Mark Del Franco - Unperfect Souls

Lost in thought as I watched a plane take off across a dark sky, I jumped when the apartment buzzer went off. Murdock was picking me up so we could go down to the morgue and try the experiment with the decapitated Dead guy. I hit the intercom. “Hey, you’re early.”

“Are you really so poor you live in the Weird?”

Moira. My first impulse was to not respond. “Who gave you my address?”

“I’ve lived at court for years, Connor. I know how to get an address when I want one.”

“What do you want?”

“To talk. You left so abruptly the other day, and I don’t understand why,” she said.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” I said.

“Maybe I have something to talk about,” she said.

When it came right down to it, Moira Cashel was trouble, one way or another. Either she was Amy Sullivan and her interest in me was sincere and she had no idea of how I had become entangled with High Queen Maeve despite her current connection to Maeve, or she wasn’t Amy and it was all a ruse for Maeve to lay some kind of trap for me. Despite what Tibbet said, I didn’t want Moira wrecking my memories.

“Are you there?” she asked into my silence.

I had to know. Whatever Maeve’s strategy was, I was intrigued that I was still enough a part of it for her to dig into my past. “Okay, I’ll meet you.”

“I’m downstairs. Can I make it to the front door without being mugged?”

I snorted. Of course she was downstairs. “I’ve got a meeting. You can have until my ride shows up,” I said. I buzzed her in and went out to the hall. She came up the stairs directly to the top floor without having asked where my apartment was. It didn’t surprise me, but if she thought she was hiding that she knew about my current life, she was awfully sloppy. Wrapped in a full-length fur coat, she stepped onto the landing.

“Wearing animal fur is frowned on in the States,” I said.

She paused at my door, a deep frown on her face. “I’m beginning to wonder if this bitter, angry person is the same happy young man I used to know.”

I rolled my eyes and gestured into the living room. Which was basically the room we were already in. My apartment wasn’t big enough to get lost in, not when the kitchen and the living room were essentially the same place. Even more cozy since it was where I slept, too. “So, what is it you want to talk about?”

She looked troubled as she unbuttoned her coat and sat in an armchair. “I almost don’t know. Believe it or not, Connor, after we met, you changed my life. At the time, I thought it was for the worse, but after all the emotion and drama died down, things were not as bad as I feared. I thought it would be interesting to get reacquainted, see the man you’ve become.”

I crossed my arms. “I don’t believe you’re Amy Sullivan.”

She cocked her head, a willing smile on her face. “What can I do to prove it to you?”

“Explain why you’re here.”

“I told you. I came to see if I could help with Manus.”

“No, I mean what else does Maeve want you to do here?”

Her eyebrows drew together. “Nothing but heal Manus ap Eagan. I was ordered to find a cure or confirm there was none.”

“Why?”

She looked startled. “Because he’s dying.”

“Why would Maeve care? Eagan threatens her. Her pet macGoren is waiting to make the Guildmaster’s office his own.”

Moira stared at me with troubled confusion on her face. Her expressions did remind me of Amy, even without the glamour. “You seem to misunderstand some of the politics of court, Connor. Eagan’s dying does not help macGoren’s bid for the Guildmaster position. Anyone the High Queen installed against Eagan’s wishes would be fought by the other underKings and -Queens. She can’t afford to lose their support. She needs Eagan alive and answerable to her, or he needs to resign his position with an appointed successor. All Maeve wants is clarity on the situation.”

I leaned against the kitchen counter. “Interesting analysis for a Chief Herbalist.”

Spots of color rose on her cheeks, and she compressed her lips. “Connor, I live and work at Tara. If you think that means I spend my time pressing flowers into books, you are naïve.”

“Where did Amy and I meet?” I asked.

She answered quickly. “Flanagan’s market.”

“Where was I living?”

“With Briallen ab Gwyll. You were staying with your parents that weekend. Your mother sent you to the store.”

“Who spoke first?”

“You did. You asked me whether I liked the crackers you were holding. You were a terribly obvious flirt.”

“What happened next?”

Moira looked down at her hand. “You kissed my hand. It was very sweet. Then you asked if I would like to have a cup of tea with you sometime. I said yes, thinking that would end the flirtation, but you asked to go right then. So we did.”

“Was it raining or snowing?”

“Neither. It was supposed to rain. I left my umbrella in the shop.”

She knew all the right answers—even the umbrella, which I had forgotten about. I went back later to find it for her, but it wasn’t there. “You could have gotten those answers from the real Amy Sullivan.”

She nodded. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right. But if I weren’t Amy Sullivan, would I know what it felt like to meet this brilliant young man at the beginning of his career who was so excited and nervous to start training with Nigel Martin? Would I know how lonely I felt and how that young man made me want adventure again? Would I have turned my life upside down because of him and left Boston in shame?”

That gave me pause. Amy stopped coming to see me, then disappeared. “What do you mean ‘shame’?”

Moira looked away from me and gazed out the window. “My husband found out.”

I moved to the open door of my apartment. “Amy Sullivan wasn’t married.”

She stood. “I was, Connor. You didn’t know everything about me. You didn’t even know where I lived. I lied to my husband about many things, and he threw me out. It was a blessing, though. I wasn’t made for married life. I went back to Ireland and the Druidic College and never looked back.”

“Until now,” I said. The vestibule door downstairs slammed shut, and I heard someone walking up the stairs.

She shook her head. “Not even now. Maeve knows nothing about my past as Amy. She sent me here to do a job. I have no intention of letting my husband or anyone else know Amy Sullivan has returned. I thought the Wheel of the World had given me a fortunate turn when you walked into Eagan’s house. You were a secret in my old life, and I thought we could be friends again because no one here would ever connect Moira Cashel and Connor Grey. I guess I was wrong.”

“You’re damned right. If it will help, tell Maeve I believed you, but I wasn’t interested.”

The footsteps on the stairs were louder as Moira moved toward me. She shifted into the Amy Sullivan glamour and caressed my face with a gloved hand. “Do you believe me, Connor?”

I didn’t answer for a moment. She looked like Amy—even smelled like her. It would have been nice to think it was her. But Moira Cashel was a member of Maeve’s court, and Amy was a part of my life that had nothing to do with all the twists and turns that life had taken. And I didn’t want her to be in it now. “It was over twenty years ago, Moira. It doesn’t matter anymore. Leave it alone. Leave me alone.”

She searched my face, a hint of moisture in her eyes. “The Wheel of the World turns differently for all of us, Connor. I don’t know where It’s taken you, but you aren’t the person I remember.”

“Neither are you,” I said.

As the footsteps came closer, Murdock’s body signature registered in my sense. By the quick tilt of her head, Moira sensed him, too. Moira dropped the Amy glamour before he reached the last flight. He saw the open apartment door and paused on the final steps. His face looked intrigued when he saw Moira. “I can come back,” he said.