Unquiet Dreams

Chapter 8

The Internet is an addictive beast, a trail of crumbs leading not home but deeper into the forest. It’s much like the druidic path in that respect. You start off with a purpose, and if you stay focused, you achieve your reward. But if you are distracted or dazzled along the way, you find yourself on untrodden routes to nowhere of interest except to yourself.

I managed to research a fair amount on macGoren before venturing off into the wilds of the Web. He hadn’t been in the States very long by fey standards, but he certainly had been active. In less than ten years, he had acquired sizable tracts of real estate around the city. His appointment to the Guild board seemed to be the culmination of some very well placed connections, both human and fey, as well as a driving ambition to lead. Not all that unusual for a Danann fairy. Being born and raised in a monarchial society tends to have some obvious nurture ramifications.

Despite his lack of disclosure, I didn’t have to think too hard about Manus ap Eagan’s desire for knowledge about macGoren. While it might be easy to say the Guild runs power plays, it’s more true that power plays run the Guild. Information always, under all circumstances, is key to how you play, and macGoren was a new player with little local history to discern motives and abilities. Eagan wanted an ally on the board. That he be a willing one or a blackmailed one was a footnote.

As far as I could tell, macGoren was not worth the worry. Yet, anyway. He seemed to be playing a straightforward Danann game: show up with shiny wings, woo the right fey, and toss the right amount of money at human normals. If I had to guess, he could be a contender for Eagan someday, but that day was still far off. Eagan’s own machinations had a half-century head start.

The latest potential rung in macGoren’s climb was a development company known as Seacorp. MacGoren had collected a group of local wheeler-dealers to spearhead economic projects for the city, and some had gotten it into their heads that some nice big buildings on the harbor would be just the ticket. That the site happened to be the Tangle was a minor impediment if the attendance at investor presentations was any indication. When people talked about cleaning up the city, the Weird was the first place to be mentioned, and most had the Tangle in mind. MacGoren was just playing local politics.

MacGoren’s latest kick seemed to be to run dinner galas as charity fundraisers. In reality, they’re promo and networking events designed to attract investors for Seacorp. Normally, you need an invitation to one of these things, but I’d gone to enough of them in the past to know how to bluff my way in. MacGoren had one of his parties scheduled for this evening, and I intended to be an unexpected guest.

But first, I checked my watch to be sure I would be at the Guildhouse in time for the directors’ meeting. No sense irritating the movers and shakers when I was just getting in on a technicality. Besides, I do not have a reputation for being punctual, so showing up ready and on time would throw anyone who expected less.

I admit I fussed about dressing, finally deciding that going upscale might benefit me in the long run with the board. Deep purple and black vertically striped dress shirt in silk, black medium-weight wool pants, no pleats. Black dress boots. Two-button jacket. The October sun was warm enough that I didn’t have to hide it all under a coat. It might have been two seasons old from when I had the money to burn, but it was all classic enough that not everyone would know.

I actually arrived early, did the same security dance from the previous day, and slipped into an elevator with almost a half hour to spare. The executive offices of the Guildhouse sit one flight up from my old office. Like any top management office suite, the rarefied and static atmosphere allows corporate leadership to function in unnatural silence. At this level, the floors were circular, and I padded around the thickly carpeted curve of the hallway to the boardroom in the center. The Guildhouse décor amplifies the dull sensation with its vaulted stone ceilings and its sound-deadening ancient tapestries hung along the corridors. All contrived, of course. The building went up in the sixties, so the choice of stone was intended to evoke history and grandeur. So it was easy to hear the angry voices before I even reached the door. Despite being early, I had managed to arrive late for an argument.

On one side of the boardroom table, Gerin Cuthbern gripped his staff with a gnarled hand. As High Druid of the Bosnemeton, he automatically had a seat on the Guildhouse board. Pinpoints of white light flickered in his eyes, something I had seen occasionally and was always glad that they weren’t directed at me. Which, apparently, did not seem to prevent a tall elven woman from getting right up in his face.

“I will not stand for it, Gerin,” the woman said.

Nigel Martin stood at the far end of the room, a cell phone pressed to his ear. He seemed to be paying more attention to his caller than the argument, which I knew was unlikely. Nigel never missed a thing.

“The Guild does have rules. I’m sure the Consortium can appreciate that,” Gerin said. His voice dripped with reasonableness, which I’m sure was not the main topic of conversation.

