Author: Richard A. Knaak
Date: 2019-03-26 00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy; Science Fiction
Description: A historical urban fantasy set in Prohibition-era Chicago, which combines action, mystery, and romance against a backdrop of gangland wars and the threat of supernatural horror. For sixteen hundred years, Nick Medea has guarded the gate between our world and Feirie, preventing the Wyld--the darkest Feirie of all--from coming into Chicago to find human prey. But since he defeated Oberon, more and more Wyld have been slipping through. Nick and his Feirie companion, the shapeshifter, Fetch, have been busy hunting them down. Nick keeps coming across the Dacian Draco, the sign of his ancient enemy
Publisher: Pyr
Rights: All rights reserved

BLACK CITY DRAGON

ALSO BY RICHARD A. KNAAK

Black City Saint
Black City Demon

BLACK CITY DRAGON

RICHARD A.
KNAAK

Published 2018 by Pyr®

Black City Dragon. Copyright © 2018 by Richard A. Knaak. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, digital, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, or conveyed via the internet or a website without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Cover design and illustration by Jacqueline Nasso Cooke

Cover images © Alamy Stock Photos

Cover design © Start Science Fiction

This is a work of fiction. Characters, organizations, products, locales, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

Inquiries should be addressed to

Pyr
c/o Start Publishing

101 Hudson Street, 37th Floor, Suite 3705

Jersey City, New Jersey 07302

PHONE: 212-431-5455

WWW.PYRSF.COM

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Knaak, Richard A., author.

Title: Black city dragon / by Richard A. Knaak.

Description: Amherst, NY : Pyr, an imprint of Prometheus Books [2018] I “This book includes bonus material: A Nick Medea short story “Black City Shadows” © 2017 by Richard A. Knaak, first published in Grimdark Magazine, Issue 13, October, 2017.”

Identifiers: LCCN 2018027948 (print) | LCCN 2018030874 (ebook) | ISBN 9781633884953 (ebook) | ISBN 9781633884946 (paperback)

Subjects: | GSAFD: Fantasy fiction.

Classification: LCC PS3561.N25 (ebook) | LCC PS3561.N25 B573 2018 (print) | DDC 813/.54—dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018027948

“Black City Shadows” © 2017 by Richard A. Knaak, first published in Grimdark Magazine, Issue 13, October 2017.

Printed in the United States of America

For my sister, Arlene

CHAPTER 1

“Mind your head, Master Nicholas! He’s got himself to the ceiling!”

I’d lost my head once. It’d been horribly painful for the brief moment before death had saved me. I’d sworn I’d never let it happen again.

I managed to bring Her Lady’s gift above me just before the inky whip-like appendage reached me. Instead of my head being severed, a good three feet of the Wyld’s limb went flying. I might’ve been happier with that result if not for the other five appendages already shooting for me.

I was saved from one of those limbs by a familiar four-legged shape. Fetch tore into it with his usual gusto, teeth and claws ripping it apart. He might’ve looked like some cross between a greyhound and a wolf, but those similarities were only superficial. Once, he’d been a servant of Her Lady, executing her enemies in Feirie at her command. His one failure had been me and for that she’d condemned him. I’d ended up saving his life when he himself had been condemned and he’d been a loyal associate—for the most part—since then.

Fetch’s attack made the Wyld hesitate just a little, which was all I needed. I turned the gleaming blade toward the center of the black mass that was the Wyld and sliced off the ends of two more limbs.

The Wyld withdrew all its appendages. It quickly spread over the ceiling, no doubt seeking escape. I couldn’t let that happen. It hadn’t been on this side of the Gate very long, but it’d already claimed a night watchman before the warehouse owner had contacted the advertisement in the Chicago Daily News about “ghosts.” He thought the man had fled out of fear, but it’d taken me only a moment to recognize what’d happened. There’d never be any trace found, so I’d chosen to let the flight story pass. What I couldn’t do, though, was allow the Wyld to have another chance to feed.

Let me burn him! demanded the voice in my head. Eye will burn him!

“And the rest of the warehouse, too,” I muttered, as I maneuvered under the Wyld. “No.” I’d once granted him complete control over us. People of Feirie still called that the Night the Dragon Breathed.

Humans called it the Great Chicago Fire.

Eye would take care, he insisted, his voice now beguiling. He had had no concept of names before becoming part of me, and so without any body to call his own he had chosen to title himself after that part of him I relied upon most. Eye would be most cautious, Eye promise!

I ignored him. All I wanted from him was what he’d just granted me. My own eyes had given way to narrow, burning reptilian ones that viewed the world in emerald. They enabled me to see what remained invisible to the mortal world, especially the Wyld.

“Ungh! I think I’m going to upchuck!” Fetch blurted, slipping into a bit of the human slang he’d grown so fond of since being exiled to this side of the Gate. “Tastes like rotted fish!”

Such poetry in his language, the dragon mocked as we move toward the other end of the warehouse.

“Quiet.” The jeweled sword glowed crimson, the only thing in the dragon’s world that wasn’t colored emerald. It could sense the nearby Wyld, sense it and hunger for it. There were times when Her Lady’s gift seemed almost alive, a thought that didn’t comfort me.

Fetch suddenly stood beside me. “We charge him, Master Nicholas?”

I’d long given up trying to make Fetch just call me “Nick”— which wasn’t my original name, anyway—but being of Feirie, he insisted on calling me by a more formal title. Kravayik was the same. I didn’t like their deference, but they refused to change.

“No. Cut it off, Fetch. We can’t let it get out.”

“And how!” Fetch race forward, moving a lot faster than any wolf or dog.

I didn’t wait for him to reach the far end. I estimated the distance to the ceiling. The tall crates stored here would only get me halfway up, but that was a start.

I thrust the Feirie blade back into my overcoat, where it disappeared into that pocket world only I could draw it from.

At least let me give you a hand . . . or two, my unseen companion suggested.

As much as I hated it, he had a point there. “All right.”

I didn’t look at my hands as they twisted and reshaped. I’d seen that transformation and so much worse many times over the sixteen hundred years since I’d become guardian of the Gate. I’d learned never to trust even the smallest shift, including the eyes. It didn’t matter whether we were in the midst of danger; the dragon would always be seeking an opportunity to seize command.

Still, I couldn’t argue with how fast I was able to climb to the top now. I positioned myself, willed my hands back to normal, and then drew Her Lady’s gift.

It glowed brighter, the closer proximity to its target stirring it.

Something shook the crate.

I lost my balance. Still clutching the sword, I toppled back over the edge.

My entire body shook as I hit the floor and something cracked loudly. I grunted in pain, my world spinning for a moment.

“’Ware, Master Nicholas! ‘Ware!”

I fought back the tears of pain blinding me just in time to see two black appendages converging on me. I didn’t know how the Wyld had managed its trick with the crate, but if it thought I’d be senseless after that fall, it didn’t know how much pain I’d learned to suffer over the centuries.

I had the sword pointed up as it struck. This time, I didn’t attempt to slice off the tip of either limb. Instead, I plunged the tip as deep as I could into one of the appendages.

The Wyld’s howl filled the warehouse. I might’ve been concerned about discovery, but no one outside would hear even so much as a whisper from this struggle. There were both benefits and drawbacks to being guardian of the Gate.

Her Lady’s gift pulsated. It now had a strong hold on its prey. It now could feed.

The howl nearly deafened me. I didn’t care. All that mattered was holding tight while the sword finished the job.

The Wyld’s body twisted like taffy. It began seeping from the ceiling into the glowing blade. I managed to get back on my feet, then braced myself.

The last of the inky creature peeled away from the ceiling. It poured like a stream into the blade until nothing remained outside. For a brief moment, Her Lady’s gift was as black as the Wyld . . . and then the blade returned to normal and the glow faded away.

I exhaled.

“Behind ye, Master Nicholas!”

I spun around. A second Wyld loomed over me. This one was a shadow with a single large silver eye in the upper middle and a round black gap with sharp teeth running around the inner edge.

It wasn’t the ugliest Wyld I’d seen, but it came damned close.

I had the sword pointed at it when suddenly something like a scythe severed the top half—including the eye—from the rest.

The mouth gaped for a moment, then the entire shadowy body collapsed in a heap.

I didn’t bother with the dead Wyld, more concerned with what had done him in so quickly. The answer to that also hovered over me, a thing as much of shadow as the two dead creatures . . . and why not, since he was from the same place? With the all-encompassing hood and cloak, he looked just like the grim reaper, a resemblance made doubly so by his use of the scythe. For all I knew, one of his kind had been the basis for the legend.

I still had the dragon’s eyes, but they helped little in piercing the interior of the cloak. I could make out a blur of a face with deep, soulless pits for eyes, and that was it.

The figure adjusted the scythe, revealing that the weapon was actually the combined ends of both arms. Then, with an almost casual shake, the scythe dissipated and two sinewy hands with only four digits formed. Another shake and sharp nails as long as the fingers sprouted.

Gatekeepers . . . a rasping voice murmured in my head.

Fetch and Kravayik called the thing a Feir’hr Sein and did so with tremendous respect. From Kravayik, especially, that meant a lot. Me, I called him Lon since he reminded me somehow of Chaney’s most recent creation, the Phantom of the Opera.

“What’re you doing here, Lon? What’s Her Lady up to?”

The Feir’hr Sein bristled, in part due to my disrespectful tone toward his mistress, but also because of the moniker I’d given him. For some reason, it meant something significant that I’d named him. I noticed that he’d obeyed my orders a few times when clearly he would’ve chosen otherwise. I could’ve tested the limits of that right here and now, but I wasn’t much more keen on his company at the moment than he obviously was keen on mine.

One skeletal finger pointed at Fetch, who now stood at my side, teeth bared and tail taut. Back in Feirie, Fetch would’ve had the full powers of a shapeshifter at his beck and call, but here in the mortal world he was pretty much limited to his canine shape. Still, I had no doubt he was willing to take on Lon if necessary.

The Gate is breeched. . . they are crossing . . . he is warned. . .

“Hmm?” I glanced at Fetch, who growled. It took me a moment, but I realized what Her Lady’s enforcer meant . . . and that Fetch was guilty.

Of course, I wasn’t about to give Lon that benefit. “Careful who you order around here, Lon.” I purposely used the name again just to prod him a little. “You’re not in her domain. This is my territory. She’s getting a little too familiar with it. Something’s letting Feirie intrude much too much into this world, and I know it isn’t me.”

The Gate is breeched . . . he repeated. The hand withdrew. She has spoken . . . he is warned. . .

“So you said. Was there something else, Lon? You didn’t follow me down here just for that, did you?”

“Careful, Master Nicholas,” Fetch muttered. “Don’t trust this torpedo.”

“He wouldn’t try anything on me . . . would you, Lon?” When the Feir’hr Sein didn’t answer, I continued, “What is it? What?”

He shimmered. I’d never seen him like that before. I could almost swear that he was nervous.

One hand slipped into the darkness surrounding him. A moment later, it reappeared with something in the narrow palm.

Lon tossed the object toward me. Not trusting him overmuch, I let it fall to the floor with a light clatter.

Suddenly, from the other end of the warehouse, there came a slight but definite movement.

The Feir’hr Sein hissed and looked past me. I couldn’t help but look over my shoulder in the same direction.

Near the warehouse entrance, a shape briefly moved.

“Fetch!”

He didn’t waste a moment. As he raced toward where the figure had been, I quickly glanced back to Lon. “You’d better—”

He was gone.

Feir’hr Sein weren’t cowardly sorts. In fact, they were pretty arrogant in their power. That arrogance had cost Lon’s predecessor dearly when he’d gone hunting Oberon, Her Lady’s former husband and her rival for power. Oberon had tortured the Feir’hr Sein, then left him to the mercy of something even creepier.

I had no more time to concern myself over Lon’s odd behavior. Keeping Her Lady’s gift ready, I charged after Fetch.

When I got to the entrance, the door was open. The owner had given me the three hours I’d requested upon arrival at midnight, and so far I’d only used one. Unless something had gone awry, he’d still be at the diner a mile away, chain-smoking Chesterfields and downing another cup of java. The “ghosts” he’d come to believe were haunting his warehouse had made him a nervous wreck; at least, that’s what he thought. Like others I’d met over the centuries, he had a touch of sensitivity where the supernatural was concerned. Just enough to bother him when Wyld had made this place their sanctum.

Taking a risk, I kept the blade in front of me as I exited. A look both directions gave me no clue as to which way Fetch had gone.

Allow me. . .

I nodded. My nose twitched. I was glad there wasn’t a mirror around. Suddenly, I could sense all sorts of odors. Most I recognized instantly, especially Fetch’s musky scent.

But one I had no idea about. It trailed in the same direction Fetch’s did. I started after—

The same odd scent wafted past my nose from right behind me.

I ducked. A pale hand reached past where the back of my head would have been.

I didn’t hesitate. Whatever I smelled, it wasn’t human. It also clearly wasn’t friendly.

I spun and thrust. Her Lady’s gift cut into my attacker’s chest with even more ease than I was used to. I drove it deep, not wanting to take any chance.

Only . . . nothing happened. Her Lady’s gift didn’t stir. It remained dormant.

And the figure I’d run through just stood there, close enough to touch. A slim man in a black overcoat shirt and pants, with a pale, nondescript face quite the contrast to my swarthier one. Maybe thirty years old if I was naive enough to think he was merely human. Short brown hair mixed with a touch of gray hinted at a greater age.

His watery black eyes blinked once.

“And so?” he murmured dispassionately.

In my head, my constant companion abruptly roared, Why do you stand there waving that elven toy at empty air? Eye see nothing! Why do you pretend you fight?

That bothered me even more. This might’ve been a stunt to try to somehow trick me into releasing him, but I doubted it. He honestly could not sense the figure any more than it seemed the sword did.

Still expressionless, the slim man began to back up. He left nothing on Her Lady’s gift. Not blood, bits of flesh . . . nothing. After sixteen centuries of being haunted by Diocles, I knew what a ghost was, and this was no ghost. Not just because he was solid. There was life here, of a sort, or at least the imitation of it.

Maybe a thrust couldn’t stop him, but I wondered how well he would do if I used the edge. I saved him the trouble of backing up farther and withdrew the blade.

A whine arose from the other direction. I recognized it as Fetch’s and hesitated.

The pale figure blurred. It was nothing the matter with my— our—eyes. He was literally blurry.

I took a swing, but it was already too late. Her Lady’s gift went right through him.

And then he was gone.

I turned and ran toward where the whine had come from. Fetch had gotten too far away from me, which meant he could only bark or howl. The same magic that bound me to the power of the Gate also allowed him to speak only when he was within a certain range of me.

A four-door coupe suddenly turned the corner ahead and sped past me. The dragon’s eyes enabled me to see it was a fairly new Oakland, likely the 6-54A. It looked as emerald as everything else, but I knew the main body would be that telltale blue the auto company was now famous for.

Only because of the dragon’s eyes was I also able to catch a glimpse of the driver.

And only because of his eyes did I see that the thug behind the wheel was the same figure I’d just unsuccessfully run through.

I let that curious fact slide for the moment. The Packard was around the same corner from which the other auto had just come. There was no chance of getting to it and following. Besides, there was still Fetch . . . at least, I hoped so.

He let out another, quieter wail as I reached the corner. The moment I came upon him, I could see why.

“Easy, Fetch. Easy.” I returned Her Lady’s gift to that other place inside my overcoat, then knelt by him. I reached a hand to him, but at the last second, he managed to speak.

“’Ware, M-Master Nicholas. Don’t ye be . . . t-touching me.”

February had started out cold, but the glistening frost covering Fetch from head to toe clearly had no natural cause. He lay sprawled on the sidewalk, not only unable to move but obviously in pain as well.

“It burns . . . Master N-Nicholas.”

I couldn’t let him suffer. You know what I want . . .

Of course . . . I could feel his satisfaction. I promise not to burn him . . .

I’ll do it.

He chuckled. Very well. . .

Bracing myself, I leaned close to Fetch.

“Y-Ye best not touch me,” he warned.

“I won’t.”

Breath . . .

I didn’t need the dragon’s coaxing. I took a deep breath, then exhaled.

The chill of winter turned my breath into a thick cloud that draped over Fetch from muzzle to tail. I clamped my mouth shut for fear of burning him.

The sinister ice shroud melted immediately. Fetch leaped to his feet and trotted a few steps away from me.

“That was a bit of a scorcher there, Master Nicholas, though I’m not complaining about being free, mind ye?”

Dismissing both the dragon’s breath and his eyes, I stood up. “What happened?”

Fetch shook his coat free of any remaining pieces of ice. “I followed the trail. Realized the bimbo had turned the corner. Ran low to evade an attack—and then it got damned cold.”

“Did you see him? Was it a pale-looking man in a dark coat?”

“Aye.” Fetch bared his teeth. “Looked human. Didn’t smell like one, though.”

“I know what you mean.” I looked around, then thought of something. “Get in the Packard and warm up. I’ll be right back.”

“As ye say, Master Nicholas . . . be careful.”

How sweet. . . the dragon interjected.

Quiet. Leaving Fetch, I headed back to the warehouse, in part because I couldn’t leave the place unlocked. I’d convinced the owner to give me a key, which I’d promised to return when we met at the diner. It wasn’t that he’d seen me as so trustworthy; a little bit of the magic of the Gate had allowed me to influence him. The effect would last only long enough for me to finish the task; then, he would immediately forget he’d ever even called me.

When I’d entered earlier, I’d done so knowing I was hunting. For that, I’d used the dragon’s eyes and left most of the lights off to lull the Wyld into a false sense of security. This time, though, I switched on the lights. I had one short task left . . . or rather, one curious matter to investigate.

I hadn’t had a chance to see what Lon—or maybe Her Lady—had thought so important to bring me. It would mean trouble, of that I was certain. Still, I’d learned a long time ago not to avoid such things.

I got to the spot, only to see nothing. I knew that wasn’t right. I’d let it drop in a pretty empty spot. There was no way it could’ve crawled off . . . at least, I hoped.

Then, I saw it. Not on the wall, but pinned to a crate with a nail someone had pulled out of the same container. Lon had evidently returned after Fetch and I’d gone after our pasty-faced friend.

I stared, suddenly thinking I recognized it. Inside me, I felt a tension that I knew was the dragon’s. Yeah, he recognized it, too. We shared a moment of disgust and dismay as it verified other things we’d run across over the past couple months.

It was a small clasp shaped like a stylized creature. A mythic one. A dragon.

A dragon with a canine maw from which sprouted several tongues. Until recently, I hadn’t seen its like in centuries, but I could never forget it. It was called a Dacian Draco. It had served as the ensign of the troops of an ancient land that had been swallowed up by the Roman Empire long before I was mere tribune who would someday be called, by those who didn’t know better, Saint George.

It was also the symbol of the man who had, even more than Diocles—or Diocletian, as he had been known when he’d been emperor—been responsible for my death and all that had followed.

“Galerius . . .” Even whispered, his name sent chills through me.

And then another chill immediately overwhelmed me, one not from fear for myself, but for someone else who had their own unique tie to him.

Claryce . . .

CHAPTER 2

After a quick stop to settle with my “client,” I drove from the south side—where the warehouse had been located—to the bookstore near Old Town over which Claryce now lived. The sleek maroon Wills with the black top, which Delke Industries had given her in return for acting as executor of their owner’s estate, sat by the bookshop over which she lived. The board of directors had bent over backward to get everything tidied up quickly after William Delke’s “death.” I’d little doubt that some of them had been aware of his true identity—that of Oberon, exiled king of Feirie—but with him gone I’d had nothing to fear. Oberon wouldn’t have left anyone around him at Delke who could become a potential threat. In fact, some of the board had even retired immediately after and left for parts unknown.

Parking the Packard across the street, I settled down in the driver’s seat while Fetch spread out over the back ones. I could’ve used the dragon’s power to make things warmer, but I’d endured far colder times and hadn’t wanted to ask anything more of him. Each time I had to use him risked my control. It was bad enough I needed his eyes.

I must’ve been more exhausted than I realized. Even though in general I needed little sleep—often going for days without—I drifted off without realizing it.

And so the dream—nightmare—began again.

I was astride my horse. Once more clad in the armor of a Roman tribune and with my spear poised, I urged my mount across a winding valley that had little in common with the actual landscape of lost Silene. At that moment, though, I didn’t care. All I knew was that it was urgent to reach my destination. The dragon had the princess. The dragon had Cleolinda.

A monstrous roar reverberated throughout the land. The hills transformed into shadowy buildings vaguely resembling Chicago. I tried to ignore them, only concerned with saving her. Yet the buildings began rising up in front of me, forcing me to pull hard on the reins and direct the horse to a better path.

A second roar shook everything. The tall buildings became the silhouettes of bootleggers and mobsters, all wielding automatics and tommy guns. They opened fire on me, a rain of sinister black missiles pockmarking the landscape.

Somehow, the horse and I evaded the attack. The silhouettes fell aside, leaving me once more on a hilly, empty landscape.

A new sound echoed throughout the area. A woman’s scream. Cleolinda’s scream . . .

No. Clarissa’s . . .

No. Claryce’s . . .

Although she appeared far in the distance, I could see her face as if it were only inches from my own. Fair of hair, twenties, a hint of the Mediterranean in her past. She had full lips and dark chocolate eyes through which she could express so much more than mere words could.

Claryce.

She screamed again, and as she did, her face split, the second close but not identical to the first. The hair darkened and grew longer. The face a little thinner.

Barely had the two separated then both split again. Two more variations of the same woman continued screaming.

Even as I urged my mount to greater swiftness, the macabre act repeated again and again, no two exactly the same, but so close that it was impossible not to know that they were meant to be one woman and one alone.

And with the exception of Claryce and the first variation, every one of them had died violently despite my best efforts or because of my ignorance of the danger to them.

The horse was a powerful one, yet we got no farther. I bent low, steadied the spear. I’d dreamed this dream in all its variations enough to understand what was to happen next.

A new roar drowned out the screams. The landscape around the many incarnations of Cleolinda / Claryce rose up and took on the form of a titanic beast with wings and claws. A dragon. The body defined first, then the leathery wings. As the wings spread and the dragon roared yet again, the fearsome head finally coalesced for me—

Only, the head was nothing like that of the dragon I’d slain in Silene, the dragon whose blood mixed with mine as we fought.

The dragon who I had not known at the time was also the unwilling guardian of the portal separating the mortal plane from Feirie.

No, this time the dragon had a head familiar to me in other ways. This time it had the lupine head of the Dacian Draco.

The roar twisted into laughter at my dismay. The head reshaped, becoming a swarthy human one with a short beard that framed the jaw and did not include a mustache. I knew those baleful black eyes as well as my own.

Galerius the dragon laughed a moment more, then leaned forward and opened his mouth wider.

Fire engulfed us, fire so hot it melted my armor and burned my flesh to the bone. Now it was my turn to scream, my turn to—

“Nick! Nick!”

I jolted, then opened my eyes. For a moment, I thought I was trapped in some new infernal version of the nightmare, but then I realized the face leaning over me in deep concern was real.

Claryce finished opening the driver door. She put one hand on my arm, the other on my cheek. “Have you been here all night?”

I blinked and saw that there were a few hints of daylight. “No . . . just half.”

“Were you dreaming—that horrible dream—again?”

I looked in the backseat, where Fetch sat with his ears flattened. “Someone could’ve woken me up before this. I doubt I was just sitting there asleep.”

“Wasn’t my fault, Master Nicholas! Ye slept like a dewdropper, so deep I finally went to get Mistress Claryce!”

Only then did I notice that the back door on the driver’s side was also open. Even without hands, Fetch could open most doors with ease.

“You could imagine how that was,” Claryce muttered. “I felt like I was in a Rin-Tin-Tin movie! You should’ve seen the motions he went through just to get me down here!”

“I liked Where the North Begins,” Fetch offered needlessly.

I grunted an apology to her. Fetch had had to go well beyond the reach of the magic that enabled him to speak when he’d gotten to her apartment. I could only imagine his attempts to communicate with her.

Claryce straightened. She wrapped her arms around herself despite the overcoat she had on, reminding me that it was still pretty cold outside. “Let’s get inside. I finally managed to get some of that tar you call coffee. I’ll make some for you.”

I looked at Fetch as I climbed out. He didn’t meet my gaze, instead darting from the back and catching up with Claryce. On our way here, I’d mentioned what Lon had left me. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t already heard my earlier suspicions a couple of months ago, after Claryce had noticed an odd tattoo on the neck of a Wyld serving the undead serial killer H. H. Holmes.

She’d initially described it as a dragon head circled by a tail. That alone had stirred old memories, but then, once I’d managed to casually get a slightly better description from her, she’d recalled the lupine shape to the head and the multiple tongues darting out.

That’d been the final nail. I didn’t believe in coincidence.

Fetch refused to look back as we climbed the steps to the apartment. I paused just before entering to take a look and see if there might be a blue Oakland coupe in the vicinity, but saw nothing. I wasn’t mollified.

Claryce’s apartment was a sharp contrast in neatness to the house I used in Old Town. Everything here was in its right place. That most of the pieces in the apartment were new was no excuse for the state of my place. Fire had forced her out of her previous home, fire that we both suspected in retrospect had been set by agents of Oberon to force her to accept “William’s” offer to use one on the Southwest Side. Oberon had known who and what Claryce was and had used her for bait. She had been offered the use of that same house after his death, but had declined to spend any more time there.

