Winter (The Manhattan Exiles) (25 page)

“I think we should carry him all the way out. The air is fresher in the tunnel.”

“
Not yet. It fell on him. I want to make sure he’s in one piece.”

“
His clothes are ruined,” Aine said, matter of fact. “If you strip him down it may keep the poison from his flesh.”

“
No,” protested Richard, horrified.

“
Settle down, bud. Aine will turn her back. Right Aine?”

“
I think his eyes are bleeding.”

Richard sat up in alarm, groping at his face.

“Not your eyes,” Aine’s companion soothed. “She means the dead guy. Your eyes are just full of sand. Let me clean your hands and then you can brush it away.”

“
You’re Bran,” Richard remembered.

Once he had permission, Richard swabbed dirt from his face with shaking fingers.

“And you’re Richard.” Bran began tugging at the remains of Richard’s shirt. “Who’s Dead Guy?”

“
Anthony. I didn’t want to know his name, but he told me anyway. I tied him up, but it was the
sluagh
that killed him. Where’s Winter?”

“
He wasn’t ready to come home. Aine, leave the corpse alone.”

“
I want to know how it killed him.”

“
It broke his neck. With one hand.” Richard refused to let Bran take his tattered pants. “I can walk.” Colors were coming back, and shapes, but not details. “If you help me. Do you see my pistol?”

“It’s in the middle of the puddle,” Aine replied. “I think you’ll want to leave it, aye? Why didn’t you tell me Winter had Watchers down here?”

“
It was none of your business.”

Richard climbed to his feet, then, to his dismay, had to lean on Bran.

“It is now, I imagine,” said Aine, tart. “If the ghostie did indeed come looking for me. We can’t leave them down here. I’ll bring them.”

Bran helped Richard weave out of the pit, inch by slow inch. Richard’s legs shook. He felt like he was going to vomit. He wondered if he was in shock, because he still didn’t feel afraid.

“Am I badly burned?” he asked when they reached the top.

“
Nay,” answered Aine. “Not unless you’re hiding charring under your trousers. Your fancy clothes did you some good.”

“
They don’t make them the way they used to.” He must be in shock, because he sounded like Bobby, and the realization made him want to giggle.

“
Into the kitchen,” Aine ordered. “We’ll boil water.”

“
Can you see?” Bran asked.

“
It’s better.” Richard recognized the shapes of his workshop. “I thought I’d been blinded.”

“
You were lucky,” the detective agreed, steadying Richard. “Very lucky.”

“
It shouldn’t have been here. The trains are running, aren’t they? I heard the trains.”

“
They’re running, alright. Right over me, almost. You tunnel rats are crazy.”

Richard stopped, nearly falling over.

“Gabriel!” he said, panicked. “We have to go back for Gabriel!” He would have gone himself, but Bran flat-armed him against a pile of gears.

“
I thought you said his name was Anthony?”

“
No, Gabby. Gabby. Gabriel!”

“
I don’t know what you’re talking about, Einstein.”

“
Aine does. Aine! She’s in a box, a lunch box, a metal box with - “

Aine was already scrambling back over the edge of the pit.

“Don’t let her out!” Richard shouted after. “She’ll bite!”

“
Aine will get your pet.” Bran gently propelled Richard forward again. “Which way is the kitchen?”

Bran boiled water in Winter’s carafe. Richard insisted he could bathe himself. The detective didn’t argue.

Washed and dressed, Richard began to feel more
normal. He could see clearly again, although his eyes were leaking tears. When he rubbed them away, tiny flecks of amber colored his wrist.

“
The knack doesn’t work when you’re unconscious,” Aine pointed out when he returned to the kitchen. He’d put on loose pajama pants and a sweater, and felt less himself than he did in uniform. “Does it work when you’re asleep?”

She sat at the table, cleaning bits of
sluagh
from Gabriel’s lunch box with a rag. Bran, sitting across from her, arched one brow at Richard.

