Winter (The Manhattan Exiles) (29 page)

Brother Daniel’s lips had stopped moving, but he still crossed himself. Two hundred and fo
rty-six minutes had passed since the friar had started. Barker kept breathing, slowly and shallowly.

After another ninety-five minutes Lolo really needed to take a piss. And his stomach was pretty sure
they'd missed dinner time. He was surprised Siobahn hadn’t yet come storming through the door, demanding her home back. Barker was still breathing.

When Brother Daniel finally groaned and stretched, rubbing the back of his neck with tattooed hands, the sun had sunk be
hind the city, and the lights of Manhattan were gleaming, reflected in Siobahn’s bedroom window. Summer slept against Lolo’s shoulder, snoring lightly, her hair in her eyes.

Daniel rose carefully to his feet. Lolo could hear the man’s knees pop and crack.

“It’s done,” the friar said quietly. “The wound is deep, but I imagine Siobahn’s people can heal him, now that I’ve chased the sword’s influence from his bones.”

“
How do you know?” Lolo whispered back. “He looks just the same to me.”

Before Daniel could
respond Summer woke. She bolted upright, then threw herself across the room at Barker.

“
He’s warm!” She patted his face. “He’s warm and I can see a pulse in his neck!”

“
Don’t cut yourself on the sword,” Daniel warned. “God’s given Barker a respite, but Sorrow is dangerous until sheathed.”

Lolo’s legs cramped when he stood. He still needed to piss.

“Maybe he just got better on his own, and God had nothing to do with it.”

“
Could be,” Brother Daniel agreed, smiling. “And maybe you shouldn’t poke too hard at a gift horse, Lorenzo. It might kick.”

Lolo glared. The friar grinned. Summer stroked Barker’s face.

“I need to call Mama,” she said. “Lolo, where’s my phone?”

“
Not yet,” Daniel cautioned. “
Buairt
needs to be contained before your family can safely return. The blessing on the blade is powerful, and particularly focused. Pope hated your kind with a passion usually reserved for the insane. And he had friends high up in the Roman-Catholic church. This weapon was carefully crafted for its purpose.”

“
Put it back in the box, Summer,” Lolo said. “Then maybe we can all chill for a while.”

Summer separated herself reluctantly from Barker. She placed the tips of her fingers on the sword, pressing. White light ran along the blade as it shrunk.

“That,” Lolo said when necklace and cross dangled again from Summer’s fingers, “is a lot more fun to watch than a bald guy mumbling psalms.”

Both of Daniels eyebrows rose.

“Notice what form the sword chooses,” he suggested. “God’s will is subtle but everlasting.”

“
The cross was Summer’s idea,” Lolo argued. “To hide it from the Grey bitch. Right, Summer?”

Summer didn’t answer. She’d pulled the sheets back over Barker, and was busy tucking the covers around his chin.

“It will take more than a crucifix to hide that weapon from the banshee. The sword sings clearly to all who listen, a chorus of angels.”

“
Killer angels.”

Lolo’s stomach growled loudly. The embarrassing sound made his vehemence seem small and less impressive.

“That depends on your point of view,” Daniel said.

While Lolo sputtered, the friar leaned over the bed. He touched Summer on the shoulder.

“Put the necklace in the box, and phone your mother. I’ll finish up.”

Summer nodded. Lolo thought her brief nap had done more harm than good. She was still really pale. Her hands shook when she relocked the amber box. The dried blood in her hair had
clotted and snarled. She looked like she was suffering from a bad case of homemade dreads.

“
Hey!” Lolo jumped. For a moment, he’d forgotten Daniel. “What are you doing?”

The friar didn’t answer. He’d uncorked the vial of holy water, wet his forefinger, and was carefully tracing the sign of the cross on Barker’s forehead. Daniel’s lips were moving again, but Lolo didn’t need to hear what he was saying.

“Shit!” It hadn’t worked well last time, but Lolo grabbed for Winter’s fairy knife anyway. “He’s baptizing Barker!”

Summer stood
frozen, mouth open, eyes owl-wide.

Lolo cussed again, and lobbed himself onto Daniel’s wide shoulders. The fairy knife sliced the flesh of the friar’s neck, but not deeply. Daniel simply knocked Lolo away, a bear swatting a bee’s sting, and finished the sacrament.