“Sit,” she ordered, as she took off her coat. I frowned at sight of the blued Smith & Wesson M1917 holstered at her side. I understood why it was there but regretted the fact that it was. It didn’t help at all that Claryce could use it better than most of the hoods in either Moran’s or Capone’s outfits. The simple fact that she had to have it meant that I’d already failed in many ways to protect her.

She didn’t see it that way, naturally. Claryce was every bit as strong of will as any of her previous incarnations. More so, to be truthful. I’d discovered quickly after meeting her that while there was Cle-olinda in Claryce, Claryce herself was like none of the previous incarnations . . . and that’d already made a lot of difference for us in so many ways.

Keeping the revolver on her, Claryce disappeared into the kitchen. Fetch curled up on a circular rug in the center of the living area. I debated between the long couch or the thick chair and decided on the latter. The nightmare had left me nearly as exhausted as if I hadn’t slept at all, but I was determined to stay awake.

Of course, the dragon began humming a lullaby the moment I sat down.

I shook my head to clear him away. It didn’t work. The next thing I knew, Claryce had returned with the coffee. She handed me the cup and saucer, then sat down on the couch with a set of her own.

“Don’t think you’ve converted me,” Claryce remarked as she sat back. “This is some good old safe and better-tasting Chase & Sanborn.”

I nodded, then took a sip of mine. It was good. Better, in fact, than when I made it. I told her so.

“You might try not brewing it to death. Are you actually attempting to turn it into tar?” Claryce took another swallow. “I haven’t heard from you in four days. I called the house. What’s going on, Nick? Is it her again? Is that why you were outside and not at the house?”

She referred to Her Lady, she whose name wasn’t to be spoken or even thought of unless one wanted to attract her attention . . . which most did not.

“No, although I did run into Lon.”

“Lon.” Claryce grimaced. “You have an awful sense of humor sometimes, naming that thing like that.”

“I could’ve called him ‘Buster’ or ‘Charlie.’”

“Very funny. That worries me. When you try to be funny, that means things are really bad. What is it?”

“Have you seen anyone lurking around?”

“‘Lurking’? Nick, everyone in your world lurks around—I’m sorry! That wasn’t nice.”

“But pretty true.”

She crossed her arms, her hand instinctively near the revolver. Another “gift” I’d given her. “I’ve seen some shadows from a distance, but they’ve always seemed to be focused elsewhere. I know I can’t see them the way you do, but I think I’ve kept pretty safe.”

“I’m sorry. I should be—”

“What? Be keeping watch over me? While that would be cozy, it would hamper what you need to do, and I do have things to deal with also.” She leaned forward. “We are together now, Nick, and nothing will ever separate us. But that also means relying on each other to be careful when we can’t physically be there for one another. Do you understand that?”

I nodded, the safest reply. Then, “So, nothing much out of the ordinary.”

“I didn’t say that.”

I tried to read her expression. She had something uncomfortable to talk about. I decided to let her go first. “Tell me.”

“You remember I told you how I first learned to shoot. Thanks to my boyfriend Mike.”

Try as I might, I couldn’t fathom what this was leading to. I doubted she was going to tell me that he’d somehow come back from the dead. According to Claryce, he’d died in France while serving in the American Expeditionary Force during the Great War.

“I received a letter from a friend of his. Tony Ford. They served together. I met him once. Didn’t speak much, but pretty polite. Big guy.”

“Why’s he contacting you?”

She retrieved her coffee. Reminded of my own, I took a strong swallow.

“He said he was supposed to pass on something to me from Mike. Something he’d promised to bring to me years ago.”

Now I was suspicious. “And he waited all this time? Where was he?”

She gazed at her coffee. “Trying to deal with his own demons. That’s what he said in the letter anyway.”

“I’m assuming that’s not literal. Do you trust this? Does it make sense?”

“I do. It’s just that . . . it made me feel guilty. Mike was more than eight years ago. I hardly even think of him anymore, especially since you and I found each other. In fact, knowing what I know about us and our past, it makes my time with him seem even more just a momentary thing. You and I . . .”

“Have sixteen hundred years of history together? A little imposing, isn’t it?” I cocked my head. “Do you want me to be here when he comes?”

“I honestly haven’t decided. I just wanted you to know.”

“Since Holmes, you’ve had two near accidents that I don’t trust were accidents. I want to make certain that this isn’t some sort of setup. If you think there’s any problem, I’m sure Fetch’ll be happy to act as guard dog in my place.”

His head popped up. “Sure, I’ll see everything stays copacetic, Mistress Claryce. I promise.”

“I’ll think about it. Thank you. I’m sorry, Nick. I meant to hold off on telling you, especially after finding you outside watching the apartment, but I couldn’t stop myself.”

“Memories can be very uncomfortable. I can appreciate that more than most.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out the clasp. “You recognize this? The symbol anyway?”

Claryce took it from me. She stopped blinking.

“It’s a dragon,” she whispered. “Like the one I mentioned back after Holmes. But not exactly. It represents the same thing, though, doesn’t it?” After I nodded, Claryce stared at it intently.

Too intently, in fact. Not only did she continue not to blink, but her eyes narrowed.

I had a sudden sick feeling. The dragon, silent for some time, chose that moment to chuckle. He had evidently recognized the truth before I had.

“You know what it is,” I managed.

Claryce swallowed. “I’ve been doing research in my spare time. A lot of research. I won’t stay ignorant, Nick. I’m not safe doing that.”

“You know what it is,” I repeated.

“The Dacian Draco. The Dacian Dragon. That’s what it is, right?”

“Claryce—”

She slammed her cup down. “Damn it! Don’t keep thinking that by hiding things from me you make me safe! Think what happened with Will—Oberon! You told me most of what happened all those centuries ago, about you, the dragon, Cleolinda, and even Diocles!” Claryce blinked. “Have you talked to him? Does he know?”

“I haven’t been to St. Michael’s in three weeks.”

“You’re hiding this from him? Nick, he could be of help . . . and what do you have to fear? Diocles is already dead! He’s at no risk.”

I didn’t respond to the last question. My situation with Diocles was a very complicated one, not least because he had been cursed to haunt me since his own death years after my own. We had finally worked out that he could not rest until I forgave him for the actual order to execute me. Galerius might have been the devil whispering in his ear, but Diocles had still willingly condemned a man who had once been his loyal servant and friend to death by beheading.

Sixteen hundred years had not been long enough for him to earn my forgiveness. I’d been a man before I’d been made a saint, and I just couldn’t give him what he needed to finally pass over, no matter how little I generally desired his company.

Claryce was right; I needed to question Diocles about this . . . but first I had to finally be straight with her.

Impatience got the best of her though. “It is Galerius, isn’t it? This is his mark. It’s Gaius Galerius Valerius Maximianus Augustus you think is ‘lurking’ about, isn’t it?”

I nodded, both relieved and worried about the fact that she’d picked up so much knowledge on her own.

“Don’t look so surprised, Nick. Since you revealed to me what my fate’s been, I’ve scoured every history book I could find. I’ve researched the legend and looked for the truth behind it. Did you think I wouldn’t come across him in the process and wonder? The moment I discovered that dragon symbol in the records, I made it one of my top priorities.”

“‘One’?”

“I’ve gone beyond Clarissa and Claudette, although I’d still like to talk to Kravayik about Claudette since you never met her. I know something of Cleolinda, the me that started this all, even if you haven’t told me everything you could—”

I shook my head. “Claryce . . . I’ve not held—”

“You have held back. I understand. However, you’ve already hinted at there being several more incarnations.” She brought her hands together in a beseeching position. “Just how many? How many of me have there been? I need to know. A dozen? More?”

I used a glance at Fetch to give me a moment to think, only to see him staring back with ears at attention. Even he had only known me since some time after the Gate’s arrival in Chicago.

I returned my gaze to her. “There’ve been . . . more.”

“Well, how many? Two dozen?”

“I’ve met . . . thirty-one.”

She was silent. I remained as still as possible.

“Thirty-one . . . that you’ve ‘met.’”

“Until I found out about Claudette, I assumed that I’d met every incarnation. Now, I realize I might’ve missed others.” I didn’t like some of the directions this conversation had not only gone but were very likely to go. “It can’t have happened very often, Claryce. Something always brought me to them. I have to assume that she was just an aberration—”

No sooner had I said the word than I regretted it. Claryce’s eyes flashed and, with arms once more tightening around her, jumped to her feet. “Aberration. Aberration! Is that what I am, too? Or am I just the next in line? I don’t know which is worse to think about!”

I got up. Fetch joined us on our feet but wisely kept quiet. I wished I had that option.

And, of course, the dragon laughed loud and strong in my head, savoring my suffering.

“You’re not that or next in line, Claryce! You’re different from them—”

“You’ve met thirty-one and there may have been others! How different can I really be?”

I started to reach for her, but a look she gave made me pause. “Claryce. It’s something that—”

Fetch growled. I started to glare at him, only to see that he was now facing the door.

“Stay behind me!” I warned Claryce.

I heard the click of the revolver and gave up trying to give her orders. Right now, I wouldn’t have been all that surprised if she shot at any intruder through me.

“What is it, Fetch?” she whispered.

“Same strange scent me and Master Nicholas noticed at a warehouse tonight. Some hood who gives me the heebie-jeebies. Pasty Airedale, he is.”

“Is he human, Nick?”

“I ran him through with the blade. It acted as if he wasn’t even there.”

“Oh.”

Despite what I’d just told her, I drew Her Lady’s gift. I was still curious whether or not a good slice from the sharp blade would do the trick where Feirie power failed. “Stand aside, Fetch.”

He shifted, but did not back up. I went to the door and cautiously took hold of the handle.

I flung the door open.

Cold air flowed in, but nothing more.

I hurried to the steps and rushed down to the street. There was enough light now to see for some distance, which made it all the more frustrating to find nothing but emptiness in either direction. No pale goon. No blue Oakland coupe.

Fetch and Claryce joined me. Fetch sniffed the air. “Scent’s fading, Master Nicholas.”

“How strong was it when you noticed?”

“Mighty strong. Like standing next to Jack Dempsey and Luis Firpo after the full fifteen rounds, I’d say.”

I remembered how the figure had faded away. Feirie magic could do that, and a few human casters had shown that ability, too, but both magics would’ve been subject to the sword’s powers. Whatever our visitor was, he didn’t fit either category.

And whatever he was, he knew where Claryce was now.

“Nick . . . what is that?”

I turned. Claryce was staring at the side of the building, where the steps were. I tried to look where she was looking but saw nothing. “What is what?”

She pointed with the revolver. “On the wall next to the steps! What does it mean?”

“Fetch?”

“I see nothing. Looks as pure as a Reuben just come in from the sticks.”

Eye can show you . . .

“Go ahead.”

I kept behind Claryce to avoid as best as possible her seeing the transformation. She’d seen it, but it still left me uncomfortable revealing it to her.

The world turned emerald. I focused on the wall in question . . . and still only saw the building as it usually was.

“Well?” Claryce asked, peering over her shoulder.

I managed to will away his eyes just in time. “Nothing at all.”

“I am not imagining things! You really can’t see it?”

“Describe it to me.”

She studied the wall for a moment, then said, “One image, but three times. Each on top of the other. Silver cups. Old-fashioned ones. There’s a hand holding each one—Nick?”

I must’ve let my horror at what she’d described so well show. Next to me, Fetch let out whine every bit strong as when he’d been suffering from the coat of ice.

I still couldn’t see what she saw, but I had no doubt she’d described it correctly. Claryce had never gotten a look at the original source for the design apparently emblazoned next to the steps, but Fetch and I knew it well. So did Kravayik, who secretly stood guardian over it in Holy Name Cathedral.

The Three of Cups. In this case, from more than a simple tarot deck. This design existed only on one deck, a Feirie creation by some ancient mad elf. It did not predict events . . . in the wrong hands it could not only create them but adjust reality to do so.

Claryce’s home had been marked by a symbol of the Clothos Deck.

CHAPTER 3

I’d not talked to Kravayik since Holmes. I should’ve, just as a precaution, but since he knew to call me if anything seemed amiss, I’d assumed all was well.

Now, I realized I might’ve risked everything out of spite.

Claryce offered her phone, but I didn’t trust the party line at that moment. Instead, the three of us climbed into the Packard and headed down Wells Street to Chicago Avenue and ultimately Wabash, where the cathedral was located. Traffic was still light despite it being Wednesday and so we made good time. The only problem was that it was daytime. I’d rarely met with Kravayik in the daytime. He could pass for human at a distance, but close up others might notice his utterly black, much too large eyes, his almost complete lack of a nose, his elongated skull, and his so very sharp ears. Not to mention his imposing height combined with his narrow frame. No, in the daytime, he might look like a human from far away, but up close he still looked very much like what he was . . . an elf.

A very deadly elf.

I parked across from the looming Gothic building, staring at its great doors and the high walls, which I myself had contributed to alongside so many just three years after the Great Fire. I’d done it partly out of guilt for what I’d helped cause in allowing the dragon loose even for that short time and partly because I’d been about to commit an even greater sin using the cathedral itself. Even before Kra-vayik had made himself available by abandoning the Feirie Court and his duties as assassin for Her Lady just before the turn of the century, I’d already marked Holy Name as the only place in Chicago where I could safely hide the single card I’d retrieved from the Clothos Deck.

“You and Fetch stay in the car. I’m going to go around to the back to see Kravayik.” The front door was not an option in the daytime. The clergy were vaguely aware that they had a caretaker, but that was as much as they were allowed to remember. Kravayik, a true convert to the church, continuously tried to amend for what he saw as a sin by being the most reliable, industrious servant they had.

Claryce put a hand on my shoulder. “Nick. Be calm.”

She wasn’t referring to the situation with the card. She was referring to the revelation during the hunt for Holmes that Kravayik had, in 1893, fallen in love with Claryce’s previous incarnation, Claudette. For over thirty years, he had kept that little secret from me, not to mention concealing Claudette’s very existence. She’d died that same year, a victim of Holmes back then.

“I’ll be good. I won’t be long.”

She gave me a hopeful smile. I stepped out of the Packard, let a couple of autos pass, then crossed just before another car came racing down the street.

I turned around at the sound of screeching tires. A black Chrysler B-70 touring car with its distinct winged radiator cap pulled up right behind me, blocking my view of the Packard. Two surly hoods with broad, sturdy faces jumped out and flanked me. Both had caps pulled down low over their eyes.

“Get in,” grunted one, who had an accent hinting at Polish.

I heard a car door and knew that Claryce was coming after me. I made a decision.

I rushed into the Chrysler. The two gunmen followed. I had a brief glimpse of Claryce, the revolver out, trying to decide where to shoot.

“Move it!” I ordered the driver.

Unaware of the danger they were in, two of my captors sniggered. Nevertheless, the driver did as I hoped. The Chrysler pulled away with another screech and raced down Wabash.

One of the hoods leaned close to the driver. “Take the Upper Boul Mich.”

The car made a few quick turns before ending up driving north on Michigan Avenue—known still by some, such as my kidnappers, by its old nickname from when it’d been Michigan Boulevard prior to the Great Fire. We took a few more turns from there and headed northwest on Clybourn. I thought we might be heading toward Bucktown, part of the city’s Polish Downtown, but the car abruptly turned off at a street I didn’t know into a nondescript neighborhood.

Throughout the drive, I’d not been at all concerned for my safety. I’d neither seen nor sensed anything out of the ordinary. Once away from Claryce, I could’ve at any time taken all three without a concern. However, I was interested to see who’d gone through such trouble for a mere ghost hunter.

We pulled up at what appeared to be a shut-down restaurant whose windows had been completely boarded up. I wasn’t surprised when the gunman nearest the two-story building climbed out of the B-70 and gestured me to follow. As I slid out, the second hood in the back exited through the other side.

The moment the doors were shut, the touring car drove off. Both of my captors had their automatics hidden in their coat pockets, but the one to my right did a not so discreet gesture with the pocket to remind me what he held.

“Around the side.”

We went to a door there. Of course it wasn’t locked. I followed one hood while the other took up the rear.

The transformation was immediate. We went from what looked like emptiness to a very plush little club. At the moment, only a wary-looking thug idly fingering the trigger of a tommy gun stood in the main room. He tilted his head to a set of steps leading to the second floor.

As we climbed up to a door at the top, I heard the faint sounds of Ben Bernie’s rendition of “Sweet Georgia Brown” playing. The music ceased the moment the thug in the lead knocked on the door. At the same time, I smelled incense with a decidedly sage hint to it.

Another goon with a tommy opened the door a crack. He eyed us, then glanced behind himself. “They’re here, Mr. Leighton.”

“Of course they are,” responded a youthful, cultured voice. “Do let them in.”

“Yes, sir.”

Mr. Leighton. I had to admit, I was more intrigued. I knew my host now, although few beyond the cops and the mob knew the name. “Ladykiller” Leighton—no first name known—had links to both Capone’s Outfit and the North Side gang, the latter run by the trio of Bugs Moran, the volatile Hymie Weiss, and Vincent “the Schemer” Drucci. I’d run across Moran from a distance once or twice and considered him the true power, but everyone who could tried to stay out of the way of Weiss.

Except for Leighton. He was known to deal with anyone. Rumor had it he’d negotiated a few deals and truces between the two sides. Cortez, my constant shadow from the Chicago Police Department, had once also intimated that Leighton had his own paid cops besides the ones beholden to the gangs.

Stepping back, the guard opened the door. A wave of sage washed over us. As my escort and I entered, a young flapper with a short, brunette pageboy cut strode by us as she headed toward an undisguised liquor cabinet. She gave me a smile that was anything but sisterly. The long string of pearls that nearly reached the bottom of her very short skirt were clearly real.

I couldn’t help giving her a second glance, but not because of her obvious beauty. At first, I’d thought her Mexican, like Detective Cortez, but then I realized that with her features she was more likely an Indian. Most of the original tribes of this region had long ago been shoved westward to reservations, but there were a few here and there who’d either willingly or, more likely, forcibly been integrated into white society.

There was a murmur from the direction of Leighton. I peered into the shadowed portion of the room where another flapper—this one blond and pretty in the style of Hollywood—stepped away from a figure seated with legs crossed in a thick chair. The second girl joined the first. She whispered to her friend, then both quickly hurried past us to the steps.

Leighton sat quietly in the chair until the pair had gone. “Please give Mr. Medea a chair.”

One of my escorts obeyed, setting a matching chair in front of Leighton’s. My second companion prodded me toward it.

Let me burn him . . . suggested the dragon, who’d been remarkably quiet until now. I didn’t bother to respond.

“There’s no need for that,” Leighton reprimanded the gunman.

“Sorry, Mr. Leighton.” With a slight bow, the hood gestured toward the empty chair.

I sat. Even now, I couldn’t make out much of the upper half of my host. He was dressed in a very expensive black silk suit with a forest green tie and spats on his shoes. I judged him to be in his very early thirties, which surprised me considering his lengthy reputation. He was narrow of build and not at all like most of the bootleggers and hoods I’d seen or met. Leighton talked like an aristocrat or a professor.

“I’m told you are a ghostbuster,” he began. “Are you like Mr. Houdini, seeking out those who prey on the weak-minded with false sébances and such garbage?”

“Not exactly. I prove to people that there’s nothing to fear.”

Leighton chuckled. He still sounded very young for all his power. I didn’t wonder at his keeping to the shadows. Very likely, he assumed that the fewer folks who knew his face, the better for him. There were reasons why the police had no photos of Ladykiller Leighton.

One of my escorts suddenly showed up at my side with a glass of what I assumed was whiskey.

“Please,” my host urged. “Some fine whiskey from over the northern border.”

I took the glass, but waited. The same hood brought a second, identical glass to his boss.

“Thank you.” Leighton calmly took a sip. “There. Safe for you to drink, Mr. Medea.”

“Call me Nick.”

“Should I?” He snapped his fingers, then gestured to the door.

I had to admit some surprise when all three of the hoods in the room departed without hesitation. Yeah, Leighton probably had an automatic on him somewhere, but considering my escort had never even bothered to frisk me, I could’ve just as easily had one, too. Yet they’d left me with their boss just like that.

The mobster took another sip as he waited for the door to shut behind the last man. He then gestured toward me with the glass. I finally took a sip. It was fine whiskey.

“I really thought I’d never come across something to satiate my thirst like what we had back home,” Leighton commented, “but this . . . this is ambrosia.”

I was suddenly bothered by the use of so much sage. It was almost as if Leighton was trying to mask something.

“Should I call you ‘Nick’?” he asked again. Downing the last of his whiskey, Leighton continued, “Or would you prefer ‘Georgius’?”

The dragon hissed. I nearly mimicked him. My hand went to my overcoat.

“Wait!” Leighton’s voice was loud, but firm. “I am no enemy.”

I kept my hand near my overcoat, but didn’t move it any closer.

The mobster leaned forward.

It was all I could do to not finish drawing Her Lady’s gift. It must’ve sensed something, because it stirred briefly. I wasn’t surprised by that in the least.

Ladykiller Leighton was an elf.

He’d gone to some degree of effort to hide that fact from the unsuspecting. There was a hint of greasepaint on his skin, turning the flesh into something more closely the color of human. He’d dyed his hair completely black to cover the green hint that would’ve normally stood out.

But even more important, I could see where someone had done their best to alter his ears to make them appear more human. A good third had been removed. The job wasn’t perfect, but with all the permanent injuries brought home after the Great War, Leighton looked just like one more unfortunate doughboy who’d not managed to come home completely whole. Compared to many, the elf’s mutilation was barely noticeable.

The sage meant perfect sense now. It wasn’t for me or any human being. Very few people would be expecting an elf in the first place. Leighton had gone through this trouble to avoid notice by Feirie, which I found highly interesting.

“Forgive me, Gatekeeper. I meant no theatrics. I’ve been considering this encounter for some time. Years in fact, but other matters continually raised their ugly heads . . . or came back from the dead, in the case of my former liege.”

There it was. He’d finally admitted it. He’d been one of Oberon’s followers, possibly the only one left of the ousted king’s core support that’d followed him into exile.

“I see that look,” Leighton went on. “Hear me out. I long ago abandoned his mad crusade to bring both sides of the Gate together, transforming both worlds into one . . . and eventually destroying them.”

“Found something more personally rewarding?” I nodded at his surroundings.

“This is the land of opportunity. I merely took that opportunity. What choice did I have . . . especially with Her Lady beginning her purge even back then? I certainly could not go back. She would have welcomed me back into the Court and then put my still-screaming head on a pole.”

I knew that he wasn’t exaggerating. Even those who could be proven to have had only a glancing link to Oberon were being hunted down in Feirie, which had made my task on this side much harder. Until I could find the path through which the refugees were getting into Chicago, things would continue to grow chaotic.

I made a note to find Lon as soon as I could. Sure, he’d been posted on the mortal plane some time back by Her Lady, but he apparently had some system of constant contact with his mistress. I wondered if that system was possibly tied to the reason more Wyld were getting by me.

Leighton sat quietly waiting. I grimaced. “What’s your real name? I’m not going to call you ‘Ladykiller.’”

I expected him to hesitate, names being power in Feirie. Instead, though, he set down his glass on a small mahogany end table and answered, “My human associates simply call me ‘Leighton.’ You may call me Laertes.”

“Laertes. Leighton. Cute. Similar so you don’t get screwed up by not answering when someone calls you.”

“Yes, that’s how it started. Now, I’m more likely to answer to my human alias.”

I finished my own whiskey. I didn’t drink much—not that I couldn’t hold more than most thanks to the dragon’s magic—but the whiskey had been welcome after so much trouble. I still had Galerius to worry about—

“Someone is after you,” the elf chose to remark at that moment.

I tensed. “Oh? Who?”

“You must have seen one of them already. If you have, you’ve seen all of them.”

My thoughts shifted to the pale man the sword’s power couldn’t touch. “Go on.”

“Pasty fellows. I think there are three. There may be more, but I cannot say for certain. I have no intention of nosing around too close.”

“Three?” I didn’t like the sound of that. Suddenly, I was reminded that Claryce only had Fetch with her. He was wily and strong, but I’d already seen how readily he’d been removed as an obstacle.

“That is my count. Came across one two weeks ago. Nearly froze me to death. Saw two others shortly after. Hard to tell the difference between them. They look human.”

“What would they want with me?” I asked, already suspicious that I knew, based on what had been done to Claryce’s building.

“I really can’t say. They’ve been creeping around places you frequent, including St. Michael’s.”

I eyed him. “And what other places do I frequent, Laertes?”

He clearly sensed the sudden edge in my voice. “Be at ease, Gatekeeper! I have no quarrel with you. Not only do I owe you much gratitude for the removal of my former king, but you are the chief impediment to Her Lady’s ambition! I only sought—”

“To nose around?”

Leighton—Laertes—leaned back into the shadows. “Only to ascertain things. I am not your enemy, Gatekeeper.”

“I’m not exactly ready to call you my friend.”

He nodded. “Fair enough. Consider our goals mutual.”

“For the time being?”

Laertes spread his hands, whether in agreement or some other response, I couldn’t say.

