Unshapely Things

CHAPTER 7

I awoke without moving my body, my eyes fluttering open to stare at the ceiling. Lying in dim gray-white light, I slowly became aware of a subtle desire, like a mild withdrawal. In just a few short days of performing the morning invocation ritual, my body was already becoming synchronized with the dawn. It knew it wanted the pleasant sensation of light washing over it, sparking it awake with renewed energy. When I had first learned the ritual as a young boy, my body's essence took weeks to become attuned to the diurnal rhythm of the sun. Now, it was like resetting an alarm clock.

I rolled out of bed and stood before the window with my head bowed and arms crossed over my chest. As the disc of the sun pierced the horizon, its warm glow touched my forehead. Inhaling deeply, I raised my arms. I had forgotten how soothing the ritual felt, chanting the ancient Gaelic paean, waking my body with the stretching postures. I could not remember why I stopped doing it. I couldn't believe I had gotten to a point in my life where doing something so simple had become so inconsequential to me. As the sun climbed to sit momentarily on the edge of the horizon, I ended the chant in the final stance, head thrown back, arms down and out, with the light centered on my chest, the seat of my essence.

The reality that Tuesday had come again pressed itself upon me while I was under the water in the shower. The word beat at my mind, its innocent sounds colored with dread. Another week had passed since I had stood in a wet alley looking at a chest with a crater in it. Today, the cycle was likely to repeat. I dried myself off, picked up my coffee mug, and went into the study.

My first order of business was to call Murdock to see where we were with our decoy. He hadn't checked into the station house yet. It was still early. Rather than call his beeper or his house, I left a message for him. Thinking about the decoy reminded me that I wanted Tansy to observe the stakeout if she were willing. Pulling a glow bee out of me fridge, I held it tightly in my hand, feeling it come to life. It surprised me how quickly it responded. I sent it off to Joe with a message to find Tansy and meet me later in the day.

Before it got any later, I decided to place my calls to Europe. Working internationally usually meant east, which meant I had to make contact before noon. Otherwise, everyone would be going home for the day. I didn't expect the bad guys to accommodate my schedule.

The Avalon database had listed Cheryl Atworth, a human who had given birth to a boy named William, last reported in England. The father was a fairy. She would have been in the States in 1960, making her around sixty-five years old today. The Ward Guildhouse in London was a little sloppy with its paperwork, but since the fey were welcomed and admired in the British Isles, Atworth wasn't likely to hide her association with a former lover. That made my first call to Rory Dean, an old drinking buddy of mine from poorly remembered bacchanals in the early nineties. He definitely owed me a few favors, if not a few beers. After an interminable time wandering through the voice mail system, I finally got Rory's cheery voice informing me that he had gone to lunch. I left a message with what details I had, a plea to rush it, and a promise to visit.

Germany was another matter. The only people I knew there showed bare disdain for Americans, which is at least nicer than what they thought of the Brits and Irish. In the early part of the century, the dwarves and elves had formed the Teutonic Consortium and caused havoc. At the end of World War II, they cut a deal with Russia not to impede the final push into Berlin in exchange for northeastern Germany. When the Berlin Wall came down, a demilitarized fey zone went up next to the city where it abuts Consortium territory. Even now, one of the big issues of the Fey Summit was the constant skirmishing between the Teutonic Consortium and Maeve's fairy defender warriors. The elves routinely threatened to push the border back to France. Humans might have resolved a lot of their differences with the fall of the Soviets, but the fey still stared at each other, spears at the ready, always in danger of resuming their part of the war.

I really didn't have any contacts, but I had no doubt the Guildhouse would be able to find the two people I sought. Berlin kept careful track of fey folk. The fey folk were allowed a Guildhouse only on the condition of strict government oversight. Before the War, the fey had ignored the edict, but once atomic energy had been harnessed, the playing field had leveled, so they acceded to the more stringent demands.

The only details I had were names and dates. Gerda was in the States in and around 1948 and had a son named Gethin. Britt was here in 1972 and had given birth to a daughter she named Welfrey. Their surnames were given as Alfheim, which was just a general elf clan affiliation. The Berlin Guildhouse used a customer-service center that was derisively referred to as the informant center. Nondescript agents, many of them human and suspicious of everyone, took notes, gave no information, and occasionally actually called back. I knew the officious agent I snagged would complain that clan affiliations were scant detail at best, and he did. Still, as politely as possible, I gave him the names and dates, diplomatically asked for urgency, and supplied him with the case number and Murdock's name and my cell number to assure them it was an official investigation.

Frustrated, I wandered out to the Avenue and gazed at the shops, the pubs, and the stores. They were all familiar but, really, they changed every day. A little more wear or a fresh coat of paint. People frequented them, or never came again, or arrived for the first time. Yet I felt as though they were always the same, especially in the morning when everything was devoid of activity. The long street felt like a stage waiting for a play.

A large old woman sat on the curb wearing a ragged sweatshirt, her gray hair sprouting out from beneath a black woolen cap. She jiggled a worn paper coffee cup, making a meager jingling sound. She eyed me impassively as I came near. "Change for a truth! Change for a truth!" she said in rhythm with her shaking.

