Unfallen Dead

CHAPTER 22

Dylan looked relieved when I left the cell alone, like he half expected Meryl and me to come out with guns blazing to make a getaway. We didn’t speak until we were in the elevator, out of earshot of the guards. “I need to know whose side you’re on,” I said.

He met my eyes, straightforward with no hesitation. “Connor, I know you’ve been through a lot, so I’m not going to be insulted by that question. I wouldn’t have told you anything if I wasn’t on your side.”

I hit the button for Meryl’s office floor. “I need to check something. I don’t want to ask you to lie if someone asks you about it. Do you want to wait here?”

He shook his head. “Before I answer that, I have to ask you something. If Meryl’s really involved in something, will you do the right thing?”

I clenched my jaw. “I am doing the right thing. She’s not involved.”

He glanced up at the elevator lights. “Then let’s go.”

I led the way past Meryl’s office to the maze of corridors where the storerooms were. Months ago, Meryl showed me the elegance of her ogham filing system since I never bothered to learn it when I was on staff. Because of the potent stuff in the archives, she had layers of security that ranged from baseline electronics to full-spell locks that only senior staff knew. She’s explained it to me several times, but I still don’t get it. A few wrong turns finally brought us to the room where the dagger had been stored. The first symbol on the ATM receipt matched the one above the next storeroom down. I pressed the receipt against the door, and Meryl’s essence seeped into the wood. The lock clicked open.

Inside, file cabinets and storage boxes spread out in orderly ranks in an uncluttered room. We found the proper aisle and cabinet. I placed my hand on the handle of a drawer, looked at Dylan, and pulled. I closed my eyes in disappointment. The drawer was empty.

I leaned against the opposite filing cabinet. Dylan withdrew a slip of paper from the drawer. “Evidence from the Ardman case?”

I took the paper. “The woman who stole the dagger is named Rhonwen ap Hwyl, a.k.a. Rhonda Powell. There’s no record she was here. To make it more fun, she’s a former Guild employee.”

Dylan pursed his lips. “And now you’re going to tell me that this drawer shouldn’t be empty.”

I gave him a half smile. “Now do you wish you had waited by the elevator?”

He shook his head. “Nothing is ever simple.”

I closed the drawer. “I want to see the entry log. Meryl says they never came in here.”

We wound our way to Meryl’s office. The Guild’s logging systems were open to inspection by security staff, and you couldn’t get a higher-level security staff than Dylan was. I rebooted Meryl’s computer and slid the keyboard to Dylan. “You have access to the log.”

He logged in, and the main Guildhouse menus came up. I accessed the archives’ logs. The dagger’s storeroom hadn’t been entered except the past week when I found Meryl replacing the missing essence amplifier. I spotted the likely date of her friend’s visit listed a few weeks earlier. Cross-checking it against the storeroom where the Ardman evidence was stored, the log showed the room had been accessed the same day. Meryl’s security signature had activated the lock.

Dylan pointed out the access-code identifier. “That’s a problem.”

I rested my fingers on the keys without typing. “If it wasn’t Meryl, how did she get in?”

Dylan walked to the opposite of the desk. “Powell must have somehow replicated Meryl’s essence to gain access. A glamour could work, but I doubt a security lock could be fooled by it like people are.”

We heard the metallic slide of the elevator, then voices in the hall. Dylan leaned out to look, and a professional smile sprang across his face. “Your Highness, I’m surprised to see you down here.”

Ceridwen. Not the person I needed to see. The hallway had a straight view from the elevator. I couldn’t slip into the storeroom area without her seeing me. The ATM receipt still had some of Meryl’s essence on it. I pressed the slip of paper against the space between a credenza and a filing cabinet. A barrier spell feathered like cobwebs against my face as I walked through the wall.

