Unperfect Souls

38

A high-pitched tone rang in my head. The dark mass smoldered inside me, a shrunken mote of heat. I lifted my face from hard, ribbed pavement. Pushing myself up, I tamped down my sensing ability to soften its raw sensitivity, but its physical aspects—the nerve endings in my nose and eyes—throbbed with pain.

A hard, cold wind swept up the channel. Black smoke rolled down Old Northern Avenue, obscuring the neighborhood. A tank lay on its side. Another was embedded in the wall of a building. The rest were spread along the sides of the street as if they had been dropped like toys from a child’s hand.

Behind me, dozens of bodies lay scattered on the bridge—fairies, brownies, dwarves, elves, druids—even solitaries and the Dead. Their essence guttered inside them like wind-torn candles.

I had done that.

My stomach clenched as I swept them with my sensing ability. Not dead. Depleted, but not dead. I hadn’t killed them. The fact that I could have and not given it a second thought when I released the darkness left me with a coldness that had nothing to do with the wind.

Bergin Vize stood, holding his scorched cloak closed with one hand. A burn mark across his knuckles left a red slash that set off the dead black ring he wore. He stared, wet and filthy, a faint light glittering in his eyes. “What were you hoping to accomplish by this?”

“Justice, Vize. And your death,” I said.

He murmured a long, low chuckle. “As usual, Grey, you make the rules to suit you, while claiming I transgress by doing so. How convenient for you. How just.”

I grabbed him by the front of his cloak. “Do you really think this is the moment to mock me, Vize? Do you have any idea what you caused here?”

He laughed, and I shoved him away. He had no idea and never would. People stirred around us. At the far end of the bridge, Ryan macGoren rose in the air on white-shot wings. He surveyed the damage with a blanched look on his face. For all his talk, I don’t think he had the guts to deal with the reality of being a Guildmaster. He floated down and landed beside Bastian Frye. As they approached me and Vize, Brokke disentangled himself from a pile of bodies and followed.

“You should have turned yourself in,” macGoren said. He had the gall to look annoyed.

“Really? Would that have stopped you from blowing up the power plant?” I said.

His glance slipped to Bastian Frye and away. “The Dead did that.”

I gave him the coldest smile I knew how. “Stick to that story, macGoren. I’m betting not enough people involved died despite your best efforts. They will talk.”

Danann security agents appeared in the sky above us and settled down beside macGoren. He gestured at Vize and me. “Take them into custody,” he said.

Frye held up his hand. “The Consortium has an interest in these men as well.”

MacGoren bowed his head with a smile. “My agents are here now, Bastian. We can sort it out later.”

Frye returned the smile. “I believe I am more than capable of handling two damaged fey folk.”

Brokke gazed off into the distance, a bemused smile on his face. “Wind’s changing.”

Frye shifted his eyes to the dwarf, then followed his line of sight to something behind me. The wind had swung around, pushing the smoke to the west away from the burning buildings. Down on the Avenue, a lone figure moved within the gray haze. With her head high and determined, Eorla strode out of the smoke, her essence shimmering a brilliant, pure evergreen. The wind shifted farther to the south, and the fire smoke retreated up the Avenue. More figures appeared behind Eorla, shadowed silhouettes in all shapes and sizes. Eorla threw her hands out as she continued walking, and she sent a surge of essence swirling through the air. A gale rushed off the channel and down the Avenue. The last of the smoke lifted and billowed away, revealing thousands of fey filling the street and the air above it. The Weird was on the march. The Dead and the solitaires, purged of the Taint, moved forward in united purpose.

Eorla reached the bridge and paused between me and Vize. She had changed on some fundamental level. Bright pinpoints of light glittered in her eyes, and her skin gleamed a translucent green. When I had first met her, I thought her power impressive. Now, she radiated essence like no one I had ever met.

“These men are under my protection,” she said.

A slight smile creased Frye’s lips, while macGoren shifted uncertainly on his feet. Frye bowed and swept his hand toward the far end of the bridge. “I have a car, Your Highness. Allow me to take charge of them.”

Eorla gave him a cold smile. “You mistake me, Bastian. I am granting them free passage. They are free to go by my authority.”