“
It works just fine when I want it to,” Richard returned, deciding not to mention Anthony’s immunity. “I wasn’t expecting guests. Is she injured?”

Richard leaned over the lunch box, worried.

“She’s breathing and snuffling,” replied Aine. “As for the rest, I can’t tell without letting her out. She won’t answer me.”

Both of Bran’s brows shot to his hairline, but he didn’t say a word.

“She can’t.” Richard peered through the air holes. “She’s not Gabriel anymore. She’s just a mouse.”

Aine’s spine stiffened.

“Mistress Gabriel is an
aes sí
,” she said. “And should be addressed as such, no matter what form she chooses to take.”

“
She’s gone,” Richard said sadly. “There wasn’t much left to begin with, I think. Something more must have happened. Maybe Winter can help her, when he gets back.”

“
Even so, you’ll address her with respect.” Aine’s forehead was pinched into wrinkles. “Where’s Lolo?”

Richard shook his head.
“It’s just me. Then Gabriel. The courier was waiting for me on the platform, said he’d brought her home from New York. It was a job.”

“
So you tied him up and threw him into a hole?” Bran asked.

Richard shrugged, unrepentant.
“He knew where to find us. I needed to keep him for Winter.”

Bran
tapped his fingers on the table. “Rely on Winter quite a bit, do you?”

Richard met the man’s stare.

“Winter relies on me,” he said. Then, remembering, he glanced around the kitchen.

“
Where are the Wards?”

“
In the fridge,” Bran replied, bland.

“
They prefer cold, and dark,” Aine explained, playing with the latch on Gabby’s lunch box. Richard thought he could hear the mouse stirring. “Mayhap it will help in the Mending.”

“
Unless they ‘mend’ in the next twelve hours,” Bran said, looking at Richard, “you’ve got a problem.”

“
It was after me, aye? I’m the
síofra
, the changeling.” Aine propped her chin in her hands, frowning down at the lunch box. “If I go, they may leave you alone, Richard.”

“
Unlikely.” He let himself pat her shoulder in awkward reassurance. “They’ve been coming through the tunnels ever since Winter accidentally ripped a hole into their prison. You’re just a new stanza in the original poem.”

Bran choked back a laugh. Richard ignored him.

“What will happen,” Aine asked, “now that the Watchers are broken?”

Richard shook his head.
“I don’t know. It’s fay magic. Winter doesn’t like to talk about fay magic.”

Aine flipped
a box latch up and down.

“
They’re Wards. They were Warding your home,” she theorized. “Keeping the
sluagh
out while you roamed the tunnels with your guns.”

“
Maybe,” Richard said, but he wasn’t sure.

“
If that’s the case,” Bran spoke up, “you could have a war on two fronts tonight. Are you ready for that?”

Richard felt a shiver run up his backbone. He twitched, chasing it away.

“I will be,” he said. “Before the Metro closes. I just need to get some things, first.”

Bran’s brows rose again.

“Maybe you’d better text Winter,” he suggested.

“
No!”

He must have spoken more sharply than he intended, because Bran frowned, and Aine’s fingers on the latch stilled.

“I can help,” she said softly. “If you let me, I will help. Bran will help, too. He can shoot a gun.”

To Richard’s surprise, the detective didn’t disagree.

“What do you need?”

Richard hesitated. Then he bent and reached under the stove, freeing the tin box he kept there with the dust bunnies. He popped the lid, and set his favorite Glock carefully on the kitchen table.

“Safety’s on,” he said. “It’s modified. Don’t bother with police issue, this one will splatter mortal and ghoul equally.”

Aine hissed like a cat, leaving the lunch box as she slid away from the table.

“I should be back in time,” said Richard. “But just in case we get another visitor while I’m gone. Oh,” he remembered, “don’t breath the mist, if you can help it. And don’t let it touch you. Don’t believe anything it says. Sometimes they spit.”

“
Not a problem,” Bran replied. “The corner crack heads do that, too.”

Richard didn’t believe his neutral tone for a second. He figured Bran would be trying to text Winter the minute he left the room.

