Blood and Whispers, page 9
Detective Connors gasped as a couple walked past with curling ram horns sprouting from their temples and cloven hooves in place of feet.
“What the hell?” I heard her exclaim softly, and the pair looked sharply in our direction. Noticing my coat, they hurriedly turned away and minded their own business.
I looked over at the detectives. “Satyrs. Don’t be rude, don’t draw attention to yourselves, and try not to touch anything. Now come on.” I strode into the crowd, looking for Aengus or someone who might know where he was.
Like the satyrs, everyone here could recognize my coat for what it was and gave me a fairly wide berth; Detectives Connors and Lajoie trailed in the clear space immediately behind me before the crowd closed back up in the wake of my passage. I wasn’t sure where I was headed, because I had no idea where Aengus would be. But as the ranking member of the Fae community in the northeastern U.S., he almost never missed a Market night.
Unlike most of the Tuatha Dé Danann, Aengus had remained in this world when his kin had withdrawn to Tír na nÓg centuries ago. He’d wound up living in New York for a while when the Irish started flooding in during the Famine years, though to my knowledge he’d never established a permanent home on this side of the Atlantic. I’d met him there, at a Market up in Manhattan when I was in the city on Arcanum business, and he was one of my best contacts among the Fae. If he didn’t know about the Avartagh, he’d know who I needed to talk to. But first I had to find him and convince him to help me.
I strolled through the Market, keeping an eye on the detectives behind me to make sure they hadn’t wandered off. A group of small ugly creatures walked past, smoking pipes and chattering excitedly in some dialect I didn’t recognize. Kobolds, distant cousins of Mannfred, though of a more land-based variety. I wondered what was running through the skeptical Detective Connors’s head right now. Was she open to changing her mind? Or was she instead convincing herself this was all some sort of elaborate charade?
“Quinn!”
I turned to see the striking, Amazonian figure of Samantha Carr walking my way from over by one of the stalls, her own Sorcerer’s coat much more stylishly cut than mine.
“Sam,” I acknowledged her approach.
“I hoped I might run into you here,” she said, smiling broadly. “Imagine, seeing you twice in less than a week! Lucky me!” But she stopped in her tracks as she noticed the detectives. I saw her eyes take note of their bracelets. “Friends of yours?”
I nodded but didn’t make any introductions. “Have you seen Aengus Óg anywhere? I need to talk to him.”
Sam frowned. “No, don’t think I have. But it’s good running into you again—I have something I want to talk to you about. I don’t want to take your time if you’re busy, though, and I was just about to head home anyway. I’ll just come by the shop sometime. If I see Aengus on my way out, I’ll let him know you’re looking for him.”
“Sounds good, thanks. See you around, Sam,” I nodded curtly and moved on, the detectives close behind.
A few stalls on, I recognized a vendor who might know where Aengus was.
“Zoya,” I greeted her as I approached her stall.
“Ah, Sorcerer!” she answered as she turned towards me.
She appeared to be a slender young woman with pale, greenish hair and wide blue eyes. She was pretty at first glance, but there was something off-putting on closer inspection. Her skin was clammy, and her features were oddly distorted, as if she were made of wax that had ever so slightly melted in the sun’s heat.
Zoya was a rusalka, a type of lesser Faerie which had once been common in Slavic areas, known as fickle nature spirits—sometimes they helped ensure a good harvest, other times they lured young men to their deaths. That was the way with the Fae.
“I’m looking for Aengus. Do you know where he is?”
As with Bran, I knew the best route was always to get directly to the point. No sense giving Faeries an opening to play their word games.
She smiled, but rather than answer, she looked past me at the detectives, her eyes shifting from one to the other.
“Oh hello there, dear children. You look lost.”
“Zoya.” I snapped my fingers, bringing her attention back to me. Her serene expression faltered and she looked annoyed. “I’ll have none of that. They’re under my protection. Now where’s Aengus? If anyone’s seen him it’s you. I know how you like to look.”
