Unquiet Dreams (4 page)

“Someone used a weather spell last night. It extended almost from this exact location back up to Oh No,” I said.

Keeva looked up at the sky. The sun was fully up, and any trace of the essence haze I had seen earlier was gone.

“I thought the cold might be related. Did you notice anything else?” She even sounded like she was treating me like a colleague. While she’s not given to admitting inadequacies, Keeva knows that druids have higher sensitivity to more types of essence than fairies, even a member of the Danann clan like her. Dananns may be some of the most powerful beings on the planet, but they still can’t find a dwarf in a tunnel without a flashlight.

It was an easy thing to share for now. Her druid coroner would tell her the same thing later anyway. “Some conflicting troll and human essence in the back room and the alley. I’m getting multispecies hits everywhere. No one I recognized.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Her eyes narrowed. “How did you get here so fast? It may be early for me, but I know damn well you don’t usually roll out of bed until noon.”

“Murdock called me in on another murder nearby when this call came in,” I said.

“It’s a kid. Looks like a fairy might have dropped him,” Murdock said.

Keeva nodded absently as she examined the front door. She might have heard Murdock, she might not have. Boston P.D. calls were not that interesting to her or the Guild. She reached out and held the doorknob. It’s a little Danann trick. What they cannot always perceive with their eyes and nose, they can sometimes do by touch. She moved her hand to the doorjamb, then back to the knob. Her brow creased.

“Are you getting something?” I asked.

She looked up. “Hmm? I’ll read your report when it gets sent over, Detective. If you’re only at ‘might-have-dropped,’ it doesn’t sound like something the Guild needs to take. Kruge’s going to suck up a lot of resources.”

Murdock and I exchanged knowing looks. No surprises. Even if the Weird wasn’t involved, Kruge would have taken precedence. It’s the way of the world. His death was going to make international headlines. The kid up the street might make a quick mention on the early news, but after that it would be twenty-four-hour Kruge.

I could hear a low-level hum that was beginning to build. I knew that sound. Keeva and I both looked up, but no one else did yet. They’d catch it in a moment. The hum turned into a whirring noise, and six fairies came into view above us. A Guild security unit. Gods, I miss showing up with them. All tricked out in black leather, chrome helmets, and white energy pulsating in their wings. People get out of the way when they show up. Even cops. Like the cops standing next to us who sidled down to the sidewalk. It only takes “accidentally” getting hit once with a little essence bolt to get the message that you don’t mess with them. They landed in a loose circle around me, Keeva, and Murdock. I could feel Murdock give off one of his odd essence surges.

“It’s fine, guys,” Keeva said to them. “They were just leaving.” She looked at me with a cocked eyebrow.

I smiled. “It was nice seeing you, too, Keeva.”

“We both have work to do, Connor,” she said and walked back into the building.

The security unit stepped in a little closer. “Relax. We’re going,” I said.

Now came the pissing-game part. They blocked our way to the car, but without even asking Murdock, I knew we were not going to walk around them. With a reasonable look on my face, I stepped up on them and gestured politely with my hands that we wanted to pass. They in turn did not respond immediately to make us think they weren’t going to move. Then two of them stepped apart with barely enough room to walk between them. Murdock and I made sure to rub our shoulders against them as we passed through the gap. We didn’t look back as we went to the car, but as we got in, we almost simultaneously stared back at them. I wasn’t surprised to see all six turned in our direction. Murdock started up the car and slowly drove forward. He reached the crime scene tape and drove through it. The entire time we all stared at each other, which was more difficult for Murdock and me since we couldn’t make eye contact through those chrome helmets. This is how grown men maintain their dignity without breaking noses. It’s silly and important, and most women never understand it. We turned onto Summer Street and headed back to Old Northern.

“I hate those guys,” Murdock said.

“Yeah, I wish I had them as my crew, too,” I said.

Murdock allowed himself a smile. “She’s got her hands full with that. It looks interesting, but it’s going to end up all press conferences.”

That’s Murdock right there. He’s a smart guy who wants to stay a cop. Not a police officer. Not a department flunky. A cop. Cops enforce the law and solve crimes. Everything else is bull to guys like him.