“Your phone probably won’t work down here,” he pointed out. “No reception.”

“
Let me guess: yours is ‘modified’.”

Richard nodded.

“It’s why Winter keeps me around. I’m handy.”

Bran didn’t say anything. Aine stared at the Glock, ferociously disapproving. 

Richard went in search of his shoes, then paused, halfway through a curtain.

“
Aine,” he said over his shoulder. “Put the mouse back in her box. She can’t live in your pocket. She’ll bite you.”

“
No she won’t!” Aine yelled as the curtain closed. “Mistress Gabriel would never do such a thing. And an
aes sí
does not belong in a badly painted metal box.”

Richard
smiled.

17
. Fairy Prince

Willa’s hands ached.

Arthritis had long ago made her fingers into stiff, useless claws. She’d learned to live crippled, learned what she could manage on her own, and what she couldn’t do without help. She’d
adapted, mostly.

Lewis had been a great help, when he was younger. As a child he’d clung to her
heels like her very own shadow: carrying this and that, laying out the washing, stacking dishes, scrubbing windows under her watchful eye.

As a young man he’d chafed a little, but never complained when he had to give up a Saturday night to help his mother vacuum and dust.

He might have made some woman a very good husband, Willa supposed. Still might, if he ever managed to look beyond the gloss on his shoes at the world past his toes.

For such a reliable soul, Lewis was very self-absorbed.

Willa was fairly certain her son had never seen anyone he thought prettier than himself until Hannah came along.

The second Hannah, not the poor dead baby Darlene had born and then lost through no fault of her own.

“Mama,” Lewis complained. “I’m afraid this is a very bad idea.”

Even as he complained, he set a warm, lavender scented cloth over her throbbing hands, tucking it gently under her wrists.

Willa sighed and closed her eyes in relief. The heat and pressure eased the throbbing in her joints, and the scent of lavender reminded her of better times.

“
Thank you,” she said. And then: “It was Hannah’s idea, not mine. She wanted to meet the fairy prince. I buried my daughter this afternoon.
I
would have preferred a hot bath and bed.”

“
Hannah has every right to request an interview.” Lewis stiffened. “I meant Jeremiah. You know he makes Hannah uncomfortable. Why did you invite him as well?”

“
Oh.” Willa opened one eye, and regarded Jeremiah across the sitting room. “It seemed the right thing to do, don’t you think? His service was overdone, but kind.” Besides, she wanted to see if Winter hated the puffed up charlatan as much as Hannah did.

“
Do you suppose that’s really his name? What sort of mother names her child after the most depressing of seasons?”

“
I beg your pardon?” Lewis was still scowling at Jeremiah.

Willa shrugged.
“The fairy. Detective Healy said he was called Winter.”

“
Maybe he won’t stay to dinner,” said Lewis hopefully.

Willa shook her head.
“Jeremiah loves Cook’s crème brûlée. He’ll stay.”

“
I mean Hannah’s guest. He looked like he belongs in a half-way house. I’ve told Hannah it’s dangerous to invite that kind into our home.”

Willa studied her son. As far as she knew, Lewis had never before questioned one of Hannah’s decisions.

“Interesting,” she murmured. Then, as Hannah swept into the sitting room: “Lewis, dear, will you bring me another compress?”

Still muttering to himself, Lewis nodded and left her.

Hannah met Willa’s stare. Ignoring Jeremiah, she glided across carpet and arranged herself against the sitting room mantle, silver candlesticks glittering over her shoulder. The hem of her long green gown skimmed the cold hearth.

“
Grandmamma,” Hannah said with apparently genuine concern. “You look tired. Is the arthritis acting up?”

“
I am tired,” Willa replied sharply. “My daughter is dead and gone, and you’ve captured my son. I have nothing left.”

Darlene’s ear-rings sparkled when Hannah tilted her head.

“You’re over-wrought,” she said. “It’s been a long, horrible day. Maybe you’d prefer bed to dinner?”