I paused, digging in my pocket. I wasn't so much looking for a truth as I was just willing to give her money. Normally, I ignored the pleas of street people. The Weird had too many of them, and if you frequented the neighborhood at all, they remembered and pestered you if you'd even once given them a dime. But it was early and I was feeling helpless over other things, so I dropped a couple of quarters in her cup. She glanced at them for a moment, then looked up at me with a huge gap-toothed smile. "Change," she said. "Yes," I said.

She shifted her bulk so she could lean against a newspaper box. "Change. There's your truth." She chuckled, then closed her eyes as though asleep.

I chuckled myself and continued on. Vaguely, I wondered if she were a failed druidess, one of those with no more talent than for one small thing, say, articulating simple truths, or if she were merely a beggar with a gimmick. Regardless, I knew from experience that change is not always good. Knowing how to make the best of it was what really mattered.

As I moved along, I came to the main stretch of the Avenue that was preparing for the Midsummer parade. Glittery cellophane suns topped old lampposts, which were bound one to the other with banners of frilly green plastic that was supposed to symbolize the new grass of summer. Any bare surface of building wall was layered with advertisements for parties and sales and the latest import bands that would be playing locally.

My cell phone vibrated gently against my hip, and I was amused at how similar it felt to a glow bee. It was Murdock.

"Have you found someone to use as bait?" I asked.

"Not yet. Don't you know any real fairies we could use?"

The answer to that question was both embarrassing and depressing. You never realize friendships are predicated on things like money and power until you lose them. "I have an idea. Can you meet me on the corner of Pittsburgh and the Avenue?"

"Fifteen minutes," he said, and hung up.

I was close to the corner, so I had to wait a long fifteen minutes before Murdock pulled up and I got in.

"What's your gut instinct — are you going to find someone?"

He frowned. "No."

"How about Robin?"

He shook his head. "No way. He's a civilian."

"He's perfect."

"He's a suspect," Murdock insisted.

"He's a minor suspect at best."

"Connor, I've told you before, minor turns into major."

We sat staring out the windshield. A full minute ticked by. "He's perfect," I repeated.

Murdock half turned in his seat to face me. "And what if he's the killer? What if we end up jeopardizing the case against him?"

"We won't. Perpetrators agree to help all the time. Besides, I don't think it's Robin. Shay's sketch was verified by Tansy."

"… who's an associate of a victim that Shay and Robin knew," Murdock said.

"Now you're being paranoid. Murdock, think about it. We have nothing else. We're stuck. If it is Robin, what better way to stop a murder than by having him wired and watched? It might even lead him to make a mistake by thinking he's not a suspect. And if he's not the killer, we may very well catch the person who is."

"Ruiz won't approve this."

"He doesn't have to know. You've already got the equipment. If nothing happens, just don't make a report. If something does, you're a hero."

"Damn," he muttered under his breath. He clenched his jaw and shook his head a few times while he mentally debated. He swiveled back in his seat and put the car in gear. I let out a sigh of relief when he turned down the alley where Shay and Robin lived. He stopped in front of the boarded-up door, and we got out.

He pulled the door open and strode down the dim hall. "Don't put that fuckin' light on," he shouted. When we reached the end, an angry-looking Robin opened the inside door. The room was a shambles. Clothes were strewn everywhere. One of the beds was shifted away from the wall. A small nightstand lay on its side. Shay knelt on the bed, leaning over a pile of clothes. He wore a blue chenille bathrobe, and his hair hung down to either side of his face, which was smeared with makeup. He plucked at the scattered clothing, folding it roughly. Robin leaned against the wall, wearing a pale green T-shirt and ripped baggy jeans. He folded his arms tightly against his chest and glared.

Murdock made a small show of looking around the room. Nonchalantly, he straightened a framed poster that had been knocked askew. "Are we interrupting something?"

Shay glanced up at us, then back to his folding. "Spring cleaning," he said. I could feel the anger radiating off him like the heat of a fire. If I closed my eyes, I would still feel him in the room and know he was there.

Murdock put a chair back on its feet and leaned on the back of it as he looked at Robin. "I have a proposition for you."

Robin shrugged. "I get those a lot."

"How'd you like to help catch the guy who did Gamelyn?"

Shay stopped what he was doing but didn't look up.

"What's in it for me?" Robin said.

"Don't you want to know what we want you to do first?" I asked.

A sneer played across his face. "Do I have a choice?"

"Everyone has a choice," I said.

"Maybe in your world, Connor Grey. Down here life's a little different."

"I live down here," I said.

He walked slowly toward me. In my peripheral vision, I could see Murdock casually move into a more defensive stance. I didn't move. Robin came within inches of me, staring coldly into my eyes. As my warding shields tried to activate, I fought down the autonomic response. I didn't want him to get the impression he was a threat. He brought his hand up and with one finger caressed the air over my cheek. "But does it ever touch you?" he said.

"We want you to act as a decoy," Murdock said, to break the silence.

Robin and I continued to stare into each other's eyes. Finally, he smirked and walked back to lean against the wall. "I thought this guy was into fairies."

"He is. You'll wear a glamour stone to fool him," I said.

"Like I said, what's in it for me?" he asked.

Shay swept up from the bed and stepped toward Robin. "Don't! You could get hurt!"