Opposite them, Ryan macGoren lounged idly against the wall, with his arms crossed and a bemused expression on his face. I recognized him immediately from my research, the wavy blond hair, aquiline features, and rippling wings in full display. Danann fairies in general are not prone to modesty, and he was no exception. You could feel the air of privilege about him.

“Do not even think it. You know Alvud never anticipated this,” the elven woman said.

Not wanting to step into the argument, I sidled along the table and stood next to macGoren. He caught my eye and smirked. Without moving his body, the fairy slipped a languid hand out from the crook of his arm and offered it to me. “Ryan macGoren. Pleased to meet you finally.” He spoke in full voice, as if the argument wasn’t happening five feet away.

I shook his hand, wondering about the “finally” part of his hello. “Connor Grey.”

He shifted his attention back to the woman and smiled. “The grieving widow,” he stage-whispered.

Eorla Kruge—the Marchgrafin, if I remembered her Teutonic monarchial title correctly—certainly was a fine-looking woman. She wore her ebony hair in a silvered mesh, and her large, almond-shaped eyes held an intelligence that only the Old Ones have, eyes that have seen much in years human normals cannot even conceive. She wore a body-hugging dark green velvet business suit embroidered with silver and black leaves. Rings glittered on her hands, some plain bands of silver or gold, and others of emeralds and black sapphires. She resonated Power like a fuel cell. And she was pissed as hell.

“Eorla, you know the seat isn’t hereditary. The Guild is an elective body,” said Gerin.

The argument fell into place for me instantly. Eorla wanted to sit on the board. I couldn’t blame her. I had wanted to do the same. Usually, someone has to die before any real turnover happens. Of course, if she thought that like I did, I’m sure she wasn’t hoping it would be her husband.

“This is ridiculous, Gerin. You know you can’t have a Guild board without Teutonic representation. How is that going to appear?” Eorla said.

“It will appear as the charter intends. We elect someone. We have other members that can represent your interests for now,” he said.

She thrust her finger at him. “Who haven’t even shown up for this meeting, and that is beside the point. Alvud and I have worked years for fey unity, and part of that is showing the world the fey can work together. You can’t do that without an elf visibly active on the board.”

Gerin had not changed his expression since I walked in, like he was patiently waiting for Eorla simply to agree with him. “And where are the dwarf directors and the representative for the solitary fey, Eorla? Manus invited them. I find it interesting that your allies choose this time to embarrass the board. How is that unity, Eorla?”

She pulled her hand back as if to strike him, then caught herself. “Do not dare to mock me, Gerin. You know this board needs the leadership I can provide.”

Nigel closed his cell and strolled over. “I think we’ve covered this point several times now. Can we bring a more civil tone to the discussion?”

Eorla whirled on him. “Civil? Don’t think I didn’t hear every word Manus ap Eagan said to you. You tell him that ‘the elf bitch’ will be sitting at this table whether he likes it or not.”

Nigel put on his placating face, which I had seen work in more than one situation where he wanted to get his way. “The Guildmaster is not feeling well, Eorla. He spoke out of turn. I will speak to him about that, but right now we need to remember why we are here.”

Eorla wasn’t buying it. She drew herself up and threw back her head. “I know exactly why I am here, Nigel. If this vote goes through, I will bring Maeve into it.”

Nigel narrowed his eyes. “That’s a sharp and narrow bridge to walk, Eorla. Don’t depend on the High Queen to bow to your wishes again.”

Eorla moved a threatening step closer to him. “So that’s what this is about, is it? You and Gerin are angry that I persuaded Maeve to compromise at the Fey Summit last spring? I wasn’t the only voice against you, Nigel, and some of them were Danann.”

Here was the Guild dance of words and political revenge in full flower. As a member of the royal family, Eorla had high rank in the Teutonic Consortium. Last spring, the Seelie Court and the Consortium had held a Fey Summit to try to resolve their differences. On the surface it was about whether the fey should work together to figure out how to return to Faerie. In reality, it was military strategizing. Many Celtic fey—Nigel among them—wanted to increase the fairy warriors guarding the demilitarized zone outside the Consortium territory in Germany. Eorla brokered a deal with Maeve that if she didn’t send the warriors, she’d convince the Elven King to back off his expansion threats. The Seelie Court is packed with Danann fairies who agree with her. So far, it’s worked. The scuttlebutt is that Nigel didn’t think it was a good idea. But then, Nigel has never trusted the Consortium.

Nigel smiled at her. “And while Maeve compromised, a Consortium operative staged a terrorist attack not four miles from here. Despite her actions afterward, Maeve’s reputation was damaged among her own people. Do not think she will risk more for these compromises of yours.”

