Mark Del Franco - Unfallen Dead

He gave me a twisted smile and walked to the elevator.

“Someone’s annoyed,” Dylan said.

“Just because he knows how things work doesn’t mean he has to be happy about it.”

“Like it’s my fault,” Dylan said.

“If you’re not part of the solution…” I left the rest of it hanging. I didn’t want to get into it with him. Dylan had a Guild mind-set, one I knew well. We’d argue about it at some point, but right then I had only one thing on my mind. “When are you going to release Meryl?”

“You shouldn’t be here without Detective Murdock. Let me show you out.” By the tone of his voice, he was talking for the guards’ benefit. Which meant he didn’t trust them.

He pulled me away from the agents. “I need to play that carefully, Con. It’s going to take us a while to discredit Powell’s story about Meryl. Ceridwen won’t let her go easily.”

A wave of anger made me feel hot. “You have an innocent person locked up, Dyl, and you want me to wait while you play politics?”

He squeezed my arm. “Don’t be dense, Connor. If we don’t clear Meryl the right way, Ceridwen will find another excuse to hold her.”

I steadied my breathing to calm myself. “What can you do, then?”

He dropped his hand. “We’re missing something. I think it’s time we went back to square one.”

“The Met robbery,” I said.

“It happened before both the murders and the Guild robbery. It was the start of whatever her plan is. Let’s look at the file again.”

The elevator doors opened on an empty Community Liaisons floor. Sundown was the traditional time for Samhain dinner, so the staff left early. Even so, Dylan closed the door to his office.

Files and evidence bags covered the desk. Dylan flipped open a folder and removed the insurance photos of the stolen Met items: the three fibulae, the torc, and the ring. With his usual tidiness, he lined them up by age of item. “They span centuries. The ring is fourth-century Saxon, and the torc is sixth-century Norse. The three brooches are all fairy circa fifth century, but from three different clans.”

I leaned over the desk for a closer look. “There’s no connection over that time period. They could be purposely random to hide the one item she really wanted.”

Dylan slid the ring photo out of the line. “Okay, let’s pull the Saxon ring. Its value is in its antiquity. The Teutonic Consortium would never let a true ring of power sit in a museum without making some claim to it.”

I had already dismissed the torc and ring as irrelevant. They were used to entice Belgor, which Dylan didn’t know. Powell was smart. She wouldn’t have risked losing them if her plans went wrong. The fact that she did lose the torc and hadn’t tried to retrieve it was proof enough. I wondered about the ring, though. Belgor mentioned it was part of his payment yet not where it ended up the night he was attacked. He probably still had it, a nice antique that would be easier to off-load than the torc. Of course, I couldn’t tell Dylan all that. Not yet. Old partner and former Guild agent I may be, but at the moment I had the torc in my kitchen. Ceridwen would relish charging me with obstructing a Guild investigation and possession of stolen property.

I pushed the photo aside. “Let’s pull the torc for the same reason.”

That left the three fibulae — an apple tree, a mistletoe branch, and a horned serpent. Mystic symbols of life and the afterlife. A thrill of realization swept over me. “Put them back, Dylan. Put all of them back.”

He lined up the photos again.

I tapped each photo in turn as I talked. “They are all connected. The ring is an ouroboros — a guardian of eternal life — and it matches up with the horned-serpent brooch, which is a symbol of Cernunnos, the lord of the life cycle. The torc is another Cernunnos symbol — the sign of rule over the life cycle. The mistletoe and the apple tree are talismans to the land of the dead, which is also the land of the ever-living. It’s all circular. She’s trying to make some connection between life and death.”

I crossed my arms in triumph. “I don’t believe a word she says, but I think she was telling the truth about Viten. She misses her boyfriend. She was trying to get into TirNaNog through any means she could except killing herself.”

Dylan nodded slowly and pointed. “The apple-tree brooch. It must be a real silver branch that will grant her passage if the veil thins.”

“That’s the obvious one. The mistletoe and the serpent could be genuine, too.”

Dylan leaned back in his chair. “What about the dagger from the Guild storeroom? She stole it — twice.”

“That, my friend, she specifically wanted for some reason. It’s not connected to the museum pieces in any way I know. Powell knows something about it we don’t.”

He looked skeptical. “She’s not going to tell us.”

Dylan was using the ward stone from Powell’s jacket as a paperweight on a pile of notes. I hefted it in my hand and put as much evil in my grin as I could. “I know someone who knows more about ancient artifacts than the two of us combined. You have her locked up.”

Dylan closed his eyes melodramatically. “Why do I have the feeling this is going to be trouble?”

Amused, I shrugged. “Trouble’s Meryl’s other main forte.”

The door to the cell room opened with a groan. On the bed, Meryl lounged, reading a book propped against her knees. Without looking up, she held out her index finger and continued reading. Dylan and I waited until she closed the book and dropped it on the bed. “Hey, guys, what’s up?”

“It’s a breakout,” I said.

She swung her feet to the floor. “Can we wait until after dinner? I ordered the lobster.”

Dylan shook his head. “You are an odd person.”

She grinned at him. “That never gets old.”

I showed her the quartz warding stone. “Look familiar?”

She grabbed it. “My amplifier! Where the hell did you find it?”

“Rhonda Powell. She was using it to impersonate you.”

Meryl passed the stone back and forth between her hands. “I can’t believe I bought that bitch lunch.”

“It has your essence all over it. Powell used it to get into the Viten evidence room. That’s why it looked like you opened the door.”

“We have her in custody,” Dylan said.

Meryl scrunched up her face and closed one eye. “Does this mean I can’t have the lobster?”

I took the chair nearest the bed. “The Guild insists on it. Dylan thinks he should wait to release you until Powell’s discredited.”

She pursed her lips, then blinked a few times. “Okay.”

That threw me. “Okay? Meryl, it’s ridiculous.”

Indifferent, she stretched back on the bed. “I’m getting paid while I sit here and read, Grey. It’s even better than jury duty because they feed me and the food is good. Did I mention I ordered lobster for dinner?”

“Odd, odd person,” Dylan muttered.

While Dylan spread the museum photos on the table, I explained the setup at the Ardman townhouse that had led to Powell’s capture.

“I hate to say it, but Keeva does know her shit,” said Meryl.

I laughed. “You should have seen Powell’s face when Keeva crushed the fake soul stone.”

Despite his discomfort with the way Keeva handled Powell, amusement crept onto Dylan’s face. “I did get a little satisfaction at that. But it was more satisfying seeing the look on Ardman’s face when I gave her soul back.”

Meryl looked impressed. “You know how soul stones work?”

He shrugged modestly. “It’s an old interest.”

I pulled a chair to the table. “Anyway, Meryl, since you are being paid as you say, maybe you can earn some of it and get yourself out of here.”