Unfallen Dead

CHAPTER 2

I cradled a bottle of wine in the backseat of a cab. Guinness is my preferred drink, but Briallen ab Gwyll has a well-known liking for French wines. A dinner on Beacon Hill was always an opportunity for good food and conversation, whether the invitation came via cell phone or sending. Briallen prefers the intimacy of mental contact. Her cool, feathery touch in my mind was a pleasant surprise after so many months.

The cab pulled up in front of the townhouse on Louisburg Square. In the cool evening air, I admired the old place-five stories of bricks and mullioned windows that dated back to the late 1800s. The gas lamps flanking the entrance made me feel welcome and reminded me of my teenage years when I had been Briallen’s student. I broke one of the lamps once swinging on it, and a welder patched it, slightly off center if you looked closely. Briallen wasn’t happy and made me memorize an entire land registry in Old Irish as punishment. To this day, I remembered that one Ian macDeare owned all the land from the split oak tree to the ford of a nameless stream by the summer pasture in Ireland’s County Clare.

I let myself in. Briallen had keyed the door to my essence long ago with a warding spell on it that told her if I entered. As I set one foot on the stairs leading to the second-floor parlor, noise from the kitchen pulled me to the back of the first floor, where I found the lady of the house busy with a pot at the stove. I placed the wine on the counter and pulled off my knit cap as she gave me a broad smile.

“You look like absolute hell!” She threw her arms around me, tucking her head into the crook of my neck.

“Thanks. You look wonderful.” The last time I saw Briallen, her hair and skin were bleached white from the stress of a major spell. Her color on both counts had returned, her skin a warm peach and the healthy glow of chestnut in her hair, the close-cropped length she had preferred for the past few years.

Briallen was a good hugger, but one with ulterior motives. As she released me, her hands came up the back of my head, and she stared into my face. I felt a vague pressure as she used her essence to probe the strange dark mass in my mind. Surprise and intrigue flickered across her face.

“It’s changed. It’s shaped differently. How do you feel?”

I ran my hand over the scruff of dark hair growing in. “I had a tough time a couple of weeks ago, but I’m okay.”

She gave a half smile back. “I heard about Forest Hills.”

Of course she did. Everyone had heard about Forest Hills. When a giant dome of essence implodes and people die, news got around. I stopped the disaster from being worse than it was, but I don’t remember how I did it.

Briallen waved me to a stool as she stationed herself at the stove. Dinner plates were set on the other end of the kitchen island. For all the room Briallen has in the house, she spends most of her time in the kitchen and the upstairs parlor.

I noticed three place settings. “Is someone joining us?”

She nodded, sipping from a spoon. “My nephew showed up this afternoon. I hope you don’t mind.”

That was a surprise. I didn’t know Briallen had any family. “I don’t remember a nephew.”

She handed me a corkscrew. “Well, technically he was a fosterling. Long before you showed up.”

Amused, I lowered my eyes at her as I poured her a glass of wine. “I cannot believe all the things I don’t know about you.”

She handed me a bottle of Guinness and took the stool on the opposite corner. “People a lot older than you still don’t know everything about me.”

Her eyes danced above the rim of her wineglass. Briallen verch Gwyll ab Gwyll lived a life most people would envy and the rest would find exhausting. When she wasn’t teaching at Harvard, she was mentoring at the Druidic College, working behind the scenes at the Fey Guild, or serving as an international ambassador for a variety of people and causes. Sometimes she even took vacations, which supposedly was what a recent trip to Asia had been about. I doubted that, though. Briallen may like Thai food, but she didn’t need six months to learn about it on-site.

I tapped her glass with my bottle. “I’m glad you’re back.” Before either of us could say more, we heard someone coming down the stairs. Briallen slid from the stool and moved to the kitchen door. “I think our guest is joining us.”