Lolo hit the wall hard. The back of his head knocked the windowsill, driving tears of pain into his eyes. He slumped sideways, dropping Winter’s knife, and the enamel clock fell on his hip. It was heavier than it looked.

“
Shit. Fuck. Shit-fuck.”

For a moment he couldn’t see at all, then the tears rolled over his lashes and his head stopped spinning. He put his hand to the back of his skull and felt blood.

Summer still stood across the room. She hadn’t moved an inch to help him, but she had shut her mouth and was no longer gaping.

Brother Daniel corked his vial, secreting the holy water back up his sleeve. He pulled the hood of his robes up over his bald head, and then extended a hand to Lolo.

Lolo thought about spitting. He used the windowsill to lever himself back upright. The friar had his big booted foot on Winter’s knife.

“
I didn’t harm your friend,” Daniel said. “Siobahn gave her permission. It was my price.”

“
Huh.” Lolo felt like he was going to spew. He could feel damp running down the back of his neck. “Funny, I don’t remember her agreeing to a fucking baptism. And I do remember cleaning Henry’s blood off a restaurant floor. I’d say you harmed
that
guy plenty.”

Daniel folded his hands in his sleeves. Ba
rker sighed, then quieted. Lolo thought about diving for Winter’s knife and biting the friar’s leg until he gave it up, but the room was tilting back and forth like a carnival ride and he really didn’t want to pass out in front of Summer.

“
Summer,” he said, trying to sound more like he was in charge and less like he was going to dry heave all over the place. “Call your mother. Now.”

Summer startled again. Lolo wondered if she w
as finally going into shock. She didn’t seem to be paying attention at all, and she was the sort of girl who always paid attention.

“
Winter did,” she said. “They’re coming.”

“
Winter did what?” Daniel asked sharply.

Summer
shivered. Then she focused on Lolo.

“
Winter’s here,” she said. “In the lobby. He’s already called Mama. They’re coming up.”

20
. Folly

From the beginning Bran guessed what Richard had in the duffel. He’d even been pretty sure the boy planned to use it, and maybe Bran couldn’t blame him, not after seeing what sort of horrors Winter’s little gang fought nightly.

The Dread Host was far worse than Bran had imagined, far worse in person than Katie’s second-hand description had led him to believe.

Sluagh
were Bran’s childhood nightmares taken wretched form, and they knew it. They laughed to see his fear, and their laughter was beautiful to hear; it rang like the Irish church bells his grandmother had so loved.

They laughed as they tried to cut him down, laughed as they dodged his bullets, laughed when he fell, slipping on a slurry of mud and blood, barely missing the Metro’s deadly third rail.

They laughed even as the fairy Wards kicked in, and those
sluagh
trapped on the wrong side of the shimmering curtain imploded, sending freezing goop in every direction.

Then he’d been so sure Aine was dead, bled out all over the ground and the ugly little statues, that he’d forgotten Richard entirely.

Which was the sort of stupid mistake Bran shouldn't make, but the
sluagh
had shaken him to the core.

And now Richard had the gym bag at his feet, and his hand in the pocket of his coat. The boy had taken off his ga
s mask, and his jaw was set. Bran knew that look; he’d seen it on the face of harden criminals, and on the faces of their victims. Richard was trying to keep his teeth from chattering, whether in fear or in pain.

“
Hey,” Bran said. He turned away from the wall of
sluagh
on the other side of the force-field, and gave Richard his full attention the way he’d been taught in Hostage Negotiations. “Hey, hey. Take a breath.”

Aine gripped Bran’s arm. He would have liked to pick her up again, but he thought she’d probably just hit him. She looked from the Dread Host to Richard, then back again.

“Richard?” she said, although unlike Bran she couldn’t seem to pull her stare entirely away from the
sluagh
. “Are you hurt?”

Richard was bleeding. His leg was a mess. Bran thought even the boy’s stick wasn’t going to keep him upright much longer.

“Hey,” he said gently. “Einstein. Sit down before you fall down.”

“
Stop calling me that. It’s not at all amusing.”

“
Okay,” agreed Bran. “But why don’t you take a seat?”

The
sluagh
with the huge, feathered wings grimaced, showing pointy teeth. The monster was bigger than most of its brethren, taller by at least ten inches. It had pretty green eyes above its blunt snout, and Bran would bet his life those eyes were full of dark amusement.

“
I’m fine,” Richard said, hard. The hand in his pocket clenched and unclenched.

