Mark Del Franco - Unquiet Dreams

“And so I propose an opposition to the Guild for their failure to protect.”

“What an odd thing to say, Gerin,” Nigel said in a dry tone.

“I am High Druid of the Bosnemeton Circle, Brother Martin, in case you have forgotten how to address me.”

Nigel placed his hand over his heart and gave a shallow bow from the waist. “My pardon, High Druid. But the fact remains, you are more representative of the Guild than anyone here.”

“Save you, Brother Martin.”

“Save me,” Nigel said.

“And you have failed this Grove, Brother Martin. When the opportunity arose to bring strength to the ruling council of the Guildhouse, you passed it by. I would not stand here with burns if you had stood by me when we had the chance.” From my angle, I couldn’t see any burns. I wasn’t going to be the one to ask him to lift his robe.

“Oh, please, Gerin—High Druid—it’s not a ruling council. It’s a board of directors. I’m not interested in Guild politics,” Gillen snapped.

Surprisingly, an annoyed murmur ran through the crowd. Granted, Gillen did not have many admirers, but everyone usually respected him. Not that he cared either way.

“That’s the point, Brother Yor. The Guild fails to rule where it must and fears to rule where it should. The Grove had an opportunity to change that, and we failed. You, Brother Martin, failed us, with the aid of Brother Grey.”

There are times when I love being the center of attention. This was not one of them. Having several hundred men in ceremonial robes glance in your direction when you’re blamed for something is not pleasant.

“Connor Grey merely sat in for Briallen, as you know. And if she were there, she would have pointed out the same flaw in your thinking as he did,” said Nigel.

“Irrelevant,” said Gerin. “The point is our unity. The Ward Guildhouse crumbles under years of Danann rule. It is the withered body of a dying man.”

Murmurs of agreement rumbled through the crowd. Gerin knows how to work a crowd. My head twinged at the shots of essence flowing around me as people conferred through sendings.

Gerin was going into full chant mode, raising his staff, turning on the solemn voice. “It is the duty of a Grove—to guide the guideless, to teach the ignorant, to…”

“To rule both Grove and Guild? Is that what you’re after, Gerin?” asked Gillen Yor.

“Why not? Why not the Grove?” he said.

“Gerin has led us well!” someone shouted. No doubt a plant. More murmurs went up from the gathering and more surges of essence. Using ability in the Grove was frowned on, but I doubted Gerin was going to complain tonight. The essence pulsed against my head, sharpening my senses painfully. I let my body shields come up, a fuzzy little barrier that brought some relief.

“The Grove should run the Guild!” Gerin shouted. More shouts went up.

“Emotion clouds your judgment, Brother Cuthbern,” Nigel said. Sweet little dig not using his full title, but not crossing the same line Gillen had. More boos than cheers.

“I could have been killed. We must stop them,” Gerin said. Nice of him not to mention I almost got killed, too. People were getting caught up in the idea. Essence swirled around me in cascading waves. My senses were kicking into overdrive. I wanted to shout myself, but from the sharp knives of pain digging into my skull. I couldn’t understand it. I had been bombarded by essence before, and it had made the black thing in my head recede. I had actually been able to use my abilities for a short time. But this was different. The thing in my head seemed to clamp down harder. Maybe it was because the source was druidic, too similar to my own. Whatever didn’t allow me to tap essence, didn’t like other druidic essence either. I decided Gerin’s blustering wasn’t worth the pain.

I pushed my way through the ring of men behind me, who were surging forward. They were all shouting Gerin’s name. I wasn’t the only one leaving. Just as I reached the entrance, Gillen Yor pushed past a knot of people and stomped through the druid hedge, grumbling under his breath. I stepped through the barrier and breathed a sigh of relief. The pressure abated immediately. Whatever games Gerin was playing, he played them inside the Bosnemeton.

I pulled my robe over my head as I walked down the stairs.

Joe popped in right in front of me. “What the hell is going on in there?”

“Gerin’s on one of his power trips again.” I rolled the robe up and tucked it under my arm.

Joe glanced back up the stairs. “He needs to relax more. Did you invite him to the club?”

I laughed. “Not likely. Have you seen Murdock?”

Joe cocked his head. He was doing whatever it is he does when he looks for someone before teleporting. “He should be here any minute.”

I was about to comment that Murdock’s the only person who shows up late more often than I do, when I noticed a druid come stumbling down the stairs and stagger away. It was the little guy who had snorted loudly. He still had his hood up, but moved as if in pain. He put a hand out to steady himself against the stone wall surrounding the park. I went over to him.

“Are you all right?” I asked. He nodded and waved me away. Then the shoes beneath the robe caught my eye. I’d know those Doc Martens anywhere.

“How did you get on the men’s side of the Grove?”

A hand went up to the hood and pulled it open slightly. Meryl glared at me. “Rat me out, and you die.”

“Are you all right? You’re pale as a ghost.”

She nodded again. “Yeah, it’s just my girl-nads. That time of the month’s coming sooner than usual.”

“You can feel those?” I asked.

She narrowed her eyes at me. “Oh, now I remember, you’re a man. Of course I can feel them, you idiot.” She took a few deep breaths. Her body shields shimmered around her, and she straightened up. “Ah, that’s better.”

“How the hell did you get through the hedge?” I said.

She grinned. “It wasn’t easy.”

Joe fluttered up. “Tell me! Tell me!”

“Sorry, Joe. Gerin would be annoyed if he knew I got in, never mind how angry he’d be if he caught me telling his secrets, even if I do think he’s an idiot.”

Murdock chose that moment to pull his car around the park. I opened the passenger door. “Do you want a ride or did you bring your car?” I asked Meryl.

She marched around the door and sat in the seat. She smiled. “I’m not taking my car into the Tangle.” She gestured toward the backseat. “You get the compost heap. Hi, Murdock.”

He smiled. “Compost? Is it something I drove?”

I opened the back and pushed some trash across the seat. It wasn’t that bad. I’d seen it worse. Joe found it interesting enough to rummage around in it.

“Gerin turned the Bosnemeton into a boys’ club, and someone’s not happy,” I told Murdock.

He looked at Meryl. “Don’t you ladies have your own island somewhere?”

Meryl smirked. “Yeah, right. It’s where we run around in star-spangled swimsuits.”

I think the biggest mistake I had made in my social life recently was introducing Meryl and Murdock. They took to each other like sarcasm and snark. At first I was their main target, but they finally moved on to the rest of the world.

We wound our way through Southie while Meryl explained druid gender politics to Murdock. She made several good points. Convergence had not been kind to the old order. Gerin liked to cling to the notion that women didn’t want to be involved in politics. Of course, he tends to forget that not a few druidessess have had more influence in Faerie than he apparently ever did.

We entered the Tangle. A blue haze crept along the streets, ghostly translucent in the dim streetlights. Small neon signs flickered here and there, subdued signposts for bars that didn’t want to draw attention but didn’t want to be overlooked either. No one moves quickly down here, especially at night, unless they’re running. The quick step is the fear step and draws the curiously malicious. No loud talking, and especially not laughter. It’s a place of hard coolness, the strut of confidence and threat.