Mark Del Franco - Unquiet Dreams

C-Note: “…no witness. You’ve forced me…”

Kruge: “…stop! stop!..” A substantial amount of hissing played out, the unmistakable sound of essence-fire, then an anguished shriek that had to have been Kruge. Another scream that I took to be Croda. Struggling sounds came next, and the discharge of more essence-fire.

Then Croda again, her breath ragged as she ran: “…children, got you…”

A girl screaming. It had to be Crystal, her voice coming through hysterically. “…Denny! Denny! Say something…”

“…hush, hush. They’ll hear…Denny…his spark is gone, child…”

More sobbing and the pounding of Croda’s loud footsteps and heaving breath.

“…in here. Hide and quiet ’til night. Hush, now, hush…No! No! He’s coming!..he’s found…”

The metallic screech of the roof coming off the storage shed. Screams from Crystal and Croda, the latter quickly drowning out the former as the troll died. A constant sobbing, very loud, as Crystal crouched right up to the ward stone behind Croda.

We could hear the essence fight Crystal described, the sound of static and bursting of stone, garbled voices, then one phrase at a distance in a new voice: “I will have it.” Ryan macGoren. I recognized him clearly. Then the sound of wind and Crystal’s sobs fading out.

Joe released his essence, and the glow faded back into him. He had a pale cast to his skin that could not have been from what was for him a minor expenditure of essence. “That was awful.”

I nodded. The anguish in Croda’s death cry had sent chills up my spine, and Crystal’s sobs were gut-wrenching. I looked up at the troll’s face, now twisted forever in pain. “We have to hide her, Joe. I’m betting C-Note didn’t realize she had a recording ward or that Crystal was hiding with her. If he did, he wouldn’t have left her here. I don’t want anyone else stumbling in here.”

I dragged pieces of the storage shed roof through the debris and leaned it against Croda. It felt rude to do, but at least it caused significantly less damage than what I had intended by breaking off her hand. I had no idea how trolls felt about their dead, but now I wouldn’t have to find out if breaking her would have been some kind of sacred violation. Somewhere, Joe found an old tarp sizable enough to cover most of her. Between that and the roof sheeting, at a glance no one would notice she was there.

“Let’s get out of here,” I said. In silence, we made our way back. Night had fallen, and I felt it was worth the risk to go directly down the Avenue. I just wanted to be away from the courtyard as quickly as possible. Walking through the Weird, I could see angry faces glaring up at the hovering Guild agents. I could not believe how many Keeva had sent.

When we reached my building, an agent stood guard at the door. He stepped out from the building as soon as we turned the corner, but relaxed his posture as we drew near.

“Good evening, Director Grey. We’ve had no activity since this morning,” he said.

“Thanks,” I said, trying not to sound annoyed. He was just following orders. Keeva and Nigel were to blame, not him. I went up the stairs, and another guard waited outside what was left of my door.

“Good evening, Director Grey. Your apartment is secure,” he said.

“Yeah, I heard,” I said. Joe flew in ahead of me and went directly to the kitchen cabinet where I kept cookies. I surveyed the shambles of my living room. Truth to tell, it was only slightly worse than usual. My apartment door lay to the side of the entrance, the hinges sprung and a big dent across the middle. I picked it up and turned to the agent.

“Nothing personal, but if you have to be here, I’d prefer you stood down the hall.”

The agent looked down the hall, gave a curt nod, and walked away. I propped the door in the opening. Even before I went into my study, I knew what I was going to see. My computer was in considerably more parts than one would think possible. At least they hadn’t destroyed my books. I slid my hand down the side of the filing cabinet and retrieved my laptop. I had backup files hidden in the kitchen. I’d had more than my share of destroyed computers, so I’d learned to plan for them. I’d have to reload my video games, but at least the data would be intact.

Joe sat on the edge of the counter eating Oreos. Before he even asked, I poured him a glass of milk. He refuses to touch my refrigerator, so I humor him.

“I’m hitting the shower,” I said. Cheeks bulging, he nodded and waved.

Hot water soothed aching muscles. Between wrenching my shoulder and rolling around in the Public Garden, my body was not happy. I had just gotten over some major injuries in the past few months, and some of them throbbed with remembered pain. In the midst of my shampoo, I caught Gerin’s sending about the Bosnemeton meeting. He certainly waited until the last minute. I’d barely have enough time to dress and get to Thomas Park in Southie before it started. I didn’t particularly care for the sound of an old man’s voice in my head when I was wet and naked either.

“I’ve got to go to the Bosnemeton,” I said to Joe as I pulled on a black sweater and jeans. I had to rummage to find my druid meeting robe. It’s bleached muslin, not my favorite color. I always feel silly wearing it, but as High Druid, Gerin insisted on traditional garb.

“I’ll come, too,” said Stinkwort.

“You know Gerin will have the place warded against everyone but druids.”

He pouted. Flits can pretty much get in anywhere they want. The only exceptions I know are druid Grove meetings, the odd Unseelie Court warding they run into, and the first day of new security at the Guild. They break the latter pretty quickly. Some people thought that was a problem, but I didn’t. As a species, flits were exceedingly loyal to the Seelie Court at Tara, and not one had ever been accused of being a spy. “Fine. I’ll wait outside.”

I moved the door and, once in the hall, replaced it. Pointless, but it made me feel better. Down on the Avenue, I hailed a cab. It was the only way to get to Southie in time, and though I wasn’t rolling in cash, I had a little extra to spend this month. Joe entertained himself by squeezing in and out of the cash slot in the Plexiglas barrier between the front and backseat. The cab driver tried hard not to be fascinated.

I pulled out my cell and called Meryl.

“You’re in a cab,” she said.

“Do I want to ask?”

“They started tracking you a little over an hour ago on Old Northern. The security monitor says you just left your apartment, freshly bathed and got in a cab.”

“It says I bathed?”

She giggled. “Naw. I threw that in as a guess. What’s up?”

“I’m on my way to the Bosnemeton.”

“You’re late. Gerin’s doing the ‘we are separate, but one’ crap.” I rolled my eyes. If I hated Guild politics, druid politics could be even worse. The roles of men and women were still being adjusted, and Gerin was an old conservative.

“How’d you like to go dancing later?”

“Sure. Who’s asking?”

“Funny. Ever hear of Carnage?” It was a rhetorical question, I knew. I had given up trying to stump her with questions about anything and had almost reached the point of just assuming she knew everything about everything. It’s a thought pattern, I am sure, she would like to encourage.

“You want to go to Carnage?”

“You know it? I have a little business to take care of there with Murdock, but it shouldn’t take me that long. I thought you might enjoy going.”

“Uh, yeah, I know it. I’ll go.”

“Good. It’s a date.”

“It’s not a date. It’s a field trip for me to be amused at the sight of you in a dance club.”