Unperfect Souls

24

After-dinner drinks wound into the early-morning hours. For a brief time—too brief—the events of the world outside Briallen’s second-floor parlor faded behind the softly falling snow. The four of us sat before the blue-flamed fire, laughing and at ease with each other as we talked into the night. Beer and wine and liqueurs flowed, loosening tongues and relaxing muscles. To be trite, it was nice. Nice in the way nostalgia colored our memories or the way a day felt hung in suspension when all the chores and errands were done and there was nothing left to do but curl up and do nothing of consequence. It had been a long time since I’d had the feeling, had it and appreciated it.

But all such times end, time and energy taking its toll, nudging us back to activity and to life. We made our good-byes with smiles and reluctance and ventured into the night. Meryl drove off alone, determined to get some sleep before an early morning at the Guildhouse. Murdock and I, though, decided to make a short pit stop before he dropped me off. A good meal, good drink, and good conversations were great ways to spend an evening, but after a while, memories of murder and unanswered, lingering questions crept back into our minds. It was a good time to visit the Dead.

Murdock pulled up near the old Helmet. The side street off Old Northern was far enough out from the Tangle that the nasty stew of essence down there didn’t muck with my head. Panels of cheap plywood painted black hid the original facade of the building, and hundreds of silver or rusted staples littered the surface, the remains of long-gone posters. Weathered advertisements for band dates, club contests, and local services lingered long past their relevant dates. The pitted metal sign above the door bore the ghost image of the last three letters someone had removed from the old bar’s name.

We attracted significant looks and stares when we entered. In TirNaNog, if one of the Dead killed a living person, they absorbed the living body essence—the basic life spark—and escaped back into the world. A sort of Get Out of Jail Free card for the afterlife. On this side of the veil, the rules had changed. When the Dead killed someone living here, they didn’t return to life. Their essence didn’t change. The victim, though, ended up very much dead.

Hel didn’t look different from when it was Helmet. Lighting in the wide, square dive ran to blue spots and a flashing dance floor, the better to distract people from seeing much. When the bar was Helmet, the faint odor of damp bodies in cramped spaces permeated an atmosphere of heady sex and drugs. It was amusing to watch who went home with whom at last call.

The change of clientele didn’t change the look. Hel even played the same loud dance music, but the new patrons had that sharper edge of menace the Weird was too well-known for. Nobody danced, probably because they had no idea what to make of modern music. Being Dead made it tough to keep up with the latest dance trends.

The most visible change was that everyone was Dead. It was inevitable they’d find a place to gather. That’s what bars were for, to bring together the like and like-minded, people who wanted to hang out with others with a shared sensibility, drink, or get laid. Being Dead didn’t change any of that. In fact, the Dead had a higher appetite for everything. They all seemed to know each other, definitely drank more than average, and I wouldn’t want to compare notes on dating with them. Take away the risk of dying, and everyone was willing to try anything and more of it. Of course, they still got killed, but what was a mortal wound if you woke up fine the next day?

Murdock and I grew up in a city that had embraced the fey to an extent. I didn’t think twice when the people around me had wings or pointed ears. The scary solitaries gave everyone pause, but that was the point. Individually, solitaries were odd-looking, misshapen, and unattractive by mainstream standards, but the rest of the fey didn’t raise an eyebrow. Until I saw these solitaries who were Dead clustered in a dark bar wearing outdated clothes bordering on costumes, sporting jewelry that went out of fashion centuries ago, and displaying a penchant for physicality not much admired in our more enlightened times.

“Is this job ever going to get easier?” Murdock asked.

“Now what would be the fun in that?” I said.

We eased our way through the crowd. I ordered beer for me and water for Murdock. In bottles. From the end of the bar, we had a clear view of the goings-on. The novelty of our presence wore off among those who had noticed us, and they returned their attention to whatever they were doing before we arrived. For all their strangeness, the Dead acted like anyone else in a bar—laughing, glowering, cruising, drinking, and arguing. Except dancing. Still no dancing.

A woman, a Teutonic norn, leaned over and ordered a drink at the bar. A Dead norn. When druids and dwarves read the future through scrying and dreams, they see patterns and events on a grand scale. A norn’s ability sensed what was and what was to be on a more individual level. Our eyes met, then she indifferently watched the front of the bar. The bartender set a plastic cup by her hand. She sipped through the stirrer, staring at us. Her wide brown eyes slid from me to Murdock. “You don’t belong here.”

