Unperfect Souls

16

Bastian Frye wasted no time arranging lunch the next day. I walked into the Ritz-Carlton Hotel late, half on purpose, half that’s-the-way-it-is. Taking a cue from Eorla and the Teutonic penchant for order and timeliness, irritating Bastian Frye wasn’t a bad way to start.

The restaurant at the Ritz had a storied history. The Boston Brahmins made it the home of the power lunch for decades, a stuffy, pretentious room of white tablecloths and blue glassware. As the city’s power structure expanded into the upstart Irish and Italian immigrant populations, the luster of the place diminished until the dining room was a nostalgia trip for granddames and their granddaughters. No restaurant survived on tea and crumpets. Eventually, the hotel owner gave up and leased the space to an elven group, which rebranded the place Feudal, and the power lunch returned, only this time for the Teutonic fey set.

Frye wasn’t alone. Brokke sat with him at a corner table. The two made an odd couple—the tall, regal elven court officer and the short, floridly dressed dwarven advisor. They weren’t speaking as I approached, but they didn’t need to speak to communicate. Neither expressed surprise when I arrived. They stood and extended their hands, an amusingly quaint gesture since we were all armed. At least, I was. I never left home without the daggers, and I had no doubt that a weapon or two lay hidden among the folds of their outfits.

“You remember Ambassador Brokke, Mr. Grey,” Frye said.

“Of course. I didn’t realize you’d be here.”

“I thought Bastian might enjoy my company,” he said.

Frye’s long sip of white wine covered an expression that looked nothing like enjoyment. “Let’s get down to business, shall we?” he asked.

A waiter appeared and filled my water glass. I picked up the menu. “Sure. I’ll have the burger, medium rare, and a Guinness.” No one was amused.

“We do not serve Guinness,” the waiter said.

Figured. I didn’t care for German stouts. Too heavy and long on the finish. I didn’t think it was a prejudice. “Any draft ale, then.”

Frye slid a long finger along his temple as he leaned on an elbow. “Mr. Grey, as I told you, the Guild believes that the Elven King may have been involved in the recent terrorist attack in this city.”

“I’m not the best person to explain what the Guild thinks,” I said.

Frye nodded slowly. “Indeed. I am aware of your history. My concern is that you may be fostering this idea.”

“I have a number of opinions about the motives of the Consortium.”

“The Elven King had nothing to do with the event,” he said.

The waiter placed my beer on the table. I took a slip. “Really? Bergin Vize gained access to TirNaNog through the Irminsul gate in Germany. I’m sure the Elven King’s people don’t let just anyone near it, never mind use it.”

“I assure you, Mr. Grey, we are investigating the loyalty of the guards,” said Frye.

“Let’s talk about magical artifacts,” Brokke said. Frye’s long, pointed ears flexed down in irritation. The two of them obviously disagreed on their meeting game.

I had a feeling I knew where he was going. “Okay.”

“A spear was in the Elven King’s possession for many years. I wonder how it ended up at the Seelie Court,” he said.

I shrugged. “I have no idea. If it’s the spear I think you’re talking about, the last time I saw it was after Vize killed someone with it,” I said.

“Yes, but he received the spear from you,” said Brokke.

“Stole it from me is more accurate,” I said.

“But if it was bonded to you, how was he able to take it?” he asked.

The waiter returned with our plates. I assembled my burger. “I didn’t understand the mechanism of it. If it was bonded to me, it left me when I needed it most.”

Brokke pulled at his substantial ear. “Interesting. Where is the spear now?”

“I already answered that question. Your guess is as good as mine. It vanished when I sealed the veil between worlds.”

He rubbed his hands against the tablecloth, staring into his lunch. “Lost again,” he muttered.

“My turn. Why are you protecting Bergin Vize?” I asked.

Brokke cut his fish, took a bite, and looked at Frye as if he, too, were interested in the answer.

“We are not protecting him. He is in hiding,” he said.

“Where?”

Frye’s hooded eyes seemed to be assessing me. “My guess would be your own neighborhood.”