"Shut up, Shay!" Robin didn't take his eyes off Murdock.

"We'll have a wire on him the whole time, and we'll be right outside if anything happens," said Murdock.

Shay glared at him. "And what? This maniac will wait to stick him with a knife until you get there?"

"Shay, I said shut up," said Robin, moving away from him.

He turned away and began picking up clothes. "No, I won't shut up, Robin. I can't take any more of this. The fights. The fear. The risks. I came here to get away from that. I don't want any part of this." He sat on the bed facing the ransacked closet, his back toward us.

"What's in it for me?" Robin repeated quietly.

"We'll work that out when we need to."

He pursed his lips. "And if I don't do it?"

Murdock shrugged. "Same old, same old."

Robin smiled at me. "You were right. I do have a choice — between nothing and nothing. And no guarantee he won't breathe down my neck if I refuse." He cocked an eyebrow at me, waiting, but I didn't want to rise to his bait. He was too smart to believe any platitudes I could throw at him and too stupid to know he'd gotten to this point by his own choice.

"When do we do this?" he asked.

"Tonight," replied Murdock.

"Fine."

Shay made a strangled sound that could have been a sob or snarl. He bolted into the closet and yanked the curtain closed behind him.

Murdock and I went out into the alley and got in the car.

"I've got a call out to Joe Flit. I thought it'd help if we could get Tansy in on this," I said.

Murdock nodded. "How are we going to protect her?"

"She's a flit. She'll bug out if there's trouble," I said reassuringly.

"This better work, Connor."

I didn't respond. I had enough doubts about what I had started without voicing them to Murdock. He could still pull out.

"Can you do a little more background on Shay?" I asked.

"Yeah, I'm not busy," he said sarcastically.

"No, really. Something's not right. This is the second time I've gotten a funny vibe from him. He's definitely human. His essence is particularly strong. I can actually see the edges of his aura. He comes in regular contact with the fey, so that can heighten the effect on someone with such a strong essence."

"So what's the vibe?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "It's just gut reaction. The first time we talked to them, Shay wanted to help. Now he wants no part of this."

"Connor, you forget we're dealing with people on the wrong side of the law. They flip-flop all the time."

"Maybe you're right. Is he under surveillance?"

He pulled up in front of my building. "Since the day we saw him. Funny thing is, for a prostitute, he doesn't do much business. He's had only two suspected encounters, both at a hotel. The rest of the time, he's gone back home before the bars close."

I got out of the car. "Thanks, Murdock."

"I'll pick you up later," he said, and pulled away. Back in the apartment, I made another cup of coffee. After sitting in the mild carnage of Murdock's car, I surveyed my living room with fresh eyes. I decided another self-improvement project would be to clean up. At least the living room; the study would be asking too much. I needed all the discipline I could reinforce right now. I made up the futon and pushed it back into its couch position, picked up the magazines off the floor, put five used coffee mugs in the dishwasher, and walked around with the wastebasket, tossing out stray wrappers and junk mail. But the time I got the horizontal surfaces clear and dusted, I was feeling pretty satisfied with myself.

I dropped into the armchair, propped my feet up on the windowsill, and sipped cold coffee. I could not place what it was about Shay that bothered me. It certainly wasn't his androgyny. In a way, that fascinated me. Looking at Shay, I automatically found myself trying to sort him into a physical gender category, but his face and body simply refused. I could not resist the thought that someone less in control of their emotions would be angered by it, especially if they were questioning their own sexuality. He was both beautiful and handsome, feminine and masculine.

He seemed educated, which meant nothing. Even given his line of work, he wouldn't be the first nice, middle-class kid to hit the streets. Maybe Murdock was right. Maybe life in one of those suburbs with green lawns and white fences wasn't so nice to someone who didn't fit the Dick and Jane model. Lots of kids came down to the Weird. It was where the fey hung out, where the cool stuff happened. Most of them just visited though. Shay had stayed and somehow ended up with Robin. That was no mystery. It always helped to have a friend down here, especially someone bigger or stronger.

The fact that Shay didn't tell us he'd spoken to the killer disturbed me. The bartender at the Flitterbug mentioned him without any prompting from me, so I was willing to assume the information was reasonably reliable. I could not reconcile Shay's silence about it with his willingness to provide a police sketch. It didn't make sense. Either he would not tell us anything, or he'd give us everything. Whatever his behavior meant, it clearly indicated something more was happening with him than he was willing to let on. And that was something I was going to find out, whether he wanted me to or not.

Twilight came and left the sallow light of the city reflected in the underbelly of the overcast clouds. The beacons of the airport across the harbor burned smoldering red as planes flitted off into the gloom like metallic insects.

Rousing myself, I popped a frozen taco in the microwave. As I poured myself a glass of water, a voice behind me said, "Make that two."

I nearly dropped the glass as I spun around to find Stinkwort and Tansy hovering in the living room. "We've got to figure out a way for you to knock," I said.

Tansy gasped with delight and flew past me to the microwave. Placing both her hands on the window, she watched avidly as the taco revolved.

"Why? It's not like I'm going to interrupt a date," Joe said.

"Says you," I said, sipping my water. The microwave beeped, and Tansy wheeled back with a squeal of surprise.