Murdock cracked a smile. “Said the Dead girl.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, looked at me. “I remember you.”

Not the first time I’ve heard that in a bar. By her dated clothing, the odds that Murdock or I had known her in life were slim. I decided to be polite. “Then you have me at an advantage.”

“I saw you in Niflheim.”

Niflheim was the Teutonic perception of TirNaNog. I searched my memory, trying to place her, but came up empty. I had spent my time in TirNaNog running away from the Dead and trying not to get Dead myself. Not a lot of time to socialize. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember you. I was kinda busy.”

Her eyes visibly dilated as she stared. “You’re like me. You touch the Wheel.”

Murdock and I exchanged glances. He knew what the Wheel of the World was. He got that it was about faith and destiny, but he couldn’t bring himself to remove his Catholicism from the concept. Where the fey see a world that Is, Murdock sees the hand of God, especially after the previous night.

“We all touch the Wheel,” I said.

She feathered essence over me, and my body shields activated. They were too damaged to protect me from anything, but the norn wasn’t attacking. She was curious. I winced as the dark mass clenched. Its rejection of the seers apparently wasn’t limited to scrying.

She paled and backed away. “I see no path for you, druid.”

“I’m trying to find one,” I said.

“Everyone has a path, even if they cannot see it. A norn sees what others can’t. If you have no path, druid, that bodes ill for you and everything you touch.”

I sipped my beer. “Thanks. I’ll update my will.”

“What was that all about?” Murdock asked.

“Norns see personal futures. She basically told me I had none.”

The crowd shifted, and Jark’s vibrant red-orange signature registered nearby. I spotted him sitting in a dark corner. I nudged Murdock. “Let’s try not to provoke him any more than we have to. Keep a weapon accessible, though.”

Murdock unbuttoned his coat. “Most definitely in here.”

Jark held court at a crowded table. He pretended not to notice us, though with all the sendings fluttering around, someone had to have warned him the law was there. The conversation stopped as we sat. The onlookers watched curiously, their eyes shifting from us to Jark and back again. Jark’s smile rippled the scars on the side of his face. He lifted a pint of beer and drank half in a gulp, landing the glass hard on the table. He wiped a gray-streaked beard. “What brings you to this place?”

“You can speak English,” I said.

He snorted. “The plain of Niflheim holds many men from many places.”

“You didn’t mention that at the morgue,” I said.

“You didn’t ask,” he said.

“You said the Hound killed you,” I said.

The crowd around us shifted. People stepped back or moved away completely. Jark downed a long draft of his beer. “And yet you have not hunted him down.”

“Funny thing about that. We heard you’re afraid of the Hound,” Murdock said.

Jark snorted. “Then you’re hearing wrong. Me afraid of the Hound? That’s a lie. The Hound hunts the Dead like a snake. He has no honor. He lurks in the shadows and strikes out of cowardice. I don’t fear men who won’t face me in a fight.”

Jark reached for his beer again, and Murdock pulled it away. “Wrong, Jark? Wrong like you admitting you killed Sekka and here you are drinking a beer? Or wrong like you were lying when you said that Sekka killed you?”

Jark lowered his chin and stared. “I would watch your tongue. No one calls Jark a liar.”

By Murdock’s flat stare, I knew he was about to explode, but antagonizing a berserker was not the way to go. I leaned between the two of them. “We seem to have some wrong information, then, Jark. Maybe you can clear up—”

Murdock interrupted me. “I’m calling you a liar.”

Jark glowered. “I said watch your tongue, whelp. You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”

A smile twitched in the corner of Murdock’s mouth. “Did you just threaten me?”

Jark drew himself up and puffed out his chest. “I will do more than threaten you, you impudent dog, I will . . .”

Jark didn’t get to finish. Murdock’s body shield flickered on as he yanked the table out of the way. Jark rocked back in his chair with his hands in the air, the sudden exposure as comical as the surprise on his face. He obviously wasn’t used to anyone coming back at him. Murdock grabbed him by his tunic and slammed him against the wall.