Burn him . . . burn him now . . .

No.

The elf tensed. “He doesn’t like me, either.”

“He doesn’t like anyone, including me.” I rose. “Thanks for the whiskey and the warning. Next time, just call.”

“There is one more thing.”

There was always one more thing. I hated one more things.

Laertes rose. He reached into his suit pocket. I trusted him not to be so foolish as to draw a weapon.

He tossed a small object toward me. Unlike with Lon, I decided to catch his offering.

It landed squarely in my palm. Laertes smiled at my quick reaction.

Smiling wasn’t even near the reaction I wanted to unleash. For just a moment, my rage matched the dragon’s eternal one. I’d expected what he was going to show me, but that didn’t ease the anger or the knowledge that I’d gotten both these pieces because he wanted me to know he was near.

Another Dacian Draco clasp. This one had a spot of something I assumed was blood.

“Where did you get this?”

“From an impetuous torpedo. He came for me, more the pity him. I will admit he came pretty close. This was on him. I couldn’t decipher its meaning. After all, it’s not the usual sort of gang emblem. I did a little research and found that it has quite an interesting history . . . attached to you.”

I squeezed the clasp tight. “When did this happen?”

“Hmm?” The elf rubbed his chin in thought. “Time does fly, but I believe it was back nearly seven years ago.” Laertes nodded. “Yes. That’s correct. I remember now. Summer. Just before the crash, in fact.”

I stiffened. “What crash?”

Laertes “Ladykiller” Leighton eyed me as if discovering me anew. “Why, the Wingfoot Air Express crash, of course.”

CHAPTER 4

Despite all he’d told me, I still didn’t trust Laertes enough to continue my business with Kravayik. I did trust Claryce enough to expect that she’d not wait with the Packard by Holy Name, which is why I had my escort—ordered by the elf to drive me wherever I wanted afterward—drop me off by a soda shop about a mile from her apartment.

We hadn’t become allies, but we weren’t at war with each other. A truce, that was all. Laertes had risked a lot revealing himself to me, especially considering what Her Lady’s servants, like Lon, would’ve done if they’d found him. Still, at the same time he’d also put me on the spot as well. My own relationship with the queen of Feirie was one of necessity only. I trusted her almost as little as I’d trusted her former liege and husband. My interest in dealing with Her Lady began and ended with the Gate.

Once the B-70 drove off, I took a quick look around to see if there were any eyes on me, human or otherwise, then entered. A news broadcast from WGN was airing on the huge Art Deco—style Oper-adio portable radio set behind the counter, the announcer reporting on a meeting planned next month between President Davis and members of Congress concerning a crime bill. I doubted the bill would go far, as Davis was less interested in cracking down than Coolidge would’ve been had he retained the presidency back in the ‘24 election.

Going to one of the booths in back, I dialed the operator and gave her Claryce’s number. To my relief, she answered after the first ring.

“Nick?”

“It’s me—”

“Nick! What happened? Who were those men?”

“Nothing to concern yourself over. I’ll explain later. Fetch with you?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” I exhaled in relief. “I’m going to have to ask you to drive to the safe house and stay there until I can get to you. Understood?” The safe house was the top of a closed millinery smack in the middle of Capone’s territory on the South Side. We’d utilized it during the struggle with Oberon but hadn’t been there since then.

“I’m not going to flee my home every time something happens, Nick!”

“Humor me just for today, please?”

“All right, but where will you be?”

“That depends on a couple of other calls I make. I promise I’ll see you by evening.”

“You’d better. Be careful.”

I hung up, for once grateful to Oberon and Delke Industries. As William Delke, Oberon had paid her well to keep her with the company. Delke Industries had paid her well, too. She’d understood why, but she’d taken it. It’d allowed her to not have to work anywhere else since then, which had proven handy. The situation wouldn’t last, but for now, I planned to make use of that bit of luck as much as possible.

I made another call, this one with trepidation.

“Yes, who is speaking?” asked a low voice with a heavy accent.

“You know who it is, Kravayik.”

“I await your command, Master Nicholas,” he responded formally.

I frowned. “Listen to me, Kravayik. What happened with Clau-dette doesn’t matter at the moment . . . and I don’t command you. Just tell me two things. First, is all well?”

He knew I wasn’t referring to matters between us, but rather the safety of the card. “All is well.”

I’d thought so, but it was a relief to hear. That left one question. “Have you seen, in any manner, a symbol resembling a dragon with a canine head spouting several tongues and maybe with the tail creating a circle around it?”

A pause, then, “I have seen this symbol. Not recently, though. I recall it because it is very striking.”

“When?”

This time, the pause extended much longer. “During the Exposition.”

I gritted my teeth. “The Columbian Exposition?”

“Yes. During my initial hunt. More comes back now. I required information. I was led on a false trail by a human servant of the Beast.”

He was referring to one of H. H. Holmes’s more colorful nicknames, one that had become known as well in Feirie as in the mortal world. Holmes had been feared even by Her Lady’s Court due to his dark machinations.

“So he wore a clasp resembling it?”

“No. A tattoo. Over his heart. I used it as target for my dagger.”

I didn’t push for more details. My thoughts were already swirling around. The Exposition and the Wingfoot. I suspected that, had I known to look, I’d have found some similar sign during the weeks surrounding the Great Fire.

Galerius hadn’t just suddenly come back from the dead. Galerius had been stalking me for more than a century . . . and maybe a lot longer than that.

I’d been resurrected head and all and cast to the Gate’s location in Silene years before, but the passing of an emperor eventually always became news throughout Rome’s holdings. The graphic nature of Galerius’s doom and the hatred his reign had stirred up had guaranteed the story would have strong wings.

He’d supposedly died horribly, turning to God at the end only when his growing paranoia made him believe that the disease eating him up had actually been a divine punishment. He’d overturned the decree persecuting Christians and had actually had the audacity to order them to pray for him in return.

It hadn’t worked out well, I’d discovered. Galerius had died screaming shortly after, a fate well-deserved and, in my opinion, still too kind for him.

“All right,” I finally replied. “Keep careful watch on the card. When I can, I’ll come by.”

“I will permit no one to take it.”

“I’m counting on that.” I started to hang up, only to hear a sound from him. “What?”

“Mistress Claryce . . . she is well?”

“She is.” I hung up before the conversation could spiral out of control. It was reasonable to assume that Kravayik, who had met Claryce on more than one occasion, would be concerned about her. However, a part of me refused to act rationally, just as with Diocles.

I called another number.

“Yes, what is it?” a gruff older voice asked.

“It’s me, Barnaby.”

“Master—Nick—how can I serve you?”

I winced. Barnaby wasn’t from Feirie, but he’d dabbled in the arts when younger and had also confronted the Wyld before. He’d started using the same formal title for me after I’d helped him years ago. Only recently had I finally convinced him to stop doing it. I could see it was going to be a hard habit for him to break.

“Has anything changed with Joseph?” I inquired.

“Not from when last you saw him.”

“Besides you, has he had any visitors?”

“No. After what happened, I’ve kept track of any visitor my son might have had. No one’s come to see him at Dunning.”

County officials now preferred everyone to call the facility where Barnaby’s son had been committed the Chicago State Hospital, but those with memories longer than a decade and a half would always know it as Dunning. That is, when they didn’t know of it by some of its older descriptions, such as insane asylum or the more colloquial “tomb for the living.” I doubted it would stop being called Dunning for some years to come.

I decided to push on. “I need a favor. I need a lift. Can you do it personally?”

“I owe you so much. Of course I will.”

He took down the address and promised to be there as quickly as possible. I hung up and left. Outside, I took a look to see where best to wait for him. The theater across the street wasn’t one of the grand movie palaces designed by Rapp and Rapp, but it looked inviting in this weather. I hadn’t seen many movies since Claryce had entered my life, but the Clara Bow moving picture playing there had been showing for a couple of months now, which meant it had to be popular. I’d dis-covered a fondness for moving pictures; they allowed me to escape my curse for a little while. I’d also noticed that the dragon generally grew very quiet in the theaters, almost as if he, too, was intrigued by the images on the screen.

The theater would make a good place to wait for the dwarf. . .

I reprimanded him quietly for calling Barnaby a dwarf, although it was true that he was very short. In a low voice, I added, “No moving pictures today. It shouldn’t take Barnaby very long to reach us—”

I hesitated as a faint scent wafted past my nose, an unsettling scent I’d only recently come across. The dragon recoiled from it.

Laertes’s words came back to me. Three very pale men. Men, not elves.

Eye will guide you . . . .

He wasn’t referring to his vision. I shook my head. Too out in the open.

One would think you are ashamed of me . . .

I ignored his mocking tone and sniffed. Over the centuries of our forced merger, my own senses had expanded. My sense of smell was not as sharp as Fetch’s, but it was sharper than most people’s.

The scent was coming from the theater.

I didn’t like that. I could hardly have accidentally stumbled onto one of the figures. Very likely I’d been followed. Still, I wasn’t about to turn and run. I was more than happy to meet one face-to-face now that I had some little idea at least that they actually existed. I’d been taken by surprise the last time. This would be different.

The dragon chuckled darkly at my confidence.

I crossed to the theater and headed straight to the ticket office. The scent continued inside, so I paid for Bow’s My Lady of Whims and entered. The movie had already started, which meant that if my quarry was in there I’d have to search through a crowd.

There was no doubt in my mind that he or they would be expecting me. What I hoped was that they weren’t aware of the ways I could manipulate the dragon’s powers without actually letting him take over.

So nice to be needed. . . so nice to be appreciated. . .

Ignoring his eternal sarcasm, I paused.

Yes, it is in the place of viewing, he acknowledged.

I know. Keeping my hand near the opening of my overcoat, I forged ahead. Even before I entered, I could hear dramatic music being played by the theater pianist. The music drowned out all other sounds.

Clara Bow’s gigantic face greeted me. Although maybe twenty, she was already making a mark with her vivid expressions and style, which apparently had this crowd speechless. I took a few steps further in.

Eye can help you see . . . no one will know . . .

He had a point there. Go ahead.

His view became mine, a dark emerald world consisting of row upon row of people in rapt attention. All eyes focused on the moving picture and no one moved even a finger.

Or coughed. Or even seemed to breathe.

I glanced at the pianist.

Despite the continuous music, the woman at the keyboard sat as motionless as the audience.

“Is it him?” asked that same quiet voice who’d spoken just after I’d run Her Lady’s gift through his torso.

“Who else could it be?” came his voice from elsewhere.

“It must be,” answered the voice from a third direction.

They suddenly stood throughout the seating area. Three, just like Laertes had said. The dragon’s eyes gave me a good look at each, which turned out to be like looking just at one. There were differences, but very small. Still, something told me they weren’t triplets. I’d almost have sworn that I was looking at variations of the same man.

They just stood there, waiting. I took a quick look at the crowd. They all stared at the screen, where Bow’s picture continued to play. I wondered for a moment what things were like in the projection room. Did they see what was going on or were they like the rest here?

A vision of the Iroquois Theater stirred in my memory, a vision of the horror that’d taken place there. It’d been a fancier place than this, located down on Randolph where all the rich and the tourists would be sure to find it. It’d been one of the places to see some twenty-plus years ago.

And it’d been a place of horror, too. We’d not been responsible for that fire, but I’d felt responsible for every one of the more than six hundred deaths because of it. The Wyld who’d been the cause of it had died appropriately and painfully, but he’d managed to achieve half his goal. The wanton destruction and the terrible deaths had given him the dark power he’d wanted. Fortunately, I’d been able put an end to his ambitions before he’d completed the rest of his plan, whatever it’d been. I’d never learned just what he’d planned out there in Lake Michigan. What mattered was that what was left of him had gone to give the fish indigestion for some time to come.

I wasn’t about to have another Iroquois Theater. It only took one easy movement to draw Her Lady’s gift.

“Is that it, then?” murmured the one nearest to the back of the room.

“Will that do it?” asked the second, located by the side opposite of where I stood.

“It should,” replied the third, who stood just under Clara Bow’s chin at that moment. It didn’t matter how far away he or the others were from me; I could hear them as if they were only inches away.

And then, to my horror, the very thing I’d feared happened. Fire burst to life everywhere. The theater became an inferno. Screams echoed in my ears. I heard the trample of feet—

No one is burning! the dragon abruptly roared. No one is burning!

I couldn’t understand why he was lying so baldly to me when I could see through his very eyes that they were. People rushed past in a panic, trampling those that had tripped and fallen. Flames engulfed the screen, turning Clara Bow and Donald Keith into two blackened skeletons.

No one is burning! he insisted. See for yourself!

The dragon had always thrived on chaos and always sought for a chance to seize control. Now, what he proposed sounded like just the opposite.

Conniving and cunning as the dragon was, I couldn’t find a reason not to trust him in this regard. I dismissed his eyes—

—and once more the frozen crowd sat around me watching as Bow and Keith continued their scene with their own flesh intact.

“Why did it not hold?” asked the first, a slight frown spreading across his face.

“How did he alter it back?” demanded the second.

“The bond is fading,” answered the third. “and faster than he promised.”

Charging past a row of motionless audience members, I swung at the first questioner. Unlike the last time, I saw some reaction, a slight widening of the eyes, as if he knew he was actually in danger.

The next second, he faded away in the same manner as last time. I spun to face the second, but he’d already vanished. I knew it would be a waste of time, yet I still turned my attention to the third and final figure.

To my surprise, he was still there. Then, with a brooding look, he, too, faded.

But it wasn’t over. Something drew my attention to the screen. Donald Keith had gone through another transformation and was now staring out at the audience . . . and me in particular.

Galerius, dressed like the character in the movie, bowed.

“Aaah, Georgius, it has been a long time, hasn’t it?” he asked with that malicious grin I recalled so well even after sixteen centuries. His voice was just as I remembered it and even more jarring coming as it did from an image deprived of sound. “So good of you to find me here. I’ve been growing impatient with you, really . . . you damned traitor!”

The grin vanished, replaced by that abrupt flood of anger with which I was also too familiar. I refrained from responding, aware that Galerius had never been able to accept silence in his presence for very long.

I was right.

“But you’re too late, Georgius! It takes off tomorrow, and before you find out where it will all be done . . . and then even that thing in you won’t be enough for the Gate!”

He laughed. I nearly used that moment to charge the screen, but managed to hold back at the last moment. If I wanted to stop whatever plan Galerius had in motion, I had to hear more.

“Not as impetuous after so long, eh?” Behind Galerius, Clara Bow and the rest of the scene faded away. Now it was the emperor himself, but dressed in a different suit. He held up something that looked like a coin, then flipped it my direction.

It flew out of the screen and directly toward me. I took a risk that Galerius wanted me alive for the moment and caught it.

As I did, the entire scene around me shifted. Piano music echoed in the room. The screen flickered as Clara Bow and Donald Keith resumed their soundless interchange. Coughs and murmurs rose from around me.

I’d had the presence of mind to realize what was happening even as the change occurred. Her Lady’s gift went into its hiding place before anyone could notice a sword in the darkened theater.

I backed out into the lobby. There, planting myself against one wall, I put aside any consideration over what had just taken place in order to inspect the coin.

Not at all to my surprise, one side looked like an imperial coin with Galerius’s ancient profile on it. I doubted he’d given me the coin to remind me what he accomplished thanks to his manipulation of Diocles, so I turned the coin over.

I nearly dropped it. The reverse side was a Three of Cups with the same hand holding each goblet.

The exact design both on Claryce’s building and the Clothos card hidden in Holy Name.

CHAPTER 5

Barnaby picked me up in his old black Whiting Runabout only a few minutes later. As we drove off, I took a look inside the auto. The Whiting’s squared-off cowl made it distinctive, and Barnaby’s loving care had kept the vehicle itself in great shape. I knew that he could’ve had his pick of half a dozen much newer, more stylish vehicles at his service garage. I had a suspicion that his fondness for the Whiting had to do with memories, but I’d never asked. Barnaby’s memories were a mix of good and bad—the good focusing on his beloved wife, Emma, dead long before I’d met him, and the bad encompassing his son, Joseph.

I had my own bad memories concerning Joseph. If I’d had my choice, I’d have left him to perish with his cohorts. Barnaby’d begged me to save him, though. There hadn’t been much left of Joseph’s mind at that point, but for a while I’d considered that an improvement.

Now, though, I was worried I might have to rely on Barnaby’s son . . . or at least his written memories.

If Barnaby was even five feet tall, then I was Cap Anson. Since my only tie to the Chicago Cubs was as someone who’d suffered through more and more bad years than good of late, it wasn’t surprising that some might’ve called him a dwarf. He was taller than that implied, though, but it didn’t help that he was also fairly round in shape and had a face that would’ve done a bulldog proud. A shock of ice-white hair, probably bleached so by Joseph’s earlier misdeeds, sprouted from his head.

I hadn’t made mention of my encounter in the theater and didn’t plan to, figuring the knowledge would only complicate matters I needed to discuss before we reached Claryce. Barnaby wasn’t going to like it, but I needed to find out some things.

“Planning on seeing Joseph soon?”

He kept his eyes on the slick street. “Seeing him as usual.”

I decided to skip any more small talk and be blunt. “Did you keep any of his papers, Barnaby?”

I had to give him credit. He didn’t flinch, didn’t drive us onto the sidewalk. “I swore I’d burn anything I found.”

“So what’d you keep?”

“Master—Nick—”

I pressed. “Anything concerning the Wingfoot?”

This time, we swerved slightly. I wasn’t concerned for myself— it’d take far more to harm me—but I didn’t want to end up killing Barnaby. “It’s all right, Barnaby. We never figured out exactly how the spell Joseph and his friends set up was supposed to work. Holmes answered a lot of that, but there’s still some questions. I think you kept some papers in the hopes of finding out the full truth.”

Barnaby exhaled. “Yes. I’ve done what you said. It’s a relief to finally have it out.”

“I need to see those papers. Can you get them to me?”

“Of course.” He looked at me. “You sound a bit urgent, if I may say so.”

I owed him now. “The Wingfoot take any special flights? Or Joseph on a different airship, for that matter?”

“I can find out. Let you know if there is anything. Will that be good enough?”

“I’ll call you. Make it your first priority. We can arrange where to bring the papers then.”

“As you say.” Barnaby concentrated on the street again. I could see that he wanted to ask more, but I’d kept him ignorant of Galerius thus far and hoped it would provide him a little more safety.

We headed deep into Capone territory on the South Side. I’d purposely set the safe house some distance away from Old Town. The neighborhood was a nondescript one, its only drawback being recent bootlegging activity nearby. That made me think of Lon, whose predecessor had been hunting around for signs of Oberon the last time we’d used the abandoned millinery shop. I still didn’t know where the Feir’hr Sein had gotten the first clasp, but I wanted to find out quickly. If Galerius had something happening tomorrow, I needed to find out quickly.

Barnaby dropped me off two blocks from the safe house. With a promise to immediately deal with what I’d asked of him, he drove off.

The weather guaranteed little normal activity around the safe house. As for Capone’s goons, they were a nocturnal bunch here. Still, it didn’t surprise me when, just before I reached the millinery shop, I felt like I was being stalked.

“Come out of the shadows, Fetch,” I muttered.

He slunk up next to me as if he’d been trailing me all the time. In a low voice, he said, “So relieved to see ye, Master Nicholas!”

“Why? Did something happen?”

“Nay, not actually, but Mistress Claryce is beside herself from waiting and me without a voice to calm her with, ye know.”

I’d regretted that situation, naturally. With Fetch generally unable to speak while in the mortal world unless he was near me, it’d left Claryce with no one to discuss our problems with. Yeah, he could obediently listen, but that could only go so far.

“She upstairs?”

“Aye.”

“Any sign of Capone’s outfit?”

“All’s copacetic. Trotted over once to see if they were making any of that coffin varnish, but only saw one palooka.”

I nodded. As I expected. Then, something occurred to me. “He wasn’t acting odd in any way, was he?”

“Master Nicholas?”

“Think Lon.”

His ears straightened. “Oh! Aye! Nay, the goon didn’t look like he’d been turned into one of the Feir’hr Sein’s suits.”

That was good to hear. I’d forgotten for a short while that Lon could possess a body. Didn’t matter whether alive or dead, and if it’d started alive it was dead the moment he took it over. Generally, the body lasted for a few days before decay finally took over.

We slipped inside the building and headed upstairs. Claryce met me with a less than pleasant expression when I entered the apartment.

“What happened? I can tell. Something bad happened?”

Knowing she wouldn’t let it rest, I told her everything. Claryce and Fetch listened in stunned silence until I was finished.

“Do you think the elf had anything to do with the theater?”

“No. This looks to have been set up by the trio and Galerius.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “But how would they know you’d end up right there?”

It was a question I’d asked myself, without a good answer.

I thought of the coin. I reached into the pocket I’d quickly stuck it into . . . only to find nothing.

“What’s the matter?”

“That coin. It should be in my pocket.” I began searching through my coat, but found nothing.

Fetch thrust his nose close to me and sniffed. He suddenly bared his teeth.

“Something in your right pants pocket, Master Nicholas.”

I reached in . . . and felt the coin where it shouldn’t have been. “That’s impossible.”

“Maybe you were so caught up in everything else that you just forgot exactly where you put it,” Claryce suggested. “Maybe you meant to put it in the coat, but something made you decide at the last moment that the other pocket was safer.”

“Maybe . . .” I wasn’t convinced. Something was wrong, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I could generally trust my senses.

“When’s the last time you really slept? Besides in the car? Or food! When’s the last time you ate a full meal? You hadn’t eaten anything when I found you in the Packard, had you?”

Truth be told, I couldn’t remember. As with sleep, I wasn’t as driven as others by what should’ve been necessities. I supposed it was a blessing, but right now it sounded fairly inhuman.

Of course . . . the dragon interjected with dark amusement.

As I did so often, I tried to ignore him. I showed the coin to Claryce.

“Does he look anything like this?”

“Not quite.” I described Galerius as he’d looked in the theater, finishing with, “He seems to have recovered from his illness.”

She lingered over the other side of the coin, then handed it back. “How? I’ve read about that. It sounded like agony. How did he survive . . . and keep living?”

“I don’t know, but when we get back to Old Town, I’m going to ask the one person who might be able to tell me.”

She nodded. “Diocles.”

“He actually outlived Galerius by a few months. Word might’ve reached him in Dalmatia—sorry, Yugoslavia—before his own passing.”

“It’s certainly worth a try. I wish I could see him.”

“I’d gladly trade.”

“Nick . . . he’s tried to make amends—”

It was all I could do to keep from glaring at the thought of him. “I’ve learned to tolerate him. Don’t ask me to forgive him for executing me.”

“But you’d be free of him!” She put a hand on my arm. “Think of that!”

“I have. I’ve tried. It has to be meant.”

“I understand . . . I suppose.” Claryce handed the coin back to me. This time, I made a show of putting it in my coat pocket.

I suddenly realized that I’d smelled coffee all this time. Pointing at the pot on the stove, I said, “Thanks for making that. I’ll definitely have some of it now.”

“It was made over an hour ago. I don’t know what I was thinking.” She managed a smile. “Of course, you’ll probably enjoy it even more now.”

I poured some of the thick liquid into a cup and took a swallow. Claryce was actually right, but I wasn’t going to admit that.

“Anything happen here?” I asked her.

“No and I’m not planning on staying here any longer. I can’t stand around like this, Nick. I know you’re trying to keep me safe, but this is stifling!”

“Claryce—”

She cut me off with a wave of her hand. “We’ve been through this before. I won’t argue about it. I can’t be any help to you otherwise—”

We were interrupted by a rattling sound behind us. Despite having no hands, Fetch had no trouble opening the Kelvinator and checking on the cold food inside. He pulled his head out and gave us a guilty look.

“This isn’t the back of Berghoff’s,” I reprimanded.

“Very sorry, Master Nicholas! Stomach’s been rumbling like an old jalopy! Haven’t had a chance to feed. This neighborhood’s not got much to show . . . uh . . . since ye said to not go hunting cats.”

From his tone, he’d come pretty close to breaking that rule. Still, I realized then that I’d made some pretty big assumptions about both of them. I’d gone centuries relying mostly on myself and my uneasy existence with the dragon. Sometimes, years would pass by without me even truly interacting with others on more than a very brief basis.

“You’re not going to find much in there.” I pointed at a wooden cabinet above the Kelvinator. “There’s some tins of beans up there.”

“‘Beans’?”

“I’d sympathize more with that expression if I hadn’t seen you rummage through trash cans with gusto.” Shrugging, I added, “We’ll head back to the house. It should be safe. That way, we’ll be close to your apartment, too, Claryce.”

“I like that much better.”

By the steady beat of Fetch’s tail, I assumed he agreed. To Claryce, I asked, “Where’d you park the Packard?”

“Around the corner as we come out front. Was that all right?”

“That’s good.” It wasn’t near the direction of Capone’s facilities, which was all that mattered.

We left immediately and reached the Packard a couple of minutes later. However, as I started to climb into the driver’s seat, I noticed a nondescript black Model T parked far off to the side. There was nothing about the auto that was out of the ordinary, and there was not even a driver, but for some reason I had a feeling about it.

Despite that, it remained where it was and without any occupant as we drove off. I shrugged off the feeling, something I was loathe to do.