On the other side of the illusion, a tunnel led to the subway. Meryl had let me use it once. She hadn’t keyed it for me. I wouldn’t have made it through without her essence on the ATM receipt. The light from the office cast a bare illumination into the hidden space. Dylan’s voice trickled through the spell, but I couldn’t make out what was being said. He glanced into the office and indicated no surprise when he didn’t see me.

The dark mass in my head fluttered with a burst of pain at the same time a mental image of Ceridwen’s spear popped into my head. It shone like a bright sliver of essence in my mind. Dylan backed into the office, with Ceridwen following him. She had the spear.

“I’m sorry you had to look for me, Your Highness,” he said.

Ceridwen spoke to someone in the outer hall before closing the office door. With a confident smile, she tilted the spear toward Dylan, rolling the tip across his cheek in a caress. “The truth this spear seeks takes many forms, Druid macBain. We had only to ask it to guide us to you.”

Dylan looked uncomfortable. Ceridwen cradled the spear in the crook of one arm and glanced down at the desk. “Have you found anything?”

He shifted some papers. “Nothing out of the ordinary. I’ve only begun looking.”

Ceridwen scanned the routine chaos of Meryl’s desk. She nudged a stack of books and picked up something small. As she toyed with it between her thumb and index finger, it caught the light with a metallic sheen. She dropped it back on the desk. “We want to know if you find anything remotely interesting.”

Dylan kept smiling. “These are the archives, Your Highness. Much of it is interesting. Can you offer me some guidance?”

Ceridwen considered him with a measuring look. “Neither of us is from here, Druid macBain. We were sent in the best interests of the Seelie Court. We trust you have no conflicts in your loyalties.”

“None,” Dylan said.

Ceridwen nodded once. “Good. We need to keep Meryl Dian confined until we acquire the answers the High Queen seeks. Find us the means to keep her so or the answers we need, and we shall be very appreciative.”

Dylan bowed. “I will do my best to serve the needs of the Guild and Court, Your Highness.”

She leaned forward, half-closing her eyes and smiling seductively. “I want you to know that I shall personally be very” — the smile widened — “appreciative.”

Dylan blushed from his neck to his hairline. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

Ceridwen straightened and became businesslike again. “You may call us at any time.”

She left. Dylan picked up a sheet of paper and wandered to the door as he read. Pausing at the threshold, his eyes shifted down the hallway for a fraction of a second. He dropped the paper on the desk and faced the wall I hid behind.

I suppressed a chuckle as he peered at me from inches away. He pressed his hand against the wall. From my side of the spell, the hand flattened as he encountered what he perceived as a hard surface. “I can sense the residue of your essence here, Connor. Are you there?”

I stepped forward, letting my chest replace the wall beneath his hand. “I see you can still blush on cue.”

He dropped his hand. “I don’t think she suspected you were here, do you?”

I shrugged. “You know Dananns are not very good at sensing essence, and there’s a lot of it in here.”

He nodded at the wall. “Care to explain that?”

“It’s a hidey-hole Meryl showed me. She uses it when she doesn’t want to talk to people. She keyed it to my essence.” If I revealed it was actually a full-blown exit, Meryl would be less understanding than Dylan would be if he knew I didn’t tell him the whole truth. I felt guilty not telling him, but he would appreciate the nature of confidences.

A small earring lay on the desk where Ceridwen had dropped it. Something felt naggingly familiar about it. Ceridwen’s brief contact with it had left her essence, but beneath it was Meryl’s.

Dylan leaned against the desk. “Con, I know there are things you’re not telling me, and I’m letting you. At some point, I expect you to tell me. Am I fooling myself by thinking that?”

That stung. He had every reason to say it, but coming from Dylan, it was tough to hear. I pretended to be interested in a pile of reports on Meryl’s desk. “I hope not.”

He bowed his head in thought. “Good. Because I would question my instincts if you walked away without a better explanation. I don’t want that to happen again.”

I lowered my head, too. “I know. I’ll say I’m sorry now, but I promise this time we’ll talk.”

