Mark Del Franco - Uncertain Allies

“It’s not a trap,” Briallen said. Her expression held a touch of uncertainty, which didn’t make me comfortable. She had nothing to fear, but over the last months, the Guild had been trying to arrest me for one bogus reason or another. Why I was such a threat to them baffled me. I had been involved in more than one major disaster in the city, but I hadn’t caused them and had always been on the side that ended them. Yet the Guild acted like I was the primary reason for all its troubles. I was more than happy to blame myself for stuff. I didn’t try to imprison myself as punishment for it.

We rode the elevator to the seventeenth floor. Guild security agents, powerful Danann fairies in black uniforms and chromed helmets, their diaphanous wings undulating, waited for us when the doors opened. Security agents were the mobile powerhouses of protection for the Guild. They were strict, forceful, and aggressive in their jobs. Conversation wasn’t their strong suit.

“Please follow me to the Receiving Hall,” one of them said.

Surprised, I murmured to Briallen, “The Receiving Hall? We’re meeting in the Receiving Hall?”

Briallen licked her lips in distaste. “This is so Ryan. You know he needs his ego stroked even if he’s the one doing it.”

The Receiving Hall of the Guildhouse served as the room of state for official duties of the Seelie Court. When the Guildmaster sat in the hall, for all intents and purposes, he or she was the voice of the Court and spoke with Maeve’s authority, a privilege with a double-edged sword. No one wanted to speak for Maeve and get it wrong. To my knowledge, Manus ap Eagan, the current Guildmaster, didn’t like to use it. Since he was in a coma and had left no one to act in his stead, no one was around to stop macGoren.

The agent escorted us to another set of elevators. With the additions to the building, elevators were scattered about in order to access odd sections and floors that didn’t reside in a standard vertical. “He’s not Guildmaster. Nigel should be Acting Guildmaster.”

“Nigel resigned the position before Manus went into the coma. You were there the day he did if I remember correctly,” she said.

Manus liked having Nigel as his second because he knew Nigel didn’t want the job. If he had any idea that macGoren was acting as de facto Guildmaster, he would have awakened from his coma without outside help.

“Then you should do it. You were Guildmaster once,” I said. Briallen had been Guildmaster a few times in Eagan’s absence, but not in my lifetime. As the twentieth century progressed, she had found other interests and kept her hand in local affairs only when reason demanded it.

Brownie guards opened the doors to the hall. “I wasn’t asked, and I have better things to do right now,” she said.

“No one asked macGoren.”

“Let it go, Connor. It’s a thankless job that no one except Ryan wants. No one can do a good job at it unless they commit. Let’s hope Gillen Yor figures out how to wake up Manus before Ryan does something stupid,” she said.

Ten flights higher, we exited onto a narrow concourse in a tower that hung over empty space. We entered a sky bridge that connected the tower to the main part of the building by an intricate mesh of steel holding together a hallway of glass walls and ceiling. The rounded bank of windows to either side showed an amazing view of the Charles River to the north and Boston’s outer harbor to the south. The stark exposure left humans feeling uneasy, but the fey were not afraid of heights.

The bridge joined the Receiving Hall in a seamless transition. A grand medallion design in the floor marked the threshold, a mosaic of stones set with Maeve’s favorite sigil—three cups arranged in a circle, one each in bronze, silver, and gold, embossed with birds, symbols of her penchant for bestowing valuable gifts at a great price.

In the hall proper, tall narrow windows of leaded glass let in light that reflected off a gem-encrusted ceiling. Between the windows, pilasters shaped like trees rose, their branches splitting in a uniform symmetrical pattern to form the ceiling vaults. Crystal lanterns hung from the branches and threw subtle golden hues. Power radiated throughout the room, the power of the Seelie Court and the power of essence. It was the heart of the Guildhouse, shimmering with essence in every nook and cranny.

MacGoren, at least, had chosen not to claim the Guildmaster’s chair at the far end of the hall. Instead, he sat at the head of a table that had been brought in. His pale wings spread up and to the sides, their surfaces shifting in hues of red and gold. He did his best to appear formidable, but his innate smugness prevented him from succeeding. Since coming to Boston, he had become a major player in the city and the social scene, his good looks and money opening doors with ease. I had noticed younger Danann fairies on the street mimicking his hairstyle, wavy plaits of blond that stopped at the shoulders.

MacGoren had Maeve’s blessing, which made his rise swift and easy. Manus ap Eagan had been ill for the last few years, and Maeve wanted him to step aside for macGoren. As an underKing of the Seelie Court, Manus was entitled to choose when he wanted to retire, but he had refused. He might have been ill, an odd occurrence among the powerful Danann fairy clan, but he never seemed to think he would die, a more rare occurrence. His falling into a coma allowed macGoren to take advantage of the situation.

My second surprise of the day was finding Eorla seated to macGoren’s left. Rand stood at attention several feet behind her, his gaze in a constant sweep of the room. He trusted the Guild less than I did. Nigel sat to macGoren’s right. While he declined to run the Guildhouse, he always had a hand in the governing of the place. Unlike macGoren, he didn’t care what his official title was or whom it impressed.

Briallen leaned on my arm as we approached. “Be on your toes because I may not be able to advise you as openly as I’d like.”

She assessed the two empty seats, then sat next to Nigel and across from Eorla. MacGoren’s lips dipped in annoyance as I took the chair at the opposite end of the table from him. We didn’t like each other. I knew about a few skeletons in his closet. Nothing that Maeve didn’t know, but he would have bad press to deal with if I went public. I hadn’t. He didn’t know I wouldn’t. If I did, I would lose any advantage I had over him.

“I suppose I should thank you for coming,” he said.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” I said.

Briallen shot me a warning glance. “What’s this about, Ryan? Where’s Melusine?”

Melusine Blanc was the director who represented the interests of the solitary fey. She was a water sprite, strange and quiet. Neither the Celts nor the Teuts called her an ally, which gave her more power in close voting. It was unusual for her not to show for a board meeting. The dwarf representative wasn’t there either, but I had never heard of his attending a meeting. I didn’t even know who the current one was. The Guild board of directors had become a strange collection of people, which made Manus’s role challenging, what with all the conflicting agendas. If Manus had to grapple with them, MacGoren didn’t have much hope.

“This isn’t a board meeting, per se,” macGoren said.

Eorla folded her hands on the table. “Nevertheless, Melusine sends her regrets.”

I chuckled at her small smile. Since declaring the Weird under her protection—and the solitaries that lived there—Eorla had in effect become their representative. Melusine might have objected, but she didn’t. She probably liked the power Eorla brought to the table. Eorla had shown a little of that power by making it clear to macGoren that Melusine had spoken to her, not him. I did like her style.