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Authors: Mark Del Franco
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publicly accuse me. If the other underQueens and -Kings find out, Maeve is in deep political trouble,” I said.
“Can you prove it?” she asked.
“More than you know,” I said. Ceridwen may have died, but she had returned as one of the Dead, trapped on this side of the veil instead of moving on to the Celtic afterlife. I didn’t tell Briallen because Ceridwen had asked me to keep her existence a secret. She was in hiding somewhere in the city. If I needed her, it would only be a matter of time for her to hear about it.
“You do have a target on your back, Connor. You have to be careful.”
I slumped in the seat. “Great. I thought you were going to say you’ll talk to Maeve and tell her it’s all a mistake.”
Briallen looked away, her face troubled. “The mistake is hers, Connor. One, I think, we will all end up paying for.”
7
Hours later, I was alone, leaning against a wall, my back to the door as I watched the action at the pool table at Yggy’s bar. Low-hanging lamps illuminated the game in a stark circle of light that didn’t reach much beyond the table. This early in the evening, the regulars played each other, moving the action along with a gesture or nod before sending their shots into pockets with a sharp clack. The real money to be made would happen later, when the newbies showed up and tried to beat them. A subdued murmur ran through the crowd. The loud voices that accompanied liquor-loosened tongues were hours away yet, as people settled in with early drinks and companionable conversation.
The old dive gave calm refuge to fey of all stripes in the Weird. If you had a beef with someone, you had to take it elsewhere, or you found yourself banned by Heydan, who ran the place. Heydan kept his own counsel, and an appearance outside his office was rare. I knew who he was but had never had the pleasure of a real introduction. Meryl knew him somehow. I was curious about that, but there wasn’t much value in asking her. She wouldn’t share it unless she wanted to, and so far she hadn’t. Of course, under the circumstances, I might never hear that tale. I pushed the reminder of her condition aside and tried to focus on the pool game.
After leaving Briallen at her house, I had wandered back to the Weird, contemplating the strange path my life had taken. Back in my days as a Guild investigator, the twists and turns of the ruling classes were not a part of my world. Sure, I met the players and partied with them, which was social, and questioned them, which was work. I was never, though, a part of the political apparatus. Despite my high standing, I didn’t have any influence because I wasn’t interested. I saw now that Nigel had used me more than once as a political tool, but that was doing my job regardless of the political ramifications, not doing my job to create them.
Yet, now that I had no ability—or even an official job—I was called into meetings with Guildmasters and high druids, given ultimatums by fairy queens, and tempted by elven spies to do their bidding. For the last year, I had found myself pulled into one monarchial plot after another through no intention of my own. I thought I was doing a job—like assisting Murdock on a case—or helping a friend—like sharing information with Keeva, my old Guild partner. The next thing I knew, the world was blowing up around me, or people were trying to kill me.
Dwelling on the unanswerable was not my forte. I preferred concrete problems, like why this mysterious blue essence seemed to be connected to old Dead essence. I had put the word out that I would be at Yggy’s tonight, and I wanted to see Banjo, a gruff guy who had helped me out a couple of times and knew the lay of the land when it came to strange happenings in the Weird. He was also a dwarf, so I hoped he might know something particular about the recent disappearances given that so many of his people were missing.
Banjo hadn’t shown yet. At a glance, no dwarves were in the
“Can you prove it?” she asked.
“More than you know,” I said. Ceridwen may have died, but she had returned as one of the Dead, trapped on this side of the veil instead of moving on to the Celtic afterlife. I didn’t tell Briallen because Ceridwen had asked me to keep her existence a secret. She was in hiding somewhere in the city. If I needed her, it would only be a matter of time for her to hear about it.
“You do have a target on your back, Connor. You have to be careful.”
I slumped in the seat. “Great. I thought you were going to say you’ll talk to Maeve and tell her it’s all a mistake.”
Briallen looked away, her face troubled. “The mistake is hers, Connor. One, I think, we will all end up paying for.”
7
Hours later, I was alone, leaning against a wall, my back to the door as I watched the action at the pool table at Yggy’s bar. Low-hanging lamps illuminated the game in a stark circle of light that didn’t reach much beyond the table. This early in the evening, the regulars played each other, moving the action along with a gesture or nod before sending their shots into pockets with a sharp clack. The real money to be made would happen later, when the newbies showed up and tried to beat them. A subdued murmur ran through the crowd. The loud voices that accompanied liquor-loosened tongues were hours away yet, as people settled in with early drinks and companionable conversation.
The old dive gave calm refuge to fey of all stripes in the Weird. If you had a beef with someone, you had to take it elsewhere, or you found yourself banned by Heydan, who ran the place. Heydan kept his own counsel, and an appearance outside his office was rare. I knew who he was but had never had the pleasure of a real introduction. Meryl knew him somehow. I was curious about that, but there wasn’t much value in asking her. She wouldn’t share it unless she wanted to, and so far she hadn’t. Of course, under the circumstances, I might never hear that tale. I pushed the reminder of her condition aside and tried to focus on the pool game.
After leaving Briallen at her house, I had wandered back to the Weird, contemplating the strange path my life had taken. Back in my days as a Guild investigator, the twists and turns of the ruling classes were not a part of my world. Sure, I met the players and partied with them, which was social, and questioned them, which was work. I was never, though, a part of the political apparatus. Despite my high standing, I didn’t have any influence because I wasn’t interested. I saw now that Nigel had used me more than once as a political tool, but that was doing my job regardless of the political ramifications, not doing my job to create them.
Yet, now that I had no ability—or even an official job—I was called into meetings with Guildmasters and high druids, given ultimatums by fairy queens, and tempted by elven spies to do their bidding. For the last year, I had found myself pulled into one monarchial plot after another through no intention of my own. I thought I was doing a job—like assisting Murdock on a case—or helping a friend—like sharing information with Keeva, my old Guild partner. The next thing I knew, the world was blowing up around me, or people were trying to kill me.
Dwelling on the unanswerable was not my forte. I preferred concrete problems, like why this mysterious blue essence seemed to be connected to old Dead essence. I had put the word out that I would be at Yggy’s tonight, and I wanted to see Banjo, a gruff guy who had helped me out a couple of times and knew the lay of the land when it came to strange happenings in the Weird. He was also a dwarf, so I hoped he might know something particular about the recent disappearances given that so many of his people were missing.
Banjo hadn’t shown yet. At a glance, no dwarves were in the
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