I took the taco out and singed my fingers as I unwrapped it clumsily onto a plate. "We're going to lay a trap for the murderer. I'm hoping Tansy will help look for him."

At the sound of her name, she fluttered over to my plate and examined the taco. I offered her a bit of meat on the tip of my finger. She took it curiously, sniffed it several times, then flicked it onto the counter with a look of disgust. As I ate, Joe translated my request.

I could tell immediately Tansy wasn't thrilled with the idea. If possible, her face seemed to become even more pale. After an intense exchange too fast for me to follow, Joe turned to me, and said, "She'll do it, but only if I go with her."

"I was hoping you would anyway."

"Great. The way you keep throwing us together, we'll end up in bed by the end of the movie." He eyed Tansy speculatively. "Maybe I'll give her the ol' twirly-whirl for the hell of it."

"You're so crass."

He scoffed at me. "Yeah, right, like you're one of those Christian saints. I don't knock, remember?"

I laughed. "Actually, I think you've ruined more of my relationships than I have."

"Not that it keeps me busy," he said.

My door buzzer went off. "There's Murdock."

Murdock was in no better mood than when I had left him earlier. He even looked rumpled, which for him meant creases in his shirt and a slightly loosened tie. Tension flowed off Murdock in waves as Stinkwort and Tansy danced around in the backseat. We didn't speak on the ride over. I knew not to press him when he was that wound up. We parked the car in the alley as Tansy continued an incessant chatter. As far as I could tell, she seemed to have an overwhelming need to identify everything she saw. She managed to spot a car, a truck, and a tree several times.

We opened the boarded-up door and walked in. Shay nervously opened the inner door as we approached. He was dressed in a short red tunic with too many reflective beads and had pulled his hair up in a bun on top of his head. He looked like some kind of geisha flapper.

"You're late," Robin said from the other side of the room. He wore a plain green T-shirt with matching shorts, his hair wavy and falling loosely.

"Let's get the wire on," said Murdock. Wordlessly, Robin lifted his shirt. With practiced ease, Murdock taped the wire to his skin, and Robin slipped his shirt back down. Murdock nodded at me, and I removed the small wooden case that held the glamour.

The smooth hazelwood box almost felt like it was vibrating in my hand. I knew the sensation was the protection ward and not the stone. The whole point of the box was to contain and mask the stone. I snapped back the lid and drew out the glamour. It was a small clear crystal no more than an eighth inch round, set in a cheap gold circle and strung on a brown leather cord. As I held it up, it captured the light in the room and gathered it into a small pinpoint. I could feel fairy essence radiating off it as I handed it to Robin.

He gave it a cursory glance, then slipped it over his head. As he flicked his hair out from beneath the cord, Shay let out a small gasp. Robin seemed taller and more languid in the limbs. His lips, prone to a tight line of annoyance, had a more refined haughtiness. His eyes glittered with steely blue highlights and his hair flowed more luxuriantly over his shoulders. The final payoff, though, was the vague shimmer of silver wings that fanned from his back. He looked like a fairy with a mild ward hiding the full spectacle of his wings.

Tansy flew over to him and clasped a flowing tress of hair. "Pretty, pretty," she exclaimed.

Shay reached out and stroked Robin's hair. "You're beautiful," he whispered.

"I don't feel any different," he said.

"You shouldn't," I said.

Murdock looked at me. "Think it'll work?"

I nodded. "His human essence is there if I look for it, but he feels like a fairy. In a crowded bar, it'll work."

"What about when I leave the bar?" said Robin.

Murdock shook his head. "You won't. We just want you to play him, get us a description, then end it. We'll tail him from there."

"What about later? What if he comes after Robin?" asked Shay.

"I don't think he will. Without the glamour stone, he'll probably take no more notice of Robin again than he would me," I said. Shay looked dubious but said nothing.

We went out to Murdock's car. After much rearranging of the backseat, including a trip to a nearby dumpster, Shay and Robin got in the back. We made a slow circle around the block until we came to the Avenue. Sparse traffic filtered through the intersections, and we found a space about a half a block from the Flitterbug with a decent view of the entrance.

Murdock twisted in his seat to face the back. "Now listen, Robin. I want you to keep a running commentary. When you're alone, tell us what you see without drawing attention to yourself. When someone hits on you, I want you to work a description of them into the conversation without arousing suspicion. If someone other than Shay's description makes a play for you, get rid of him as quickly as possible."

"What do you want me to do?" Shay asked.

"Nothing. You stay right here. I want you to listen to the voices. You said you'd never forget his voice."

I could barely contain a smile at the look of shock on his face.

"No way! I'm your prime witness!"

"If you can identify him, he can identify you, and if he sees you first, he's gone before we know it. End of discussion."

Shay crossed his arms and slouched back in the seat. "This isn't even the right outfit for a backseat," he muttered.

Robin climbed out the back and walked toward the bar, with Stinkwort and Tansy fluttering above his head. As he reached the entrance, he hesitated just slightly, enough to make me surmise he was not as cocky as he seemed. "Can you hear me?" Robin said. His voice sounded muffled, but audible. Murdock gave the horn a quick toot, short enough for no one to be able to place the source. Robin nodded once and entered the bar. From the sudden loud music, I could picture him making his way across the dance floor. I hoped he had the brains to move away from the speakers. Even as the thought crossed my mind, the music receded into the background.