“
Richard.” Bran carefully disentangled himself from Aine’s grip. He was almost glad his piece was useless, because he wasn’t sure he would have been able to use it on the boy. He guessed that was a coward’s way of thinking, guessed maybe he was finally going soft. “Don’t do anything drastic. We’ll think of something.”

“
Not in time, not in time,” said the
sluagh
. “Give me the changeling, and we’ll let you live.”

“
You won’t,” Richard replied. “You’ll keep coming back, keep coming through, until you’ve devoured us all.”

The monster giggled. Behind it, the Dread Host shifted and shuffled, teeth gnashing, talons clicking.

“Human bones are tasty, human souls sweet,” the
sluagh
agreed, ruffling its feathers. “But we hunger for more, we long for home.”

Bran’s skin prickled. He remembered Katie saying almost the very same thing, on the night he’d first taken her to breakfast.

“All of us - “ she’d explained over griddle cakes and orange juice “ - every one of the fay trapped here on this tiny island, in this unforgiving world, would kill and rend and destroy - anything, anyone - if only it would buy Gloriana’s forgiveness and passage back home. If only we could break her curse, the
geis
she used to trap us here.”

The
sluagh
watched Bran, eyes glittering.

“
You can’t go back to Court.” Richard took a faltering step away from the gym bag, and then another. “Gloriana won’t let you go back. And I won’t let you stay here.”

“
Give us the changeling,” it cajoled. “And we’ll have no need of your tasty bones, human.”

“
Why?” Bran asked. “She’s as human as we are. Sorry, honey.”

Aine didn’t answer. Bran noticed her attention had finally shifted from the Host to the gym bag in the mud.

“The Queen’s gift still runs in her veins, though it weakens by the day.” The monster licked its pointed teeth. “Her blood is strong enough, yet, to break the banishing. Gloriana was a fool to grace a child with the Mending, human or otherwise. A child is too easy to take.”

Aine looked away from Richard’s folly. She lifted her chin.

“You cannot take me,” she said. “I’ll not let you.”

She was small, battered and bloody, and looked very mortal, blonde curls stuck to her forehead with sweat and muck. Now that Bran knew, he could see Willa’s temper in the stubborn set of her chin.

“I’d rather die,” she said, “than betray my Queen.”

Bran’s heart broke for her
bravery, and for her innocence.

“
You will die,” the
sluagh
agreed easily. “If you stay. You will end, blown to useless gristle by your impetuous companion.”

It looked directly at Richard, then at the duffle, and unfurled its wings, stretching until feathers scraped the tunnel ceiling.

“What a waste,” it said sadly. “How many human lives would be cut short, do you suppose, when he collapses the tunnel? How many innocents torn apart or crushed by rock? Aye, a waste indeed. And for what? We’ve been imprisoned for a very, very long time. Even Gloriana’s hatred eventually runs dry. She will rejoice to take us back and we, we will be as we were before.”

“
Richard?” Instead of backing away from the bag, Aine turned toward it. “What have you done? Is it more guns?”

“
No one will be hurt,” Richard protested. But he’d started shaking visibly. “We’re beneath the Monument. It’s four AM. No one’s about, above or down here.”

“
Maybe, maybe not. You don’t know,” Bran argued. “Richard, give me the detonator. Whatever it is you’ve got in your pocket.”

Richard swung around.

“You,” he accused. “You knew who I was, you guessed, you knew what I had, I know you did. And you didn’t stop me. Because it’s the only way. Unless we close the tunnel, they’ll keep coming.”

“
If it were that simple Winter would have blocked it a decade ago. You’re not thinking straight. Give me the detonator.”

“
What’s a detonator?” Aine demanded.

Richard ignored her.

“Winter doesn’t take chances. He didn’t believe it could be blocked safely! He thought we could handle it our own way. And we did, until the Wards failed. Look, Detective Healy, look through that curtain and tell me, can you count them all? You can’t, can you? There are too many. We can’t beat them back. Not even Winter could beat them back, if he were here.”

Aine unzipped the gym bag.

Bran froze. Richard froze. Bran was pretty sure on the other side of the curtain the Dread Host froze.

Aine looked into the bag.
“What is this?”

“
It’s C4,” Richard said. “Don’t worry, detective. It won’t go off just because she touches it. Even if I dropped it. C4’s good that way. Bobby says it’s good that way.”

