Mark Del Franco: Unfallen Dead

Briallen slipped her arm around his waist and pulled him into the room. “Connor, this is Dylan macBain. Dylan, this is-”

He stretched out his hand. “We know each other, Auntie Bree.”

From the look on Briallen’s face, she hadn’t known.

“Good to see you.” I shook his hand. He hadn’t changed a bit since I had last seen him, still young-looking, dark brown curls snug on his head, dark eyes against pale skin.

Briallen looked from one to the other of us. “How the hell do you two know each other?”

Dylan kissed her temple. “Connor and I used to work together in New York.”

Briallen dropped on her stool while Dylan poured himself wine. “I can’t believe I didn’t know that.”

I smirked at her. “I guess we all have things we still don’t know about each other.”

She threw me a grudging smile. “Touché.”

I looked back at Dylan. “What brings you to Boston?”

He helped himself to some bread as he sat down. “Work. I’ve been asked to fill in as field director at the Guild.”

“Keeva macNeve must not be happy about that.” Keeva was the Guild’s Community Liaison Officer for Community Affairs, which everyone knew was a polite title for Director of Investigations. It was Keeva’s job to run field investigations.

Dylan shrugged. “She’s on suspension while the hearings are going on.”

I helped myself to another beer. The Guild leadership was a mess. A crazy druid had tried to grab Power at Forest Hills Cemetery and almost succeeded in destroying the fey. Maybe even the world. It was the Guild’s job to keep stuff like that from happening. Instead, Keeva and a lot of other people who should have realized what was going on fell into his trap. “Keeva almost died. I know for a fact she didn’t know what she was doing.”

Briallen and Dylan exchanged looks. Briallen pulled an envelope from her pocket and slid it to me across the counter. “I was going to give this to you later, Connor. High Queen Maeve is not happy about what happened here. The Guild wants to talk to you.”

I recognized the form letter. I skipped the legal mumbo jumbo and went right to the point:

You are hereby ordered to appear before the inquiry board regarding the events at Forest Hills Cemetery in and around October 1 of this year. Advocacy can be arranged if so desired.

By order of our hand and seal,

Ceridwen, Queen of Faerie

Special Director of Internal Investigations

I let the letter fall to the counter. “Maeve must be pissed if she sent an underQueen.”

Briallen tilted her head down and eyed me from under her brow. “It’s not a good time to antagonize anyone, Connor.”

I splayed my hand against my chest. “Me? I wouldn’t think of it.”

“You’ve had problems with the Guild?” Dylan asked.

I laughed. “I guess you can say neither I nor the Guild is each other’s biggest fan at the moment.”

Briallen rolled her eyes. “Boy, did you just hit a long-running argument, Dylan.” She ladled stew for all of us.

I nodded. “I help the Boston P.D. investigate fey issues the Guild ignores. They ignore a lot.” Which was true. The Guild was supposed to handle all fey-related crime. Any fey species that manipulated essence — fairies, druids, elves, and anyone else who can trace themselves back to Faerie — was supposed to fall under Guild jurisdiction. In reality, though, the Guild ignored anything that didn’t score them political points, especially if it happened in the Weird.

“I remember someone who thought the Guild was the best thing that ever happened to him,” said Dylan.

I played with the moisture rings my bottle left on the counter. “A lot has changed since New York.”

No one spoke. I refused to look up at Dylan. Dylan and I had some uncomfortable history. We both almost died on a mission, and I handled the aftermath less than nobly, at Dylan’s expense. It’s one of those things I regret from the time that I thought more about myself than about anyone else. It’s been on my list of things to fix someday, but I thought I’d get to decide when. I was wrong. Again.

Briallen looked back and forth between us as she placed bowls on the counter. She sat back onto her stool and lifted a spoon. “Have either of you ever been to the Orient?”

And with that, the conversation lightened. Gathered around Briallen’s table, sharing stories and laughs, felt good. Many people I assumed were friends — real friends — had abandoned me after my accident. It was comforting to enjoy a conversation with people whom I had real history with.

After dessert, Briallen cleared a few dishes, at which point Dylan and I both started doing the same. Apparently when he lived with her, he had been given the same chores I was. Briallen watched us jockeying for position at the sink. “Why don’t the two of you go up to the parlor while I clean up?”

Amused, we made our way to the second floor. In the parlor, a small blue fire burned in the grate as it always did. Dylan sat in one of the overstuffed chairs. I went to the window overlooking the backyard. The garden had died off with the cooling weather. The oak tree had dropped most of its leaves, and wind had scattered them to the edges of the small space. The still fountain near the back wall sat cold and uninviting.

“You look good,” Dylan said.

I didn’t answer right away. I could make out his reflection in the glass in front of me, wavy and blurred. Without looking at him, I crossed to a small table and poured three glasses of tawny port. I handed one to him. As our eyes met, I could see that ten years had not dimmed the issue between us.

I took the chair opposite him, leaving Briallen’s favorite seat between us. “You seem to have done well.”

Dylan gave me a thin smile. “Nice weather we’re having.”

I sipped the port. “I’m not sure if there’s a storm on the horizon.”

He swirled his glass, watching the light reflect flashes of gold. “No. It’s clear. Everything’s clear.”

“You’re sure?”

He met my eyes. “Ten years is a long time, Connor. The past is past.”

I considered a moment. “I can leave it at that.”

He extended his glass. “To friendship, then.”

I clinked my glass against his. “Friendship.”

“That’s a nice sentiment,” Briallen said as she came in. She lifted the glass I had poured for her and tapped ours as well. She settled in the chair between us. “Dylan’s working on the Met robbery.”

Dylan looked at me. “I have never been able to surprise her, have you?”

I shook my head. “I gave up long ago.”

He settled back. “Yes, the Met robbery. Someone stole several artifacts from the Celtic Faerie collection.”

“Why are you doing footwork for the Met?” I asked.

He stretched his legs out toward the fire. “Someone volunteered the Guild’s help because sometimes a pretty trinket is more than a pretty trinket.”

“Someone?” I asked.

Dylan shrugged. “I didn’t ask, but word did come from above. The Seelie Court’s been very nervous about genuine Faerie objects going missing.”

I frowned. “I can’t imagine something powerful enough to worry the Seelie Court would be lying around in the New York Met.”

Briallen shifted more comfortably in her chair. “You’d be amazed at the things that ended up in museums in the early part of last century. Lots of fey had no understanding of where Convergence had brought them, and they sold things off on a promise.”

Convergence. Depending on whether you were human or fey, Convergence was a blessing or a curse. When the worlds of Faerie and modern reality converged more than a century ago, the old world order in both places disappeared, and we’ve been trying to live together ever since.