Murdock pressed his face in close. “You will what?”

Jark struggled, color draining from his face at the realization that the human he called an impudent dog was strong enough to pin a berserker to a wall. “I will have your head for this.”

Murdock shook him like a doll. “Really? I’d like to see that. You didn’t seem so tough when I beat you down at the morgue. Remember, my friend, if the law doesn’t recognize what you guys do, it doesn’t recognize what happens to you either. I’m going to tell you this once more. I want the Dead to stop hunting the solitaries. If they don’t, I’m coming back for you, Jark, and I’m going to rip your worthless head off again, only this time I’ll make sure it gets washed out to sea.”

Murdock flung him to the floor. “If one more person dies, start looking over your shoulder.”

He straightened his jacket and strode away through the crowd. No one stopped him. Everything had happened so fast, I was amused to find myself still in my chair with my beer in my hand. I chugged the rest of my bottle as Jark sat up. I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, twirling the bottle with two fingers, scanning the crowd. I tossed the empty bottle at Jark, and he batted it away. “I suggest you take his advice. You don’t want to make him angry.”

I followed in Murdock’s wake, enjoying the stunned and fearful looks on the customers’ faces. I couldn’t blame them. After what Murdock did, I didn’t want to see him angry either. He waited in his car by a handicapped ramp. I got in, and he gunned it into the street. “That was impressively ballsy, sir. Did you miss the part where I suggested not provoking him?”

Murdock stared out the window. His body shield flickered as he restrained his anger. “I don’t know how things work in Dead People Land, but I’ll be damned if I let anyone talk to a cop like that.”

“Pull over. This guy’s going to rabbit,” I said.

“You think he’s going to run somewhere?” He glanced in the rearview mirror and made a U-turn on Northern Avenue

I rolled my head toward him. “Leo, you just took down a berserker without breaking a sweat. He is angry right now and wants to do something about what just happened. We need Joe. Do you have any glow bees on you?”

He pulled a small bottle out of his inside coat pocket and held it out to me. Two motes of yellow light danced inside. It was bad enough I couldn’t do sendings anymore, but even something as simple as a glow bee didn’t work for me. I was able to imprint messages, but they took forever to reach their destination. Humans used them because they were a fey thing and fun, but weak essence made cell phones a faster option. But Murdock didn’t have a simple human body essence anymore.

I waved away the bottle. “Your essence is stronger than mine.”

He popped the lid and rolled one of the motes onto his palm. Curling his fingers over it, he cupped his hand to his mouth. “Stinkwort, corner of Tide and Oh No. Now, if you can.”

Hearing Murdock use Joe’s real name sounded odd. But no matter Joe’s preference, his real name had an intrinsic connection to him, and that connection was what made a glow bee work. Murdock opened his palm. The glow bee rose, danced in the air, then shot through the windshield. I tried not to feel jealous when pink light flashed in the backseat. A strong odor of alcohol wafted over the seat.

Joe stood on the console, unsteady on his feet. “What’s goin’ on? You boys got something you can’t handle?”

“Hey, Joe. We need you to follow someone,” I said.

He put a tough look on his face, then nodded so hard, he lost his balance. He fell face-first into the police radio, hovered up, and hit his head against the rearview mirror. Grabbing the dashboard on the way down pivoted him into the glove compartment. He held a hand out to steady himself. “I’m okay, I’m okay. The seat’s a little icy.”

“Do you remember the Dead guy from the headworks?” I asked.

He nodded. “Sure, sure. The dead Dead guy without the head in the headworks. I never forget a face.”

“He didn’t have a face then,” I said.

He grinned. “Right, right. I never forget a neck stump either.”

I shook my head. “He has his head back, and he’s reanimated. Can you track him?”

Joe’s eyes lit up. “No problem! Those walking Dead guys stick out like a sore thumb.”

“Last we saw him, he was in Hel.”

Joe pulled a long face, his eyebrows dropping low. “I thought you destroyed Hel.”

“The old Helmet, Joe. Just up the street. And for the record, we don’t know if I destroyed Hel,” I said.

Joe cocked his head at Murdock and pointed his thumb at me. “I don’t know how you understand this guy.”