Eorla’s eyes shone as rage flowed off her in waves. If I hadn’t been in a room with some of the most powerful fey in Boston, I would have been looking for the exit. As it was, my head started ringing with all the ambient essence. My sensing ability even kicked in a little.

When she spoke, Eorla had dropped her voice to a cutting edge. “That is a dangerous lie, Nigel Martin. That terrorist was not a Consortium operative. If you tell that tale to smear my people, you will get more than you bargain for.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Is that a threat?”

She smiled at him. “I was counseling kings and queens long before you were even born, Nigel. I don’t need to threaten. You may have Maeve’s ear on occasion, but so do I. Do not forget that the treaty made at Tara is only a start. But I have something you don’t: Donor Elfenkonig’s ear, too. You may think this Guildhouse is not important enough for me to use that influence, but you would be wrong, Nigel.”

“Please, Eorla, I am only asking that we follow the rule of law,” Gerin said.

She turned her head toward him. “Where was your precious rule of law when my husband was murdered, Gerin? You couldn’t even provide him with proper security. There is rot in this city, and the Guild must root it out instead of playing these druid games.”

Nigel folded his hands in front of himself. “We will take your concerns under advisement, Eorla. But now, this meeting, for directors only, must commence.”

She stared at Nigel for a long moment. With exacting slowness, she pivoted to Gerin, gave him an eyeful, and strode to the door. She paused. “There are those among the fey who prefer this constant strife. I do not. Continue down this path of division, gentlemen, and you will answer to me.”

MacGoren made sure to wait long enough for her to be gone before he applauded.

Gerin sighed heavily, lowering himself into a chair. “She will be a problem.”

MacGoren scoffed. “Oh, let her have the damned seat. It’s not like we allow the Teuts any real power.”

Several eyes shifted toward me, and away. Nigel cleared his throat. “Yes, well, I wouldn’t put it that way, Ryan. Perhaps we should table the motion. We do not need to rush the decision.”

Gerin leaned forward. “What better time to speak to Kruge’s ideals than now, when attention is focused here? We have a quorum, let’s install someone with whom we can work, Eorla’s wishes be damned. She’ll tire and go back home soon enough without Alvud here.”

“Grey’s only an acting director,” said macGoren.

Gerin waved him off. “Alternates can vote on any matter.”

“Except directorships,” I said. Gerin shot me a look that would have curdled cat’s milk. I shrugged. “What? I looked it up when Briallen made me her alternate.”

Nigel smiled. “Interesting. Even when she isn’t present, Briallen manages to insert herself. No matter, I cannot vote for Manus in any case.”

Gerin thrust himself up from his chair. “You planned this, Nigel, to make me the fool.”

“My dear Gerin, weren’t you just talking about rules?” He said it pleasantly, but only a fool wouldn’t hear the bite in Nigel’s voice.

“I will speak to Manus about this, Nigel. This is an opportunity squandered,” Gerin said. He leaned on his staff and left the room.

Nigel followed after more slowly, glancing at me as he neared the door. “How accidentally useful you can be, Connor,” he said as he left.

I could feel heat in my face. He knew damned well he could have said that in a sending. Disappointment in me was one thing, but publicly embarrassing me in front of macGoren was purposeful. I needed to clear the air with him.

Ryan regarded me, his great wings undulating around him, shots of gold glimmering among the veining. Powerful. One of the more powerful Dananns I had met in a long, long time. “A druid with no ability trips up the plans of the Guild. The Wheel turns most peculiarly.”

I gave macGoren a half smile. I was just a pawn in this little board game, and he had to know it. Nigel knew Gerin needed a quorum to vote for a new director, and he knew damned well I couldn’t vote as an alternate. He must have let Gerin think he was getting what he wanted—a Guild board packed with Celtic fey—only to pull the rug out from under him at the last minute. Games. Always games.

“That was a short meeting,” I said.

MacGoren rolled his eyes with a bored look. “It was supposed to be to agree on a condolence statement to the Consortium. Gerin and Eorla decided to turn it into a snit just before you arrived.”

I pulled a chair out and sat. “Is it always this pleasant?” I asked.

Ryan laughed. “This had to be the most pointless meeting yet, which is saying a lot. You were a nice surprise. Briallen seems to have thrown you into the pit. She must not like you. Evil, evil woman.” He broke into a wide grin in case I wasn’t getting the message he was joking.