"Hey, what's up?" he said.

"I know you?" said someone I assumed was the bartender. I couldn't tell if it was the same one I had spoken to.

"That's Bern. He's an asshole," Shay said from the backseat.

"No. I'll just have some springwater," Robin said.

"I don't make no money on springwater," said Bern.

"Then throw some vodka in it," said Robin.

"I'm not reimbursing him for booze," Murdock said.

"Let's deal with it later," I said. Murdock can be too process-oriented sometimes.

We settled into an uncomfortable silence broken only by the filtered noise of the bar. Every time Shay fidgeted in the backseat, the beads on his tunic made little clicking sounds. Outside on me Avenue, a few cars listlessly circled me block as diough overcome by the humidity. Having a murderer on the loose finally seemed to be having an impact on the night crowd. That and the fact that it was a weeknight.

"Hey, good-looking, you must be, what, six-two? Three?" Robin said.

"How much?" a rough voice said.

"I said maybe six-two or — three," said Robin.

"That's not what I meant," me voice said.

"I know. You trolls are way too impatient. Where'd you get that scar? Bump your head under a bridge?" said Robin. Murdock actually chuckled.

"Fucking fairies, think you're always better than everyone," the troll said. Then he laughed. "Well, you're getting yours now, ain't ya?" There was a long silence with only bar static.

"Do you recognize the voice, Shay?" I asked.

Beads clinked in the backseat. "No, it definitely wasn't a troll I saw. Don't you think I know what a troll looks like?" As if on cue, the troll swore again and left.

"He smelled like Roquefort cheese, too," Robin muttered.

"Only when they don't wash their hands," I said, knowing he couldn't hear me.

The hours crept by. As the evening wore on, more men hit on Robin with less and less originality. I had forgotten how dull stakeouts can be. The only relief came from Robin's caustic comments to prospective customers. The boy did know how to make people go away. He was also quite adept at getting us descriptions without arousing suspicion. Most of those who approached him were human. Only one elf though, probably looking to get off on a little interspecies animosity.

"This is boring," Shay said.

"I thought you were worried it would be dangerous," I said.

"I am. I just never thought danger could get boring."

"I was wondering, Shay, if you heard this guy's voice so clearly because he might have talked to you."

There was a long silence. "No. I would remember, wouldn't I? I only remember hearing him because I was standing next to Gamelyn when they hooked up."

Something about the sound of his voice made me turn and look at him. He had his head cocked to the side, a faraway look in his eyes as he gazed out the window. "I would remember," he said again, though to me or himself, I couldn't tell.

"Hey, get a load of this," Murdock said, bringing my attention back to the street.

A fairy strode down the sidewalk in full glory, her huge gossamer wings fanning out behind like great silver veils. She wore the traditional green frock of the lower classes, an almost ridiculous costume with the obvious power she had. Her lush red hair swirled around her head as if animate, an illusion made all the more by the tiny flits that hovered around her. Flits love a flashy fairy.

Shay snorted from the backseat. "Now that is slumming."

The fairy reached the front of the Flitterbug and stopped. As she turned to enter, I saw her face in the reflected glow of the streetlight. A flush of heat swept over me as I felt instant anger. Keeva.

"What the hell does she think she's doing?" I clawed at the door handle.

Horns blared as I cut across traffic. Even as I hit the sidewalk on the other side, Keeva's presence was having an effect. She'd been made as a Guild agent, or at least someone looking to make trouble. Patrons were practically running out of the bar. I muscled my way through the door and was bombarded with music and more people. Inside, I felt overwhelmed by the reek of essence colored by sex, anger, despair, and a little amusement. More people pushed their way out. I could see Keeva on the far side of the dance floor.

I rushed over to her and grabbed her arm. She spun toward me, pulling her arm away, her eyes glowing with white power. My body shields came up so fast, I felt a knife blade of pain in my forehead. The air crackled with energy. Several people around us stumbled away in fear.

"Knock it off, Keeva," I said.

The light in her eyes dimmed when she recognized me, but they remained bright with anger. She wrenched her arm away. "Don't touch me."

I could see Robin at the end of the bar in a cluster of anxious-looking customers. Stinkwort appeared behind Keeva, his face set with suspicion. The way he held his arm across his waist told me he was grasping the hilt of the sword he occasionally wore hidden by a glamour. I hoped his skills matched his determination.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I said.

"Working. Get out before you ruin everything," she said.

"Or what? I'll blow your cover? You might as well have come in here with a siren on your head."

"Get out of the way now, or I'll have you charged with interfering."

I leaned over to her so no one else could hear. "You're interfering. I've got something working in here."

She arched an eyebrow at me, then threw a glance over her shoulder. Stinkwort smiled grimly at her. She returned the smile and looked back at me. "Let's talk," she said. She pushed by me and strode toward the door.

Stinkwort flew in closer. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah. Thanks for the backup." I looked to the end of the bar. Robin was leaning in to hear someone next to him. "How's things back there?"

"Robin's a right fine prick. He's been teasing along some old guy for the last ten minutes."

I scanned the nearly empty bar. "Hang by the door while I talk to Keeva."