I like the attitude, but I have to confess to a certain ambivalence. Most of us get into law enforcement because we want to make the world a better place. I could have gone the scholar route and run with the Druidic College crowd. Or the diplomatic route and gone to work for the Seelie Court. But I chose the Ward Guild because it gets to do stuff that produces results you can see. And, I have to admit, you sometimes get your picture in the paper. I miss the glory. I’ve been too busy working on purging my old arrogance to give up my vanity.

We pulled up at the first murder scene. The body had been removed, and the medical examiner had left. Just a couple of beat officers were wandering the field taking notes. Murdock turned the car around and drove up to the Avenue.

“Looks like I’ve got paperwork to start. What angle do you want to take?” Murdock asked.

I considered for a moment. We really didn’t have much to go on. Multiple unknown essences and a possible gang connection. “I think I’ll start with the gang angle, see if anyone knew of anything going down last night.”

He nodded. “I’ll set you up with some profile. I’m going to try and ID the kid and work his associates, check a few sources.”

Murdock turned down Sleeper Street. I was glad I didn’t have to ask him outright for a ride. Cabs don’t like to pick people up down near the Tangle, and even if I expensed it, the fare would cut into my meager cash flow until the reimbursement check came in. Boston P.D. accounting is wicked slow.

I got out of the car. “I’ll call you if I think of anything.”

“Yep,” Murdock said and pulled away. He never says good-bye, not even on the phone.

I let myself into my building and felt the security spell as I passed inside. It’s one of the disability benefits from the Guild. Since I lost my abilities in the line of duty, they at least had the decency to provide some protections. Small compensation for kicking me out of my job, but at least I have some chance against some idiot who might come looking for revenge. I can open or close the door with a vocal command, even seal it, if I feel I’m in danger. I haven’t had to activate it, which is fortunate, and, frankly, I would use it only if truly necessary. The Guild would have to come and reset it on-site and that would be a little humiliating. There’s my vanity again.

I entered my two-room apartment and surveyed the mess. I sleep in the living room because I like using the bedroom as an office. An unmade, slept-in futon with a view of the kitchen can be depressing, but it’s mine. The clock on the counter blinked 11:14 A.M. Not even noon, and I had had to look at two dead bodies. That’s my surreal life in the Weird. For the start of the mundane part of my day, I made some desperately needed coffee.

Coffee is not something that keeps me awake. It just keeps me alive. Whenever I end up working on a case with Murdock, it seems I never get enough sleep. After a short nap, I sat in my study, staring out the window at the planes taking off from the airport. I had dreamed of wandering lost through a field of bones.

For the past few months, I had been having prescient dreams. Lots of fey do, but I never did until recently. They’re not visual in the sense of watching a movie. They involve personal metaphors, and you have to figure out your own. I’m not very good at understanding them, mainly because the ability seems weak. When you’re fey and live in the world where Freud existed, it’s even more difficult to decide if a field of bones is a symbol of a dead kid in a vacant lot or the ruins of a battlefield. And, of course, spicy food gives me nightmares, but I love pepperoni.

After another fortifying cup of coffee, I threw on the trusty leather jacket and went out to make rounds. The neighborhood was in day mode, tired faces running the usual errands. I caught snippets of conversation here and there as I paused at corners or lingered near storefront windows. By far, the major topic was the death of Alvud Kruge. Whether or not Keeva wanted to keep his name quiet for a while, it didn’t matter down in the Weird. Everyone knew someone who knew someone who knew Kruge. No one mentioned the dead kid.

I made way back to the field off Old Northern. The cops had gone, leaving behind nothing but footprints and fluttering crime scene tape that, first, would keep no one out and, secondly, was pointless. The afternoon sun had melted the frozen ground into a muddy slop. Any evidence that had been missed this morning was likely sunken in the muck, leaving any hope of trace evidence gone for good.

I strolled the perimeter of the field, trying to get a sense of the scene. As I had noted earlier, not a single building on the block appeared occupied, at least not legally. Most of them had the standard complement of broken windows and boarded-up doors. Some foot traffic had been through since the cops left. I could sense fey, mostly dwarves. Nothing unusual. No mysterious figures lurking in doorways. No black-cloaked man rushing away. No woman with big dark sunglasses leaving a single rose. Just one very pink, excited-looking flit descending toward me.