The rusalka’s eyes narrowed in anger. That had been downright unkind—like many in the Faerie world, she’d been hopelessly in love with Aengus for centuries. While he was never impolite and never led anyone on, she wasn’t his type. She knew it, yet that didn’t stop her from pining.
But my rudeness had been calculated—it succeeded in getting her attention off the detectives and back on to me.
“That will cost you, Sorcerer,” she snarled. “I have seen the Óg, yes. But for your discourtesy, my price for the location is your blood. Two drops.”
A gift freely given is a rarity among the Fae. Even something as inconsequential as the whereabouts of a mutual acquaintance had its price; they haggle as naturally as they breathe. But ill manners or not, her price was far too high—there plenty of others I could ask, and there were too many dangerous things an offended Faerie could do with fresh blood.
I shook my head. “No. Absolutely not.”
“In that case, five drops from each of your companions.” Her gaze shifted back to the detectives, and her expression looked almost hungry. “Less potent, perhaps, but still valuable. How about it, darlings? Just a pinprick, a few drops, and you shall be off to see Aengus.”
“Why do I get the feeling that would be a bad idea?” Detective Lajoie responded.
I again shook my head, putting up a hand to stop him saying anything more.
“No, Zoya,” I growled, my eyes narrowed in irritation. “I already told you they’re under my protection, and I don’t appreciate you making me repeat myself.”
She looked back at me, her own eyes widening. She clearly realized she’d overstepped—she’d seen the bracelets, but her annoyance at my remark about her unrequited love for Aengus had led her to go too far. She knew exactly who—and what—I was, and knew she was outclassed. The rusalka was proud and haughty, but not stupid.
“I of course meant no offense, Sorcerer,” she backpedaled. “Forgive my anger. We have known each other a long time. For the sake of our past dealings and in the light of my mistake, I will give you the information you seek at no charge. But remember this favor next time I am in need.”
I nodded, my lips firmly pressed together. It wasn’t the same as giving her a favor in exchange, but it was a promise to bear this courtesy in mind in future transactions. That I could tolerate. It was essentially the same deal I had with Bran for his news.
“I saw the Óg on the lower level, in the company of Tylwyth Teg. Two of them. You will likely still find him there.”
That made sense—several legends about Aengus dealt with his love of fair women, and those of the Tylwyth Teg were some of the most beautiful in Faerie. They weren’t uncommon in this area, so close to the Welsh Tract. That might also explain Zoya’s sensitivity about my earlier comment—the Tylwyth Teg were exactly Aengus’s type, wild and lovely dryads of the wood.
I grunted in acknowledgement and led the detectives toward the lower level, where I spotted Aengus as she’d said, chatting with two stunningly beautiful redheads. They were short, barely reaching his chest, and very slender, but with curves in all the right places. By custom, glamours were dropped at the market, so neither exuded the mind-ensnaring splendor they might normally project, but their natural beauty was literally Otherworldly anyway.
I approached, but politely waited a few paces from the conversing group, just at the corner of Aengus’s vision. It would be rude to interrupt, and I needed him to be in a good mood.
While waiting, I noticed that Detective Lajoie didn’t seem especially interested in the two extremely attractive Faeries a few feet from him, instead continuing to look around the market with barely suppressed wonder and excitement. I understood the excitement—after a lifetime of believing and hoping, he was finally getting to experience the magical world in the open. But it was still a bit odd that he didn’t spare them a second glace. Even without glamours, the Tylwyth Teg were exquisite. He wore a wedding ring, yet even for a happily married man that was an unusual level of personal discipline. I mentally shrugged.
After a few minutes, the three of them laughed—the two dryads prettily, Aengus with a deeper reverberating chortle. And with that, the girls smilingly walked away and Aengus turned to face me.
“Thomas Quinn!” he greeted me with a broad smile. “How are you this evening, my old friend?”