We headed north. This being a weekday, traffic was strong even with the weather. I continued to keep a wary eye out and had faith that Fetch did the same in the back.

My faith was rewarded, so to speak.

“Master Nicholas, there’s a flivver tracking us.”

I quickly translated Fetch’s human slang into the fact that not only was there someone following us, but that, but being a “flivver,” it was a Model T. I had no doubt that it was the same Model T.

“How many, Fetch?”

“Two torpedoes and a driver. Cannot make out much else about them.”

Claryce looked at me. “Would they dare try anything out in the open? It’s not as if it was early in the morning like it was by Holy Name.”

“I don’t know. Either way, I’m tired of uninvited company.”

I turned left at the next street, then made an immediate right.

“He’s trying to catch up,” Fetch informed me.

They’d probably chosen the Model T for its ability to blend in everywhere, but it also meant they had some limits compared to the Packard. I eyed the streets ahead, then calculated the time left on the traffic light.

I put my foot down hard.

Thanks in part to Barnaby’s personal tinkering, the Packard accelerated smoothly and swiftly. I saw the light change just as I reached the intersection.

Furious honking rose up behind us.

“They’re stuck, Master Nicholas!” Fetch said, with too much cheer.

“You don’t seem overly pleased,” Claryce commented.

“They followed us from near the safe house. It’s possible that they just saw the Packard and waited to follow whoever claimed it, but it’s also very possible they know about us.”

“You think it’s Galerius?”

“Very likely. I’ve steered clear of Capone’s gang, and I doubt Moran or Weiss would park some of their hoods in the midst of Outfit territory, even supposing they know where the safe house is.”

“Why do you think he was having us followed?”

“There could be a number of reasons, most of which include the card. Another likely one is that, despite what the goons in the car think, Galerius might’ve just had them follow as best they could to let me know he’s everywhere.”

“How he hates you.” She was silent for a moment, then muttered, “And me, too.”

I had to keep my eyes on the traffic, so I couldn’t see her expression. “What’re you saying?”

“What happened to Cleolinda, Nick? You’ve never exactly made that clear. What happened to her after you saved her? Where does the legend veer from the truth?”

“Claryce—”

“Don’t ‘Claryce’ me. I’ve tried to find out everything I can about her. I have information on four of my—predecessors—but it gets harder. I’d have thought the one exception would be her. I’d have thought there’d be a coin, a tomb . . . something. There isn’t, though.”

I made another turn. “After I defeated the dragon—”

Lies! You tricked me! You did not fight fairly! Eye would have won!

Clearing my throat, I mentally dismissed him. “As I was saying, after I defeated the dragon, I returned Cleolinda to her father. He insisted on at least rewarding me by making me his guest and announcing me as champion of the land. All of it for political reasons. I was still Diocles’s favored then, though that was coming to a quick end.”

“And that’s when you and Cleolinda . . .”

I gripped the steering wheel tighter. “It got just far enough. Her father hadn’t minded a little public display of the champion and the princess, but word began to spread about a new displeasure with the growing Christian faith. He wanted no part of that trouble and was glad when I was summoned back. That was the last I saw of her.”

“The last.”

I gave her a quick rundown of what she already knew about me. A return to the emperor, the discovery of Galerius’s success in convincing Diocles of the “threat” the new faith represented, and my arrest. Diocles had given me the opportunity to renounce my faith and return to that of the empire, but I’d refused.

I could still feel the edge of the blade on my neck.

When I’d come back from the dead, I’d been drawn without choice to the Gate, which had already begun to slip away from Silene. At that time, not sure myself exactly what had happened to me, I didn’t even dare approach or contact anyone who’d known me before.

And then, years later, I’d learned she’d died only a few years after me.

Claryce and I sat silent for a while after I told her the last. I’d never gone into such detail before, and I’d always stopped just before this point. I knew from past conversations that she’d come to believe something dire had happened to her original incarnation and, truth be told, it was pretty close to what I’d suspected from what little I’d learned. It’d been a lot harder to get information in those days, and as the Gate had journeyed farther and farther away, virtually impossible.

“She’d never have killed herself because of your death,” Claryce declared. “Not if she was anything like me. She would’ve tried to do something about it.”

“We’re not talking about 1926. We’re talking about the early 300s. We’re talking about an empire in flux. The choices for a woman, even one of status, were often pretty nonexistent.”

“I don’t care.” She folded her arms tightly across her chest. “I wouldn’t have let it rest and I know she wouldn’t have either.” Claryce looked out the window. “Maybe that’s another thing you should ask Diocles.”

I didn’t respond, in great part because there and then I realized that, in all the centuries, I never had asked him if he knew what had happened to Cleolinda.

I didn’t notice it at first, but the nearer we got to Old Town, the quieter Fetch got. I’d first chalked it up to him not wanting to become embroiled in our conversation about Cleolinda, but then I noticed he kept peering out the window.

Finally . . .

“Master Nicholas! Do ye need me for this? We’re near some good rummaging spots!”

“I promised you a fresh meal.”

“Ah, fresh or aged, it’s all ducky to me! I can get out here!”

He sounded pretty determined. I pulled over.

Fetch had the passenger door open before I could come to a complete stop. With a strong swish of his tail, he shut the door after him. Claryce and I watched him bound off. The farther away he got, the more blurry he became. In Feirie, Fetch would’ve been able to completely blend into any environment. While much reduced, that ability still remained useful. Combined with his natural stealth, Fetch could move through a crowd and not be noticed . . . which he did now.

“What got into him?” Claryce asked.

I eyed the direction we’d last seen him heading. The answer came to me. The last time I’d seen him so interested in getting back to the alleys and backstreets had been when I’d discovered he was watching over a small refugee from Her Lady’s “cleansing” of Feirie. I’d let that pass against my better judgment. Now, I was reminded that it might be wise to see how that was progressing.

But first, I had to worry about Galerius.

We found a small diner not far from St. Michael’s. Father Jonathan, the young priest in charge of the church, would’ve done all he could to see us fed, but I hoped not to bother him at all. It would be easier to get things over with Diocles if the good father remained ignorant of my presence.

In truth, I could’ve gone to any church and confronted Diocles. All that mattered was for me to be there. I’d chosen St. Michael for a couple of reasons, the foremost being I hoped to stir up its namesake. I’d been commissioned a saint after services rendered; he’d become one by simple divine right like any archangel.

We’d never actually met face-to-face as far as I knew. I’d had hints of his involvement, though, always from people whose name just happened to be Michael.

I parked just off Cleveland Avenue in Old Town. While far smaller than Holy Name Cathedral, St. Michael’s, with its Romanesque exterior design, had its own striking qualities and history. It was one of the few buildings here to survive the Great Fire. True, the interior had been completely destroyed, but the red sandstone brick walls and the foundation had come through and allowed for quick rebuilding. A few years later, they’d even added the nearly 300-foot spire looming over us now.

Thanks to Father Jonathan’s predecessor, I had a key to St. Michael’s. It wouldn’t be too long before things would start getting active, so I needed to speak with Diocles quickly.

We entered the spacious nave. The baroque-style Five Altars greeted us, but what most caught our eye—especially mine, since I knew what it secretly held—was the High Altar of Angels. Michael himself greeted us from the middle of the set, with the also-divine Gabriel and Raphael flanking him. As a secret contributor to St. Michael, I had to admit they’d done a fine job of redoing the interior. I was sure Michael himself was quite pleased.

Barely had we entered when St. Michael greeted us again, this time in the tremendous mosaic on the floor. Despite some past misgivings with what I believed were his intrusions into my life, I still walked solemnly and respectfully through the church.

“Georgius.”

Like Barnaby, he was supposed to call me “Nick.” In his case, though, it was a punishment to forever remind him where I’d been executed by his order. Perhaps because of that, Diocles had a tendency to fall back on my true name even after a thousand reprimands.

Death had done him some favors. Other than a degree of transparency, he looked every inch the Roman emperor I’d both served and called friend. If not for the obvious fact that he was dead, he looked quite fit. Diocles—once Gaius Aurelius Valerius Diocletianus Augustus or just Diocletian—seemed able to materialize in one of two ways, either in the regal robes of his imperial position or in a monk’s simple robes. I assumed the latter had to do with his late conversion to Christianity, but I’d never bothered to ask. I didn’t really care. All that mattered was that he’d betrayed me.

I must’ve reflexively glared, for his rough-hewed, eastern European features shifted into an apologetic expression, and he quickly said, “Nick. You’ve avoided this or any other church for some time. I had begun to worry about you.”

“How sweet,” I growled, only afterward thinking how much I’d just sounded like the dragon.

We are of one mind so often, are we not?

You be quiet.

Diocles looked past me at Claryce. “And her, too. If you will not think of yourself, you need to think of her safety.”

“Don’t lecture me, Diocles. Of all people, you’ve no right to lecture me.”

“Nick?” Claryce whispered.

“Nothing to be concerned about. Diocles is just being his usual annoying self.”

The emperor gave me a pained look. “Nick,” she repeated with more urgency.

“She has an unsettled look on her fair face,” Diocles remarked. “If you—”

“Shut up, Diocles.” I looked at Claryce. He was right; she looked shocked at something. “Claryce! What’s wrong?”

She didn’t answer immediately, instead pointing. I followed where she pointed. “The altar?”

“No, Nick. Him.” She took a step forward and this time pointed directly at Diocles’s chest. “I can see him, Nick. I can see and hear Diocles . . .”

CHAPTER 6

I don’t know who looked more stunned, Diocles or me. It was probably one of the few times since he’d started haunting me that I’d had some sympathy. He was used to being seen by only me. Yeah, there’d been a few others over that time, but for the most part they’d been dabblers in the arts or beings of Feirie with enhanced abilities.

A couple of months ago, the legacy of the Frost Moon and its wake had magnified magic and Feirie influence. It’d even made Diocles somewhat more noticeable, but that situation had faded away along with the last of the wake.

This . . . this was definitely different. Claryce had made some comments that made it clear that she, at least on occasion, sensed the emperor’s presence, but now she stared right at him. When Diocles shifted position slightly, her gaze followed.

This was not good.

And, naturally, to make things worse, from a door on the side emerged Father Jonathan.

“Oh! I wasn’t aware anyone was out here!” The young priest adjusted his round glasses. “Nick . . . and Miss Claryce. How are you?”

“We’re . . . fine. We won’t be long, Father.”

“That’s all right. I’ve got much to do. I just came out to see if there was anything needed to be straightened up here, but I see all is in order as it should be. I’ll leave the two of you be.”

“Good to see you, Father,” Claryce added.

“And you also.”

The priest turned and exited again. We waited in silence until the door shut.

“Well, that answers one question,” I finally muttered. “And adds several more.”

“Why didn’t he see Diocles?”

“Why do you?” I eyed him. “Anything you want to tell us?”

“I am as in the dark as you, although I will say that I am not sorry for this.” He gave Claryce a royal bow. “My lady Claryce.”

“Claryce is fine,” she responded.

“Nothing at all is even better,” I countered, my anger rising. “I don’t like this.”

“Nick, I assure you again that I had nothing to do with her now being able to see me.”

Claryce stepped between us. “Nick. It’s all right. I’m happy with this. I was tired of being on the outside of any conversation with him.”

“I’d like to be outside of any conversation with Diocles!” I thrust a hand toward him, a hand suddenly not quite human. “This is the man who had me beheaded after years of loyalty and friendship!”

“And I have apologized in every way I can for the past sixteen centuries!” Diocles countered. “If you hate me so much, send me to my rest so that you will never have to see my face again!”

It was an argument I’d heard from the beginning of our intertwined curse and an argument that made a lot of sense. I just couldn’t bring myself to do as he asked, though.

“Nick!” Claryce looked me straight in the eye. “Nick. You need to calm. You’re getting loud and you’re beginning to show more than a trace of him.”

She didn’t mean Diocles. I stared at my hand and then finally paid attention to the pounding of my heart. Sure, I hated him with all my soul, but this went beyond just Diocles. This was a danger to everything around me, especially Claryce.

“Stop it!” I growled. “Nice try, but it’s not going to happen! Stop it now!”

Claryce looked ready to say more, but Diocles put up a warning hand. In this rare case, he was right. This had to be between me and the dragon.

I finally felt his presence recede. There was no smart remark, no falsely placating words. He just returned to that darkest part of my mind.

No. I was wrong. Just before he faded from my notice, he said, You will invite me again soon enough.

The bad thing was, I couldn’t argue with him.

“It’s all right now,” I whispered. “He’ll behave for a while.”

“I thought he was under control again after Holmes and the wake,” Claryce pointed out, sounding not at all relieved by my triumph.

“He is never completely under control, my lady,” Diocles interjected. “He can never be.”

I’d had enough of this particular conversation. I didn’t want Claryce thinking too much about the balance I had to maintain with my unseen companion. “But he is for now . . . and we’ve got another matter to discuss with you. Galerius.”

He rippled. “What about him? Why bring him up after all this time?”

“Galerius is alive. I’ve seen him, so to speak.” I quickly told him about the incident in the theater.

By the time I was finished, Diocles looked every bit as shocked as he had when discovering Claryce could now see him.

“It is not possible,” the ghost insisted. “I was sent word of his death by the most reliable of sources, my own daughter! Valeria would not have led me astray!”

“She probably didn’t,” I assured him. I’d known Valeria, a kinder person than either her father or her husband. Her marriage had been one of politics, not love, another black mark for Diocles. Fortunately, there’d been no issue, as kings and emperors called their offspring.

“Valeria.” Diocles looked wistful. “I hope she found a better life after Galerius.”

I bit back a reply. For all the anger I felt concerning Diocles, I’d never told him what I’d found out. Restricted as he was by his curse, he’d never discovered the terrible truth. Both Valeria and her mother, Prisca, had been forced to escape their supposed protector—Galerius’s co-emperor Licinius—only to be recaptured by him a few years later.

Valeria managed to temporarily escape again, only to be found and, like me, beheaded. For her, there’d been no coming back, although she had become another saint along with Prisca. Meanwhile, Licinius fell prey to the even craftier Constantine, who eventually had him hanged on trumped-up charges of treason.

Roman emperors . . . you just had to admire the depths of their integrity and virtue.

“Galerius alive.” Diocles shook his head. “I must admit some jealousy, not to mention some confusion. How do you think he managed to do such a thing?”

“Well, it wasn’t by slaying a dragon who happened to be the eternal guardian of the Gate between our world and Feirie,” I couldn’t help remarking sarcastically. “You were both ill then. What did you do to try to keep from dying?”

“Summoned every supposed healer, tracked every rumored potion or artifact, and most of all prayed.”

I rubbed my jaw. “We can rule out the last for Galerius. Any conversion he made to Christianity would’ve been lip service. While he demanded that Christians pray for him, I guarantee he was also giving offerings to Jupiter and any other of that bunch.”

“Indeed. Alive . . .” Once again, Diocles rippled. “I tried everything. I know he did also. I even searched for mythic items, both pagan and Christian. If I had known about Feirie then, I would have probably delved into that possibility as well.”

Claryce noticed my stare. “Nick. You know something.”

I dug for the coin . . . or attempted to. It wasn’t in the pocket where it should’ve been. “It’s gone.”

“That coin of his? I saw you put it there. How could it have fallen out during the drive?”

Diocles looked confused. “‘Coin of his’? Galerius?”

I searched through the coat pockets, then thought of where it’d been found the last time. Sure enough, it was there. Not where it should’ve been.

I didn’t waste time on that mystery, instead showing the coin to Diocles. He reflexively reached for it, then, with a bitter expression, studied it from my hand.

“A pretty representation,” Diocles commented. “Not very close to the truth.”

“I’ve seen yours, so don’t talk. Go on. Do you recognize the symbol on the reverse?”

His face darkened. “Of course I have seen it. I have been with you nearly each time you went to check on it in Holy Name. I have no choice but to be there at least for a short time. You know that is how it works!”

I did, and if we’d not needed him now I would’ve told him to go away like I generally did. I couldn’t help it; centuries later, the cut of the blade still felt fresh on my neck.

“You’ve seen the card. You see the symbol on this coin. Gale-rius knows about the card in Holy Name. Not just any card from the Clothos Deck, but the one there. No one else has seen that card since before—”

“Since before the Night the Dragon Breathed, yes.” Diocles’s frown deepened. “Save for that time the dragon himself purloined it for Oberon.”

“I thought about that. Only the two of them had contact with it and just for a very short period. Galerius had to know about this particular card since before the fire.” I fingered the coin. On a hunch, I summoned the dragon.

Eye knew you would be pining for me before long . . .

Spare me. I need your eyes, but I need much more from them. We need to look beyond just the surface on this, understand?

He chuckled. Who understands you better than Eye? Not even she, my noble saint. Not even she . . .

Before I could react to his comment, he gave me his vision. I heard a slight gasp, but not from Claryce.

“Demon spawn,” muttered Diocles.

I didn’t correct him, in great part because I wasn’t sure if he was wrong. I still had no idea as to the dragon’s true origins, and the dragon claimed ignorance as well. To hear him, he had simply come to be and then had been condemned to guard the Gate.

You wished to look . . . so look . . .

I did . . . and saw exactly what I’d hoped I wouldn’t.

From the way the coin appeared to keep shifting location on my person, I’d expected to find traces of magic in it. In fact, I’d pretty much come to the conclusion that Galerius had given it to me as more than a taunting memento showing his desire to claim the card.

The magic in it, while slight, proved something more disturbing. I recognized it, and so did the dragon. His earlier amusement faded, replaced by distrust and more.

The same magic that made the card in Holy Name the threat it was also existed in the coin.

Fortunately, as I’d already noted, the coin only contained the barest shadow of the card’s power. Enough to use it for a few tricks Galerius no doubt had in mind. Still, I could also sense the age of the coin.

I dismissed the dragon’s gaze. “He had it,” I informed the others as calmly as I could. “At some point in the past, Galerius had possession of the card.”

It answered a lot. It certainly hinted at how he’d not only recovered from his awful illness but had survived so long.

“You once commented on the question of where Oberon got the card in the first place,” the ghost pointed out.

“Yeah, but I’d pretty much assumed he’d found it in some hellish part of Feirie or some remote spot on the other side of this world. Instead, he may’ve gotten it directly from Galerius.”

“But why would Galerius give up something that powerful to Oberon?” Claryce asked. “Would you?”

“No . . . which means that Oberon either stole it or tore it from him. Probably the former. Oberon wasn’t the type to leave someone like Galerius alive. Her Lady’s former mate would’ve been more likely to turn him into a pile of ash.” I paused. “Come to think of it, I wouldn’t be surprised if Her Lady also knows something about what did happen. She knew and even dealt with Holmes, after all. If she was willing to make a pact with the Beast, why not with Galerius, espe-cially if he wanted the card back from Oberon?”

“You’re not suggesting entering Feirie, are you?” Claryce gritted her teeth. “Please say you’re not.”

I didn’t reply, in great part because I didn’t know how I’d answer. To Diocles, I asked, “I haven’t forgotten what you were like, Diocles. You were even smart enough to step down from the imperial throne you’d so coveted before it could kill you like many others. Think hard. Is there anything you’ve forgotten to tell me?”

Diocles rippled yet again. His face screwed up in thought. I knew that he was trying desperately to think of something that would please me.

But not at all to my surprise, he finally shook his head. “I can think of nothing. I am sorry.”

“Then we’re done here, I guess.” I stared at the coin for a moment more, then put it in the pocket from which I’d drawn it. It’d be interesting to see if it changed location this time. I knew keeping it probably risked me a bit, but I had hopes to turn it into a way of locating Galerius.

“Thank you very much, Diocles,” Claryce said.

I managed a nod, the most I was willing to give him. Diocles spread his hands in resignation, then began fading before our eyes.

And then he stopped. His expression grew disturbed.

“I remember something . . . something else.”

“About Galerius?” I tried to imagine what it could be and failed.

“I do not know. It may be. It occurs to me it must be something, though.” Looking more earnest, he asked, “Do you remember when I warned you about a surly Celt slipping into St. Michael’s and then leaving without doing more than looking around?”

It took me a moment to remember. “One of Holmes’s goons, probably from Weiss and Moran. You remember something about him? He likely died with the rest, but go ahead. What is it?”

“No, it isn’t that at all! He was here again, a week ago. This time, he walked up to the High Altar of Angels, knelt before it, then left.”

“A week ago.” I barged through Diocles, ignoring how he briefly dissipated as I did.

Michael and his friends peered down at me. I was reminded about the fact that I’d still seen no hint of the Archangel.

Diocles materialized just to the left of the altar. “He knelt right about there.”

I shifted position, but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.

No. There was a small indentation in the altar itself. A round indentation.

Suspicious, I reached for the coin. This time, it was exactly where I’d put it. I wondered if that meant anything.

With caution, I brought the coin to the spot. It fit right in. Even more interesting—or disturbing—was the fact that when I pulled my fingers away, the coin didn’t fall out.

Voices began whispering in a language I’d heard on neither the mortal plane nor Feirie yet somehow reminded me of both.

I stumbled back. “Claryce! Get out of here!”

I couldn’t waste a moment seeing if she’d obeyed. I just had to hope she’d listen for once.

The altar shook. The figure of Michael abruptly moved his shield arm, then he stretched the flaming sword he held in the other right at me.

The European-styled face tilted my direction. The features didn’t move, but I knew the figure saw me as well as any living creature.

He leaped from the altar. As he dropped, he expanded in size, growing as tall as me by the time he landed on his feet on the nave floor. His armor now gleamed. The sword burst into true flames.

The archangel’s shining wings spread wide. I thought he was about to fly, but instead, he shifted the shield so that the phrase on it filled my gaze. Quis ut Deus, which meant “Who is like God?”

“Well, I never claimed it was me,” I retorted. “And I’m not exactly sure you’re any closer right now.”

He thrust.

I had Her Lady’s gift out and ready. The two blades met with a terrible clash of metal and a burst of intense heat from the flaming sword. I marveled that the din hadn’t already summoned Father Jonathan and everyone else in the church, but no one came to see what was happening. I could only chalk that up to part of the trap Galerius had evidently set for me.

I tried an attack, but the archangel deflected it with the shield. I backed up as the flaming sword came within inches of my chest.

Eye can help you! the dragon roared in my head. Let me burn him!

And the rest of St. Michael’s in the process? No thank you. I lunged as I answered the dragon. The blade slipped past the shield—

The figure brought the shield toward my outstretched sword. It was all I could do to keep from losing Her Lady’s gift as the force of the shield striking shoved my weapon to the side.

A shot rang out . . . and the next second the false archangel staggered as part of the face near the right eye exploded into a small shower of scattering fragments.

I dared a peek back and saw Claryce. She looked none too pleased despite a pretty fair shot. I wasn’t sure if that was because the archangel had only been slowed by the bullet or because she’d just shot apart the face of a saint.

Her shot proved more fortuitous than either of us initially realized. From behind the animated statue jumped Diocles. I wasn’t sure how big a distraction he’d be able to make himself by leaping through my adversary, but anything was welcome.

Diocles crashed into the archangel with enough force to send him falling to the side. Only then did I remember what’d happened when the dragon, using my body, had managed to free the card. Simply being released had allowed the power of the card to influence its surroundings, including anyone also nearby. In that case, Diocles had also gained both visibility and substance. He’d failed to stop the dragon, but his luck had been better this time.

I dove in barely a breath after they collided, Her Lady’s gift at the ready. Just as with the pale figure, the sword gave no hint of activity. I wasn’t concerned about that, however. Even dormant, the elven creation was a magnificent and very well-crafted weapon.

I drove the blade deep into the archangel’s unprotected throat. A cracking sound accompanied the attack as the sword shattered the false flesh and sent more fragments flying.

With a twist, I broke the rest of the head free.

“Nick!” Claryce shouted. “We’ve got more trouble!”

As my decapitated foe sought for balance, I looked to see what she was talking about.

Other figurines and statues were coming to life. Each one that touched the floor quickly grew to man-size.

“This atrocity must end!” Diocles shouted as he fought to keep a hold on St. Michael’s wings.

He was right, and I knew exactly how. I’d been too clever for myself, doing exactly what Galerius had figured I’d do. Everything had been set up so that I’d eventually find out about the spot on the side of the altar, something clearly arranged over time. Galerius had always enjoyed toying with others; in that he would’ve been a good match for any of the Wyld. Still, I couldn’t help feeling there was more to it than that.

I’d wended my way around the headless Michael. A few more steps and I’d reach the coin.

Naturally, something had to get in my way. In this case, it was Gabriel, or rather, the now man-sized figure of the saint, horn and all.

He swung the long instrument like an ax. I met his attack with the sword. Unlike Michael’s fiery sword, the horn cracked in half.

Also unlike Michael, Gabriel wasn’t so well protected. Keeping the point ahead of me, I drove Her Lady’s gift through Gabriel and forced him into the altar.

The second archangel fell to the floor. I took a big risk and let go of the sword so that I could grab for the coin.

Claryce fired off two more shots. I looked up to see another saint with only a jagged hollow left for a face thanks to her shot. The animated figure moved about as if actually blind, which gave me hope that Claryce could keep her own attackers at bay just long enough.

I seized the coin . . . but couldn’t pull it free.

Eye will give you my strength . . . just allow me this . . .