“I’m sure she never expected me to need to fill in,” I said.

He pursed his lips with a smirk. “Hmmm. Briallen sees much and tells little.”

“Why the big deal about Eorla?” I asked. “Her husband was a director here, and she’s no slouch from what I hear.”

“Nigel despises Eorla. Gerin is not impressed with anyone who isn’t a druid.”

“Ryan?” a voice said behind me. Keeva stood in the doorway. A curious look traveled across her face as she took in the scene of me sitting in the boardroom, talking with macGoren.

“Ah, there you are. I told you the meeting was going to be short,” he said. He walked over to her, slipped his arm around her waist, and kissed her quickly on the temple. I sighed mentally. Any hope that macGoren and I would become friendly went out the window. Now I knew why Manus asked me to investigate him instead of going to Keeva.

“I believe you know Keeva?” he said.

I looked at her over his shoulder. “Of course. We used to be partners.”

Ryan macGoren smiled at her. “It’s great working with her.”

“I remember it well,” I said. You could have frozen water with the smile Keeva gave me.

“You shouldn’t be wandering around the building, Connor,” she said.

“I told you, sweet, we were just finishing up the board meeting. That’s why I called for you,” said macGoren.

Keeva looked from me to macGoren. “He was at the board meeting?”

I couldn’t resist a smug look. “I’m an acting director, Keeva. Let me know if I can help you with anything,” I said.

The entire day had been worth it for the expression that came over her face. Keeva and I had an unspoken competition, one that hadn’t died even when I was booted from the Guild. I have to confess a certain pleasure that she was apparently only dating a director while I had a pass that said I was one. It felt petty, yet satisfying.

She pointedly looked away from me. “I can’t leave right now, Ryan. I have a few more things to do before tonight.”

He casually ran his hand down her arm, clasping her hand and kissing it. “Of course, my dear, duty calls. If you need to meet me at the gala later, that’s fine.” At that, Keeva regained her usual composure.

MacGoren leaned toward me conspiratorially. “We’ll be back here, Grey. They will want to continue their game. The fun will start if the dwarf director shows up. The best part is watching them fight over the director for the solitary fey. Everyone hates her, but they want her vote.”

I sighed. “That’s the problem with this place. Too many sides.”

He laughed again. That laugh was getting irritating. “I always pick the same side, Grey. My own.” With a brief nod, he escorted Keeva out.

I made my own way to the elevator. I just wanted out. Off the floor. Out of the Guildhouse. When I was with the Guild—playing the game, tracking the players, manipulating the nuances of relationships—it all made sense. It even felt important. I even liked it. But now, sitting in that boardroom had felt like running into a discarded lover. I could not for the life of me understand the appeal. I could say power. That certainly motivated me. But that meeting seemed a lot more about spite and petty vindictiveness. If only it all meant something real, and things would change for the better. But they wouldn’t. No matter who got a seat at that particular table, it’s always the same show, different channel.

I found it all sad, though. A man dies and his colleagues—even his wife—start to squabble over his corpse. Not pretty, but very Guild. I’m sure there had been a fight over who got my stapler after they kicked me out of my office. I noticed it was missing.

Now I had my own little games to figure out. Nigel’s behavior irritated and confused me. I had trusted him with my life, yet now I wondered if that had been misplaced. My lack of ability did not matter to Briallen. She could have changed her designation of alternate anytime in the last two years, but she didn’t. She could have done it because she saw this coming or because she thought I would regain my abilities. Either way, it showed she still had confidence in me. And she was trying to help me heal. Nigel had not approached me in the entire time since my accident, and he now brushed me off as if I were some novice trying to get his attention.

Then there was Ryan macGoren. Between the company he was keeping and his overfriendliness, he had to have some agenda. If he were with Keeva, she had to have mentioned me to him. And yet he tried hard to ingratiate himself with me when I knew damned well she probably had little nice to say about me.

I kicked myself for annoying Gerin Cuthbern. The High Druid of Boston was not someone to be trifled with, and I had managed to block his plans. Eorla would have found the legal loophole against him eventually, but by then Gerin would have had the upper hand if she had to come out swinging against an installed director.

I laughed. All these years, I had wanted inside that boardroom. In less than twenty minutes, I had managed to irritate one director, get insulted by another, be ignored by a third, and be befriended by one I wouldn’t trust out of my sight. Whatever possessed me to want a piece of that action stumped me now. With any luck, I wouldn’t have to deal with any of them again.

But I knew my luck.