“Aengus,” I nodded. “I need a word.”
He chuckled. “All business, every time we meet. You could stand to lighten up some, you know that? I remember a time when you still told jokes. I miss that Thomas Quinn sometimes.”
He paused and looked at the two detectives behind me. Connors had regained her composure, though she hadn’t said a word since we’d seen the satyrs shortly after our arrival. Lajoie still looked like wanted to wander off on his own, like a child in a candy shop, but was fighting the urge. Aengus looked them up and down and noted their bracelets.
“And who are your companions, Sorcerer?”
This was where things could get tricky. I hesitated for a second, and Aengus’s eyes narrowed slightly as he noticed.
“Allow me to introduce Henri Lajoie and Adrienne Connors,” I began carefully. “They’re detectives with the Philadelphia police who brought something very unusual to my attention.”
Aengus’s eyes snapped to mine, examining my face for any sign I was joking or lying or misleading. He had a couple thousand years of practice spotting lies. He dropped his voice to a sotto voce.
“You are serious? You brought the police to the Market? And under your protection, no less? Does the Court know of this?”
I shook my head and replied in that same undertone. “No, they do not, and if I have my way, they’re going to remain ignorant until I’m sure what’s going on. We need to talk, you and I. In private.”
“We do at that,” he replied, a hard edge creeping into his voice. “I hope you have a very good reason for this breach of custom, Sorcerer. Or I will notify the Court myself. Follow me, all of you.”
Chapter 9
Aengus led the way to a tent tucked back into a dark corner of the Gardens. It wasn’t very large, but it was comfortably appointed, with carpets and several overstuffed armchairs around a small coffee table. Aengus gestured to the chairs.
“Please, have a seat.”
He offered tea, which I politely rejected—Aengus may have been my friend, but rules are rules among the Fae.
Once we were all seated, he met my eyes. “Now, Sorcerer Quinn. Explain yourself.”
I gazed back at him and raised an eyebrow. “You know me well enough that I’m almost insulted, Aengus.”
He didn’t even flinch. “I am sorry to hear that. I have always been fond of you, my friend. But this is too serious a matter to let our personal relationship affect my judgment. So how about you tell me what you thought was so important that you would violate sacred custom.”
“I have evidence the Avartagh is active again. Here. In Philadelphia.”
His sharp intake of breath was revealing. He knew exactly what that meant.
“And,” he replied, “presumably, these two detectives are investigating whatever crime led you to that conclusion?” The old Faerie wasn’t stupid.
I nodded. “They brought the murder to my attention. And while I probably could have come up with a way to keep them out of this meeting, the truth is I think they have a right to know what they’re dealing with. And to be honest, we will need their help if I’m right. The Arcanum is still spread too thin—we haven’t recovered from our losses to the Shadows. The Fae can’t operate openly. The police have the resources, just not the know-how. They can be a useful asset. But that means the detectives here need to know the truth.”
I paused, then added, “Detective Lajoie here is also the Sorcerer Antoine Richelieu’s grandson. He has a natural-born right to be here any way you look at it. And he insisted on his partner coming, too, and pointed out that leaving her ignorant was inviting more trouble than initiating her in the first place. And I agreed with that assessment.”
Aengus’s brow was furrowed in thought for a long moment. Then he turned to the detectives.
“Do you know who I am?” The question was directed at both of them. Both shook their heads. He looked back at me.
“Very well, Sorcerer. They are under your protection, and you have earned my attention, if not my countenance just yet. Complete the formal introductions, then tell me what makes you think the Avartagh has returned to this world.”
I didn’t let it show, but internally I breathed an enormous sigh of relief. We’d made it past the first hurdle. He’d stopped short of granting his approval of my decision to bring the detectives, but at least he was willing to listen.
Since I’d already introduced the detectives to the Faerie, it just remained to present him in return.