He lifted his head. “I’ll take your word for it. Now, give me five minutes to settle in my office, then get out of here without attracting attention.”

He pushed away from the desk. I waited to make sure he left the floor. I picked up the earring again. It was a triskele, the druidic symbol of three spirals made with one continuous line. The symbol was generic, but something about the earring felt familiar. I stared at it and stared at it. I shivered as I recalled where I had seen it, or rather, its mate. It was bent and broken, but the piece of metal I found at the Kaspar murder scene was the mate to the one I held.

I stared and stared. The druidess essence I felt at the murder scenes was familiar. Familiar like Meryl. It wasn’t the same, but close. She was angry with the Guild, angry with the way she was being treated. Maybe something happened to her at Forest Hills, something I didn’t know about or understand. I was worried about myself. Maybe I should be worried about both of us.

I shook my head. Something was wrong. I was missing something. I refused to believe Meryl would kill two people for revenge of some kind. I put the earring back on the desk. She didn’t do it. I trusted my instincts.

I walked back through the wall. The spell resisted a little this time. I groped my way down the dark passage until I came to a staircase. Keeping my hands on the walls, I climbed the long flight of stairs. At the top, pushing hard against the spell blocking the exit felt like sliding through molasses. The receipt essence was almost drained.

I exhaled when I made it through. The dim lighting of the subway tunnel blinded me after the total darkness of the stairs. The wall behind me appeared to be a solid concrete slab when I pressed it. I pulled out the receipt. Meryl’s essence had faded to nothing. I would have stuck in the wall like a fly in amber if it had dissipated any sooner.

The platform at Boylston Street Station sat level with the train tracks. An old wire security fence prevented passengers from wandering into the tunnel. It worked more as a visual deterrent since you could walk around it. If you didn’t want to be seen doing that, a gap near a wall worked just as well. I mingled with passengers coming down the stairs on the inbound side.

Concrete arches separated the two halves of the station with wrought-iron fencing preventing anyone from crossing the tracks. An outbound train must have just come through because the opposite platform was empty. A lone man walked down the outbound side. He stared at me. I hate when people stare for no reason, playing their dominance games with strangers.

I stared back. The guy moved to the edge of the tracks, not taking his eyes from me. He seemed angry or annoyed. Three more steps, and he stopped on the tracks. I don’t know if anyone else had noticed him because I didn’t want to lose the staring game. The echoing station picked up the rumble of an approaching train. I moved closer to the iron fencing. He broke our gaze and looked up the tunnel. Headlights appeared in the tunnel on his side. He turned back to me.

“Train’s coming,” I said.

Light illuminated the tracks, throwing his solemn face into a white relief.

“Buddy, step back,” I said.

He didn’t move. I shouted as the train pulled in, my voice lost in the screaming of its wheels against the steel tracks. I rushed to the fence. The train stopped with a set of windowed doors opposite me. The man was inside the train. Almost. The floor of the car was several feet higher than the ground, cutting through him at the waist. He hadn’t changed his expression. You’re going to die soon, he sent.

The train pulled away in a rush of color, leaving behind an empty track. I backed away as several people cast anxious looks at me. They probably thought I was nuts. I would have. I was already thinking maybe I was. Really. As in, hallucinating and losing it.

My mind reeled as I rode the next train to Park Street Station. Maybe I couldn’t handle stress anymore. Maybe the thing in my head was causing brain damage. Maybe I was letting everything get to me like I never did before. Keeva was pushing herself beyond her limits; Meryl became more entangled in murder the more I tried to prove otherwise; Dylan was playing both friend and foe. And Joe had been too drunk lately to have a coherent conversation. Murdock might be a good sounding board, but he didn’t appreciate what it was like to deal with Guild messes, never mind the possibility that I was losing my mind. I hit a speed dial on my cell.

“It’s about time you called. Come on up,” Briallen answered. She hung up before I could whine like a scared child.