Joe blinked out. Murdock chuckled silently. At least Joe made him lighten up. “Is he too drunk for this?” Murdock asked.

“Nah. He’s not even over his threshold capacity yet,” I said.

Got him. Drydock Ave, Joe sent.

Murdock pulled onto the street. “Nice work, Mr. Grey.”

We turned down Tide Street again, passing Hel. A few people huddled outside smoking and talking. Murdock eased the car to the corner of Drydock Avenue. We faced the Black Falcon terminal, a massive building two thousand feet long. Cruise liners with a few hundred thousand passengers a year calling on the port of Boston docked at the terminal in one of the worst neighborhoods of the city. They never learned that, though. The Chamber of Commerce made sure shuttles and taxis whisked them directly to downtown without their having to soil their experience by seeing the immediate area.

He’s crossing to the channel.

Mountains of snow lined either side of Drydock. Traffic down there in the middle of the night was rare. I pointed out Jark’s unmistakable figure as he crossed the parking lot in front of the terminal and disappeared behind the building. Murdock drove down the street and stopped before we reached the access road. “Everything’s wide open from here. He’ll spot us if I make the turn.”

He stopped on the dock. I don’t see anyone else.

“He’s meeting someone,” I said.

You know, I’m burning alcohol here.

“Just so you know, Joe’s going to make us buy him drinks,” I said.

“It’ll be worth it if we can stop the Dead,” Murdock said.

“Famous last words, my friend. I’ve seen him drink.”

Car coming . . . black one . . . it’s stopping, and your guy got in.

Joe flashed into sight between us. “Damn, it’s cold out there. I’m sober again.”

I looked at Murdock. “I think that’s a hint.”

“Did you see inside the car, Joe?” Murdock asked.

He shook his head. “You want me to pop in and say hello?”

“Get as close as you can without being seen,” Murdock said

“This is sure making me thirsty,” he said, and vanished again.

“Oh, yes, this is going to be expensive,” I said.

Okay, I’m under the car . . . It’s warmer and less windy . . . I’m getting the berserker and a human . . . oh, hey!

Joe reappeared, annoyance across his face. “Okay, what’s the joke?”

I twisted in my seat. “What joke?”

“Why’d you pull me out of the bar to spy on the commissioner?”

I shifted my gaze to Murdock. He clenched his jaw. “What did you say?”

The annoyance vanished from Joe’s face as he picked up on the threat of anger in Murdock’s voice. “Murdock, your father’s in that car. This isn’t a joke?”

Murdock gripped the steering wheel, glaring out the window. He cleared his throat. “Joe, I want to know the minute Jark gets out of that car.”

Joe looked at me in a panic. I nodded, and he disappeared.

“Leo—” I said.

“Don’t talk,” he interrupted.

I closed my mouth so quickly, I heard my jaw snap. Murdock’s essence flickered a deep crimson. His face looked like stone as he stared up the access road. I don’t think I have ever felt more uncomfortable in his presence.

“We don’t know what this is, Leo,” I said quietly. And we didn’t. As much as the commissioner didn’t like me and I didn’t like him, he was still Leo’s father. He wasn’t above bending the rules, and when it came to the fey, he enjoyed it. But I wasn’t ready to make the leap to something more sinister, not without more information. Police used shadowy operatives for information all the time.

He’s leaving, Joe sent.

“Get out, Connor,” Murdock said.

“Leo, let’s leave. You can talk to him later.”

“Don’t make me ask again, please.”

His tone sent a chill down my spine. I opened the door as Joe appeared in the backseat. Apprehensive, he fluttered out the door. I leaned in again. “Call me, Leo.” He didn’t say anything. “Dammit, Leo, I’m only leaving because it’s your da. Say you’ll call me.”

He didn’t look at me. “I’ll call you.”

He pulled away and picked up speed as he turned onto the access road.

“Come on, Joe. Let’s go get a drink,” I said.

Before we walked away, Jark reappeared and watched Murdock pass him. He lingered on the corner, then continued toward me. Behind him, the commissioner’s car passed through the intersection, and Murdock followed it.

“What the hell is going on?” Joe said.

“I have no idea anymore,” I said.

Jark stopped a few feet from me. “You made a mistake following me.”