With everything else happening in the Weird, an on-the-lam terrorist elf would fit right in. “I’ll take that as confirmation coming from you. Things are not going well in the Weird, and lately when things are not going well in a big way, your friend Vize is lurking in the background.”

“If the events occurring on the waterfront are getting out of hand, perhaps the Guild might be of service,” said Frye.

“As you can imagine, that’s not reassuring. If he’s so unwelcome, why aren’t you looking for him?” I said.

Frye curled his lip in condescension. “As long as he does not make a threat to the Elven King, he is not my concern.”

“But threats against the Seelie Court and—What are we up to? A few hundred deaths so far?—those don’t concern you either?”

“That has not been proven,” he said. He shifted in his seat, arching an eyebrow as he withdrew a cell phone from his pocket. “You will excuse me,” he said.

As Frye left the table, Brokke leaned toward me. “We have only moments before he realizes the insignificance of that call, Grey. I have something to say to you alone. You know I am a seer. I have tried to see the events unfolding here, but no matter how I attempt it, I cannot see you.”

“You’re not the first person to tell me that,” I said.

He glanced toward the restaurant entrance. “I know. I’ve enlisted others in the attempt, to no success. I have seen something that I want you to know. Something will happen, and soon, that will affect the Grand Duchess. I cannot see it. That leads me to believe whatever it is involves you as well.”

“You know telling me that won’t necessarily change the future,” I said.

He nodded. “Truth. The future is the land of the possible, the outcome of choices, not inevitabilities. But sometimes those choices narrow to a point of significance. I believe a time is coming when you will have a choice that affects the Grand Duchess. It will cause a profound change in the Elven Court. When that time comes, Mr. Grey, I implore you to consider the consequences for more than yourself.”

“I’m not sure if you’re insulting me or warning me,” I said.

“Neither. I am a seer. I say what I see. What you do with it is your choice. Even now, I feel things shifting, becoming less certain. Remember that royal blood flows in Eorla Elvendottir’s veins, and no one wants that kind of blood on their hands.”

That startled me. “I’m going to do something that causes her death?”

He shrugged. “That outcome is likelier than I care to see.”

“Eorla Kruge is the last person I’d want to see dead,” I said.

He tapped the table. “I as well, but the Wheel of the World is a relentless Thing.” He placed a pair of workman’s gloves on the table. “You will thank me for these someday. I don’t know why. He returns.” Curious, I slipped the gloves into my jacket. Frye resumed his seat. “Is your presence required elsewhere?” Brokke asked.

Frye picked at his lunch. “It was minor. Mr. Grey, I will tell you this: You are being watched—by the Guild and by the Consortium.”

It was hard to miss the obvious elven security at the end of my street or the Danann agents that appeared overhead when I was home. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“You are also about to be arrested by the Boston police force,” he said.

I dropped my burger. “For what?”

“A substantial list of violations including inciting a riot and murder charges related to the deaths that occurred on Samhain. A movement is under way to involve your federal authorities in a very novel conspiracy-to-commit-treason charge,” said Frye.

I pursed my lips. “I seem to have pissed someone off.”

Frey leaned closer. “What’s interesting is that the Guild is cooperating with the human authorities to the point of advocating your detention.”

“Is this a subtle way of telling me you’re not going to pay for lunch?” I asked.

Frye smiled, a thin predator smile. “On the contrary, Mr. Grey. I am willing to pay for this and whatever else you need. I am authorized by His Majesty Donor Elfenkonig to offer you asylum with an offer of Consortium citizenship.”

It took several heartbeats before I laughed. I couldn’t help it. To hear Bastian Frye, the man who ran counterintelligence activities for the Consortium, the same man I had worked against for years, offer me protection was damned funny. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

He gave me a sharp nod, either missing my sarcasm or pleased that I didn’t reject the offer out of hand. I didn’t clarify but let him think whatever he wanted. Keeping someone like Bastian Frye off-balance was not an easy thing.

Brokke perused the menu. “Let’s have dessert, shall we?”

I smiled. “Sure. Anything look good?”

He eyed me and passed the menu. “I’ll let you pick.”

I hate people who can read the future.