’t good at guessing mortal age, but she thought they looked little older than boys, beardless and wiry. Three had tattoos, one was bald, and the fourth had a ring in his nose.

He looked up as Lolo approached, and set the neatly flared hand of cards he’d been studying upside-down into the dirt, safely away from the fire.

“Evening.” He smiled. “Shopping?”

“Passing through,” Lolo corrected. “
Vale?”

“Sure. But there’s not much past here, except the hole.”

“Tourists,” explained Lolo. “They want to see the damage.”

“Huh.” The shifting light glinted on the piercing in his nostril as he wagged his chin back and forth. “People are crazy. Don’t I know you, kid?”

Lolo shrugged dramatically. The beads in his braids clicked.

“Could be. Used to mule for Bobby Lorimer some, before I got a better gig.”

“Yeah. I remember.”

Summer decided the sway of his chin was a tick, or a spasm. She couldn’t help but notice the flecks of spit in the corner of his smile. When he caught her staring, she looked away, embarrassed.

“How much you making off this
tourism
?”

“Not enough to pay the rent.”

One of the other men shifted in his lawn chair. The bonfire picked out the planes and wrinkles on his face, making him ugly.

“You want to pass, you got to pay the troll.”

“Toll?” Barker echoed in clipped tones. He was little more than a silhouette against Summer’s shoulder, yellow eyes muted.

“Troll.” The ugly man giggled under his breath, then jerked a thumb at his younger companion. “We call him the troll, because he collects the gold.”

“Oh, come on,” Lolo whined, suddenly sounding his age. “This tourism thing is my gig. I thought it up, I paid off the cops. Let a man make a living.”

“It’s a good idea, but you ain’t no man,
kid.”
The troll held out one hand. “Give us a cut, or you don’t get by.”

Barker pushed past Summer, Winter’s Glock in his fist. Summer wasn’t sure whether he’d conjured it to hand or simply plucked it from Lolo’s waistband.

He leveled the pistol at the troll’s head. “Move aside.”

Lolo went very still.

No bullets
, Summer remembered.

The troll grinned.

“You won’t use that,” he said. His three companions rose one by one. Two pulled pistols of their own. The third dragged a shotgun from underneath his chair. “Unless you’re stupid. Three against one and now I’m wondering,
hermano,
exactly what sort of
tourist
carries a semi-automatic instead of a camera phone?”

“Hey.” Lolo lifted both his hands, palms up. “Hey, hey. I’ve got nothing to do with—”

The empty Glock spat four times in a row. Summer bit back a scream, then choked on it as the troll fell sideways. He hit the ground, twitching, his foot and the cuff of his jeans scraping through the bonfire. His shoe began to smoke.

“You’ll want to move him once we’re past.” Barker told the troll’s frozen companions. “He’s not dead, but if you leave him to burn, he soon will be.” He nudged Summer, hard, with an elbow, Glock still steady in his hand. “Go. Now.”

Summer edged around the fire and lawn chairs. She had to pull Lolo with her, because he’d gone quiet and dull-like. The troll’s friends didn’t move. They watched Barker and Winter’s pistol as the
sidhe
circled past.

Once the bonfire was behind her, Summer began to run. Lolo stumbled after. Barker drifted behind, insubstantial as mist. Summer had forgotten the flashlight in her hand, and now it bounced in her loose grip, sending round circles of light up and down and sideways, dizzying. She thought she heard shouts and angry voices, but she didn’t see any more faces against the tunnel wall.

Eventually Barker reached out and pulled her to a halt.

“Steady,” he warned. “They’ve not come after, and I’ve no wish to get lost in this place. Lorenzo, pay attention.”

Lolo was bent in an L-shape, hands on his knees. He coughed and spat.

“You killed him,” the boy said without looking up. “You shot him, with an empty gun.
Four
times.”

“It was only a Glamour,” Summer said, confused when Lolo retched and spat again. “The gun’s empty, remember? No bullets. A Glamour, and a sleep spell, right?”

“Of course,” Barker replied. “Now.” He took Lolo by the arm, hauling the boy upright and around. “Which way?”

Lolo jerked back, out of Barker’s reach. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then tugged his jacket straight. Ignoring Barker, he pointed his flashlight at the wall.

“We almost ran past it,” he told Summer. “A few more yards this way.”

“How can you tell?” Summer demanded.

“I can tell because this is my home turf,” the boy said. “But when we first moved in, Win left a mark every ten feet. In case we got lost, or mentally fucked by a psycho
sidhe
who can kill with an empty gun. Look.” He stepped closer to the wall, aiming his light left and then right. “There. It’s always on the east wall.”