He followed me back across the dance floor and paused by the door while I continued out. Keeva stood about thirty feet away, her hands clamped on her hips.

"Were you trying to scare everyone off?" I said as I came up to her.

She smiled. "Actually, yes. I told you. I'm working a missing person."

"You have a funny way of doing it. You just wrecked my stakeout."

"How I operate is not your business. And you didn't file a stakeout."

She had me. Murdock was going to kill me if she reported our surveillance. "How I operate is not your business," I repeated back at her, desperately trying to think around the situation.

We stood glaring at each other.

"So, it looks like both our operations are blown," I said.

She poked me hard in the chest. "Thanks to you."

I took a few breams to calm down. "Blame isn't the point now."

"You just interfered with a Guild operation," she said.

"And you just checked the morning operations sheet without bothering to see if it was updated. Never mind the fact that the cheapest rent-boy would have spotted me sitting in a darkened car. You didn't even look around." The first part was a bluff. The P.D. didn't always let everyone know an operation was going down. Keeva had little use for the human police, so I hoped she wouldn't know that.

She narrowed her eyes at me. "Your point?"

"We're both going to look bad." I held my breath, hoping she'd take the bait. If I knew anything about Keeva macNeve, it was that she hated to look like she'd failed.

Her face became stony as her cheeks flushed red. "What are you proposing?"

I slowly exhaled and spread my hands in a gesture of reasonability. "We both report that our operations were unsuccessful. Nothing more."

I could almost see her mind whirling with options. "I won't be obligated to you," she said.

"If we both report nothing happened, it's done with. Quid pro quo."

"Fine, but you have to report all your future operations to me directly."

I shook my head with a smile. "Quid pro quo."

"Bastard."

"I miss you, too." She began to say something, then paused as she looked over my shoulder. Murdock pulled up to the curb. He leaned over and opened the door, then popped the passenger seat forward. Shay angrily climbed out.

Murdock waved me over. "Get in. It just came over the scanner. They've got someone in custody. It might be our man."

I exchanged one brief startled look with Keeva before jumping into the car. Murdock goosed his siren as he pulled a U-turn. Stinkwort popped up in the small space between the dashboard and me rearview mirror. Startled, Murdock hit the brakes. Stinkwort banged against the windshield and fell onto the dash.

"Nice reflexes," he said, rubbing his head.

"Sorry, Joe." He hit the gas again.

Stinkwort stumbled back. "What the hell is going on?"

"Someone was taken into custody," I said.

"Does this mean the babysitting job is over?" he asked.

"Yeah, tell Robin and Shay to call it a night," I said.

"And make sure they understand to go home. I'll be there bright and early," said Murdock.

Stinkwort rolled his eyes and blinked out.

"Who caught him?" I asked as Murdock wove through traffic.

"Don't know." His voice sounded tight. Murdock didn't like getting caught out of the loop, especially on his own case.

We pulled up in front of the district headquarters. Uniforms were all over the sidewalk. Murdock parked in front of a hydrant, and we got out. Rushing up the steps, most of the cops hanging around had that keen look as they tried to scrutinize every movement around them. They wanted to be in the know as much as anyone, even if me victims were people they could care less about.

Inside the vestibule, Murdock stopped short. Keeva held the inside door open for him, a slim smile on her face. "How the hell'd you get here?" he said.

"You may have noticed I have wings, Detective," she said.

Murdock threw me a dubious glance, but I nodded back at him. Fairy wings may seem too insubstantial to carry someone in flight, and, if it were simply a matter of aerodynamics and muscle, it is impossible. The wings functioned as elaborate airfoils for the manipulation of essence. Fairies can move pretty damn fast when they want to. Flits were even faster.

We entered the dingy foyer, where the desk sergeant sat behind bulletproof glass. He buzzed us through a door to the right of his cage as soon as he recognized Murdock. We proceeded through the door and down a short hall into the relative calm of the back offices. Plainclothes detectives lingered at their desks pretending to work. Given their frequent glances to the closed door at the end of the room, it wasn't hard to tell where the action was. Murdock walked briskly past and knocked and opened the door at the same time.

Inside the narrow darkened room, a number of people stood peering through a two-way glass. In the room beyond, a large disheveled man sat at a cigarette-scarred table, his arms wrapped around his chest as he rocked slowly back and forth. His head was shaved, and several bruises made a mottled dark track along one side of his face. The only other occupant of the room was a uniform standing in a corner as far away as possible. Through the tinny speaker, we could hear muttering. "I didn't mean it. I didn't mean it. I didn't mean it," over and over again.

A strange sensation settled over me. Time felt suspended in the darkened room as the man kept up his rhythmic rocking. His eyes looked unfocused. I could feel his essence, relatively strong, and I could imagine him having the physical ability to overpower a fairy. With appropriate apparatus, he might even be able to overcome a fey's other abilities, assuming he knew what he was doing and wasn't as disoriented as this guy seemed to be. I tried to figure out who in the room was throwing out the vibes, but it was hard to tell in such tight quarters.

"Captain's waiting for you," someone said, breaking the moment. Murdock jerked his head at me to follow. Keeva and I filed out behind him. As we walked back through the squad room, I noticed a fairy sitting by himself in the far corner, his dark blond hair in a tangle, the red tunic he wore rent in several places. Tears stained trails through the thick makeup on his face.