Joe hovered close to my shoulder, his hand gripped to his side where he hid his sword behind a glamour. “I don’t think so,” I said.

His gaze shifted to Joe. “Do you think that little thing can stop me from breaking your neck?”

The dark mass in my head shifted like a hand flexing its fingers. It hurt, but in an oddly pleasurable way. I stepped closer to Jark. “Who says I need him?”

Joe moved forward. “Connor . . .”

I held my hand up without taking my eyes off Jark. The dark mass shifted inside me, a warm flush spreading down to my right hand, a burning sensation that kicked my adrenaline into gear. “It’s okay, Joe. This could be interesting.”

Joe swung around behind me as Jark and I stared at each other. Despite knowing I was no physical match for a berserker, I wanted to wipe the sneer off his face the way Murdock had. The darkness pressed at me and made me feel it would be there at the right moment. I believed it, even if I didn’t know why. I wanted to hurt Jark.

Wind whipped with a low groan around the corner of the terminal. Jark’s body shields shimmered with deep green and oil-like swirls of black from his Taint infection. A part of my brain observed him change as he tapped his essence, the warning sign that he was going to go full berserker. Even without that, he was big enough to crush me without much effort. I wasn’t afraid. More than that—I didn’t care. The dark thing in my head prickled down my neck. It wanted Jark, too, and I wanted to see it happen. I lifted my right hand, palm up. A dark spot formed there, a black stain that spread across my skin. “Come on, Jark. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

His body flexed and grew as he set his feet in a fighting stance and clenched his fists. A growl sounded behind me, a feral threat I had never heard before from Joe. He landed on my neck and straddled my shoulder, his sword a thin blue flame in his hand.

Jark hesitated, with a look of fear. He stepped back.

With my hand held out, I took a step. “Not so sure of yourself all of sudden, Jark? Are you afraid? Murdock gave you one surprise tonight. Are you ready for another?”

He paled as a familiar essence resolved in place behind me. Uno padded in front of me, hackles up, his teeth bared in a snarl. He pressed Jark back, and they paced each other, step for step, as Jark kept his distance.

The darkness retracted. I shook my head to clear it, like I had awakened from a dream. An odd sensation of disappointment swept over me as Uno stood between me and Jark. The heat inside me subsided. I had no idea what I was thinking. I wasn’t going to fight Jark. Even if the dark mass could be controlled, I sure as hell didn’t know how to do it, no matter how much it wanted out.

Uno howled. It wasn’t directed at me, but chills ran up my arm anyway. The dark thing in my head withdrew, like a predator disappointed its prey was escaping. Uno crouched. Jark shouted, more an involuntary yelp, and ran toward the channel. Uno followed for a few feet, then stopped and barked at Jark’s retreating back. He turned and loped toward me.

Joe yanked on my collar as he hovered up. “Let’s go! Let’s go!”

I pushed him away. “It’s okay, Joe.”

He grappled with my hand. “Don’t you know what that is?”

Uno sat in the snow and sniffed the air. With a soft huff, he ducked to scratch his nose on the ground. He lifted his head, snow speckling his dark muzzle. He was suddenly the least threatening hellhound on the planet.

“It’s okay, Joe. I’d like you to meet Uno.”

Uno jumped and put his massive paws on my shoulders, woofing at Joe as if he understood what I said. I staggered under the weight as I dug my fingers into his thick fur and scratched.

A terrified smile froze on Joe’s face. He laughed nervously. With a flat, stiff hand, he patted Uno on the head. “Nice doggie.”

Uno dropped and rolled in the snow. I stared down the access road. Jark was nowhere to be seen. Murdock promised he’d call, and I had to let him play this out his way. I balled my hands in my pockets and started walking.

Joe fluttered around me. “That was kinda awesome. You should keep that dog. I mean, as long as it doesn’t suck your soul or something.”

“I can barely keep you in Oreos, Joe. I don’t think a dog would be a good idea for me.”

“Still. You could take it for walks and people would talk to you and be friendly and pretend not to notice you’re holding a bag of shite when you run into them. It’s a very civilized thing to have a dog.”

“I don’t think he’s that kind of dog, Joe. Let’s go find a drink.”

Joe flew around in front of me, throwing looks back at Uno. “Yeah, I need about a dozen.”