The smile slipped from his face. “Your Highness?”

She thrust her arm back. “Do you see what is behind me? That is failure, gentlemen, and I will no longer tolerate it. Do you see all those people? They are under my protection, too. All of them. Any transgression against them shall be a transgression against me.”

Frye came forward with his hand held out. “Your Highness, you are not yourself.”

White light filled Eorla’s eyes. “Step no closer, Bastian. I am more myself than ever. I claim these people. Do you hear me? Withdraw the Guild and Consortium forces and your human lackeys, or I will unleash a fury that will shake the thrones of the High Queen of Tara and the Elven King.”

“You would incite the Consortium to war against us?” macGoren asked.

Eorla shook her head. “No, Guildsman. Hear me, both of you, and hear me well. I send this message to High Queen Maeve and Donor Elfenkonig: You have failed. You face a new Court. Hear my words and know fear: Eorla Elvendottir shall not abide either of your courts any longer.”

MacGoren narrowed his eyes at her. “Be reasonable, Eorla. Look at that rabble. They can barely stand. Do you think you can withstand my forces?”

Eorla tucked her chin and glanced over her shoulder. “Like so many others, you underestimate me, Danann.

Look beyond what you see. Set your sights a little higher. I have.”

Someone appeared on the roof of the nearest building. As he stepped up on the high cornice of the building, Rand lifted a bow strung with flaming green elf-shot. One by one, other archers joined him, flanking him to either side along the roof. More appeared on other buildings until rooflines all around us bristled with elven soldiers wearing the house insignias of Kruge and Elvendottir.

“Cross me at your peril,” Eorla said. She pivoted on her heel and strode back into the Weird. Vize didn’t hesitate to follow. I stared at macGoren, flanked by his security agents. True shock and fear showed in his eyes. There was nothing left to say. I walked away.

At the end of the bridge, Eorla waited with Vize. “I am not Maeve or Donor. The old ways are gone. I reject any claim either of you may have of me and make none of you. I have granted you free passage for today. Use it as you see fit and may the Wheel of the World turn in your favor.”

She proceeded alone down the Avenue, a tall flame of power. As she approached the gathered crowd, they sank to their knees, rank upon rank bowing before her. All save one. Zev continued walking toward me, carrying Meryl’s limp body.

Vize smirked at me. “How’s it feel to be a fugitive?”

I punched him in the face.

I leaned my forehead against the cold window, watching the snow swirl into drifts along the riverbank. The flakes fell like pale moths against the dark, a world of white against black blurring to gray. The heart monitor beeped behind me, a soft, regular rhythm that was at once reassuring because it existed and worrisome because it was needed. My breath steamed against window, obscuring my darkened image. A flash of pink in the room reflected in the mirrored surface. Joe hovered over the bed.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said to my back.

I moved to the side of the bed. “It’s okay. It doesn’t matter.”

He frowned. “Of course, it matters. Did you think it didn’t matter when you were in the same position? You heard me when I was here then. I know you did.”

I slipped my hand into Meryl’s. “I don’t remember.”

“Course you don’t. We don’t remember things. We remember making it through things. So will she.”

“Gillen Yor says it’s not a coma,” I said.

Joe knelt on the pillow by Meryl’s head and placed his hands on her forehead. “No, it’s not. She’s not here.”

“Don’t say that,” I said.

He rose from the bed, hovering next to me. “Talk to her. She will hear you even if she doesn’t answer.”

I leaned my head next to hers, feeling her warm cheek against mine, her breath a soft touch on my skin. Her hair—her crazy fiery red hair—smelled like apple blossoms. I brought my lips to her ear. “Come back. Please.”

I slid my lips to her forehead and kissed her there, long and soft.

“We have to go. The shift change is almost over,” said Joe.

I tapped Meryl’s nose. Joe blipped out as I opened the room door.

The outside hall was empty. Gillen Yor was keeping the security guard occupied at the far end near the nurses’ station. I’ll let you know any change, he sent.

I strolled away in the opposite direction and entered the back stairwell, where Keeva waited for me. I handed her the white lab coat I was wearing.

“Thank you for this,” I said.