“Detectives Lajoie and Connors,” I said, turning to acknowledge them for the first time since we’d sat down in the tent, “It’s my pleasure to introduce you to Aengus Óg, son of the Dagda, of the Tuatha Dé Danann, a warrior and poet without equal.” I paused. “Also somewhat of a cheeky trickster,” I added as an afterthought.
Aengus snorted. Good, that meant he had relaxed. Even the Fae could have a sense of humor. Maybe that’s why he and I got along—he counterbalanced my generally sour disposition.
The Faerie princeling nodded to the two of them. “A friend of the Sorcerer Quinn is a friend of mine. I am honored to meet you both. May the road rise with you.”
The detectives didn’t know it, but for the first time since we’d entered the Market we were safe. The blessing meant he’d officially acknowledged my guest right in his tent, and that it extended to them. He now had a responsibility to protect us until we violated his hospitality or left his domain. That’s why he’d insisted I complete the formalities and introduce him to the detectives, rather than introducing himself. Custom and ritual were a big part of the magical world.
Much to my surprise, Detective Connors inclined her head in response, straightened, and extended her hand toward him across the table.
“May the wind always be at your back.”
I was slightly taken aback—I hadn’t expected her to know the traditional response to Aengus’s blessing. Aengus, however, just laughed heartily and clasped her hand.
“Well said. At least someone,” he paused and glanced meaningfully, if playfully, my way, “respects traditions.”
Her partner mutely extended his hand as well, and Aengus shook it.
Detective Connors saw me looking at her, my eyebrows raised, and shrugged.
“My grandmother was born and raised in a village in Connacht,” she explained. “She taught me some Irish greetings when I was a kid, back when she was still telling me stories about the Tuatha Dé.”
I was less interested in how she’d learned Irish blessings, and more curious about her apparent change of heart in regard to the Fae. She’d been so dismissive of the idea of anything supernatural less than an hour ago, and now she just accepted it when I introduced her to a man out of the Faerie tales her grandmother told her when she was a little girl? Even given the taxi ride and the Market itself, that struck me as an oddly rapid change of her fundamental beliefs about how the world works. Most people put up more resistance. I was waiting for the other shoe to drop, but there was little I could do about it at that exact second. Maybe her partner had been right, and she was just open to changing her mind in the face of clear evidence.
I shook my head slightly and looked back at Aengus, who was still grinning at Detective Connors, his head cocked slightly as if he were trying to figure her out the same as I was. I cleared my throat, getting his attention.
“Okay,” he nodded, and his grin disappeared, back to being all business. “Now that introductions are complete, tell me about this crime, and why you believe it was the Avartagh’s doing.”
His eyes narrowed as I started to tell him the details of the two murders.
“Were there words of power written in blood?”
I nodded.
“What did they say?”
“I don’t know. I recognized the glyphs as Faen, but I didn’t know the dialect.”
He pursed his lips and thought. After a moment, he looked at the detectives. “Do you have pictures of the crime scene?”
Detective Lajoie nodded, then reached into his coat and pulled out a folded manila envelope containing smaller versions of the same pictures I’d seen. He removed the pictures from the envelope and handed them to Aengus.
He skimmed through the photos, his lips tightening. “I understand,” he said, looking back up at me, “why you concluded this was the Avartagh’s work, Sorcerer. The ritual is the same as I have heard it described, as well. It appears to be the same working, but this was not his doing.”
I raised my eyebrows. “How can you be sure? He’s always done what he felt like, and he likes causing pain.”
“Because,” his expression became frank, “the Avartagh has been imprisoned in the Dún Dubh for five hundred years.”
Well, damn. I hadn’t expected that at all. My theory was completely trashed. But before I could recover, Detective Connors spoke up.
“What the hell is a ‘dune dove’?”
Aengus turned to her. “Dún Dubh,” he gently corrected her pronunciation. “It means ‘Black Fortress.’ And it is the prison of the Tuatha Dé.”
“Why haven’t I heard any stories about it?”