I didn’t see where I had a choice. It was pretty safe to make use of his gaze, but anything else offered much danger. Still, without him I didn’t know how long it’d take to pry the damned coin free. Clearly strong magical forces kept it in place. I needed to make sure the forces I used were stronger yet.

I felt him fill me. My worries seemed so petty, so mortal. It amazed me that I let my concerns about others color my thoughts and pervert my intentions. I was very tempted to take to the wing and leave all their foolishness behind—

“Stop that!” I growled at myself—him. “I’m in charge!”

He receded slightly. Once more in full command, I got a grip on the coin.

“Nick!” Claryce called. “Right behind you!”

I peered over my shoulder to find the headless St. Michael coming toward me. He kept thrusting the burning sword before him. Despite a misstep or two, he was right on target.

Still prying at the coin, I watched his progress. He had maybe two yards before his sword could do me harm.

The coin began to give way, but with a lot of resistance. I debated what to do. If I didn’t get the coin free now, things could get a lot worse before I had another chance.

An odd haze abruptly filled the gap between the winged figure and me. No . . . not a haze, but rather Diocles materializing.

“I will hold him off, Georgius! Get that foul thing from the altar!”

St. Michael thrust once more. Diocles managed to knock the sword arm up at the wrist, causing the thrust to go toward the ceiling.

I used the reprieve to adjust my grip on Galerius’s accursed coin. It finally began to give. I felt it separate from the altar, but there was still a pull from the spot, as if some magnet was attempting to draw it back.

“Quickly, Georgius!” Diocles urged. “Quickly—”

His warning ended in a scream. Still straining to finish pulling the coin free, I looked just in time to see the fiery sword slice through Diocles. The two halves of the emperor separated, then burned away in a flash.

A door opened. I heard Father Jonathan exclaim, “Lord God above! What is happening out here? What is this madness?”

I gave the coin a final tug—

It was as if a tornado swept through the church, turning the interior into a scene out of the recent if entirely odd production of The Wizard of Oz. Unlike Dorothy Dwan—who’d played an adult Dorothy for that film—we weren’t likely to end up in Oz, but somewhere worse. Still retaining the dragon’s might, I turned as best I could toward Claryce. The revolver in one hand, she gripped a pew for dear life. Around her, the animated saints and angels began drifting into the air despite their weight.

Eye can give you wings! Eye can help you fly to safety!

No! I fought to take another step. His offer was enticing, but I knew I’d regret it if I accepted.

And then—the wind ceased. A flash of light blinded me. As blinked I to clear my vision, I noticed an unsettling silence. No crashing of statues onto the floor, no shout from Father Jonathan.

No cry from Claryce.

Nothing.

At that moment, I felt as if the dragon himself sat on my shoulders. I dropped to my knees—

“Nick!”

Claryce’s call came from so very far away. Even still, I rejoiced that I’d heard it. She was alive and seeming fairly well.

“Nick!”

My vision began to clear. I made out the interior of St. Michael’s. The fully intact interior.

The statues and figurines had all returned to their proper sizes and places. Those that’d been damaged—especially the church’s namesake—were whole again. Everything was as it had been before I’d made the mistake of attaching the coin to the altar.

The coin. It was clutched tight in my hand, so tight I had to use my other hand to peel back the fingers. I was tempted to throw away the piece, but really had no good idea where. In the end, I put it back into what appeared to be its favored pocket.

“Is that wise?” Claryce, sounding a little out of breath, asked.

“It’ll have to do.”

“What just happened? Was that all an illusion?”

“Maybe.” Things still appeared peaceful and quiet. I was almost willing to believe it’d actually been an illusion when something occurred to me.

I took a step away from Claryce.

“What’re you doing?”

In reply, I said to the empty nave, “All right, Diocles. You can come out.”

“Nick!”

It wasn’t Diocles responding, but rather Father Jonathan at the same door we’d just seen him come from before everything had begun spinning. Curiously, he looked only slightly anxious.

“Father?”

“May I ask if you are finished? Unfortunately, you will need to leave shortly. I’m sorry.”

I glanced at Claryce, who nodded. To the priest, I replied, “We were just leaving. Thank you for the time.”

Father Jonathan nodded and left us again.

“He doesn’t recall a thing,” I murmured.

“Diocles?” Claryce called. “Diocles?”

There was no reply, not even a misty manifestation.

“Nick, what do you think?”

I didn’t care to pursue the subject of Diocles right now. There was an odd combination of emotions running through me and one felt suspiciously like guilt. I didn’t think I needed to feel guilty about him, even after he’d tried to help. I still thought of all the people slaughtered during the Persecution merely for not believing as Galerius suggested to him they should. As one of the earliest of those, and the only one to be resurrected, those victims held a special place for me.

As Eye have pointed out before, a rather unsaintly saint . . .

Shut up.

I turned Claryce toward the door. As we walked, I replied, “What do I think? I think Galerius has something more than just revenge going on. Do you realize that the only reason we set this off was because Diocles saw the same figure, probably one of Galerius’s hoods, and paid attention to his actions by the altar?”

“You’re right! Does that mean . . . could he have also known about Diocles in the church?”

“I have to believe that. No one knew Diocles and me better than Galerius . . .”

“I still don’t even understand exactly what we went through. What was it? Illusion?”

“No. Reality. Not our reality, but a small, temporary reality created by the coin . . . or rather, what’s in it. Galerius has somehow imbued it with a bit of the card’s infernal essence. Each card can adjust reality in a different way. So, apparently can the coin, at least within limits.” I remembered what’d happened in the movie theater and the vague comments by the odd trio, whose true purpose I still didn’t understand. A chill ran down my spine. “No, this is about more than just revenge . . . a hell of a lot more.”

Claryce hesitated at the door. She stared at the empty interior. “Poor Diocles . . . do you think . . . was he killed?”

“He died a long time ago,” I blurted before I could stop myself. At her horrified look, I quickly added, “I don’t know. We can only wait on that. I’m more concerned about what Galerius has planned for tomorrow . . . and how I can stop him, if that’s at all possible.” A thought—yeah, a desperate one—came to me. I had a possible source for more pertinent information right in front of me. “I need to make a call, but I’d better do it from your apartment, under watch or not. I’d rather he meet us there than the house.”

“You mean that elf you met? Oberon’s servant, Leighton?”

“Laertes. No.” Not Laertes, who I didn’t trust at all yet, but someone who, like me, seemed to end up in the middle of things despite himself. “I think I need to speak with Detective Cortez.”

CHAPTER 7

I wasn’t quite sure what to make of Detective Alejandro Cortez, and it wasn’t because he was the sole Mexican I knew to be on the Chicago Police Department in any role, much less one of command. Cortez always struck me as earnest and adaptable, not to mention far too clever for his own sake at times. He didn’t entirely believe my supposed existence as a hunter and debunker of ghosts, especially after landing in a few questionable situations involving bootleggers and Feirie. Thus far, I’d managed to keep him in the dark about the latter, but it was getting harder.

Once back at Claryce’s apartment, I pulled out the weathered business card Cortez had given me long ago. Picking up the candlestick telephone, I got the operator’s attention and gave her the detective’s office number.

The telephone just rang. After it’d done it enough times, I hung up. Claryce came back from the kitchen with a pair of coffees. She set mine down on the small table on which she kept the telephone, then sat down on the couch with hers.

“Not there?”

“Yeah. It’s funny. I’m always tripping over Cortez, and now that I want to talk with him he’s gone.”

“What about the number on the back?”

“Hmm?” Turning the card over, I saw what she was talking about. It was funny, though. I couldn’t remember there being a number on the back when Cortez had given it to me.

Retrieving the operator, I called. The phone rang twice before a musical female voice answered in Spanish. I understood what she said, but chose to speak in English instead. Cortez didn’t know I was fluent in Spanish—and a lot of other languages alive and dead. I liked to keep any advantages I had.

“Please say that again?” she asked.

“I’m looking for Detective—sorry—Alejandro Cortez.”

There was a pause, then, “This is Senor Medea?”

Despite her strong accent, she pronounced my last name perfectly, with the first ‘e’ short and the second long, followed by a short ‘a’. Of course, she also pronounced it as if singing it, which was a welcome change to any version I’d heard.

You are growing lost in your thoughts . . . the dragon remarked with his usual sarcasm.

He was right. I shook my head to clear it, then answered, “Yes. Is this Maria?”

“Si.”

“Your husband always speaks your praises.” Not only was it true, but I figured it couldn’t hurt either Cortez or me if I said it.

Her laughter was also music. There were rumors of talking movies taking over in a year or so. If so, the makers would be behooved to find voices like Maria’s.

“You are kind . . . and brave. I am honored you know my husband.”

It was a slightly oddly worded compliment, but I thanked her immediately. “Is your husband at home?”

“He was with our oldest son, but he should be finished now. Let me find him. Forgive the wait.”

I heard the receiver settle on what I assumed was a table. There was a short silence, followed by a brief, unintelligible conversation. I heard someone drag the receiver from where it was set.

“Hey, Nick Medea! This is a surprise!”

“Hi. Sorry to interrupt things on your day off.”

“It’s all jake, Bo. I was just playing with my son. It was time for him to settle down for a while, though, so your timing is good, you know?”

“Still, I appreciate your wife not being annoyed.”

“My Maria? She’s got the patience of a saint. She married me after all!” Cortez chuckled. Then, in a calmer voice, he added, “In fact, she even asked if I’d heard from you lately? Funny, huh? She’s good like that.”

I’d only seen a photograph of the detective’s wife, but she wasn’t easy to forget. Although on the petite side—especially noticeable against her husband, who was tall for the average Mexican—she radiated a presence, even as an image. Her long, thick black hair framed an attractive face whose foremost feature was her piercing dark eyes. You could almost swear she could see into your heart even through the photograph.

I was fairly certain she had at least a touch of magic to her. More than once she’d made a remark to her husband that’d had some significance to my own situations. Still, I’d done my best not to include her at any time. Neither she nor Cortez deserved that.

“Had a client in one of the less respectable parts of town,” I started. “I overheard something not related to what I was there for. Thought I’d pass it on.”

“Yeah? I’m all ears, Bo.”

“Something big’s supposed to happen at some launch. Involves an airship, I think.”

“Not much to go on. Anything more?”

“Sorry. I only caught that. Doesn’t ring any bells? I was hoping maybe the police might’ve had some special security assignment for it that you knew about.”

There was a pause on his end. I could picture Cortez toying with one of the countless Luckies he no longer actually smoked, but then figured that Maria wouldn’t even let him get away with that much in front of the children.

“Yeah, I couldn’t even tell you that if it was true, you know? It isn’t, but if it was, I’d have to deny.” He thought for a moment more, then added, “I’ll listen around. Sometimes, the big cheeses, they forget themselves around the ‘greaser.’”

Someone in the more-than-a-little corrupt Chicago Police Department had hit on the idea of taking the Mexican who’d fought his way up to detective and using him wherever there were cases that might be embarrassing to those above. If Cortez did his job, they took the accolades. If Cortez failed, he took the blame and more.

Fortunately for Cortez, he was a lot smarter than the brass. Smarter and more daring. He’d not only survived where he shouldn’t have, but even managed to thrive a little.

Of course, that was before he crossed paths with me. Now, he risked a lot more.

“If there’s anything to it, then we’re pressed for time, Cortez.” I told him what Galerius had told me about when it was all happening, naturally leaving out Galerius himself and everything magical.

“Aah! Got you, Bo! I’ll make a couple of calls. Not everybody looks down at the little greaser. Got some friends in the know, you know?”

“Got it. Listen . . . still be careful.”

“You sound like my Maria. Maybe you should be a little careful, too, Nick Medea. Seems your job keeps wanting to turn you into one of those ghosts you’re supposed to be kicking out!”

He hung up, saving me the necessity creating any more excuses. It was true, though. For someone who supposedly spent his time assuring people that the spirits they believed were haunting them weren’t real, I was getting into a lot of very real danger. Each time I hoped to put an end to dealing with the detective, something new arose.

I could see Maria’s dark eyes in my mind, this time with a reproving look that would’ve made the dragon wilt.

“Do you think he’ll be able to find out anything, Nick?” Claryce asked.

“I don’t know. Half of me hopes not, but we need to find out what’s going and fast—”

Someone knocked on the door.

We both remained silent. Then, a look of recognition spread over Claryce’s face. She went to the door. However, before she could speak, the knocking resumed.

“Who is it?” Claryce asked.

“Tony Ford. Mike’s friend.”

Claryce looked at me. With a nod to the door, I indicated that it was her call.

She unbolted the door. I scratched my chin, an action that also made for quick retrieval of Her Lady’s gift.

My first glimpse of the figure at the door almost made me reach for the sword. The brooding figure standing there could’ve been one of Capone’s or Moran’s enforcers. He was as tall as me but wider at the shoulder and dressed in a simple dark brown suit and overcoat, the latter open and, thankfully, not revealing any easy to grab weapon. Of course, the thick hams he had for fists looked like pretty good fighting tools in themselves.

Neither the cap he wore low nor the thick brow beneath it could shadow his strong blue eyes. Those eyes drank in the entire scene— including where my hand was—with the natural aptitude of a predator. The scars across the right side of his face and the slightly awkward bend of his nose bespoke of at least one pretty damned nasty moment in his past. I suspected that moment might’ve been the Battle of Belleau Wood, a bloody struggle that’d been near the location where Claryce had last heard from her boyfriend.

Recovering from her momentary surprise, Claryce stepped aside. “Come in, Tony. I wasn’t expecting you just yet.”

“Got in early.” He gave me a nod, which I returned.

“Forgive me. Tony, this is Nick. Nick, you remember I told you that Tony was arriving soon.”

“I do.” I rose and extended my hand. He studied it for a moment as if unsure what it was, then gripped it. He was strong, all right, but I returned in kind. At the same time, I noticed that the scars on his face hardly compared with those on his hand, especially the knuckles. I couldn’t help thinking that Tony Ford had been in several battles beyond those of the Great War.

“Friends call me ‘Quiet’ . . . not that there’s many left who do.”

“I remember you from his letters,” Claryce commented. “You two were good friends.”

“No one like him.” Tony finally took off his cap, revealing a somewhat unruly head of black hair. I tried to identify his background, but failed. Depending the angle, he could’ve been Irish, German, Greek, or a few others. I finally suspected that whatever land his ancestors had called home had either been overrun several times or had itself been the pillager of many countries.

“Please sit down, Tony. Would you like some coffee?”

He sniffed the air. “Can I get what he’s got?”

Claryce made a face. “Oh, dear God. Another one. All right. I’ll be right back. Just sit.”

Tony obeyed like a soldier. I returned to my seat.

“Battle of Belleau Wood,” he remarked without warning. When I only looked at him, he shrugged and explained, “Everyone always wonders. Not everyone asks. I just tell it now. Get it over with.”

“Is that where your friend was lost?”

“Quiet” Ford spent the next minute living up to his nickname. Finally, he replied, “Never found him. ‘Course, we never found a lot of guys. It was like that all the time . . . except when we were just finding pieces and trying to figure out who they belonged to.”

I’d seen much the same over the centuries. It never really faded away. I could see that Tony had experienced far more than some and could sympathize. Most of the few friends I’d made during the past sixteen hundred years had died violently, too.

“Here we are.” Claryce returned with another cup.

“Quiet” accepted the coffee with just a dip of his head. He studied the contents, then took a deep sip. After swallowing the coffee, the former soldier eyed it again, then took another, longer sip.

“Good,” he said after swallowing.

“I don’t believe this,” Claryce muttered as she sat down on the couch next to me. “I just don’t believe this.”

I decided to cut in. “Claryce said you came to Chicago for a reason.”

“Yeah. Should’ve done it when I got discharged. Had a few things going on though. Tough things.”

As I expected, he didn’t bother to elaborate. I could appreciate that.

Claryce drank some coffee. “So what is it you needed to see me about that concerned Mike and why now?”

“Mike left a few items here in Chicago. He’s got no family, except you.”

I didn’t have to look at Claryce to sense her discomfort.

She shifted her position. “Tony—”

He shrugged again. “Sorry. Not what I should’ve said. You’re all he had to talk about. That’s it.” Tony picked up his cup again. After another long sip, he went on, “Like I said, I meant to take care of it after the war, but . . .”

We both waited for him to continue, but he merely stared at his coffee. Finally, I made a slight rattling sound with my cup and saucer.

Quiet looked up. His frown managing to widen more, he reached into his coat pocket. From it, he removed something small enough to hide in his fist. He extended the shut hand to Claryce.

I brought mine forward instead. After a hesitation, Tony dropped it in my hand.

The key was small, tarnished, and could’ve unlocked anything as far as I was concerned. I turned it over to Claryce, who studied it closely before looking at Tony again.

“What’s this for?” she asked.

“A boat . . . I think. On Lake Michigan. That’s where the rest of his stuff is stored, I guess.”

I didn’t like the sound of that for some reason. “You guess?”

Quiet went quiet again. Then, “Things have gotten hazy after more than seven years. Like I said, I should’ve done this right after the war. I’m pretty sure he told me some things to say, too, but I’ve not been able to remember them so far.”

“Thought he was your best friend.”

Those sharp, blue eyes stabbed at me. I stabbed right back.

Claryce put a warning hand on my wrist. To Tony, she replied, “Certainly after all you’ve been through, that can be understandable. To be honest, most of what I remember about Mike I’ve begun seeing as if from a vague dream. It sounds horrible, I know—”

Tony shook his head. “No. Sounds like me.”

Something bothered me, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. It wasn’t their agreement on how difficult it was to recall Claryce’s long lost boyfriend. It was something else, something at the edge of my thoughts.

Claryce toyed with the key. “What made you finally decide to contact me?”

“His birthday.” Tony’s eyes narrowed in thought. “I suddenly remembered. I wrote you as soon as I could. It’s tomorrow, by the way.”

That caught the attention of us both. “Tomorrow?” I repeated. “Are you sure?”

“I guess so. Yeah. Mike made a big deal out of it the last time before we moved on into the front. It’s right.”

There were no such things as coincidences. “What’s this key for? The boat?”

“Don’t know.”

“Where’s the boat located?”

“Don’t know.”

I was getting frustrated and I saw that Quiet could tell that. His hands, which had over the past few minutes finally relaxed, now curled into fists again.

Rising abruptly, Claryce reached for her guest’s cup. “Did you want more coffee, Tony?”

Gaze still on me, he rose. “No. Done here. Thanks for your time, Miss Simone. Mike had a good eye.”

I joined them. Claryce managed to get between us, finally breaking our view of each other. She touched Tony lightly on the forearm. “Where are you staying?”

“Don’t know. Got here a little later than I thought. The weather. Haven’t looked yet.”

“No.” She considered. “I know a place. Let me get the address for you. Do you want to join us for dinner later?”

Tony put on his cap. “No, Miss Simone. I’ve overstayed. I’ll take that address and be off.”

“All right. Nick, would you do me a favor and grab the cups? You can just set them in the kitchen while I get Tony the address.”

I knew what she was doing and reluctantly agreed. “Sure.”

As I moved past him with the cups, Quiet tipped his cap my direction. I couldn’t tell whether he meant it politely or not, so I pretended like I hadn’t noticed.

Claryce had hurried ahead to the kitchen. I set the cups down on the counter next to the Kelvinator and started to head back.

“Stay here and behave!” she muttered.

“What do you mean? This is pretty suspicious. We need to find out if ‘Quiet’ out there is really—”

“You need to worry about a lot of things, but Tony isn’t one of them! Call it instinct, that ridiculous woman’s intuition, or a hunch, but I trust him completely and I expect you to treat him as if you do, too.” She leaned against the counter. “It’s terrible, Nick, but I wasn’t lying when I said I couldn’t remember back then very well. It is turning into vague dreams. I feel awful about that—”

“You’ve had a few other serious matters.”

“I know, but we’re talking about a man killed in war. You should appreciate that, Nick. I know you’ve lost good friends over the centuries.”

“A few. I tried to keep such relationships to a minimum. In the end, there was always that knowledge that they’d . . .” I quickly trailed off, realizing I’d said too much.

Claryce pursed her lips. “Don’t think you’re hiding anything from me. We’ve discussed this before. You don’t age. I’m willing to live with that fact if you can live with me getting a little grayer.” When I tried to speak, she put a finger to my lips and continued, “I put up with the fact that you could get killed every day. Now, let’s very nicely say farewell to Mike’s friend. All right?”

She scribbled the hotel address down and headed back to the living room. I followed on her heels.

You are truly her Fetch now . . .

I was about to tell him to shut up when I saw Claryce come to a halt. Picking up my pace, I moved to her side.

Quiet Ford was nowhere to be seen.

“Stay where you are,” I warned her. Moving past Claryce, I headed to the bedrooms. A quick search of the rest of the apartment turned up nothing.

As I returned to Claryce, I saw that she was peeking out the door. A little frustrated, I rushed over to her.

“There’s no sign of him, but I thought I saw a taxi driving off.”

“Steer clear of him. He may be all right, but he also may not be.”

She shook her head vehemently as she shut the door. “No. I can’t shake the feeling that while he might be troubled, he’s still a good man.”

“You have more faith than me, but then that’s hardly surprising.” I exhaled. “If you trust everything he said he knew about Michael—”

I froze. I’d meant to say “Mike” like before, but the formal version had just slipped out as if spoken by someone else.

You are welcome. . . the dragon said with malicious glee. It was a strong barrier, but not strong enough in the end. . .

“Michael . . .” I repeated. “Mike . . .”

Claryce blanched. “I never paid attention to that. I don’t know why, but it’s just coincidence . . . isn’t it?”

“I don’t believe in coincidence,” I reflexively responded. I could suddenly recall each time Mike’s name had come up.

“Nick, I may not remember him as much as I should, but I think I’d remember if there was anything unusual! Besides, you don’t really think Michael would’ve acted like that?”

She wasn’t referring to some man she’d once known. Now she was referring to the saint, to the archangel. Claryce might not be willing to put it past him, but it struck me just like the elusive and yet intrusive saint. Still, for her sake, I tried to downplay it. “Maybe you’re right. We’ll probably never know for certain, but maybe you’re right.”

What a comfort you are . . . Eye could do better . . . allow me . . .

Shut up.

“We might be able to find out more,” Claryce blurted. She held up the key. “We could go check out the boat.”

I didn’t like her suggestion—or rather, the part where she included herself in the search. I had every suspicion that this had to do with Galerius, and from that I couldn’t help thinking maybe Michael had known this confrontation would take place for some time. Years, at least. Maybe centuries.

I’d never decked an archangel before, but I wanted to do so now. If this was something he’d known about, I couldn’t fathom why he’d let it happen. Yeah, his kind worked in mysterious ways, so I’d heard, but I was beginning to think he was actually starting to work for the other side.

In desperation, I pointed out one obvious fact. “We don’t even know where the boat is located. Lake Michigan isn’t exactly tiny.”

She smiled grimly. “Actually . . . I think I know exactly where it

CHAPTER 8

We argued about her going to the lake, an argument I eventually and probably inevitably lost. I tried calling Barnaby to see if he’d learned anything, but the phone merely rang. I considered calling Cortez, but he hadn’t had any time to find out anything.

If I had to take Claryce with me, I intended to drag Fetch along as well. At this point, I suspected his devotion to her was a hundredfold greater than it was to me. He would give his life for her, if necessary.

I tried to think where best to locate him. We took the Packard to one of his favorite haunts, a series of alleys behind some of the city’s swankiest eating spots. In contrast to the restaurants, the back alleys were dark and dingy. I could hear movements, some of which were rats, some of which I knew were not.

“Don’t bother asking me to stay in the car,” Claryce remarked.

“I won’t.” I led her into the alley. There was just enough light to keep me from immediately demanding the dragon’s vision. I didn’t want anything stirred up unnecessarily by the abrupt and monstrous change in my eyes.

Even without the dragon, I could sense Feirie’s presence here. It wasn’t from any one direction, but rather permeated the vicinity. That meant a possible combination of factors, none of which I liked. Either one Wyld had really made its home here, or there were several now dwelling here.

“Do you see him?” Claryce whispered.

“No. Stick close.”

“I will.”

We moved deeper into the alley. Had we been an ordinary couple, our ignorance would’ve been our greatest defense. This near to such a crowded, active area, any refugees from Feirie would redouble their efforts to not be noticed. That would include not preying on anything larger than a cat.

But just as I could sense them, so, too, could they tell that I was more than merely human. I kept my hand near the opening of my coat. Her Lady’s gift remained only a thought from my grip.

“Stop,” I quietly ordered.

We stood there for a moment, then I let out a low whistle.

Seconds later, there came the slight tapping of nails against concrete as something moved toward us. I knew that whatever it was wanted us to hear it.

A tall, lithe four-legged form materialized out of the darkest shadows, the eyes two blazing orbs.

“Master Nicholas,” Fetch quietly greeted us. “Mistress Claryce.”

“Hmm,” Claryce responded. I was pretty sure she was thinking of how Fetch had transformed into something nearer to his true Feirie form when we had confronted Oberon and his servants—both human and otherwise—on the shores of the lake.

As he neared us, Fetch underwent a subtle transformation, becoming as we both knew him.

“What brings ye here?”