I hadn’t sensed anyone when I had entered the house. Briallen kept dampening wards everywhere to prevent her essence-infused artifacts from interacting with one another. Plus, she valued her privacy and didn’t want anyone walking in and sensing who had been in her home. Even so, moments before the man appeared, I sensed his essence, recognizing first that he was a druid, then, surprisingly, who he was.

Briallen slipped her arm around his waist and pulled him into the room. “Connor, this is Dylan macBain. Dylan, this is-”

He stretched out his hand. “We know each other, Auntie Bree.”

From the look on Briallen’s face, she hadn’t known.

“Good to see you.” I shook his hand. He hadn’t changed a bit since I had last seen him, still young-looking, dark brown curls snug on his head, dark eyes against pale skin.

Briallen looked from one to the other of us. “How the hell do you two know each other?”

Dylan kissed her temple. “Connor and I used to work together in New York.”

Briallen dropped on her stool while Dylan poured himself wine. “I can’t believe I didn’t know that.”

I smirked at her. “I guess we all have things we still don’t know about each other.”

She threw me a grudging smile. “Touché.”

I looked back at Dylan. “What brings you to Boston?”

He helped himself to some bread as he sat down. “Work. I’ve been asked to fill in as field director at the Guild.”

“Keeva macNeve must not be happy about that.” Keeva was the Guild’s Community Liaison Officer for Community Affairs, which everyone knew was a polite title for Director of Investigations. It was Keeva’s job to run field investigations.

Dylan shrugged. “She’s on suspension while the hearings are going on.”

I helped myself to another beer. The Guild leadership was a mess. A crazy druid had tried to grab Power at Forest Hills Cemetery and almost succeeded in destroying the fey. Maybe even the world. It was the Guild’s job to keep stuff like that from happening. Instead, Keeva and a lot of other people who should have realized what was going on fell into his trap. “Keeva almost died. I know for a fact she didn’t know what she was doing.”

Briallen and Dylan exchanged looks. Briallen pulled an envelope from her pocket and slid it to me across the counter. “I was going to give this to you later, Connor. High Queen Maeve is not happy about what happened here. The Guild wants to talk to you.”

I recognized the form letter. I skipped the legal mumbo jumbo and went right to the point:

You are hereby ordered to appear before the inquiry board regarding the events at Forest Hills Cemetery in and around October 1 of this year. Advocacy can be arranged if so desired.

By order of our hand and seal,

Ceridwen, Queen of Faerie

Special Director of Internal Investigations

I let the letter fall to the counter. “Maeve must be pissed if she sent an underQueen.”

Briallen tilted her head down and eyed me from under her brow. “It’s not a good time to antagonize anyone, Connor.”

I splayed my hand against my chest. “Me? I wouldn’t think of it.”

“You’ve had problems with the Guild?” Dylan asked.

I laughed. “I guess you can say neither I nor the Guild is each other’s biggest fan at the moment.”

Briallen rolled her eyes. “Boy, did you just hit a long-running argument, Dylan.” She ladled stew for all of us.

I nodded. “I help the Boston P.D. investigate fey issues the Guild ignores. They ignore a lot.” Which was true. The Guild was supposed to handle all fey-related crime. Any fey species that manipulated essence — fairies, druids, elves, and anyone else who can trace themselves back to Faerie — was supposed to fall under Guild jurisdiction. In reality, though, the Guild ignored anything that didn’t score them political points, especially if it happened in the Weird.

“I remember someone who thought the Guild was the best thing that ever happened to him,” said Dylan.

I played with the moisture rings my bottle left on the counter. “A lot has changed since New York.”

No one spoke. I refused to look up at Dylan. Dylan and I had some uncomfortable history. We both almost died on a mission, and I handled the aftermath less than nobly, at Dylan’s expense. It’s one of those things I regret from the time that I thought more about myself than about anyone else. It’s been on my list of things to fix someday, but I thought I’d get to decide when. I was wrong. Again.

Briallen looked back and forth between us as she placed bowls on the counter. She sat back onto her stool and lifted a spoon. “Have either of you ever been to the Orient?”