Aine crouched down. Her hands were in the bag. Bran’s heart was in his throat.

“Bobby Lorimer would know,” Bran agreed, bitter. “He killed several innocents himself with that particular explosive in the 90s, most of them good cops. Until he got caught in one of his own traps and lost his legs. I hear he’s running a pretty good narcotics trade up Riverside. Never knew he had a kid. You look like him, some.”

“
Doesn’t matter.” Richard’s wandering stare returned to the
sluagh
. “Doesn’t matter now.”

“
Richard.” Aine sounded far older than her years. “What daft plan is this?”

“
He’s going to blow the tunnel,” replied Bran. “Which, at best, is only a temporary fix. How long do you think it will be before they find a way around, or dig through, Richard?”

“
Long enough.”

The big
sluagh
couldn’t exactly smile, but its tongue curled in and out in sloppy mirth.

“
Give us the changeling,” it repeated.

“
Richard!” Aine stood up. “You cannot collapse the tunnel. Winter was right. It’s too dangerous. There are humans above.”

“
Not to mention a gigantic monolith.” Bran watched Richard’s pocket. He was fairly sure he could bring the boy down without trouble - hell, Richard was almost falling over all on his own - but he wasn’t confident he could avoid triggering the detonator. “Forty thousand tons of stone, Richard. That comes down, there will be real damage. No question.”

“
An-ya,” said the
sluagh
. “Come with me and there will be no call for explosions.  We need but a little of your blood to open the Way back. And you -” its eyes gleamed “ - will return with us home to the Progress.”

Bran swallowed back a curse. The
sluagh
, in the way of all monsters, had so easily deduced Aine’s weakness.

Richard lurched to Aine’s side. He set his free hand on her shoulder, squeezing.

“Don’t you listen,” he pleaded. “They mean to kill you.

“
So do you,” she said quietly. “With your ‘C-4’. Aye, for when you bring down the tunnel, what chance is there for us?”

Ric
hard swayed. Bran braced, ready to throw himself forward, but the boy managed to stay upright.

“
I’m sorry,” Richard whispered. “You’re right, I’m sorry.”

Bran edged
closer, trying to ignore the Dread Host as they snickered and stared.

“
At least let Aine out of the tunnel,” he said. “Give her a head start, let her go free.”

Richard’s mouth flattened in pain.
“She’ll get help.
You’ll
call for back up. I can’t let either of you go, not now.”

“
Don’t be stupid, Richard. Give us a count of slow 60, and then push the button. We’ll be free and the tunnel will be blocked.”

Richard shook his head. His hair fell over his brow, almost hiding the pain in his eyes.

“I’m not stupid. You don’t mean to go, Detective. You’re not the sort. You’ll stay and try to stop me, because you’re heroic.”

“
Fine. You’re right. I can’t let you collapse one-third of the Triangle. I’m going to talk you out of it. But give Aine a head start anyway.”

There were tears on Richard’s muck-splattered cheeks. His hand stopped clenching and became a still fist in his pocket. Bran felt sick. The boy had obviously made up his mind, and didn’t intend to change it.

“Run, Aine,” Richard said, surprising Bran. “Run. Go!”

Aine ran, but in the wrong direction. Quick and lithe, she leaped the
Wards, throwing herself into the shimmering curtain.

Bran grabbed without thinking. He barely caught her fingers. She turned her head to look at him, and he clearly saw on her white face that she didn’t believe the
sluagh
’s promises, that she knew she’d chosen her own death, her own doom. Aine’s mouth was set, stubborn, but her eyes were wet with terror.

“
Sweet Jesus!” Bran clenched his fingers around her hand, trying to pull her back.

The feathered
sluagh
fell upon her, wrapping her in dark wings, and she slipped through Bran’s grasp, lost.

“
No!” cried Richard. He took a faltering step toward the wards. “Aine!”

The Dread Host, no longer interested in Bran or Richard, swirled away as one. Now eerily silent, th
ey scattered and then regrouped, and, like dead leaves caught in a wind devil, were sucked away down the tunnel.

“
Oh,” Richard repeated, stunned. “No.”

“
What choice did she have?” Bran wouldn’t let himself grieve. The hand that had tried to save Aine fisted on the back of Richard’s coat. “They’re gone. Give me the detonator!” Forgetting caution, he hauled hard on the kid’s lapel. “I warned Winter you were useless.”