“Here you are!” he said.

“Hey, Joe.” Joe’s an old friend. Real old, as in been around since I was born. His real name is Stinkwort, which he doesn’t like to use for obvious reasons. As one of the diminutive fairies known as flits, he has enough hassle over his size and his pink wings. When you’re a foot tall, you manage what you can.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere! Have you heard? Alvud Kruge is dead!” He soared around me, his eyes lit with excitement.

“I know. I saw.”

“You did? I heard he was exploded. Was he exploded? Was it gross?”

I nodded. “That’s a fair description, and, yes, it was gross. How did you find out?”

He did a back loop right in front of me. “Oh, some flits got in before the Guild put up an essence barrier. No one can get in now. I just keep bouncing back.” He paused in a hover and leaned in confidentially. “They’re getting good at that. I’m going back tonight to find a work-around.”

For want of a better word, flits can teleport. They have their own word for it, but it’s in Cornish and doesn’t flow off the tongue easily. It translates roughly as “I am here, and I want to go there in the time of the now” or something close to that. Ergo, teleport. How they do it is another matter and a mystery. Of all the fey that came through from Faerie after Convergence, the flits have apparently remained as they always were—secretive, happy, and a little crazy. They have little interest, no pun intended, in furthering scientific investigation as to how they exist.

“Sounds a little disrespectful, Joe.”

He shook his head. “Nah. The body will be gone. I just want to annoy those Guild goons by getting past them.”

I smiled. Flits are not the most welcome fey at the Guild, mostly because they don’t respond well to the organizational structure. They have their own loyalties. Besides, they’re easily distracted, which makes them lousy employees.

“I’m working on a case, Joe. A human kid died in this field last night.”

Joe frowned as he looked at the muddy expanse. He fluttered away, hovered right over the spot where the body was, then returned to hang in the air in front of me. “He was dead when he got here.”

That took me by surprise. “How do you know that?”

“There’s no echo. When he left the world, he left his shout somewhere else.”

This was news to me. “I don’t understand.”

He, of course, looked at me like I’m an idiot. “His shout. His last shout. Everyone shouts when they leave, and it echoes for a while. There’s no echo here.”

That’s flits for you. Know one your entire life, and he’ll surprise you with an ability you had no idea he had. It made a sort of logical sense. I knew flits could hear when someone died. I’ve been in Joe’s presence when another flit died nearby. He knew what happened immediately. So did every flit in the vicinity. I didn’t know about the echo, though.

“He had a broken neck. I thought he might have died from being dropped.”

Joe pulled his chin in, a look of doubt on his face. “You think a fairy killed him?” Despite what he has experienced over a very long lifetime, Joe refuses to believe that a fairy—no matter what clan—could possibly have done something wrong. When proved otherwise, he invariably chalks it up to aberrant behavior that couldn’t possibly happen again. It’s amusingly prideful.

I glanced around the area. “It would fit with how we found the body. Can you do me a favor? The kid was missing a shoe. Can you check the area from above and look for an orange Nike?”

“Sure,” he said. He flew straight up and turned in a slow circle. After another moment, he came back down. “What’s an orange Nike?” he asked.

“A running shoe, Joe. Soft leather, rubber sole.”

He nodded vigoriously. “Oh, right. Heard about those.”

I shook my head and smiled as he popped back up and circled the field. No sooner did he sail out of sight over a building than three dwarves appeared at the end of the block opposite me. As they surveyed the scene, they stopped when they saw me and stared. I had a feeling I knew what was coming. They all wore the same black hoodies with yellow bandanas. They swaggered their way around the mud toward me.

“Got a problem?” said the one on the left. The other two hung back a little.

“We’ve all got problems,” I said, keeping my voice neutral. When you are alone in a desolate area, and three people wearing the same outfits come up to you, you don’t do two things: act scared or give attitude. The first is like tuna to a cat. The second is like a mouse. Unless, of course, they’re all wearing orange. Then, they’re probably just the late shift getting out of Dunkin’ Donuts.