Mark Del Franco - Unquiet Dreams

I stood. “I’m sorry to intrude.”

She looked up at me, her eyes deep and glimmering. “Vize is a fool, Connor Grey. Dangerous, but a fool nonetheless. Do not let revenge consume you. Men like Vize make many enemies. Let the Wheel decide his fate.”

Hearing that was a nice surprise. Other than her offense at Nigel’s remark about Vize—which could have been playacting—I hadn’t had a sense of how she felt about her radical countryman. “And if the Wheel includes me in his fate?”

“Then that is the Wheel of the World. If that is Its will, you do not need to seek It. It will seek you. Remember that.”

“I will,” I said with a bow.

“Good luck.” She dismissed me by turning to the fire. Normally, that kind of treatment by a royal ticks me off. It fit Eorla, though. She would have been exactly who she was with or without the title.

I pulled my collar up around my neck as I stepped out of the consulate. The air had gone chilly, and the October sky had become a hard, white sheet. After the warmth of the receiving room, I felt even colder. I walked east toward downtown with my hands jammed in my pockets.

Manus ap Eagan was not worried about a real estate transaction. With macGoren’s public promotion for the Seacorp development, Eagan already knew about it. He obviously suspected something more, or he wouldn’t have asked me to look into it. I had to agree with Eorla Kruge, though. MacGoren had nothing to gain with Kruge dead unless he hoped to take advantage of a grieving widow. But if he knew Kruge, he must have met Eorla. She was not a woman you could take advantage of easily.

My cell phone began vibrating with saved messages as soon as I was a few buildings away. I had set the ring to vibrate, but it hadn’t gone off inside. The consulate probably had signal jamming in the building. Three messages had come in with a Guildhouse number, so I called to pick them up.

“Connor, it’s Keeva. We have a situation. Get yourself to a secure location and call me immediately.”

That didn’t sound good. The next message came up.

“Connor, call me, dammit.” Keeva again. She actually sounded concerned.

The next message was from a different Guild number.

“Hey, it’s me. Just checking if you were dead. If you aren’t, call me. If you are, call me anyway.” Okay, for Meryl to put in a check-in call, something definitely was up.

I was only a couple of blocks from the Guildhouse. At the end of Commonwealth Avenue, I entered the Public Garden, a turn-of-the-century Victorian walking park surrounded by intricate cast-iron railings. Even at the tired end of fall, it manages to look attractive. The formal paths wind through a strange collection of statuary as well as landscaped flower beds and specimen trees, all now dormant.

I decided to call Keeva first. As I hit dial, my shields sprang up with such force, I hunched forward in pain. Simultaneously, a bolt of essence grazed my shoulder, and I spun off my feet. I could feel heat across my back, but no direct pain, so I didn’t think I was on fire. I rolled to my feet and ran for cover behind a tree as another bolt flew past me. I ducked down as tree bark splattered through the air.

I felt a cold pressure slam into my forehead, a forceful sending. Where are you? Keeva’s voice reverberated in my head.

I couldn’t send my thoughts back. One of the many things I couldn’t do anymore, my mental sendings just went astray. A bolt hit the tree as I realized I’d dropped my phone when I got hit. It lay about ten feet away. Another bolt struck, and the tree groaned and crackled. It hit close enough for me to recognize what it was—elf-shot, the expression of essence that the elves used. I dove away in a tumbling roll and grabbed the phone. Essence struck around me from two directions now, and I scrambled on my back trying to find the source. I wedged myself between a statue and the fence encircling the park.

More fey-bolts shot around me, but the bane of the fey proved itself in my favor. Between the bronze in the statue in front of me and the iron in the fence at my back, the shots warped around me and went wild. I had landed in a safe zone between conductive metals. I called Keeva.

“Where the hell are you?” she said when she picked up.

“Under fire in the Public Garden.”

“Give me your exact location.”

“I’m behind the statue of…” I twisted to see whose statue I was under. A fey-bolt struck it in the neck, and the head toppled down next to me. The abolitionist senator Charles Sumner stared eyelessly at me. “I’m behind the headless statue.”

“Security’s on its way.”

The bolts of essence intensified. Whoever was out there was getting closer. I recognized a new noise, the loud hum of Danann fairy wings. In moments, more fey-fire rained down, only this time scattering in a pattern around me. Bolts stopped striking near the statue. Something dark swept overhead. Seconds later, a Guild security agent landed next to me, his featureless helmet tilted down at me. Without a word, he grabbed me by my shoulders and hauled me up. He spun me around, wrapped his arms around my chest, and launched us into the air. Several more security agents above us laid down a covering fire of essence to block another attack. We rose above the park, but I lost sight of my defenders as we swept behind the line. Below, I could see several people running, mostly humans getting out of the way. Here and there, shots of essence raked through the park from figures dressed in black and red leather. TruKnights.

The security agent flew me away from the fight, over the final block toward the Guildhouse. As we rose above a hotel roofline, I could see the area in front of the Guildhouse cordoned off and more security agents stationed both on the ground and in the air. The agent brought me in close, avoided the front, and landed us on a balcony of one of the highest turrets, the landing platform for the security division. Without a word, he took off again. I stepped into to a large room and found more security agents preparing for duty.

“Someone will be coming for you, sir,” a young Danann said as passed me and ducked into an adjoining room. I went to the door and watched him lifting boxes from the floor. A line of lockers covered one wall with a gym-style bench in front of them. Above, a number of helmets sat on a long shelf.

“Are those helmets always there?” I asked.

The Danann straightened up. “You’re not supposed to be in here.”

“I’m not ‘in here.’ I’m at the door.”

He moved toward me. “Well, step back. We’ve had some problems, and no one’s allowed in without permission.”

I nodded at the helmets. “One’s missing, isn’t it?”

He placed his hand on my chest, not threatening, but with enough pressure that told me to step back. He looked out the door. Apparently, after satisfying himself that no one was within earshot. “How do you know that?”

“When did it go missing?”

“Four days ago.”

I nodded. The timing was right. “Do you know whose helmet is missing?”

He spoke without looking at me, checking on the room instead. “They’re not assigned. People just grab them. The landing bay is shielded. The helmets register when they leave and when they return, so we don’t have to keep a head count in an emergency. Someone took off from here four nights ago and didn’t return. It was the middle of the night, not a regular shift change, and no record of a security call.”

“How’d they get in?”

He shrugged. “The ready room door is warded, but anyone with the right security level is allowed in.”

“And it’s a pretty high level if I remember.”

He nodded. “Look, I don’t know how you found out, but we’re keeping it internal for now. It’s not going to look…hey!”