I could see right away that he wasn’t all that pleased we’d come for him. This wasn’t a side I’d seen often from Fetch, who was generally thrilled to be a part of whatever I had going on. He’d more than once reminded me that he owed me his life. Now, though, I wondered if we’d discovered a line where all that meant nothing. Fetch had come close a couple of times, but had always pulled back. This time . . . this time felt different.

Eye could remove your trouble so easy . . . just a single breath . . .

Shut up.

“We need you to come with us to Lake Michigan, Fetch.”

“Oh! Aye!” He started trotting toward us again. “Let’s be off, then!”

I put out a hand to halt him. Fetch paused, his expression and stance returning to what they’d been a moment ago.

“What’ve you got here, Fetch?” I asked sternly. “What’s different?”

His ears flattened. “Nothing, Master Nicholas. Everything’s copa-cetic, as always.”

“Don’t lie to me, Fetch. You know you don’t want to lie to me.”

“Please, Master Nicholas! Let it be!”

“I can’t, Fetch. Matter of fact, I’ve probably let it go too long.”

Eye will help you see the truth . . .

Go ahead.

The world turned emerald. Shadows remained, but they took on twisted shapes that reminded me of nothing on the mortal plane but definitely of Feirie.

“Oh, Fetch.” I shook my head and slipped my hand to the inner edge of my overcoat.

“No, Master Nicholas! ‘Tis not what ye think! ‘Tis no lair! Only a temporary refuge!”

“How many?” I stared at each shadow, seeing into them as best as possible. To my surprise, they proved harder to pierce than I’d thought. I smelled Fetch’s cunning in that. He’d expected me to summon the dragon’s vision and although he’d known he could never completely hide everything from the dragon’s gaze, whatever he did manage to hide was to his benefit.

Or so he thought. The dragon believed otherwise.

We must cleanse this place! One swift breath! This is the task for which we have been ordained! This is what we must do!

He was right. This was very much a part of our task. We were supposed to keep Feirie and the mortal plane separate. That was a nigh impossible duty, but allowing a flood of Wyld to continue unabated went far beyond reasonable.

I could suddenly sense their collective fear. Creatures of Feirie as afraid for their lives as any human refugee during Diocletian’s Edict of Persecution or the endless wars before or since then. They were as scared of me as they were of Her Lady.

As they were of Her Lady . . .

Burn them! my eternal companion roared furiously.

“This has to end, Fetch,” I said as calmly as possible. “When we bring you back, you have to put a stop to this. Chicago cannot survive this.”

“Aye, I understand.”

“What would make you commit this insanity? I forgave the one or two out of respect for the trust I had in you and you go and betray that trust!”

“Nick—”

“‘Tis all right, Mistress Claryce.” Tail drooping, Fetch peeked back at the shadows. “I warned them it couldn’t last long. I’m just—I was just looking for the blood, Master Nicholas. That’s all.”

“‘The blood’?”

“He means ‘family,’ Nick.”

I should’ve realized that myself, but I’d never much had to consider family where Feirie was concerned, save for Oberon and Her Lady. There’d been no love lost there, just as there had been none between Oberon’s daughter, her father, and her stepmother. The Court of Feirie made the Tudors of England look loving by comparison.

“You’re looking for some of your . . . pack?”

If I’d mislabeled his family organization, he didn’t bother to correct me. Instead, he briefly bared his teeth at the empty space next to him, then explained, “Loyalty is a word with many definitions in the Court, Master Nicholas. Her Lady learned well from her former lord. To guarantee that even the most loyal remain so, a price always had to be paid . . . with those of blood hostaged.”

“‘Hostaged’?”

“She’s holding his family, Nick. That witch is holding his family.”

I’d never much thought about Fetch’s kind except as potential threats. He’d been the only one I’d met, but I’d taken his example as a reason to always be on the lookout.

Now it appeared I’d not have to concern myself. It sounded as if they were trapped in Feirie, prisoners of Her Lady to guarantee Fetch’s loyalty.

Or something else. “Fetch, she offered you a chance to come back and you didn’t. You did that knowing she held your family, didn’t you?”

“Aye.”

Claryce cleared her throat. “But . . . when you first abandoned her for this world wouldn’t she have . . . you know . . . to punish you?”

“Maybe not,” I interjected. “This is Her Lady we’re talking about. Maybe she’d keep them in order to always have something to dangle before him, especially considering his association with me. Isn’t that right, Fetch?”

“It is what I believe, but I dare not approach her. She will demand what I cannot give, of that I am certain.”

“You should’ve told me this a long time ago.”

“I should’ve. Ye need not fear I’ll turn on ye at some time because of this. She knows already now. She knows I’ve taken an oath stronger than the blood she holds.”

I nodded. “But this is Her Lady. She never gives up a possible pawn if she can help it. Lessons learned from Oberon.”

“Aye. I just keep hoping that some will manage to flee her. I watch careful who I offer brief protection to, Master Nicholas. They must be of the weak, of the kinder, and I must know something of their blood. I’ll not protect some soul-hungry Wyld, scout’s honor!”

I believed him, which said something. Still, this situation had to be changed. “What did you actually think to do for these? They can’t just be let loose on Chicago.”

Just as I’d expected, he had no real answer. There wasn’t time to work all this out. I’d already let things drag out. What there was of the day was slipping away, which meant that Galerius already had plans in motion. The boat and the lake seemed our best hope, or else why the timely interjection of clues by what had to be the interfering archangel?

“Never mind,” I snarled at Fetch. “You deal with this as soon as possible. Now get to the Packard.”

Fetch took off like a shot. I sensed more unease from the twisted shadows and saw movement here and there. I remembered the one I’d seen on a previous visit. A tiny thing of shadow that’d also worn the form of a childlike being akin to the elves of Her Lady’s Court. I should’ve put an end to things then . . .

I finally led Claryce away, dismissing the dragon’s vision at the same time. Fetch was already secure in the backseat with no hint as to how he’d gotten inside so quickly.

We headed toward Grand Avenue and the Municipal Pier. I tended to think of it as Burnham’s Municipal Pier since it’d been based on his designs in the Plan of Chicago, but, seeing it again, I supposed a lot of credit had to be given to the actual architect, Charles Sumner Frost. The pier was a bit different from his more than a hundred buildings crafted especially for the Chicago and North Western Railway, but it was certainly striking. I’d watched the rise and fall of architectural styles over the centuries—in some ways using them to mark the passage of time more than mere years or centuries—but Chicago’s styles were changing so rapidly these days I was beginning to feel like I’d been here a lot longer than I actually had.

That thought and our situation with Galerius immediately brought another image to mind. No one but Claryce, Fetch, and myself now recalled the Tribune Tower’s original design, the sleek, extremely modern creation by a Finnish architect who’d won the contest sponsored by the paper. The card had changed that, turning the Tower into the Gothic structure now gracing the city’s skyline.

Since we’d started, Claryce had kept quiet about exactly where to turn, but suddenly she ordered me to make a quick left. We headed toward the South Side and into Outfit territory, then veered toward the lake. By that time, the last of the cloud-obscured sunlight had faded away.

I pulled up near a series of warehouses and other buildings involved in Great Lakes shipping. Lake Michigan roared a warning to us we stepped out of the Packard. I’d heard people call it an inland sea, and they were right. Huge waves crashed against the icy shore, creating frozen sculptures that looked as though some madman had taken the designs from Feirie.

I didn’t care for the fact that we were in a fairly empty area. While in great part it could obviously be blamed on the weather, I knew that a lot of these facilities probably had ties to Capone’s mob. Not so much for liquor trafficking, but other activities. There was probably no one but a watchman or two around here, but I intended to keep Claryce as close as possible.

I started to ask her where she thought we had to go when I noticed a change in her expression. Being here had obviously stirred up some memories. My usual frustration with the elusive Michael gave way to another emotion I’d never thought I’d have. I was jealous of an archangel. If Mike had indeed been Michael, he’d known Claryce years before I had. She’d not talked much about her previous relationship and I’d not asked, but now I suddenly wanted details.

Such an intriguing emotion, jealousy. So mortal. So human . . .

I recall you falling prey to it more than once, I retorted. Remember?

That quieted him for the time being. Fetch trotted ahead while Claryce walked beside me. I let her guide us, Fetch adjusting his search pattern accordingly.

The roar of the waves grew louder, more violent. I couldn’t help a glance or two at the black, turbulent waters. I caught a glimpse of ship lights in the distance. Tonight was a night only a foolish or desperate captain would use to journey across any part of Lake Michigan.

“It’s this way,” Claryce murmured as she pulled her coat tighter. “I remember that so clearly.”

My resentment toward Michael returned in spades. I wanted to ask her details, but at the same time didn’t want to. So far, she’d offered very little. In fact, her memories seemed so vague at times, I thought I smelled the archangel’s handiwork there, too.

But the memories she needed to bring us here appeared to be returning at just the right pace. More and more I understood that he’d set up all this years ago and used Claryce to put it in motion. That last turned my jealousy to anger. I didn’t care if he led the armies of Heaven; I wanted nothing more than to deck him.

Ahhh . . . there is the saint Eye know so well. . .

I didn’t give him a response, in part because I didn’t have a good one. Claryce and I moved along the darkened warehouses to one at the far end.

“Here we go.” She pulled out the key. “This one.”

“Of course.” I pointed at the faded sign above, where the silhouette of a ship with wings greeted us. I took the wings to be Michael’s symbol.

Claryce said nothing, but I caught a brief, unsettled expression. She opened the thick, wooden door and started inside, but I caught her arm.

“Fetch?”

“Yes, Master Nicholas. Gladly.”

He slipped inside. A moment later, he poked his head out. “Cannot see or smell anything odd, other than a little mustiness and some tasty-smelling rats. All’s jake as far as I can see.”

Despite that assurance, I entered first. I looked around for a switch or a lamp.

“Over here,” Claryce commented. She pulled a string, turning on a single light over the door. It failed to illuminate the entire interior, but it was enough so that we could get an idea of what was inside.

Which was nothing. As far as I could tell, the place was empty. That didn’t seem to be odd to Claryce, who walked toward the center untroubled.

She reached down. Only then did I see the small ring attached to the wooden floor.

Claryce pulled the trapdoor up with ease. She peered into the opening.

I joined her. Below, sitting in water, was a weathered twenty-five-foot Hacker runabout. I figured it to be twelve years old, but sitting like that had added some extra wear to it. Still, it looked damned serviceable. The dim light was just enough to reveal it’d once been mahogany all over.

“I don’t suppose you know why we need this,” I asked her.

“I remember this,” Claryce said almost wistfully. “We rode it deep out in the lake. It was a little cold. End of March. He enlisted right after we entered the war.”

“Anywhere in particular?”

“I don’t . . . I’m not sure. I remember an island . . .”

That didn’t make sense. Northerly Island—a man-made venture near Chicago that was supposed to house an airport and a planetarium—hadn’t been started until 1920. As for most of the lake’s natural islands, they were far north, near Michigan. I couldn’t see Claryce and him having gone all the way there. “You’re sure it was an island?”

“I don’t know. Damn him!”

Her outcry startled us. Fetch’s ears flattened. Claryce was very honestly upset. I had to admit, there was a tiny part of me that was glad.

More than a tiny part, Eye would say . . .

I didn’t argue. “Claryce—”

Fetch abruptly straightened. His ears stiffened.

At the same time, I heard a slight noise outside.

“Someone’s out there,” I whispered to Claryce.

“I’m not surprised.”

She reached for her revolver, but I stopped her for the moment. “Do you still have the dagger?”

Since the Smith & Wesson wouldn’t necessarily stop everything we faced, I’d early on given her a silver-tipped dagger that’d been blessed in Constantinople over a thousand years ago. It had served me very well, so I’d hoped it’d do the same for her.

“Always.” She tapped her leg.

“Make sure you can get it at a moment’s notice, quicker even.”

I pointed down at the boat. Fetch leaped through the trapdoor, landing on the runabout without a sound. He darted toward the bow, vanishing from our sight.

“Stick behind me,” I ordered Claryce.

“I’m not afraid.”

“But I’m more durable.” With care, I opened the door. I could’ve summoned the dragon’s vision, but didn’t feel the need just yet. If it turned out to be a night watchman, I didn’t want to scare him to death.

When I saw nothing, I exited. By now, Fetch was well into a position where he could catch whoever was outside from behind. It was still too early to draw Her Lady’s gift, but I kept my hand very close.

The faint sound of footsteps coming from atop the building verified for me that this was no mere watchman. I looked for a way up, but found nothing.

Dolt! We have wings! We can fly! Must you reject all sense!

I looked around. There was no one in sight and the sky was overcast, making it perfect conditions for what he suggested, but I wasn’t ready for that. Just lend me your hands . . . or paws.

Fool. . . Despite his frustration, he wasted no time. My fingers twisted and lengthened. The darkness hid the full, monstrous results of what he had done to my hands, and I had no wish to spend any time staring at the transformation. Digging my claws into the wooden wall, I pulled myself up.

Climbing on top of the roof, I surveyed the area. The dragon’s gaze enabled me to see a lithe figure running toward the other end of the roof. The flowing overcoat prevented me from seeing whether it was human or not, much less male or female.

Willing my hands back to normal, I gave chase. I knew that below me Claryce would hear the movement and act accordingly. However, it wasn’t Claryce I waited for at the moment.

At the far edge of the flat roof, the figure paused. I could see the gap between this building and the next and knew that, if this was a human, there was no way that they’d be able to bridge that gap. If they weren’t . . . I’d be interested to see just how they did it.

Whether or not the figure could leap or fly over to the next warehouse became a moot point as a canine form jumped up from below to confront our intruder. With a snarl, Fetch forced the figure away from the edge.

One of the intruder’s hands reached near the waist. At that moment, I saw just enough of the head—and the bound hair—to realize that what we’d trapped was female. I had a brief moment of amazement that perhaps Her Lady’d snuck through the Gate, but dismissed that notion before the dragon could mock it.

Her hand slipped closer to her waist, only to hesitate again when Fetch growled. Despite the stealth with which I approached, she somehow heard me and glanced behind her.

At first, I took her for either a Negro, a Mexican, or a mixing of the two. Then, I realized that I’d seen that face somewhere before and she was neither. It took me a moment to recall just where. Laertes’s little sanctum, where he played “Ladykiller” Leighton for his human associates. She’d been there. One of his two dolls. The American Indian one.

Clearly, she was more than I’d thought. Right now, I could read her stance enough to know that she was debating which of us was the greater threat. I offered her some help by tapping my chest.

From her actions, it’d already been evident that she had pretty good night vision, but I could tell she couldn’t really see me well enough yet to notice the difference in my eyes. I debated returning them to normal, but figured that if she were hanging around elves and climbing atop warehouses, she could survive my appearance.

She suddenly raised both hands, palms toward me. Then, with the utmost care, she reached to her throat and removed a small medallion hanging there. To my surprise, this was followed by making the sign of the cross.

She knows us . . . how curious . . .

I didn’t argue. I knew that if I stepped up to her, I’d see that the medallion was one honoring me—or rather, St. George. I silently cursed Laertes’s loose lips and apparent excessive fondness for human women. Then I again considered the fact that she was on this roof and decided that maybe she was more than plaything to him. Laertes had to rely on the mortal world in order to keep hidden from Her Lady. Having Wyld as servants would only draw Her Lady’s attention. This particular servant wouldn’t.

“Saint George,” she muttered, her voice deep and fluid.

“What’s he up to?” I demanded of her. “Tell him I don’t like being followed.”

“He did not send me. This path I follow on my own. He knows better than to stop me.”

“And why is that? Who are you?”

“The boarding school insisted I be called Winifred Louise, a much more Christian name than the one they couldn’t pronounce. They drummed that name into me so much, I don’t even know what my parents called me.” She gave me a crooked, bitter smile. “One of the older girls, who still remembered the ways of the Potawatomi some, called me Crying Wolf.”

I still wasn’t sure what to call her and was caring less by the moment. I could sympathize with her plight growing up, but that didn’t excuse her following me.

“‘Ware her, Master Nicholas,” growled Fetch, also apparently not concerned about revealing anything to her. “She smells of some sort of magic. I cannot say which, but she is no simple Jane!”

A slight smile played on her lips. “Does he always talk like that?”

“He does, and I find it very endearing,” Claryce shouted. She came up behind Fetch, the revolver aimed at the other woman. “Sorry, Nick. I tried, but I couldn’t stay behind.”

“‘Nick’?” The woman’s brow wrinkled.

“Yeah. Nick will do,” I replied. The lake wind was growing harsher. “What’s this other path Laertes had nothing to do with?”

Her eyes abruptly widened. From the left sleeve of her coat there slid a curved, completely black blade. At first I thought it was made of black silver—a vicious product of Feirie—but then caught a slight glint that even through the dragon’s vision reminded me most of obsidian.

The blade slipped expertly into her hand. Fetch snarled and Claryce, despite having to contend with the darkness, shouted a warning.

But neither, I realized, was intended against Winifred Louise Crying Wolf. Instead, it was meant for two figures climbing up behind me. A pair of hoods, one adjusting a tommy, had managed to reach the roof.

“Get down!” I roared.

In answer, Claryce fired a shot. It hit the second hood in the arm, causing him to drop his automatic.

Unfortunately, that still left the tommy gun.

The squat hood fired wildly, which was far more dangerous to us than if he’d taken the time to aim. Tommies weren’t the most accurate of weapons, which meant a spray actually worked better.

I had no choice. Despite the dragon’s hissed warning, I spread myself as wide as I could. A hail of bullets ripped through me. I could only hope that none of them had reached Claryce or Fetch.

My body burned with agony. I had to fight to stay conscious. The dragon railed inside my head, calling me just about every epithet he’d learned over sixteen hundred years. Still, I could feel him feeding me his power. The bullets in my body began popping out and wounds started healing.

Something streaked past me. At first I thought it was Fetch, who should’ve been protecting Claryce, but then I saw it was Winifred Louise Crying Wolf. She moved low, almost on all fours like her namesake, save that one hand had the black knife held ready.

The gunner turned his attention to her. I took a step toward him, my hand inches from Her Lady’s gift.

Something massive dropped out of the sky and crushed the roof right where I stood. I heard Claryce scream. Before I could do more than focus on that scream, I hit the floor of the warehouse hard.

If I’d been a normal person, I’d have died with a broken neck or back. Even so, the collision, along with my wounds, was enough to leave me gasping for breath and unable to move.

Naturally, that’s when a figure leaned over me.

I almost expected one of the three pale men I’d confronted in the theater. He was dressed close enough, with a slouch hat and a thick overcoat with the collar up, but thanks to the dragon’s piercing, if at the moment somewhat watery vision, I could see through the darkness enough to make out his face as he reached for me.

Well . . . if he’d had one.

CHAPTER 9

“So, Georgius—oh, I’m sorry, you’re Nick these days—you managed to find your way to me.”

I answered with a groan, the only sound I was capable of making. My first thoughts were split in several directions. That was Galerius’s voice booming in my foggy mind. I feared for Claryce. I wondered if Winifred Louise Crying Wolf had had something to do with this trap. Where was Fetch?

Why couldn’t I move?

I shook my head. Things started to clear. I managed to focus.

Galerius stood a few feet from me, a cigar in his mouth. Despite his nearness, I couldn’t smell the cigar at all, which was puzzling. At that moment, I’d have welcomed its odor over the fishy scent filling the room.

He withdrew the cigar. “Hungry? You’ll be fed soon.”

“No thanks,” I rasped.

He laughed . . . but there was something bitter in his laugh. “So damned noble, so much a martyr! You were born to be a bloody saint, weren’t you? Even to pulling your damned miracles again!”

Someone who wasn’t Galerius kicked me hard in the back. I grunted in pain.

“But you’ve only managed half of what you wanted! Only half! It still flew, Nick, which means it still set in motion part of what I planned . . .”

I knew my head still had fog in it, but Galerius wasn’t making sense to me. I’d managed to stop whatever he’d had in mind? I couldn’t recall everything that’d happened, but I could recall enough to know I’d been far from figuring out what his plan had been.

I tried to move, with as little luck as before. Not only was I bound tight, but I was also beginning to notice the pain wherever my bonds pressed against my body despite my clothes.

“I hope you’re suffering, Nick. I paid dearly for all that precious black silver to bind you with. Being so tied to magic, it burns you like hell, I’d bet. You know, the damned bitch demanded a high price . . .” He laughed. “But then so did I . . . and she paid it.”

I didn’t have to wonder who the “bitch” was. Just as I’d figured, Her Lady’d had a hand in some of Galerius’s activities.

He flicked his cigar. Something about the way the ashes fell bothered me.

“The bloody fools. They all thought the power was going to go to them. Well, I appreciate you removing them for me, Nick. The Wing-foot served its purpose, that’s what’s mattered.” Galerius gave me a bow. “Thank you . . .”

The Wingfoot . . . I was starting to have a bad—worse—feeling.

“You’re not real,” I muttered. “You’re a six-year-old illusion.”

“It’ll take some time, but I can be patient,” he went on, of course ignoring my remark. “I spent centuries tracking those cards. I spent centuries rebuilding what you stole from me . . .” For the first time, something slipped into his tone, something manic. “I spent centuries . . . so many centuries . . . but at least I always had you . . . and her . . .”

Her. That made me struggle harder, which in turn made me suffer harder. I didn’t care, though. I was willing to suffer the pain if I could just free myself and track him down through the old illusion. There were ways to do that, ways—

I received another good kick. This time in the head. My world spun around. Through teary eyes, I saw a shadowy figure in slouch hat and overcoat come around. As it bent down, I was confronted by the featureless face from earlier.

The thing took hold of me. Where its fingers touched me, I felt incredible cold despite both my own clothing and the dragon’s power.

Galerius’s minion set me against an old barrel. It wasn’t a very comfortable sitting position, but I found out quickly that it didn’t matter.

It picked up a two-by-four and with a swing worthy of one of Gabby Hartnett’s homers, knocked me senseless . . .

The dragon kept screaming in my head. I tried to shut him out, but he grew more and more insistent, to the point where he even overwhelmed the awful pounding battering my skull.

A strange, unsettling sensation filled me. I felt a different sort of cold inside and out, and yet my lungs suddenly burned. I tried to catch my breath but couldn’t. I kept choking, no matter how much I struggled for air.

Somehow, I opened my eyes.

I was underwater. I was drowning.

Well, not exactly. My body was attempting to drown, but the protections of the Gate and the dragon had so far prevented that. Even so, I was going through incredible torture.

Somehow, my eyes had become his again. Despite that, our view was murky. I saw fish and plant life in a half-shadowed way. In the distance, there was a large object I thought was a sunken ship.

I was at the bottom of Lake Michigan.

My body continued to attempt in vain to find air instead of water. It was all I could do to keep some bit of sanity. I had to credit the dragon for that; this was a situation far beyond me.

I struggled with my black silver bonds but still couldn’t break them. My feet refused to budge. Managing to peer down, I saw why. I’d never heard of someone actually getting “cement overshoes,” despite their popularity in fiction. Galerius, though, had evidently decided to grant me a special treat.

The block of cement enveloped my feet up to just over the ankles. It told me that I’d been unconscious much longer than I’d thought if it’d had time to set.

I kept struggling with my bonds. With each passing second, it was getting harder to keep what sense I still had. If that happened, I feared I’d never get out.

And then, out of the corner of my—our—eye, I saw something that shouldn’t have been in the lake. It was long and sinewy. Some vast serpent, I guessed. It had an odd, flat head, but I couldn’t make out any details. It kept coming and coming with no sight of the other end.

Another joined it.

It wasn’t hard to guess that they were heading toward me. There was only one possible way out of this now. I knew it and the dragon knew it. I willingly gave way to him.

But when he tried to take command of our body, the black silver bonds once more kept him in check. We both tried to roar our frustration, but to no avail.

Change, damn you! Change! I demanded.

Too strong . . . the accursed silver is too strong . . . it burns, too . . .

The strange serpents continued moving toward us. I still couldn’t see their other ends.

Change! I repeated.

I could feel him straining, which meant I also felt renewed agony from the black silver’s effect.

Too strong . . .

No! In desperation, I threw my own will into the transformation. It meant intertwining our very cores together as we seldom had. It meant being one, not two.

There was a peculiar cracking sound. The pressure eased a little around our feet. It took effort, but I managed to turn our gaze there.

A huge fissure bisected the block of cement. With some kicking, I managed to get our feet free.

The serpents got nearer . . . and at last I saw them well enough to know that they weren’t serpents.

They were tentacles.

Change, damn you! I ordered one last time.

The black silver bonds began tearing apart. We shook them away as quickly as we could.

Free! we both screamed. Free!

Wings burst from our back. Our arms became forelegs and our hands and feet great paws. Our face stretched forward, becoming a long muzzle.

We pushed toward the surface and air.

Tentacles suddenly surrounded us.

Our wings acted as fins, thrusting us just above a grasping appendage. A half dozen more tentacles darted after us. We knew that if even one tentacle reached us before we got to the surface, we would not escape.

The surface teased us. No matter how hard we pushed with our wings, it seemed out of reach. Still, we had no choice but to keep trying. Our lungs strained as even the power of the Gate and the dragon began to reach its limits.

