Mark Del Franco - Unperfect Souls

Frye came forward with his hand held out. “Your Highness, you are not yourself.”

White light filled Eorla’s eyes. “Step no closer, Bastian. I am more myself than ever. I claim these people. Do you hear me? Withdraw the Guild and Consortium forces and your human lackeys, or I will unleash a fury that will shake the thrones of the High Queen of Tara and the Elven King.”

“You would incite the Consortium to war against us?” macGoren asked.

Eorla shook her head. “No, Guildsman. Hear me, both of you, and hear me well. I send this message to High Queen Maeve and Donor Elfenkonig: You have failed. You face a new Court. Hear my words and know fear: Eorla Elvendottir shall not abide either of your courts any longer.”

MacGoren narrowed his eyes at her. “Be reasonable, Eorla. Look at that rabble. They can barely stand. Do you think you can withstand my forces?”

Eorla tucked her chin and glanced over her shoulder. “Like so many others, you underestimate me, Danann.

Look beyond what you see. Set your sights a little higher. I have.”

Someone appeared on the roof of the nearest building. As he stepped up on the high cornice of the building, Rand lifted a bow strung with flaming green elf-shot. One by one, other archers joined him, flanking him to either side along the roof. More appeared on other buildings until rooflines all around us bristled with elven soldiers wearing the house insignias of Kruge and Elvendottir.

“Cross me at your peril,” Eorla said. She pivoted on her heel and strode back into the Weird. Vize didn’t hesitate to follow. I stared at macGoren, flanked by his security agents. True shock and fear showed in his eyes. There was nothing left to say. I walked away.

At the end of the bridge, Eorla waited with Vize. “I am not Maeve or Donor. The old ways are gone. I reject any claim either of you may have of me and make none of you. I have granted you free passage for today. Use it as you see fit and may the Wheel of the World turn in your favor.”

She proceeded alone down the Avenue, a tall flame of power. As she approached the gathered crowd, they sank to their knees, rank upon rank bowing before her. All save one. Zev continued walking toward me, carrying Meryl’s limp body.

Vize smirked at me. “How’s it feel to be a fugitive?”

I punched him in the face.

I leaned my forehead against the cold window, watching the snow swirl into drifts along the riverbank. The flakes fell like pale moths against the dark, a world of white against black blurring to gray. The heart monitor beeped behind me, a soft, regular rhythm that was at once reassuring because it existed and worrisome because it was needed. My breath steamed against window, obscuring my darkened image. A flash of pink in the room reflected in the mirrored surface. Joe hovered over the bed.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said to my back.

I moved to the side of the bed. “It’s okay. It doesn’t matter.”

He frowned. “Of course, it matters. Did you think it didn’t matter when you were in the same position? You heard me when I was here then. I know you did.”

I slipped my hand into Meryl’s. “I don’t remember.”

“Course you don’t. We don’t remember things. We remember making it through things. So will she.”

“Gillen Yor says it’s not a coma,” I said.

Joe knelt on the pillow by Meryl’s head and placed his hands on her forehead. “No, it’s not. She’s not here.”

“Don’t say that,” I said.

He rose from the bed, hovering next to me. “Talk to her. She will hear you even if she doesn’t answer.”

I leaned my head next to hers, feeling her warm cheek against mine, her breath a soft touch on my skin. Her hair—her crazy fiery red hair—smelled like apple blossoms. I brought my lips to her ear. “Come back. Please.”

I slid my lips to her forehead and kissed her there, long and soft.

“We have to go. The shift change is almost over,” said Joe.

I tapped Meryl’s nose. Joe blipped out as I opened the room door.

The outside hall was empty. Gillen Yor was keeping the security guard occupied at the far end near the nurses’ station. I’ll let you know any change, he sent.

I strolled away in the opposite direction and entered the back stairwell, where Keeva waited for me. I handed her the white lab coat I was wearing.

“Thank you for this,” I said.

She flicked her eyebrow dismissively. “By the time anyone notices the gap in the watch schedule, I’ll be in Tara claiming hormone surges must have affected my organizational skills.”

“They’re going to bury it, aren’t they?” I asked.

She nodded. “It’s already happening. Cashel and the commissioner went rogue. That’s the official story.”

“Did macGoren know? Did you?”

She pursed her lips. “I won’t speak for Ryan, but, no, I didn’t know.”

I could have said something sarcastic about her sleeping with macGoren. It would have been justified, but inappropriate. I didn’t always understand Keeva’s motivations, but right then, she was doing me a big favor. I let it pass.

I glanced down and smiled at her swollen abdomen. “I never said congratulations.”

“No, you didn’t. In fact, I believe you said I had a parasite. But, thank you,” she said.

“How come you didn’t want anyone to know?”

She didn’t answer immediately, looking at me for a long moment as if deciding what to share. “Dananns don’t have children often. It was bad enough Ryan had me on desk duty because he was worried about my health. I didn’t want him trying to keep me from working altogether.”

“You two have a strange relationship, you know that?” I asked.

She rolled her eyes. “I think that’s an insult coming from you.”

I laughed, and she shared a grudging smile. “Are you—both of you—going to be all right?” I asked.

She nodded. “The energies at Tara will restore me. Gillen says the baby is undisturbed, but I need rest to make it through the birth.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know what I was doing.”

She shook her head. “You never do. Get going before the next shift arrives.”

I saluted her as I hurried down the stairs, my footsteps ringing hollowly as I descended. At the bottom of the stairwell, I peered out the exit door to the garage. Nothing out of the ordinary except Murdock’s car parked near the door. I slipped into the passenger seat, and he pulled away as the late shift of Danann agents flew past.

“No change,” I said.

“A lot’s changed,” he said.

We spiraled up the garage ramp and into the night. The callies had kept their storm going for a week, a blizzard the likes of which Boston had never seen. The city plowed the streets enough to maintain basic services, but almost everything had shut down to wait out the storm. It was Eorla’s gift to the mayor, a way to confine everyone inside and calm the situation without guns or essence-fire.

From where I sat, I couldn’t see the heavy abrasions on Murdock’s left cheek and forehead. He looked like the man I always knew. He looked like Murdock, not the crazed guy who had beaten a Dead guy to death. The berserker was in a holding cell at the Consortium consulate. Eorla had turned his body over to Bastian before it regenerated. They were no longer strict allies, but that didn’t mean they didn’t have mutual enemies.

“I should have killed him,” I said.

“It wouldn’t have mattered,” he said.

The car fishtailed down the off-ramp of the elevated highway. Momentum built as the grade steepened. We swung side to side in a growing arc, inching closer and closer to the guardrails on either side. I grabbed the dashboard as Murdock worked the steering wheel like a carnival ride. The view out the windshield became a blur of gray and white as the understructure of the highway whipped past. At the bottom of the ramp, the car shuddered and spun wildly, bouncing on the surface road. Murdock hit the brake. The wheels locked and we did a long, frenetic slide into an intersection. The car stopped beneath a flashing red traffic light. We stared at empty streets, mounds of snow surrounding us.