She flicked her eyebrow dismissively. “By the time anyone notices the gap in the watch schedule, I’ll be in Tara claiming hormone surges must have affected my organizational skills.”

“They’re going to bury it, aren’t they?” I asked.

She nodded. “It’s already happening. Cashel and the commissioner went rogue. That’s the official story.”

“Did macGoren know? Did you?”

She pursed her lips. “I won’t speak for Ryan, but, no, I didn’t know.”

I could have said something sarcastic about her sleeping with macGoren. It would have been justified, but inappropriate. I didn’t always understand Keeva’s motivations, but right then, she was doing me a big favor. I let it pass.

I glanced down and smiled at her swollen abdomen. “I never said congratulations.”

“No, you didn’t. In fact, I believe you said I had a parasite. But, thank you,” she said.

“How come you didn’t want anyone to know?”

She didn’t answer immediately, looking at me for a long moment as if deciding what to share. “Dananns don’t have children often. It was bad enough Ryan had me on desk duty because he was worried about my health. I didn’t want him trying to keep me from working altogether.”

“You two have a strange relationship, you know that?” I asked.

She rolled her eyes. “I think that’s an insult coming from you.”

I laughed, and she shared a grudging smile. “Are you—both of you—going to be all right?” I asked.

She nodded. “The energies at Tara will restore me. Gillen says the baby is undisturbed, but I need rest to make it through the birth.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know what I was doing.”

She shook her head. “You never do. Get going before the next shift arrives.”

I saluted her as I hurried down the stairs, my footsteps ringing hollowly as I descended. At the bottom of the stairwell, I peered out the exit door to the garage. Nothing out of the ordinary except Murdock’s car parked near the door. I slipped into the passenger seat, and he pulled away as the late shift of Danann agents flew past.

“No change,” I said.

“A lot’s changed,” he said.

We spiraled up the garage ramp and into the night. The callies had kept their storm going for a week, a blizzard the likes of which Boston had never seen. The city plowed the streets enough to maintain basic services, but almost everything had shut down to wait out the storm. It was Eorla’s gift to the mayor, a way to confine everyone inside and calm the situation without guns or essence-fire.

From where I sat, I couldn’t see the heavy abrasions on Murdock’s left cheek and forehead. He looked like the man I always knew. He looked like Murdock, not the crazed guy who had beaten a Dead guy to death. The berserker was in a holding cell at the Consortium consulate. Eorla had turned his body over to Bastian before it regenerated. They were no longer strict allies, but that didn’t mean they didn’t have mutual enemies.

“I should have killed him,” I said.

“It wouldn’t have mattered,” he said.

The car fishtailed down the off-ramp of the elevated highway. Momentum built as the grade steepened. We swung side to side in a growing arc, inching closer and closer to the guardrails on either side. I grabbed the dashboard as Murdock worked the steering wheel like a carnival ride. The view out the windshield became a blur of gray and white as the understructure of the highway whipped past. At the bottom of the ramp, the car shuddered and spun wildly, bouncing on the surface road. Murdock hit the brake. The wheels locked and we did a long, frenetic slide into an intersection. The car stopped beneath a flashing red traffic light. We stared at empty streets, mounds of snow surrounding us.

“Wouldn’t be funny if we died in a car accident?” Murdock said. I stared at him slack-jawed as he laughed. When he saw the look on my face, he laughed harder. I laughed, too. We weren’t wrapped around a pole, and he was right. It was damned funny.

He eased his foot onto the accelerator and turned down Old Northern. Just short of the bridge, the Boston police and Guild and Consortium security manned a checkpoint. We passed them without incident. Murdock stopped at the bridge.

I didn’t move. “Do you blame me for what happened, Leo?”

For a long moment, he watched the snow coating the twisted beams of the bridge. “I don’t know how to answer that. If it wasn’t for you, it wouldn’t have happened, but that’s like saying it’s your fault. I don’t think I can go that far.”

I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. “I don’t know how you don’t hate me.”

He sighed heavily and ran his fingers lightly over the steering wheel. “You know what’s the hardest part of being a Catholic, Connor? Forgiveness. If I can’t forgive other people, I can never forgive myself. That’s something the fey don’t get.”