The water grew more turbulent. It slowed us but also encouraged us. We were near the top, where the weather had more say. Just a little farther—

We broke the surface. A violent lake storm assailed us, but we welcomed it as we pushed out of the water and into the air—

Something grabbed one back leg. With a raspy roar, we twisted in the air. Our leg came free and we shoved high into the heavens.

As we ascended, we took in great gulps of air. Our heart began pounding at less than a frantic pace. With some sense returning, we took a glance below. The lake waters roiled, but there was no sign of whatever had sought us.

Despite now having air, it became harder to stay aloft. Our time in the lake had drained us too much. The shore beckoned, but the storm made it hard to gain much distance. Weakened, it took twice as many beats of our wings to gain even a small distance.

We—I—thought of Claryce. That gave me, if not him, the impetus to push harder. The combination of the storm and the night protected us from prying eyes, but we knew that we still had to find a reasonable place to land the moment we reached the shore.

An empty beach lay directly ahead. It looked familiar, but our thoughts were still too addled to know just why. We focused hard on reaching it—

And then a glorious arch shimmered into being before us. It had colors in it that no rainbow could match. It stretched high above Chicago on one end and touched the lake at the other. It formed without warning so near to us that we had no chance to stop our momentum.

Despite our efforts to pull back, we fell through the Gate into Feirie.

I don’t recall what happened immediately after that. The crossing into Feirie combined with our already overstrained body left us with little once we reached the dark green, endless forest. I do know we attempted to keep ourselves steady, only to crash into the treetops before crushing an entire section with our final drop to the ground.

How long we lay there, I couldn’t say. When did we revert back to me was another question without an answer.

How long Her Lady had us as her unconscious guest, I sorely wished I knew.

I woke up in a bed of soft brown leaves and scarlet flowers, the latter of which gave off a heady perfume that nearly made me fall asleep again. Fighting off the effect, I wondered if she’d purposely chosen them for that perfume.

I was clad in my clothes and overcoat, an effect of the spell surrounding the dragon and me, not any act of respect by my host. Even Her Lady was careful around any magic associated with the Gate. Unlike her former husband, she knew that tampering with the Gate could lead to a collapse of both sides. That didn’t mean that she didn’t have ways of manipulating things, just that she was more careful.

I didn’t bother reaching for the sword. She wouldn’t take that, either. Her Lady’s games were often more subtle.

I noticed a clay mug and ceramic jug to my left, two items I knew hadn’t been there a moment before. As I reached for them, I heard slight giggles. I didn’t need to see the source of the sound to know that they were sprites. Over the centuries, I’d confronted a variety of the throne’s servants. Large or small, they had one thing in common; they could be very deadly.

I considered not drinking anything, but despite my earlier drowning I was now as parched as a desert. I poured some of the contents into the mug, inspected the deep red liquid for a moment, then swallowed some. It was good.

Maybe too good. Maybe I’d been mistaken about what she might try. Or maybe I was just still too exhausted. I’d barely downed the wine before I dozed off again.

And when I opened my eyes, there she was. Just two inches away from my face. If I’d even lifted my head a little, we’d have been kissing; not at all a coincidence, I knew. Her Lady desired power. As the guardian of the Gate, I had power even she couldn’t wield . . . but she could always hope to control it by controlling its wielder.

She had a dark, alluring perfection. Her long midnight hair draped an ivory face with deep red lips and black, so very black, eyes that could lure most creatures to her. She was taller than me and slim yet still curved in all the right ways. She word a gown of ebony and forest green shadow.

Her darling Gatekeeper . . .

She generally spoke in the third person, for what reason I wasn’t sure but thought had to do with power and hierarchy. She also tended to speak in my mind, which meant I had to be careful with my thoughts at all time.

She smiled, yet another seduction. I remained exactly where I was.

Finally, she straightened. I casually pushed myself up on my elbows. As I did, the large oaks around me shifted position. Nothing in Feirie remained fixed. Everything in Feirie was very fluid, especially the elves themselves. Right now, I expected that those tree hid several of Her Lady’s courtiers, especially her seneschal, who was a jealous sort no doubt hoping to share her throne.

I shifted to a sitting position, then allowed my equilibrium to catch up. The dragon had stayed silent all this time, but I could now feel him stirring in the recesses of my brain. He trusted her even less than I did. Feeling as I did at the moment, I was glad for his company.

How delightful for you to say so. . . he remarked slyly. Eye am honored . . .

Quiet. I glanced at the queen of Feirie, but noticed nothing that suggested she’d been able to eavesdrop on our conversation. Her ability to read thoughts generally did not include any conversation involving the dragon unless he or I wished it so. Still, it paid to be cautious.

“Sorry to come without calling first,” I commented.

Her Lady’s Gatekeeper is always welcome . . . She gently touched the top of my left hand. And may stay as long as he likes . . .

I didn’t pull my hand away, but neither did I react to her touch. Above us, a raven cawed. Her Lady didn’t look up, but I knew a part of her was paying attention to the bird.

The raven circled once, then descended. It alighted on the ground next to us, then swelled in size. As it did, it shifted form, becoming a lanky male elf with angular features and brooding eyes. He wore black and forest green garments reminiscent of a medieval courtier’s garb. A dark green cloak with black borders draped over his shoulders.

The seneschal eyed me with suspicion. I smiled, just because I knew a show of confidence would irritate him. In my head, the dragon radiated approval. Neither of us had any use for the elf.

He bowed to Her Lady, then stared.

“Come now,” she abruptly said, each word a symphony of seduction. “She would have you speak before her honored guests.”

I didn’t miss her use of the plural. She was well aware that the dragon listened as well.

“As my queen so wisely commands,” he returned, his voice low and akin to the winter wind we’d recently left behind. The seneschal gave me an exaggerated bow, a subtle sign of his actual feelings toward me. “After all, he is responsible for so much.”

I frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Her Lady said nothing. The seneschal gave me a look that, in Feirie, could probably have literally killed . . . at least others. “A card has been played.”

I stiffened, and if he could’ve the dragon would’ve done the same. “What do you mean? What card?”

“There is only one card with which we deal here . . .” The condescension grew in his voice. “Its trace is unique, Gatekeeper. All their traces are unique.”

I knew that last, but I hadn’t known that it could be sensed here in Feirie. That bothered me. I had no doubt that Her Lady desired the card Kravayik and I guarded. One of the reasons I’d put it where I had.

But there was a problem. “The card remains where it was. Safe and untouched. With Kravayik to keep it so.”

I saw a different sort of darkness pass over the seneschal’s countenance. There was a personal history there, which said something in Feirie.

“She of course trusts her Kravayik in this,” Her Lady interjected before her servant could perhaps make an indelicate remark, “but it is true, our darling Gatekeeper. The card has seen use again.”

“By the measure of your realm, the last play in hours, no more.” I could see the seneschal struggling to keep from sneering.

Hours. Obviously it had to be Galerius. How he’d managed it, I couldn’t say. Still, it was the only thing that made sense.

“I’ll find out what’s going on.” I’d needed the time spent here to recuperate. Thanks to the dragon, I was now well enough to leave Feirie, something I looked forward to. I needed to find Claryce. It’d pained me to wait this long.

Her Lady seemed to be able to read my desire. She made a flickering motion with her hand to the seneschal. He immediately stepped back and bowed to her. Not for a second did he pay me any more mind.

Crouching, the elf reverted to his raven form. As he fluttered off, I noticed the oaks ringing us also begin to move. The small area in which I’d lain was now a huge clearing.

The queen of Feirie smiled. Even now, her smile offered much. I wasn’t interested, though.

“Thanks for clearing some space,” I remarked. Then, knowing I had little intention of returning anytime soon, I added, “The Gate is not yours to toy with. Keep your—activities—to Feirie, as is demanded.”

For a moment, Her Lady receded into the shadow constantly surrounding her. I knew that reaction. I’d struck a nerve. If I’d been anyone else, she’d have reduced me to ash.

It only took her a breath to recover. Once more her seductive self, Her Lady responded, She would never toy with the Gate. That was his folly. She wants only to rule lovingly over her adoring subjects . . .

I wasn’t surprised that she’d switched back to thoughts for this. “I’ll bet. I don’t know how you managed to open it when you needed to, but you overplayed your hand when you did it to let me through.”

She cocked her head. But she did not do that, no matter how welcome her darling Gatekeeper is in her domain.

“You didn’t open the way?”

Only you as Gatekeeper have that ability.

“Well, I’m not the one letting the Gate act like a sieve. Whatever is going on in Feirie cannot bleed into the other side. Do we understand that?”

But of course. Before I could say anything more, she reached into the darkness near her waist. Without taking her eyes from me, she withdrew a tiny object. A gift before you go.

“I want nothing.”

Her smile widened just a little bit. Not for you, my darling Gatekeeper . . .

She pressed it in my hand, then folded into the surrounding darkness. The moment she was no longer visible, the darkness dissipated, leaving me alone in the clearing.

I took a look at what she’d put into my palm. Instead of the crystal I expected, it was a small, curved object I realized after a moment wasn’t a carving but rather a tooth. A sharp, canine tooth.

“Fetch,” I muttered. “I don’t think you’re going to like this.”

CHAPTER 10

I crossed back in human form, much less of a spectacle than my entrance into Feirie. Gray hints of daylight had just begun to develop around the horizon. Assuming this was the day after and not longer, my time in Feirie had been shorter than I’d thought, but still far longer than I would’ve liked. As soon as I could, I located a telephone and called Claryce’s apartment.

The voice that answered wasn’t hers. It wasn’t even female.

“Yeah?”

“Who is this?”

“You’re Nick?”

“Yes.” There was no point in lying.

“She’s with the boss. She’s safe.”

He hung up. I glared at the telephone. I’d not wanted to get Claryce mixed up with Laertes, but there’d been no choice. I was at least glad she was safe.

I was pretty sure they’d taken the Packard, so I didn’t bother returning to the docks. We’d already found what we were supposed to find, although what I was supposed to use the boat for was still a question. There was clearly something out there, and I wasn’t thinking of whatever had tried to make a meal out of us even when we’d been in dragon form. That in itself was another problem, a big one. I’d already started thinking about all the stories of lost ships. Maybe they hadn’t all been taken by storms and high seas.

I had to leave those questions for the time being as I managed to hail a taxi. When we arrived near enough to my destination, I had the driver pull over. There was, of course, exactly what I needed to pay him, tip included. The pocket was empty again and would be until next I required funds. The magic that bound me to the Gate always provided me with what I needed. If I wanted more, that was up to me.

I had a shadow before I even got half a block. I let my new companion follow a little longer, then paused near a corner. Arms crossed, I leaned against a wall and waited.

My shadow emerged from hiding. I wasn’t surprised to see it was female.

“Winifred Louise Crying Wolf,” I greeted her. “I’d have preferred you stayed with Claryce.”

“Laertes will not harm her,” the girl replied, once more dressed as a flapper. “Besides, she has Fetch with her.” She frowned. “Do not call me that.”

“What would you prefer? Winnie Wolf?”

She clearly didn’t like my slight attempt at humor. “Louise Crying Wolf is fine . . . for now. Like Winifred, Louise was forced on me at the boarding schools, but of the two I prefer it and it serves me in the white man’s world.”

“Otherwise you’d just be Crying Wolf’? Isn’t there a fable with that as its moral?”

Winifred Louise Crying Wolf—now Louise to me—only glared harder. “They’re waiting. Come on.”

“What happened to the goons firing on us?”

“They fled when the roof was hit. They were cowards.”

I didn’t think they were cowards so much as a distraction meant only to keep me where I was until whatever that thing was had attacked. I suspected that if I’d been inside the warehouse at the same moment, they’d have done their best to keep me pinned inside. Gale-rius had apparently known I’d eventually come searching for that place, which made the boat something I needed to research more when I had a chance. Whatever beef I had with Michael, he hadn’t left that clue with Quiet Ford all this time just to give the “Dacian Dragon” a chance to take me out.

She led me into the building, where the strains of the version of “Squeeze Me” with Armstrong and Eva Taylor greeted us. The guard on duty adjusted his grip on the tommy, then nodded to my guide. He hardly treated her like just one of his boss’s pretty dolls.

A hood near the phonograph immediately stopped the music as we entered. That made the others turn to us.

“Nick!” Claryce raced to me, Fetch at her heels. Ignoring the others, she kissed me. “When that thing came out of the sky and smashed the roof, I thought you might be . . . be . . . you know . . . but then we couldn’t find any trace of you and I thought that Galerius might have you!”

“He did. Sort of.” As I walked with her to our host—as usual seated in the shadows—I gave everyone a brief rundown, leaving out only my stint in Feirie and any mention of Her Lady. Since Laertes didn’t seem bothered that the two hoods in the room heard everything, I assumed they knew exactly what he was. I was surprised by Laertes’s trust, but I supposed that he had no choice without Oberon’s protection.

The elf sat straight as he listened. One of the things that most caught his attention was when I mentioned the thing in the lake.

“You know something?” I asked.

“For a moment . . . but no. That would not be possible. This servant of your enemy. It sounds like nothing of Feirie. It lacks . . . distinction.”

I wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but I didn’t care. This side of the portal had its magic, both light and dark. The faceless figure did remind me of something else, but I’d not had a very good chance to focus at the time.

“What about what Galerius threatened to do?” Claryce asked.

I’d forgot to mention that part. “It happened. Six years ago. These images are all dated, even if the one had this thing serving in the warehouse. He was talking about the Wingfoot, Claryce.”

“Oh my God . . . do you think he was working with Joseph?”

“I don’t know. I asked Barnaby to check a couple of things for me. See if he missed anything in Joseph’s papers—”

“This would be Joseph Sperling?” Louise abruptly asked.

Laertes joined the rest of us in looking at her with interest. “Joseph Sperling,” I repeated. “Did you know him?”

“Is this about your search, Crying Wolf?” Laertes asked with the utmost earnestness.

I eyed her with growing suspicion. Other than Barnaby, I trusted no one where Joseph was concerned. “Is that why you were following me to the warehouse? Did you know him?”

She studied all of us, but especially me. “I knew someone that did. He looked for a path, just as I do. He thought that path led through Joseph Sperling.”

I frowned. “What was his name?”

“His white name was David Bowman.”

I thought of those of Joseph’s companions I’d confronted. I hadn’t given them much thought considering he’d been the driving force, but after a moment I remembered a darker-skinned young man who’d followed Joseph’s every word as if Barnaby’s son were a saint and not a madman.

“I think I remember him.”

She did not ask how. I suspected she knew more about the Wing-foot Express crash than she let on.

I noticed Laertes looking pensive. “What’s eating you?”

In reply, he snapped his fingers. The guards dutifully started to leave. Only Louise Crying Wolf remained.

Laertes gave her a look. “I made a promise to you . . . and you made one to me.”

She looked frustrated, but nodded. “All right.”

He waited until she’d left, then leaned forward. “Did you see her?”

I didn’t play any games. “Her Lady? Not by choice.”

“I thought as much,” Claryce interjected. “Did she try anything?”

“Nothing more than usual. It evidently wasn’t entirely her choice, either. Apparently we came crashing into Feirie.”

That was evidently not enough for Laertes. “And did she mention me?”

“No.”

“Are you absolutely certain?”

I thought of the item Her Lady’d given me. “No. Nothing about you.”

He leaned back. “So you know, when you apparently entered Feirie, there was another surge of Wyld.”

I didn’t like the sound of that, nor did I like how Fetch’s ears straightened when he heard the news. “How do you know that?”

Laertes almost looked offended. “I have my sources.”

I let that pass for a moment. “How bad?”

“Enough to bother both of us and to set her Feir’hr Sein on a continuous hunt.”

So Lon was on the prowl, seeking any Wyld who’d slipped through. I should’ve been happy he was going to save me some work, but instead I found myself concerned for some of his potential victims.

Fetch wasn’t doing any better at hiding his own emotions. Now his ears flattened and ever so briefly he bared his teeth.

“I’ll deal with that as I can.” I jabbed a thumb at the door. Fetch caught the signal and retreated to the exit. Claryce stayed near me. “Thanks for helping out. Maybe keep Louise Crying Wolf from being my shadow from now on, though. Okay?”

He chuckled. “Ask me to fight Her Lady face-to-face with my arms bound and my magic stolen. What you desire is about just as likely. Crying Wolf is not mine to command. Not really.”

“See what you can do.”

A slight smile playing over his face, Laertes spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness.

As the three of us left, “Squeeze Me” started up again. Laertes’s guards slipped past us on the way back up. Meanwhile, Louise Crying Wolf—as I’d settled on calling her for the time being—was waiting for us downstairs.

“I wish to speak with you,” she said to me.

“Not now.”

“But Saint George—” Her fingers fiddled with the small medallion.

“Nick,” Claryce corrected her. “We’ll find a time. I promise you.”

Louise Crying Wolf frowned, but finally nodded. She stepped aside.

We drove off in the Packard, no one saying a word for the first few minutes. I debated with myself, then made a turn.

“This isn’t the way back to the safe house,” Claryce noted.

“No. It’s the way to Dunning.”

Fetch let out a growl at the name. “Ye’ll be wanting to talk with that odd bird . . .”

Claryce did not seem surprised. “Are you going to contact Barnaby?”

“Not about this.”

“But won’t the staff tell him?”

I made another turn, then shook my head. “Not if I go in alone.”

“Aah . . .” She understood now.

It took some time, but at last we turned off Irving Park Road and past the eight-foot-high iron fence surrounding Dunning. The facility was a Gothic-style building whose dour nature the more recently added trees and foliage could not mask. I parked, but left the car running for Claryce’s sake.

“Keep an eye out. It shouldn’t take long to find out if Joseph can tell me anything.”

“Be careful in there.”

As I headed into the entrance, I touched thoughts with the dragon.

Eye understand. . .

I said nothing as I entered. The nurse at the front desk looked up, but a glance from me made her look down again. She’d not recall me either now or when I left.

I made my way to Joseph’s room without any other encounter. His door was always locked, but a simple touch made it open.

As I entered, I saw Barnaby’s son sitting on the edge of his simple frame bed as he often did. For all I knew, he’d sat like that all night and through the day.

“Hello, Joseph.”

In contrast to his father’s bulldog appearance, Joseph’s oval face likely resembled his mother’s. The Wingfoot Express crash had left his Valentino looks awry, with his nose clearly broken and a wicked pair of scars crisscrossing his face. There’d been some broken bones, too, but Joseph had ended up a lot better than his comrades, who’d all died . . . including David Bowman.

I tried once more. “Joseph . . .”

He continued to stare ahead. As usual, his interest seemed to be in the shadows in the corner.

Coming around, I sat next to him. For a brief time during our encounter with Holmes, he’d almost seemed half-sane. Barnaby had even hoped for a recovery. Me, I still regretted having saved his life during the crash, although I had to admit he’d helped against Holmes.

I decided to try a different tack. “I met someone recently. A friend of David Bowman. Remember David?”

Joseph pursed his lips. After a moment, he murmured, “David, Bertha, Ludwig, Cal, Sebastian, Myrna, Quinn. David, Bertha, Ludwig, Cal, Sebastian, Myrna, Quinn. David, Bertha, Ludwig, Cal, Sebastian, Myrna, Quinn . . .”

He went on like that for a full minute or more, then returned to the way he’d been before. I knew some of those names; they’d belonged to the group that had tried to use the airship. There was something wrong, though. I did as best I could a mental count of those I’d known about, even if I hadn’t known their identities, and came up with a smaller number than the names he’d repeated. I didn’t like that. I liked everything and everyone accounted for.

“Joseph. Can you tell me who was on the Wingfoot with you and David?”

“David, Bertha, Ludwig, Cal, Sebastian, Myrna, Quinn. David, Bertha, Ludwig, Cal, Sebastian, Myrna, Quinn . . .” he went on a half a dozen times more. Then, without warning, “One man, two man, three. One man, two man, three. Each a part, never whole. One man, two man, three . . .”

The dragon tensed. I couldn’t blame him. For more than one reason, the trio from the theater came to mind. I’d not considered any link between Joseph and them. “What about the three? Tell me?”

He looked at me. “It’s all in the cards. It’s all in the cards, St. George.”

For just a breath, Joseph looked like his old self. Then, “One man, two man, three. It’s all in the cards. We knew that. They knew that. He knew that.”

He went silent again. His gaze returned to the shadows.

I swore like a tribune I’d known from Gaul. I was about to leave, but then thought of one more thing to try. Digging out the coin from its favored place, I held it in front of Joseph’s eyes. Flipping it so that he’d see both sides, I asked, “Do you know this, Joseph? Do you know this?”

He sat silent, but I noticed his gaze focused somewhat. I turned it to show Galerius’s profile.

“All hail the emperor,” Joseph whispered. “We who are about to die spit in your face . . .”

While I could appreciate the sentiments those words implied, I had no idea what they had to do with the situation. “Joseph—”

“Fire, fire, so great a pyre, now to be drowned by the sea . . .” Barnaby’s son abruptly looked directly into my eyes. At that moment, there was nothing but sanity there. “The magic is burning me up, St. George. This is what’s left. I meant well for her once, before I got greedy. He got greedy, too, and they want their number back, be it from you or him. Three is the magic number . . . three—”

He broke off as he apparently sensed what I did, the presence of something or someone very nearby. Something or someone of power. Joseph’s eyes widened, then returned to their normal detached look, the shadows once more taking his attention.

And it was a good thing I instinctively followed that detached gaze, because one of the shadows abruptly separated from the rest. It coalesced into the now-familiar figure of one of the three identical men.

“A turn of an unfriendly card,” Joseph murmured. To my surprise, there was a hint of fear in his tone.

The figure reached a hand toward him. I didn’t bother to wait and see what he had planned for Joseph; as much as I’d despised Barnaby’s son when he’d been whole, the remnant of the man had proven helpful in the past. I also owed Barnaby.

I thrust my hand into my coat and started to draw Her Lady’s gift.

Strong arms coming from behind me pinned my arms. I didn’t need to see my attacker; I’d bet he looked exactly like the one in front of me.

“Where?” the first figure quietly demanded of Joseph. As he asked, he clenched his hand.

Joseph let out a gasp, then, his words coming out as if he choked, rasped, “It must be three. One, two, three. St. George, it must be three.”

Yeah, I’d noticed there were only two, also, and if I read Joseph right, they all needed to be present to fully manifest whatever powers they had. I didn’t know for what reason the trio had become a duo, but I wasn’t going to shrug off any advantage.

My own captor didn’t just use his strength. However, if he thought the power he added to his grip would be sufficient, he was sorely mistaken. The dragon didn’t bother to offer his own to me; he just gave it.

I broke his grip with ease, then provided him with a well-placed elbow. He made no sound, but fell back.

The first one swung his hand toward me, clenching it again as he did. My air cut off, but my momentum enabled me to reach him despite that. I grabbed his wrist and twisted it.

The hand unclenched. My breathing returned to normal.

Up close, I discovered a few unsettling things. One was that, so near, I could see the tiny, tiny lines crisscrossing every visible inch of skin. It reminded me of some macabre puzzle or mosaic.

Another was the eyes. They actually had no true color, instead reflecting whatever was in front of them. At the moment, that meant my own.

Too late, I understood what that also meant. Suddenly, I couldn’t look away. I felt his eyes bore into me, seeking.

Before I could do anything, a hand slipped between us and covered his eyes. With a strong shove, Joseph separated the first attacker from me and drove him back into the shadows.

The pale man vanished into the darkness as if into an actual hole. As he did, though, he seized Joseph’s wrist, pulling Barnaby’s son toward those shadows.

I grabbed Joseph and dragged him to safety. Our intruder faded away.

Beware! the dragon roared.

I spun to face the other attacker, only to hear a familiar growl. That was when I discovered that someone had disobeyed orders and slipped into Dunning.

No, not someone. Two someones. As Fetch leaped at the remaining intruder, Claryce—gun drawn—took a bead on the figure.

Fetch pinned his target against a wall. On his hind legs he proved to be at least as tall as me, something I often forgot. He also stood as no hound or wolf could have; indeed, looking almost human in his stance.

“Make one little flinch, breathe heavy, and I’ll be ripping out your throat however ghastly it must taste,” he warned. Near me and with a foe clearly of magical means, Fetch wasn’t afraid to speak. I, on the other hand, wondered just what had happened with the receptionist.

“Fetch snuck in and created a distraction she went to go investigate,” Claryce calmly explained without being asked. “He smelled something wrong and we agreed that outweighed your order.”

I shrugged, not entirely displeased with their choice, but wishing for her safety they’d taken more time to consider the risks. Aware of my chances of that happening now or ever, I focused on more immediate matters. Joseph had returned to his regular seat, but I couldn’t forget his abrupt action. Part of it had been to protect himself, but he had also put himself in danger to assist me.

“Thanks, Joseph,” I called.

He stared into the shadows. Now, I began to wonder if he’d been waiting for something like this all the time. That made me think of how safe Dunning was after all.

Our pale friend had remained motionless thus far. He stared not at Fetch’s sharp teeth—so dangerously near—but at me. Not a terribly big surprise.

“It’s time we had a word,” I said to him as I joined Fetch. “Or, rather, you’ll tell us what we want to know and I’ll ask my friend here nicely if he won’t bite your face off.”