“
Cook’s made her crème brûlée,” retorted Willa. “Jeremiah and I won’t miss it.”

Hannah regarded Jeremiah with ill-disguised disgust. As if he felt the weight of her gaze, Jeremiah turned from his drink. He
eyed Hannah’s slender form with equal hatred.

Neither spoke.

Willa lowered her chin, smiling at her crooked fingers.

Lewis returned, fresh compress in hand. As soon as he saw Hannah, his disgruntled express sm
oothed away. Willa could see her son thrum with pleasure as he complimented Hannah on her gown.

“
You look beautiful, my dear.”

Hannah took his accolade as her due. Willa noticed Jeremiah had his rosary in his lap, and was counting beads. Lewis had forgotten his errand and was simply standing at Hannah’s side, glowing.

Willa rose from her chair, gently took the warm compress from her son, and joined Jeremiah.

“
Is it so bad as that?” she asked, indicating the beads, not because she felt any sympathy for the puffed up man, but because she was genuinely curious.

He gave her a pained smile.

“We all have our burdens,” he answered. “Darlene shouldered hers bravely, although perhaps not as God intended.”

Willa didn’t suppose God intended his shepherd demand exorbitant fees for a few words read over a casket, either, but she didn’t say so out loud.

“I’m so glad you could stay to dinner,” she replied instead.

Jeremiah started to answer, then shut his mouth with a snap. Willa turned to see what had distracted him. Lewis’ housekeeper stood in the doorway, patting nervously at her lace apron.

“Mr. Francis,” the woman said, but she looked at Hannah, “Mr. Murray has arrived.”

“
Murray,” Willa repeated, fascinated. “Quite an ordinary surname, after all.”

“
Show him in,” Hannah said.

The housekeeper bobbed her head, and scuttled away. Hannah arranged herself more gracefully along the mantle, shaking her long hair until it fell in a shining wave over one shoulder. Her mildly in
human eyes narrowed. She presided over the small room like a queen over her court.

Lewis put his hands in his trouser pockets. Jeremiah rolled his beads nervously.

Willa pitied them both.

Then Winter Murray stepped into their midst, and she smiled.

He’d been well disguised, earlier. Certainly he’d fooled Lewis, maybe even Hannah. But he hadn’t fooled Willa. She’d been taught from an early age to recognize elegance and breeding, and she’d been sure of what she’d seen under the foolish cap and worn clothes.

“
Good evening,” the fairy said, smile widening over a half bow. “Sorry I’m late. I needed to scrub up.”

Willa noticed his smile didn’t quite reach his pretty grey eyes, but Lewis fell like a fish to the bait.

“Not a problem.” He left Hannah’s side, taking Winter’s offered hand in a firm grip.  “We’ve barely assembled.”

“
I imagine you’re all exhausted.” Winter shifted his gaze to Willa. She focused on the ache in her joints, and refused to fall victim to his charm.

“
It’s been a long day.” She rose, the gracious hostess. “Can I get you something to drink? Whiskey, wine?” She’d never believed grown children needed to be kept from the family bar.

The boy had changed from his street clothes to a suit that would have driven Willa’s late husband
wild with jealousy. The cut and cloth spoke of old money. His shoes were definitely handmade, and had the worn look of expensive, well cared for leather. They were a far cry from the dirty rock-star boots he’d worn into the home.

“
A glass of red, please,” Winter replied.

“
Lewis?” Willa said.

Her son twitched a little in his own expensive clothes.

“Of course.” He made for the liquor cabinet, scurrying just as furiously as his own housekeeper.

Interesting
, Willa thought.
Very interesting
.

Winter took her crippled hands and executed another half bow.

“Find an excuse to send him away,” the fairy prince said quietly. Strange yellow stones in his earlobes caught the light in the room, glittering. “Or the two of us together will tear him apart.”

Willa forced herself not to look over her shoulder at Hannah.

“Don’t do that,” she begged.

“
I’m sorry,” he replied regretfully. “But she’s obviously had him for a long time, and I can’t let her win. Send him away.”