The plainclothes detectives did not even bother pretending to work anymore but watched us with various degrees of bemusement and even contempt. Something was not right. As we neared the captain's office, a powerful wave of essence hit me in the face, one I knew instantly. The door opened as an assistant came out, and we pressed into another small room.

Emilio Ruiz, captain of Area B, needlessly waved us in. By Murdock's account, Ruiz was a stand-up kind of guy, by the book for the most part. He had risen through the ranks to captain and seemed content to leave it at that. Ruiz just did his job, overlooked the occasional transgression, and stayed out of politics. Which is why I felt sorry for him since two of the biggest political players in the city had decided to take up positions around his desk.

Sitting with his back to us, I recognized Commissioner Scott Murdock, Murdock's father. The commissioner cocked his head to see who had entered. He was a big man, easily my height, with the same dark eyes as his son. Age had not softened him, and he could still turn heads, with his high cheekbones and gray-streaked hair swept back from the hairline. As far as I could tell, he didn't like me much.

To the left of the desk stood the person whose essence I recognized: Lorcan macDuin, the Guild's Community Liaison Officer. He was exceedingly tall, often a sign of royal stock back in the old country. He wore his pale blond hair in an intricate braid that hung straight down to his waist. As was his usual, he wore an impeccably tailored black suit over a black turtleneck that made him seem even thinner than he was. A small ripple in the air about his shoulders indicated the glamour that hid his wings. He nodded once at Keeva and seemed not to have noticed Murdock or me. From experience, there was no question he didn't like me.

The commissioner gestured with his hand. "Continue, Lorcan."

MacDuin had not moved at all. His piercing green eyes shifted to me and Murdock before he spoke. "As I was saying, the Guild would be more than happy to take the suspect into custody. I insist on it. There are many curious aspects to this case that our expertise will no doubt clarify."

"Can someone bring me up to speed here?" Murdock interrupted.

There was a pregnant pause while no one spoke. I felt a little like a kid who had intruded on the adults. It was Ruiz who decided to fill us in. "Director macDuin apprehended the suspect in the act of attempting to murder a prostitute in an alley off Congress and brought him here. We were just deciding jurisdiction."

"If I may, sir, but given that the perpetrator's human, isn't it pretty clear he's ours?" Murdock said.

Ruiz glanced a bit uncomfortably at the commissioner. "On the one hand, yes. On the other, the apprehending agent is a Guild member."

Turning my head slightly to peer past the edge of the window blind that separated Ruiz's office from the squad, I could see the profile of the disheveled victim. He hadn't moved, apparently, except to smooth his hair back over his ears. As I brought my attention back into the office, I noticed Keeva make an amateurish attempt at not looking like she was watching me.

"The Guild generally only takes cases they have officially participated in," Murdock said.

MacDuin looked incredibly bored. "As I was saying to the commissioner, Detective, in the interest of calming the public, the Guild would be pleased to bring this murderer to justice for his crimes against our people." The scorn in his voice practically puddled on the floor.

Murdock looked at him in surprise. "You think this is the guy that's been killing fairies?"

MacDuin pinched his lips together. "He is."

Murdock jutted his chin out, nodding. "An entire department has been on alert for a week looking for this guy, and you happened to be walking by and catch him in the act. Nice move."

"Murdock…" Ruiz said warningly. I was mildly surprised at his tone myself. Murdock could be a little needling sometimes, but even I thought he was on thin ice mocking a Guild director in front of his bosses.

Murdock smiled his best apologetic smile. "Sorry, sir. This thing's had me a bit on edge."

"Why do you think this human could possibly have done the murders?" I asked. As soon as I said it, I realized how arrogant it must have sounded. "No offense to present company," I added quickly.

MacDuin gave me a measured look, much like he was trying to decide whether to swat me or not. "That is precisely why the Guild should take over the investigation. I am very curious as to how a person with no abilities has managed to overcome several fey, Mr. Grey."

"Your victim's beaten up. That's out of character for our perpetrator," I said.

MacDuin nodded. "There was a tussle in the apprehension."

"No, I think Connor's right," said Murdock. "This doesn't fit. The only other witness we've had was purely accidental. The perpetrator we're seeking knows how to do his work out of sight. It's no secret we have a composite sketch, so I think he'd be even more careful now. I think we have a copycat here."

MacDuin leaned forward and fished a clear plastic bag off Ruiz's desk. He laid it carefully on a stack of papers. Inside the bag was a black round stone. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but few people outside this room know about this."

We stared at the bag. Murdock looked at me, and I shrugged.

The commissioner stirred in his seat. "I take it by all the silence that this stone has been held back?" Murdock nodded. The commissioner rubbed his eyes. "Let's split the baby for now. Lorcan, you take the victim, interview him, whatever. Just don't lose him. We'll hold the suspect for now while I decide the best course."

"I must protest, Commissioner," macDuin said.

The commissioner stood and offered his hand. "I know you must, Lorcan. But it's late, and I'm tired, and we'll all feel better in the light of day. Perhaps we can continue this discussion before our meeting tomorrow?"