Everything about the fey was about winning and revenge and our own brand of justice. Nothing was ever forgotten. Nothing was ever let go. How did you know the point beyond which justice became revenge? How did you forgive the intentional infliction of pain or the needless loss of life? How did you forgive the unforgivable, especially when the failings were your own? The fey had all these rules for getting along, but they always ended up being the cause for resentment and injury instead of the cure. And yet, despite a history of wasted lives and failed happiness, we still strove to make the world a better place. But in the end, we’re flawed—all of us, even the humans. We were all unperfect souls doomed to error. Maybe that was the point. Maybe it was that flaw that made us want more for ourselves, to want to change ourselves into something better. Murdock was right. The fey didn’t know how to forgive, and the humans weren’t much better at it. And, maybe, we needed to learn before we could build something better.

“So,” I said. “Who are you sleeping with?”

He laughed, a natural laugh, the laugh of the Leonard Murdock I knew. “Get out of the car, Connor.”

I grinned and gave him a light punch on the shoulder. He’d tell me eventually.

“Thanks, Leo,” I said. He didn’t respond as I got out of the car. He never says good-bye.

I walked across the bridge. Vitniri clung to the intersecting beams above, watching and howling as I passed. Other fey watched, too, hidden and alert, waiting for the Guild or the Consortium or the humans to make a move.

Uno materialized at my side and accompanied me down Sleeper Street, his dark bulk pressing against my leg. I let my hand trail through his thick fur. Next to the door to my apartment building, the Hound leaned against the wall, his cloak wrapped tightly around him and his hood pulled down to hide his face.

With a languid movement, he tossed something at me. I reached out and snatched it from the air. A shoe. Murdock’s shoe, in fact. “Tell Murdock I couldn’t find it sooner,” he said.

He crouched and whistled. Uno bounded toward him like a puppy. The Hound scratched him roughly under the neck. “He was supposed to protect Shay, but I guess he had his own ideas,” he said.

As I approached, his essence resolved more clearly in my sensing ability, confirming what I had sensed the night of the riots. “He did protect him. Just like you did, Robyn. I’m sorry I didn’t do the same for you,” I said.

Robyn stood and waved his hand at the dog. Uno danced backwards from him, then sat next to me. Robyn shifted his hood back, revealing his face. He looked the same, but the angry punk who protected his boyfriend from the dangers of the Weird had been replaced by a confident young man. Shay would be proud. “My death wasn’t your fault, Grey,” he said. “I was stupid. In the end, it was the best thing to happen to me. I’m not on drugs anymore, and I’m better than I ever was.”

“I don’t understand how you ended up in TirNaNog,” I said.

He shrugged. “The glamour stone I was wearing when I died fused with my essence. At least, that’s what my friend Alvud thinks.”

“Alvud Kruge?”

Robyn cocked his head. “Yeah, did you know him?”

I shook my head. “Never met him. I wish I had, though.”

Robyn pulled the hood up again. “He’s cool. He didn’t want to come through the veil on Samhain. He said the living have enough trouble without the Dead haunting them.”

“Is that why you haven’t told Shay you’re here?”

He wrapped his scarf around his face. “I wanted to know he was okay. I didn’t know I’d get stuck here. If the veil lifts, I don’t want to hurt him again by leaving. I came to ask you not to say anything.”

“I won’t, but he feels bad that you were angry with each other when you died. You might think about that.”

His face was unreadable behind the scarf. “I will.” He walked away, his green cloak fluttering in the wind, and faded from view as the snow fell around him.

People failed. It was what people did best. We tried and tried and tried to do the right thing, even when it was the wrong thing to do. I failed. I thought of Vize, and a knot of anger formed in my chest. He believed he was doing the right thing. What he failed to see was that anarchy wasn’t the solution to Maeve or even Donor. The world was a bigger place than the squabbles of two decaying monarchies. Something new had to happen. Maybe that was what Eorla was trying to accomplish. Or maybe she would end up creating another mess. But whether it was Vize or Eorla, or Maeve or Donor, the Wheel of the World would keep turning as It willed.

All of it was one as far as I was concerned.