Willa took her hands back. Lewis appeared with Winter’s drink.

“Come over and meet my niece,” Lewis said. “It’s much warmer by the fire.”

Willa saw Jeremiah look at the unlit logs. The man gripped his rosary harder, frowning.

“Yes,” Hannah said in her sweetest tones. “Come and tell me what happened to your face. Were you in an accident? It looks just like road rash, all black and red.”

“
Hannah!” Willa snapped, forgetting for a moment that Darlene was gone and she no longer had a champion in the house. “Show some manners.”

Hannah made a small sound of irritation. Willa braced herself for violence. Instead
, the girl sighed.

“
I’m so sorry,” she said. Leaving the hearth, she crossed to Winter. “Grandmamma’s quite right. How rude I am. Will you forgive me?”

With the grace of her kind, she inserted herself between Willa and Winter.

Winter took a sip of wine, and regarded Hannah over the rim of his glass.

“
Cold fire,” Winter said. “
Dóiteáin domhain
. Do you know it?”

“
No.” Hannah lifted a hand, almost touching the raw flesh on Winter’s face. “Does it hurt?”

“
Not anymore.” He watched her steadily. “First, it burns.
Dóiteáin domhain
, the breath of the damned.”

“
Winter,” Willa said. “May I introduce you to Jeremiah? He’s an expert on damnation.”

Hannah scowled. Jeremiah rose. Willa saw the man's throat bulge as he swallowed around his collar.

Slowly, and with great deliberation, he made the sign of the cross.

“
Hello,” Winter said. “Nice service. You almost made me believe in salvation.”

“
A willing
man
can be saved,” Jeremiah replied pointedly. “Darlene will surely be welcomed in God’s kingdom, but not everyone is so lucky.”

“
Mama was a dutiful woman,” said Hannah. She smiled, then curled her fingers around Winter’s elbow.

“
Come. Mama loved her garden; let me show it to you. Dinner is still a few minutes out. Grandmamma, you’ll let Cook know?”

“
Of course,” Willa said. “But don’t dally. She hates to hold dinner back.”

Hannah swept Winter across the room and out the patio doors into the dusk. Winter passed his empty wine glass to Lewis as they went. Lewis stared blankly at the glass, then out the open doors.

He started to follow, but Willa put herself in his path.

“
Go and tell Cook to wait,” she said, firm. “Let’s not upset Hannah.”

Lewis nodded. Still carrying Winter’s empty glass, he left the room.

Jeremiah, standing by the cold hearth, crossed himself a second time.

Dinner was up to Cook’s usual standards. Willa concentrated on the food. She’d been unable to eat before Darlene’s funeral, and forgotten to eat after.

She wasn’t hungry, exactly, but she felt empty, and Cook’s warm fare took some of the chill from her bones.

Jeremiah sat ramrod straight over his beef. Willa thought she saw his lips moving silently. Lewis drank wine, matching Winter glass for glass. Two empty bottles already graced the long table. Willa, who knew that Lewis preferred whiskey, wondered if her son had indeed been spelled by the fairy prince.

Hannah, sitting at the head of the table, ate little, and watched Winter with a hunger that had nothing at all to do with Cook’s skills.

“Mr. Murray,” she asked, candlelight sparkling on her gown. “Will you tell us about your family?”

Whatever Hannah had shown Winter in the garden
had left him flushed and bright-eyed. He played with his empty fork, turning it over and then back again.

“
What would you like to know?”

“
Many things.” Hannah leaned forward eagerly. “Why New York City?”

“
I hate New York,” Lewis interjected, sloppy over his drink. “It’s dirty.”

Hannah pretended not to hear. Jeremiah unbent enough to move the last bottle of wine out of Lewis’ reach.

“Siobahn quite likes Manhattan,” the fairy prince answered. “She likes to be at the center of everything. Sir, may I have some of that Merlot?”

Jeremiah passed the wine. Winter topped off his drink. When he set the bottle down, it was back within Lewis’ reach.