For a moment, it looked like macDuin wasn't going to shake hands. He nodded finally and shook. "We'll speak in the morning then." He waved his hand at the door. "Keeva, if you will help me escort the victim."

She opened the door, and they left. As I turned back to Murdock, I saw the commissioner give him a sly wink.

"Thank you for your help, Connor," the commissioner said, offering his hand to me. The man did know how to dismiss someone graciously.

"It was good to see you again, sir," I said. I gave Murdock a quick glance and closed the door behind me. Everyone looked up as I walked through the squad room, but I ignored them. Pushing open the front door of the building, I caught up with macDuin and Keeva and their charge.

"Good catch, Lorcan," I said.

"Thank you," he said, studiously looking away from me up the street.

I sidled up next to him. "I mean, like Murdock said, it was a lucky thing you came along when you did."

"Yes." He still wouldn't look at me.

"So, Lorcan, what were you doing in the Weird this time of night?"

He finally looked at me. "Since you are a former member of the Guild, Connor, I will do you the courtesy of telling you that I was monitoring an operation. And that's the last question I'll answer this evening."

Keeva stepped between us. "Connor, why don't I call you tomorrow? We can wrap up the file."

A long black limo pulled up to the curb. They stood waiting for the driver to get out and open the door. Lorcan and Keeva slipped into the backseat, the two of them sitting like statues. The prostitute and the driver stood uncertainly facing each other. I touched the victim lightly on the elbow as I guided him toward the door.

I leaned forward so macDuin could see me, barely holding back a smile. "Interesting hair color on your victim, Lorcan. When I was at the Guild, we did this little thing called profiling. Things like all the victims having the same hair color. I'd've noticed all the victims were light blonds. Not dark."

MacDuin shot me a look that could have curdled milk.

The driver trotted back around the car, jumped in, and pulled away. I watched until the taillights disappeared around a corner. I walked back to Murdock's car and dropped into the passenger seat. None of the uniforms bothered me. They were used to seeing me and obviously figured Murdock would be okay with me sitting in his car. Otherwise, you don't touch a cop's car without getting a good poke with a stick. I sat staring through the dirty windshield, trying to figure out what the hell had just happened.

I didn't have to wait long for Murdock. He came flying out of the station house, started the car before he was barely in it, and tore down the street. I didn't say a word as he weaved through traffic. After several startling turns, he pulled up in front of my building and turned off the engine. We sat listening to a small pinging noise from under the hood.

"What was that all about with you and your father's wink?"

He shrugged. "It's a game we play. Whenever the Guild's in the room, he likes to give them a hard time. Only because of his position, he doesn't want to look biased. So, he uses me to rag on them."

"He doesn't like the fey much."

Murdock laughed. "No, he just doesn't like you."

"Thanks."

Murdock smirked. "Look at it from his point of view. The fey cause him more trouble than anything else. The Guild dumps all kinds of cases on an overloaded police department. Then, when it looks like we might actually have a chance of nailing a big fat fey fish, the Guild pulls rank and takes the case away. So, no, the fey aren't his favorite people."

I shifted uncomfortably on the seat. "This guy might be a xeno gang member, but there's simply no way he could have done it. A human might get away with it once, but after the first or second murder, everyone's been on their toes. Between Tansy and the bartender at the Flitterbug, we know our guy's got a strong essence, and it definitely is not that mental case rocking in a cell. And the victim's all wrong. Hair's too dark. I didn't smell any alcohol. I got a good whiff of his essence, too. I'm willing to bet he's never been in the Weird until tonight."

"You can tell that?"

I shrugged. "Sometimes. You spend enough time in one place, you pick up some ambient essence. The Weird has so many fey in it, you can definitely tell if someone lives or works here."

Murdock exhaled loudly. "Why is the Guild suddenly so interested?"

I shook my head. "I've seen Keeva twice in less than a week. That's no coincidence. They're hiding something."

"Do you think it might be a rogue Guild agent?"

"It's a possibility, though I think I would have heard rumor of it by now. Keeva and macDuin are quite keen about reputation. They may hate each other, but they hate looking bad more."

Murdock rubbed his hands roughly over his face. "Well, let's call it a night. There'll be a press conference tomorrow."

I got out of the car and stretched. The sky was beginning to lighten. Murdock was up way past his bedtime. I rested my hand on the roof of the car as he started it. Murdock leaned across the passenger seat and gave me a significant look. "There's only one problem with all this, Connor. It's Tuesday, and we don't have a dead body. So, where's our guy?"

I shook my head. "Maybe we drove him underground. Or maybe we just haven't found the body."

I didn't watch him drive off. I was too exhausted to walk up the stairs, so I took the interminable elevator ride. Once inside the apartment, I stripped down and fell back onto the futon without bothering to open it.

I knew I was missing something. Keeva might have been reading the police reports, but I was handling the evidence, touching it, sleeping with it. Our occasionally friendly competition aside, I couldn't figure how she could have got a jump on me and just appeared at the Flitterbug. And macDuin's being in the neighborhood was too convenient. It was possible he was there with Keeva at some point. Their so-called murderer had to be a frame job. With a pang of depression at the thought, I knew one way I might find out. I settled deeper into the pillows, contemplating how I would handle being back inside the Guildhouse.