Mark Del Franco - Unperfect Souls

She seemed genuinely taken aback. “What are you talking about?”

I stepped closer to her, forcing her to step back against the wall. “Maeve abandoned us to save her own precious skin, and if not for me, this entire city would have died, too. So spare me the feeble little guilt trip about who I slept with years ago. If you really are Amy, then you made your bed and, yeah, you slept in it. And if you want to get in bed with Maeve now, you’ll suffer the consequences. I don’t give a damn, and I sure as hell am not going to fall for whatever game you’re playing now.”

Tears flowed free. She slapped me across the face. “You are a bastard.”

I frowned. “Yeah, well, maybe you helped make me one.”

“What the hell is this?”

Moira gasped and extinguished the Amy glamour. Behind us in a formal tuxedo, Commissioner Scott Murdock looked more angry than I had ever seen him. He wasn’t looking at me, but at Moira. “Commissioner, I’m sorry if—” I began.

“Shut up, Grey.” He shoved me aside and grabbed Moira by the arm. “I asked you a question.”

“Scott, I—” she began.

He shook her. “Scott, is it? Scott?”

I pulled at his coat. “Commissioner, I can explain.”

He dropped his hand, then grabbed me by the shirt and pushed me against the wall. “What game do you think you’re playing with me, boy? Is this another Guild game to make me a fool?”

I’d seen the commissioner angry before, even angry at me, but this came out of the blue. “Excuse me?”

Moira grabbed his arm. “Scott, stop it.”

“I think stopping this is very good advice, Commissioner.” Tibbet’s voice was low and sharp. Behind her, two brownie security guards waited with polite expressions on their faces.

The commissioner released me with a shove. A few guests had noticed the commotion but were pretending they hadn’t. Tibbet tilted her head down and toward one shoulder as if listening to something behind her. “The Guildmaster requests that you join him in his study in a few moments, Commissioner. My assistants will provide you with whatever you need in the meantime.”

Scott Murdock adjusted his jacket. “Tell Eagan I’m leaving. I will speak to him tomorrow.”

Tibbet clasped her hands at her waist. “I respect that desire, sir. However, I believe it will take some time to retrieve your vehicle, and I am sure you would not wish to break protocol and neglect to thank your host while you wait.”

The commissioner set his jaw and glared at Moira. “Get this . . . person away from me, then.”

Tibbet nodded with a smile at Moira. “Please wait in the back hall until I arrive, will you?”

Moira had gone pale. “Do extend my regrets to Manus, but I believe it best I retire for the evening.”

Tibbet’s smile tightened. “This is the Guildmaster’s house, Cashel. Your presence is not a request.”

Tibbet took my arm and led me through the great hall. She smiled as we eased our way through the crowd and toward the fireplace. A servant was helping Eagan to his feet.

Are you okay? Tibbet sent.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I have no idea what that was about,” I said.

Manus is furious. It’s not good for him. Please try to keep him calm, she sent.

“I will,” I said.

We followed Eagan and the servant into the back hall. Moira waited there, but Eagan ignored her as we passed through double doors that the servant opened. Moira wouldn’t meet my eyes and looked like she wanted to escape.

The servant helped Eagan to an armchair by the lit fireplace. The study had a classic décor of dark wood, expensive leather couches, and stained-glass lamps, and miles of bookcases filled with books on subjects both fey and human. As the servant adjusted the blanket on Eagan’s lap, the old man brushed him away. “That’s enough. If you and Tibbet will wait outside please.”

Tibbet gave me a significant glance as she left to remind me what she had said. I squeezed her hand. Eagan leaned back in the corner of the chair and shook his head. “It’s never dull around here. There’s a flask behind that curtain over there. Could you get it for me?”

I went to the window he indicated and found a small glass flask on the floor hidden by the brocade drapery. “Who the hell hides all these flasks for you?”

He grinned around the neck of the bottle, then wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “That’s a secret. And speaking of, I assume you have something to report?”

I nodded. “How familiar are you with the crackdown in the Weird?”

A cryptic look spread over his features. “I get reports.”

I spun an antique globe on a stand near the wall. “Are you aware that the Boston P.D. has turned over all security to Guild agents?”

“Out of political necessity, I had to allow Guild agents to act under civilian authority. The Boston police are powerless against the fey. You know that,” he said.

I nodded. “Some of their actions are going beyond the law—civilian or Guild. Complaints to the police are referred to the Guild and complaints to the Guild are ignored.”

A sly smile slid onto his face. “I know you, Grey. You’ve been complaining about that for some time.”

I shrugged. “I’ve been complaining about neglect. This is different. The Guild agents down there are actively breaking the law. They’re encouraging a turf war between the solitaries and the Dead. It’s going to explode if they don’t back off.”

Eagan frowned. “And the Boston police are involved?”

I glanced at him. “Human officers have been ordered to stand aside and let the Guild do what it wants. I personally saw Commissioner Murdock meet secretly with a leading perpetrator among the Dead.”

Eagan rubbed at his chin. “What do you make of it?”

I smiled at him. “If you ask the Guild, they’re acting on your orders.”

Eagan chuckled softly to himself. “And when there is blood on the ground, macGoren can blame me and gain the support of the solitaries at the same time. How much time do you think I have?”

I shrugged. “I think it’s reached a crisis point.”

Eagan hummed to himself. “It seems I may have to put in an appearance downtown and shake things up a bit. I had hoped to spoil their plans once they had Vize in custody, but I suppose I can adjust.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that. “What does Vize have to do with it?”

Eagan leaned his head back, his eyebrows raised in thought. “Everything, of course. The solitaries have been hiding him for Bastian Frye. MacGoren is using the Dead to find him, particularly a miscreant named Jark. Matters seem to have gotten out of hand. I didn’t anticipate the human police colluding with macGoren. An excellent move on his part, though he seems to have overplayed it. That’s always been macGoren’s flaw—his unwavering surety in the perfection of his plans.”

My feet felt rooted to the floor. “I can’t believe you let this happen.”

Eagan shrugged. “I didn’t let anything happen. The whole point of a black ops program is in its unprovability. I couldn’t stop it unless I knew the identities of macGoren’s agents, and that I was still working on. Unfortunately, Jark killed my inside agent before she could expose them.”

Jark killed his inside agent. The statement sank in with a sense of disbelief at what I was hearing and what it meant. “Are you talking about Sekka?”

Eagan barely suppressed a look of exasperation. “Of course, Grey. Why do you think I called you in the first place? When Sekka disappeared the same night Jark’s body turned up, I wanted to keep tabs on your investigation.”

I shook my head with a touch of anger that I had completely missed the connection. “And you had Keeva bury the Guild notice that Sekka was a Consortium agent to keep her Guild double-agent status secure, didn’t you?”