And with that, the conversation lightened. Gathered around Briallen’s table, sharing stories and laughs, felt good. Many people I assumed were friends — real friends — had abandoned me after my accident. It was comforting to enjoy a conversation with people whom I had real history with.

After dessert, Briallen cleared a few dishes, at which point Dylan and I both started doing the same. Apparently when he lived with her, he had been given the same chores I was. Briallen watched us jockeying for position at the sink. “Why don’t the two of you go up to the parlor while I clean up?”

Amused, we made our way to the second floor. In the parlor, a small blue fire burned in the grate as it always did. Dylan sat in one of the overstuffed chairs. I went to the window overlooking the backyard. The garden had died off with the cooling weather. The oak tree had dropped most of its leaves, and wind had scattered them to the edges of the small space. The still fountain near the back wall sat cold and uninviting.

“You look good,” Dylan said.

I didn’t answer right away. I could make out his reflection in the glass in front of me, wavy and blurred. Without looking at him, I crossed to a small table and poured three glasses of tawny port. I handed one to him. As our eyes met, I could see that ten years had not dimmed the issue between us.

I took the chair opposite him, leaving Briallen’s favorite seat between us. “You seem to have done well.”

Dylan gave me a thin smile. “Nice weather we’re having.”

I sipped the port. “I’m not sure if there’s a storm on the horizon.”

He swirled his glass, watching the light reflect flashes of gold. “No. It’s clear. Everything’s clear.”

“You’re sure?”

He met my eyes. “Ten years is a long time, Connor. The past is past.”

I considered a moment. “I can leave it at that.”

He extended his glass. “To friendship, then.”

I clinked my glass against his. “Friendship.”

“That’s a nice sentiment,” Briallen said as she came in. She lifted the glass I had poured for her and tapped ours as well. She settled in the chair between us. “Dylan’s working on the Met robbery.”

Dylan looked at me. “I have never been able to surprise her, have you?”

I shook my head. “I gave up long ago.”

He settled back. “Yes, the Met robbery. Someone stole several artifacts from the Celtic Faerie collection.”

“Why are you doing footwork for the Met?” I asked.

He stretched his legs out toward the fire. “Someone volunteered the Guild’s help because sometimes a pretty trinket is more than a pretty trinket.”

“Someone?” I asked.

Dylan shrugged. “I didn’t ask, but word did come from above. The Seelie Court’s been very nervous about genuine Faerie objects going missing.”

I frowned. “I can’t imagine something powerful enough to worry the Seelie Court would be lying around in the New York Met.”

Briallen shifted more comfortably in her chair. “You’d be amazed at the things that ended up in museums in the early part of last century. Lots of fey had no understanding of where Convergence had brought them, and they sold things off on a promise.”

Convergence. Depending on whether you were human or fey, Convergence was a blessing or a curse. When the worlds of Faerie and modern reality converged more than a century ago, the old world order in both places disappeared, and we’ve been trying to live together ever since.

Dylan yawned and stretched. “I think it has people nervous because Samhain is around the corner. High holidays are always a good time for selling objects originally from Faerie. Some thief is looking to take advantage of the timing to get a good price.”

Briallen grinned. “So young and so tired?”

Dylan laughed through another yawn. “No fair, old woman. I’ve been awake for three days tying up things in New York and reading the current Boston case files.”

Briallen narrowed her eyes at him. “Who are you calling old?”

Dylan rose and kissed her cheek. “I have no doubt you continue to run circles around me, Auntie.”

I felt a twinge of jealousy at the pleasure on her face.

“I’m going to bed,” Dylan said.

He hesitated, and I held out my hand. “It was good to see you.”

A look of satisfaction came over him, and he shook my hand. “You, too. Good night, Connor.”

He trailed his hand along Briallen’s arm as he left the room. We stared into the fire, sipping the port. Briallen broke the silence first. “I’d like to hear your version of what happened at Forest Hills.”

I kept my eyes on the fire. “You read the reports. You probably know more about what happened than I do.”