A small glyph glittered on the edge of Lolo’s light; an amber rune etched into the stone wall at shoulder height, a tiny stick man with a round face and wide, anime eyes.

“Funny.” Summer reached out to touch the glowing mark. It felt no different than the stone behind it, but the shine turned her fingers gold.

“They’re not all the same. Couple of them are doing some really lewd things. There’s one that makes Richard blush.” He paused. “Used to make Richard blush.”

“Those are more than bathroom humor.” Barker continued up the tunnel. “Those are homemade Wards, crafted with an
aes si
’s tutelage. A few yards up, you say?”

“There will be a gate in the wall, on your right.” Lolo didn’t move. “It’s unlocked.”

“Are you alright?” Summer asked, puzzled. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Shouldn’t have dipped in the minibar for dinner, that’s all.”

“Okay.” But she grasped the edge of his coat again, more for his comfort than her own. She supposed maybe they were both remembering Michael Smith fallen on the sidewalk, face ruined by Lolo’s bullet.

The gate hung open. Barker had gone ahead.

“Heads up,” Lolo warned. “There are rocks and shit on the stairs.”

Summer pressed her free hand against the rough wall. She descended one step at the time, counting as she went. Twenty-three steps farther down into the earth. Lolo was right. Chunks of the wall and low ceiling had fallen into small piles on the stairs. She was glad of Lolo’s light.

At the bottom of the steps a heavy metal door stood cracked open.

“
No me chingues!”
Lolo said. “I locked it behind us when me and Brother Dan left. I always remember to lock it. No one knows the code but Win and Richard and me.”

He aimed his light at what must once have been a keypad on the wall. The plastic buttons were melted. Summer could see a faint charring around the small rectangle.

“I don’t think Barker needed the code,” she said.

“Fuck,” Lolo spat. “Winter’s going to kill me.”

The metal door looked heavy. Lolo squeezed through the crack. Summer followed. She smelled rotten food, and damp, and old sweat, and beneath it the faint spicy scent that was her brother.

“Gross.” She covered her nose. “Something in here’s off.”

Lolo grunted. “No electricity. Richard’s salami is probably growing fuzz in the fridge, not to mention Win’s veggies. Come on, this way. Rest of the tunnel’s back here.”

Old train tracks ran down the center of the narrow tunnel. Floor to ceiling curtains divided the space into odd little compartments. They passed through a kitchen and several bedrooms. Twice they had to edge around piles of collapsed wall.

“The library’s pretty much destroyed.” Lolo shone his flashlight between two curtains. Summer caught an impression of jagged rock and shining puddles. “Something came down through the ceiling, brought pipes with it. It’s all turned to mud.”

Summer thought he sounded like he’d got something caught in his throat. She’d only seen Lolo cry once before, and that was at her father’s burning, but she figured seeing his home destroyed might be even worse. Lolo hadn’t known Malachi, but he’d grown up in the Metro.

“Sorry,” she said.

“Yeah.” He swallowed hard, then coughed. “Whatever. We were outgrowing the place, anyway.”

Beyond the library the tunnel opened up and dead-ended in a huge pile of junk. Spears of metal and large coils of cable made frightening shadows against the floor and ceiling.  Summer almost tripped over a tipped bucket.

“Richard’s workshop,” explained Lolo. “Guess he built the bomb here, and we never even knew it,
cobarde
, and we never even guessed.”

“Do you hate him now?” Summer asked. She guessed he must.

“I don’t know.”

“Children,”
Barker’s voice rang like low bells in Summer’s skull. “
Come down. Cautiously.”

“He means the pit,” Lolo explained. “There used to be a real path, but it’s all fallen over. Try not to step on anything sharp. There’s a lot of it.”

They picked their way through piles of junk. Summer stubbed her toe on a rusting gear and was once again glad of her tennies.

“No wonder Winter always dresses like a bum. It’s a dust-fest in here.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Past the mountain of trash Lolo came to a sudden halt.

“Watch it,” he warned. “You don’t want to fall in.”

“The pit.” Summer remembered. She aimed her light into the depths. “Barker!”

“Here. At the bottom.”

“This way.” Lolo scuffed sideways along the edge of the hole. “There’s a path down.”

The way down was more of a crumbling slope than a path. The dirt shifted under Summer’s feet as she half-walked, half-slid her way slant-wise into the grade. Bits of mineral or glass
in the sand glittered in the flashlight beams. She heard dripping water and smelled more damp, and something else that stank like rot and sewer.