“You only gave a statement. You weren’t required to file a full report. Tell me the story.”

I shrugged. “Murdock and I were working on a case that involved a drug called Float. It turned out that it was made to activate a spell that controlled anyone who touched essence. The full spell activated at Forest Hills Cemetery and got out of control. Essence drained from everything into a huge dome. I apparently figured out a way to diffuse it before it exploded.”

“Meryl Dian says you turned yourself into a ward stone,” she said.

I looked at her sharply. Meryl told me I had encased myself in granite, that I became a living ward stone and told her I would anchor the control spell. It worked, but I don’t know how or why. I asked her not to tell anyone until I thought through the implications. “I don’t remember any of it.”

“Do you think there’s a connection?”

I knew what she was asking. I lost my abilities two years earlier in a duel with a terrorist, an elf named Bergin Vize. I don’t remember what happened then either. I woke up in Avalon Memorial Hospital with no memory of the event, my ability damaged to almost nothing, and a dark mass in my head that no one could diagnose. “Of course, I’ve been thinking that. But since we don’t know what happened to me with Vize, it’s just another frustrating question.”

Briallen tapped the side of her glass. “Something’s come up that has me thinking about essence barriers. The veil is a strong and fragile thing.”

With a gentle smile, I poured us more port. “Sounds like Halloween has you feeling nostalgic.”

She sipped, gazing into the blue flames in the fire grate. “It was Samhain first, Connor. You know that. The one night of the year that the veil thins between this world and that of the Dead.”

I settled back in my chair. “ ‘Used to thin,’ Briallen. At least, that’s what they say.”

She shifted her eyes at me, mildly annoyed. “It’s what I say, Connor. I don’t speak of Faerie much because so much has been lost. When Convergence happened and this world merged with Faerie, all the Ways between the realms closed. There are things I don’t remember, but I do remember the veil thinning. I remember the Dead walking out of TirNaNog.”

“Convergence was over a century ago, Briallen. What could it possibly have to do with what happened at Forest Hills?” I asked.

She considered her answer before speaking. “Convergence was a huge essence event, and thousands of fey don’t remember their past. An enormous amount of essence was expended at Forest Hills, and you can’t remember it. That’s too much of a coincidence for me to ignore.”

I dropped my head back. “So to understand my injury, we have to solve the biggest mystery in history. What was Convergence, and why did it happen?”

The firelight gleamed in Briallen’s eyes. She lowered her head and laughed. “Of course. Finding out what happened to you is the only reason anyone would want to know why Convergence happened.”

I frowned, but good-naturedly. “That did sound a little self-involved, didn’t it?”

She laughed. “A little. You’re not as bad as you used to be.”

I stared into the fire, letting my mind slide back a few weeks. All hell broke loose, and a war among the fey almost started. I was in the middle of it, did something to stop it but couldn’t remember what. “I’m afraid of what happened at Forest Hills, Briallen. Lots of people died, and there’s another blank spot in my memory. I have no idea how many of those deaths are on me. I might even have killed something sacred.”

“You either accept that might have happened or let it defeat you, Connor.”

I rolled my head toward her. “How can I face something if I don’t know what it is?”

“You do know what it is. It’s what it always is for everyone. It’s you. You have to face yourself. The good and the bad, and, yes, the horrifying. We all have those things within us. You have to remember when to keep it in and when to let it out. Either way, you have to live with the consequences.” She spoke softly, staring into the fire, a memory shadowing her eyes.

“How much have you had to live with?”

She hesitated so long, I thought she was going to tell me to mind my own business. “There are things that I can never speak of, things I’ve needed to do and couldn’t explain, but I did them because they had to be done. Some I did out of love and some out of duty, and, yes, even anger and hatred. But I did them, and I live with it. That’s what you have to do, Connor. Live with it.”

It was my turn to hold my hand out to her. “Will you ever allow me to pity myself?”

She held out her glass. “Wah, wah, wah. Pour some more port.”