“Just a little nip to start, maybe, Master Nicholas? Something to make sure he doesn’t just beat his gums and instead actually tells us what we want.”

“We’ll give him one chance first. Then . . . we’ll see what you can take.”

Our nameless friend showed no sign of fear. I didn’t know if he had good reason or just didn’t believe I’d let Fetch at him. Truthfully, if not for Claryce’s presence, there wouldn’t have been any question. I’d had enough of this trio.

Glaring at him, I asked, “What does Galerius want with Joseph? What’s he up to?”

Silence, followed by Fetch’s growl.

“He’s not going to tell us anything,” Claryce declared. “Just let Fetch finish him so we can get on with matters.”

She said it with such conviction I almost looked at her in concern. I didn’t want Claryce to become like me. I hoped that she was just trying to back me up and didn’t mean it.

Whatever the case, none of it seemed to matter to the prisoner. He simply stared back at me as if Fetch didn’t exist.

Allow me . . . Eye can help with this stubborn refuse . . .

The dragon had been silent until now. He’d also been very cooperative. I wasn’t sure if either of those were good things, but I understood what he had in mind.

Go ahead, I answered.

Let us get a closer . . .

“Move aside, Fetch. I’ve decided you’re too easy a fate for him.”

Fetch’s ears flattened, but he obeyed without a word. The pale figure didn’t move an inch as I confronted him.

“He makes one move at you and he gets a bullet,” Claryce commented.

“She’s a very good shot, too,” I told him. “But that’d also be too easy. No, we’ve got something better in mind for you.”

Now, I suggested to the dragon.

Oh, yes . . . definitely now . . .

He granted me his vision . . . which meant that he also literally gave me his eyes.

Now our friend flinched.

“Turn of the card,” he whispered with more than a hint of anx-iousness. “Turn of the card.”

Suddenly, he began rippling as if made of mist caught in a breeze.

“No you don’t!” I snarled, with more than a little of the dragon escaping into my voice. I grabbed with what became more of a paw with sharp claws than a human hand.

Even though I could now see through him, the paw caught hold of some substance. The pale man squirmed.

Then, my fingers went through him. I ended up with nothing in my grasp. Worse, he faded away completely.

“One, two, three,” Joseph muttered.

“Yeah,” I replied as I reverted to myself. Still, I’d learned something. The trio wasn’t so strong that they didn’t fear a power like what the dragon and I’d revealed.

That was amusing . . .

“Glad you’re happy,” I murmured.

Fetch sniffed around the shadows into which the first intruder had faded away. “Nothing to see here, Master Nicholas.”

“Figured that.”

Claryce came to my side. “Who are they? What do they have to do with—with Galerius?”

“I still don’t know . . . but I can’t help feeling that there’s more to them than being servants of his. In fact, I’d almost swear that they’re not aligned with Galerius at all.”

“But if not, then who are they?”

“More like ‘what.’ He probably knows.” I gestured at Joseph. “Maybe we can still peel something out of him on the way.”

“‘On the way’?” Both she and Fetch stared at me as if my face remained half dragon.

“Dunning’s no longer safe. I’m afraid if Barnaby wants his son secure—and we may need him for more info ourselves—” The last came out cold but I didn’t care. “—then Joseph’s got to go home.”

CHAPTER 11

It wasn’t difficult to check Joseph out of Dunning, just disturbing. I was forced to use that element of the dragon’s power I tended to avoid. It was one thing to make the receptionist not notice me walking by. It was another to freeze her in place while I made a quick call to Barnaby.

He answered on the first ring, evidently having already tried to call me.

“Something’s come up,” I told him right after identifying myself. “I’m at Dunning. We’re taking Joseph out of here. He’ll be safer with you.”

He didn’t argue, especially when I gave him a quick rundown of what had happened. Despite all Joseph had been, Barnaby still loved his son. “I appreciate that, Nick. We’ll be fine here. His room’s always been ready for this moment.”

“We’ll drive straight to see you.”

“All right . . . oh, speaking of Joseph, I found a few papers. It’s all that remains. There’s a pattern I can’t quite understand, but it has something to do with the layout of what he and the others planned.”

That brought something else to mind. “Barnaby. I’m going to give you a list of names. Tell me if you recognize all of them.”

As he listened, I repeated each of those Joseph had told me. When I was done, there was a pause as I gather he digested the information.

“It’s the group, as you guessed, Nick. I remember each and every one of that band, including this David Bowman. Only—”

“Only what?”

“You’ve got an extra name in there. The last one. Sebastian. I don’t know his name. Never heard it before.”

It was as I’d thought. I just hadn’t been sure which of the names had been the extra one. “Any way of finding out more?”

“I know a few possibilities. I’ll look into it once Joseph’s home.”

I hung up after that. The area had remained empty besides the receptionist and us, another trick of the dragon’s influence. Anyone wanting to pass by had unconsciously changed their route, thus avoiding us being noticed. I was again reminded just how powerful the dragon was . . . and yet none of that had saved him in the end when we’d battled so long ago.

Eye did not have the hand of saints to shield me, he abruptly remarked with much bitterness.

I’d done a lot of praying before and during that struggle, ironically much of it to Michael. Apparently, he’d listened a lot more than I’d thought.

I had no inclination to ever thank him, not after the centuries of repercussions of that help.

We left Dunning with a very docile Joseph and headed to Barn-aby’s. Fetch kept an eye on Joseph the entire way, but all Joseph did was stare out the window to his side. Initially, I wondered what went through his mind, then decided maybe I was glad I didn’t know.

Out of habit, I kept an eye out for tails, but no one followed us. I was certain that the triplets couldn’t have pulled their appearing and disappearing acts from very far away. On this side of the Gate magic required more effort unless you were the dragon or had one of the Clothos cards. Had Oberon had his way, all that would’ve changed for the worst. Magic was abused enough in Feirie; I didn’t even want to consider how it would be used by the likes of Moran, Weiss, or Capone.

Barnaby greeted us the moment we parked. He ushered Joseph inside while Claryce and I followed. We stood in the entrance as Barnaby arranged for his son upstairs.

When he returned, Barnaby had the papers in question. I immediately recognized Joseph’s tight script and well-crafted diagrams. Once, Barnaby had let slip that he and Emma had hoped that Joseph, with his clear intelligence, might have eventually earned a PhD in mathematics at the prestigious University of Chicago. That’d all changed when Emma had died young and Joseph had found his way into the magic arts that Barnaby had earlier dabbled in.

To say that Joseph had been a mathematical genius was an understatement. I could see from the papers that he had brought to the arts a calculated reasoning that put him near da Vinci in some categories.

The diagram especially caught my eye. There was something familiar about it. It almost looked like a pentagram, but something else had been added. I’d seen part of the final results elsewhere, but at first I couldn’t say when.

Then it struck me. “This part here.” I frowned. “Get me a map of the city.”

Barnaby returned with one a moment later, spreading it on a table in the room nearest the entrance. I positioned the diagram over the map, then located what I wanted.

“This was Holmes’s address,” I pointed out. “Over here on Jackson and LaSalle is where the Wingfoot Express crashed.” I frowned. “Crashed, so not the exact location . . .”

Claryce leaned over, spotting something more. She adjusted the diagram in my hand. “I remember they said the dirigible was coming from this direction, so it might make sense if we look at it this way.” Tapping another spot on the diagram near the first, Claryce asked, “On Adams and LaSalle. Isn’t that the Home Insurance Building?”

I’d been here when Chicago had introduced the world to what was now acknowledged to be the first skyscraper. Topping off at twelve floors, the Home Insurance Building had been built back in the 1880s. It’d quickly been overtaken, but it’d been the first, and that mattered to many.

I held the diagram so the two spots were in the correct position, then studied where that placed the others. One on North Michigan Avenue did not surprise me. “The water tower.”

As one of the few things in the area to survive the Great Fire, the water tower had become an iconic landmark. I was beginning to see a pattern, and it wasn’t one I liked.

“This one goes deep into Lake Michigan,” Claryce said, tapping the spot in question. “There’s nothing out there but water.”

I only half paid attention, my gaze on another, very familiar location on West Randolph. “That would be the Schiller Building there.”

“‘Schiller Building’?”

“The Garrick Theater,” Barnaby corrected for me. “It used to be called the Schiller Theater a little while back.”

“Yeah, back in ‘91. That ‘little while back,’” I admitted.

“It’s beautiful place,” Claryce commented. “I was there a couple of years ago with—” She stopped, no doubt realizing that she’d been about to mention “William.” Oberon had kept her close to him as part of his plan to eventually deal with me. I’d not pressed her on what that might’ve meant, although I doubted it had gotten too personal between them. Still, her having been played by a man she had once seen as a mentor was as sore a subject to Claryce as my constant reminders of just how long I’d lived before she’d met me. “Although those German terra-cotta figures gave me a little bit of the heebie-jeebies.”

Her last comment reminded me that Fetch was still waiting for us. I was also interested in moving on. “Barnaby, see if you can match up the rest of these spots with real places and find out if any one of them seems more significant to the arts than another.”

“The Garrick might just be that,” he replied, as he took the diagram back from me. “Are you going there?”

“Yeah.” As an afterthought, I gave him the address of the theater where I’d been confronted by both the pale men and one of Galerius’s illusions. “Double-check that, too. I suspect it’s one of those around there.”

“As you wish. May I ask, does the overall pattern mean anything to you?”

“No, and I gather it doesn’t you. Think it might help to show Joseph? I assume he’s sleeping now.”

“Yes. The moment he saw his old bed, he went straight to it and settled in as if ten years old again.” Barnaby sighed. “It truly was as if it was that time . . . excluding dear Emma’s absence, naturally.”

I only nodded. “I’ll call you after we look over the Garrick. Is that fine?”

“Of course.”

“Stay safe,” Claryce told Barnaby before giving him a hug. He brightened.

Despite the cold weather, Fetch hung his head out the window as he waited for us.

“All copacetic, Master Nicholas?” he asked as we climbed inside. “No trouble with him?”

“Joseph was no trouble. We’ve got a destination. The Garrick Theater.”

His ears straightened. “Truly? Never cared for that place. Something about it reminds me of Her Court.”

That interested me. “How so?”

“Cannot truly say. Mayhaps it still has to do with Malfis.”

“Oh, yeah. Forgot that was near there.” I couldn’t help a slight edge in my tone. There were things Fetch should have known better than to bring up.

Claryce looked at both of us. “‘Malfis’?”

“Old business,” I answered, cutting it off there. Fetch wisely turned his attention to the scenery outside as I started the Packard and pulled out. Claryce didn’t pursue the subject, at least for now. There were incidents I hadn’t told her about, incidents I wasn’t too proud of. Malfis was one of those.

One of too many.

We headed toward West Randolph. The weather was acting up, which meant slower going. I could feel the dragon’s growing impatience. He’d been pretty docile for a while, but now that familiar envy he radiated touched my own emotions. He could do nothing, see nothing, without my cooperation, and even after 1,600 years, it grated heavily on him.

At least with Malfis there was fire and fury . . .

Quiet! I didn’t like him bringing up Malfis anymore than I did Fetch doing it. More so even. That’d been one of those times when he’d almost tricked me into letting him take over completely.

“Master Nicholas . . . we’ve got a tail. I cannot see his face. There’s a scarf over most of it. Human, though, I be thinking. A big palooka.”

“Car?”

“A jalopy. An old T.”

That meant that if I wanted to lose him, it wouldn’t be a problem. Of course, I was more interested in finding out who was following us this time. It might’ve been one of Laertes’s boys keeping an eye out for him, or it could’ve been a thug working for Galerius.

“Do we let him follow us, Nick?”

I was tired of being tailed. “No. Let’s pull over and see what he does.”

At the next intersection, I turned, then pulled close to the curb.

My mistake.

I’d not paid much attention to the traffic in front of me. It wasn’t until we were at the curb that I noticed the dark green and black Nash doing the same. Too late I realized what that meant, but by then a blue Auburn 6-63 had cut us off on my side.

“No gun!” I warned Claryce. “Anything happens, let Fetch and I take care of it!”

Eye can do this! Eye will burn them all!

I ignored the dragon’s lust for destruction as I quickly did an estimate of how many adversaries we had and which were the immediate danger. I had little fear for me or even Fetch, but with Galerius a part of the equation my worries over Claryce’s safety had multiplied.

Before I could do anything, the Model T Fetch had spotted rear-ended the Auburn with such force that it shoved the gangsters’ vehicle a full body length forward and prevented those inside from climbing out.

From the Nash, three hoods with their hands deep in the pockets of their overcoats quickly started to draw their guns. A shot rang out, and one of the hoods’ hats went flying.

As the trio took cover, the driver of the Model T jumped out and, gun in hand, raced up to the Auburn.

“Fetch! The Nash!”

“Aye, Master Nicholas!” There was no sound of the door opening, but I knew that he’d slipped out immediately after responding.

Our would-be rescuer took an elbow to the Auburn’s driver side window, smashing it in. Without missing a beat, he seized the hood and struck him on the temple with the grip of his gun.

I leaped out and grabbed the barrel of an automatic thrusting out of the side nearest us. I barely managed to shove the barrel up before the gunman fired.

So close, the shot sounded like thunder. I suppose my hand should’ve been singed, but the dragon kept my skin from burning. That enabled me to pull the gunner to me and then punch him hard enough to send his limp body into the thug next to him.

Shouts of consternation rose from ahead. I couldn’t see Fetch, but I had faith in his ability to evade the hoods as he eliminated them as threats.

I heard a man’s pained grunt from Claryce’s direction. Fearing the worst, I abandoned my attack and spun around in time to see Claryce pulling her stiff fingers from the throat of a gagging hood who’d tried to climb into the Packard. Barely had she done that then she drew her revolver and started to aim it at the stricken gunman. He took one look at the Smith & Wesson and made a hasty retreat.

A bullet ricocheted off the Auburn as one of the hoods from the other car took a shot. The shot made me glance at the figure who’d come to our aid. His scarf had been torn off and his cap knocked at an angle, making it easy to finally identify none other than Quiet Ford. I shoved aside the irony of him driving a Model T as another shot brought my attention back to our other foes.

I wondered where Fetch had gotten to that the one hood could keep firing. Whatever the reason, I knew it was up to me to stop him from shooting again. The dragon’s magic gave me some protection, but neither Claryce nor Quiet had that good fortune.

Taking one last glimpse to make certain Claryce was safe, I started for the gunner—

The world shimmered.

The Nash abruptly changed color, then shape. I found myself staring at another Packard, to the side of which stood a thug who was clearly taller than the one I’d been about to go after.

“Nick? What’s happening?”

I forgot all about anything but Claryce. Leaning into our car, I was grateful to see no apparent change in her. Still, “Do you feel any different? Any way at all?”

“No . . . I don’t think so . . . Nick! What’s happening?”

I thought I knew, but I prayed I was wrong. It couldn’t be what I feared—

Deny a truth as great as denying that we are condemned to be together! Eye know and you know . . . say it!

“No . . . it can’t be the card . . .”

“‘The card’?” The color on her face drained. “The Clothos—Nick!”

Her gaze darted past my right shoulder. I knew from Claryce’s reaction that this was no simple hood with an automatic.

There was no time nor enough room to draw Her Lady’s gift. I had no choice but to rely on the dragon’s power.

The eagerness with which he passed it on almost made me regret taking it, at least until I saw who—or rather what—stood behind me.

I knew that even though it had no features, somehow it still wore Galerius’s smile.

It stabbed me in the gut with something. I looked down and saw an odd dagger with a blade that looked more like a large tooth half buried in me.

Inside me, the dragon roared . . . and then he roared on the outside.

We were changing.

I seized the faceless fiend and flew into the air as quickly as my sprouting wings could take us. Through the haze of our mutual agony, I forced the dragon to shield our presence the way he had at Dunning. The magnitude of the magic’s reach had to be nearly as great as the time of the Fire, despite our current struggle. The dragon didn’t want to expend the strength, but I still had enough sway over him.

I could think of only one direction to go. It wasn’t a choice I cared for and neither did the dragon, but with our form out of control, I saw no other option.

We headed toward the lake. Out in the middle of Lake Michigan in this winter weather, there would be few eyes should the magic fail. If we fell, there would also be little risk of hurting others.

I thought of nothing else but getting us from the sight others. The choppy shoreline beckoned, and beyond it the wild, dark waters. Something nagged me at that moment, something about the lake.

“Georgius!”

The voice sounded like that of Diocles and yet not. I marked it down as a figment of my tortured mind and concentrated on veering toward the lake—

Then, another voice cut through my pain. A soft female voice muttering something in another language. I knew that language, but for the moment I didn’t have enough concentration left to understand it. Still, something about its constant rhythm soothed me. Hoping for more relief, I turned toward it.

“Down here, Georgius . . . down here.”

The first voice no longer sounded like Diocles. I knew it, but, like the words spoken by the female voice, couldn’t place it. Still, if it had even the slightest tie to the relief she brought not only me but the dragon, I was willing to listen.

“Right down here . . . stay off the water and you’ll be fine. You can’t go out on the water like this. I can’t let you . . .”

I didn’t understand or care about what the voice meant. I just knew that the woman’s voice grew stronger with each beat of my wings.

It finally occurred to me just what her rhythmic words were, even if I still didn’t know their meaning. She was saying a prayer. A prayer for me. A prayer for both—

We collided with the ground. Fortunately, it was much softer than our last, much too recent collision with the forest of Feirie. The dragon and I plowed into it, skidding for some distance.

When we at last came to a stop, I rolled onto my back. Only then did I realize that we’d reverted to my form. The dragon was a weary point receding into my subconscious. The woman’s voice continued to pray.

Soft footsteps warned me someone was approaching, but I couldn’t have done a damned thing to stop anyone just then.

“Not a good night,” the figure whispered near my left. “Wish I could do more, but I’ve used up my good fortune. Still, got a little something left. She’s a strong believer, Nick. Best I could muster. It doesn’t make up for this or everything else I’ve done, but I hope it helps enough for now.”

Somehow, I finally managed to force my eyes open. Grit and tears made it hard to see, but a figure half coalesced despite that. I saw a Nubian, about thirty years old with the build suitable for a farmer or a fighter. I’d seen that face at least once before, in a graveyard of all places.

I took an angry swipe at him . . . or at least a pathetic little wave.

He shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

With that, he reached down to me. I screamed as he pulled something from my torso.

With another shake of his head, he held up the bloody knife.

“It’s his tooth,” he informed me. “That’s why it worked. That’s why it was painful. I’m sorry. It had to be. I couldn’t change that.”

The sound of a car’s engine made him look past me. I tried to do the same, but the strain left my head spinning. I looked back at my companion . . . and found myself alone.

Somehow, I found the energy to swear at Michael.

The car drew closer, then stopped. The driver shut off the engine and stepped out. Unlike Michael, the newcomer walked with impatience and a clear frustration with the weather, punctuated twice by oaths in Spanish.

“Ay ay ay!” The newcomer gripped me by the shoulders. “Nick Medea! What’ve you got yourself into, Bo?”

I might’ve answered the good detective Cortez if I hadn’t the next moment blacked out.

CHAPTER 12

I woke to a woman’s pleasant humming. I didn’t know the tune, but it was catchy, especially with her clear musical ability.

The humming soothed me enough to take notice of the dragon. He was with me, as always, but as little more than a shadow lurking in the shadows of my thoughts. The attack had taken as much out of him as it had me.

I dozed off again, only to wake up with the feeling that I wasn’t alone. I kept as still as I could, observing the dark room through slitted eyes.

Her own eyes closed, a beautiful, petite woman with long, long black hair and lashes sat next to me. The photograph I’d once seen of her hadn’t done her justice. She clearly didn’t do much to accent her features and didn’t have to.

Her eyes slowly opened. Her steady gaze met mine.

“Cortez is one lucky guy,” I muttered.

That earned me a slight, amused smile from Maria. “You are very kind, San Jorge.”

She was a blunt one. Naturally, I had to deny it. “‘Saint George’? Like in the legends? Hardly!”

Her smile widened a bit. “It is all right. Our Lady says it is good I know. She has foretold this.”

I stiffened at her mention of “Our Lady,” then realized that she was talking about Our Lady of Guadalupe, to whom the church she and Cortez took their family was dedicated.

“I pray to her every day for her blessed guidance, just as I pray to you to protect my Alejandro.”

“Pray . . . to me. In case you haven’t noticed, if I’m St. George, I’m not the most successful of patrons here.”

Her smile didn’t fade. “You are the most true of saints, San Jorge.”

“Nick. I prefer Nick.”

“Yes, he said that.”

“Cortez? Sorry. Your husband? He knows—”

“Alejandro does not know. He understands that you are caught up in something. My Alejandro, he is always trusting of my word in these matters. He knows there is some magic in the world, but not as you and I know.” The smile faded. “And I know that my understanding is far less than yours, San Jorge.”

I didn’t bother to correct her. “You knew to send him to where I ended up? How? Oh, wait. Our Lady . . .”

“Do not . . . no. No. I pray to Our Lady for guidance. I pray to you for my husband . . . and I pray to San Miguel for you.” She stared intently. “And sometimes, the prayers are heard.”

San Miguel. St. Michael. Of course. “And so St. Michael told you to go find me there?”

Maria chuckled. “No. I just knew. I knew that Alejandro had to go there. But I also knew that he might not find anything.”

“‘Not find’?”

“One prays. One hopes. One does not expect, San Jorge.”

Meaning to me that, with what Michael had said, it hadn’t been a certainty I’d survive. I got the idea Michael had stretched some rule or something in guiding me away from Lake Michigan. I wondered what repercussions that might have.

I realized that I’d been brooding over what she’d told me. Meanwhile, Maria sat patiently waiting. The patience of a saint, one could say. She certainly seemed closer to one than I was.

There was a clatter from beyond the room. Maria calmly rose. She gave me another smile, then, still smiling, looked past me for a moment before turning and leaving.

A moment later, I heard the familiar voice of Detective Cortez. I couldn’t make out what he was saying, but he was clearly not pleased. Maria said something to him, which apparently mollified him a bit because his tone changed for the better.

I tried to push myself up, only to be struck by sharp pain near my stomach. Only then did I remember just how badly I’d been stabbed by . . . his tooth?

The dragon hissed as he came to the same conclusion I had. It hadn’t been a just a term. It had been literal.

The odd-looking dagger had been forged with an actual tooth of the dragon.

Small wonder it had had such a drastic and swift effect on us. Galerius had no doubt added other magic to it, magnifying its damned abilities.

I touched the bandages that no doubt Maria had expertly set. I wondered how many times she’d done the same for Cortez.

Speaking of the devil, he strode in right at that moment. One hand kept touching the corner of his mouth where, whenever he wasn’t with his family, Cortez tended to let an unlit Lucky dangle. Having now met Maria, I suspected she knew all about that and tolerated it so long as the cigarettes remained unlit.

“Nick Medea! You don’t look like death warmed over anymore, you know?” Still dressed in his gray suit and with his hat in his other hand, Cortez leaned on the wooden chair his wife had just vacated. He was pretty tall for a Mexican, close to my height. With his brooding features, Cortez was nearly as handsome a man as his Maria was beautiful, but I’d never seen him show any conceit. “No, not so bad, huh?”

He ran a hand through black, oiled hair cut short, then finally sat, continuing to peer at me with intense interest.

“Thanks for picking me up,” I finally said.

“Picked you up? I practically scraped you up. Nick Medea, you are in some deep stuff, you know?” Cortez started to reach for the inside pocket where he generally kept his Luckies, then caught himself. “My Maria, she sees these things sometimes and she tells me. Once in a while, she mentions you. She likes you, Bo. A lot.”

“You must talk highly of me considering this is the first time I’ve ever met her.”

He chuckled. “You know what happened the morning before we met? I still remember. She said to me, ‘Alejandro, today you will meet a man whose life is marked. He’ll mark yours as well.’ When we ran into each other, I knew she meant you.”

“Sorry for complicating your life,” I replied honestly.

Cortez chuckled some more. “Maria always used to tell me I bored easily. Oh, not with her and the children, but with other things.” He shook his head. “Certainly not bored much since I met you, Nick Medea.”

I’d been running stories through my head to explain my lying next to the lake. I had several to choose from, but none satisfied me enough. Cortez was a clever man and he’d poke holes in any story that didn’t sound legitimate to him.

“Never much cottoned to that spook stuff of yours, you know? Sure, there’s a lot of rich folk who like to get their kicks thinking they can talk to the dead, but most of that’s bull. You don’t look like someone who likes to live off of bull.”

I didn’t respond. I had an idea where he was heading and didn’t want to break his chain of thought.

“I think I got you, Bo,” he said, wagging his index finger at me. “You’re a private dick, an investigator. That’s why you keep ending up in the middle of bad things. I figure maybe you got a client or clients who themselves got some shady pastimes, you know?”

“Got no idea what you’re talking about.” It was a pretty good story for me, though. Close to what I’d settled on.

“Yeah?” Cortez leaned back. “Maybe you also never heard of Lady-killer Leighton?”

I managed not to react. That was a part of the story I hadn’t planned on being included. “Don’t know the name. He with the Gennas or Weiss and Moran?”

“Cute. He’s with no one and everyone, from what I’ve seen. Never heard of him?”

“Never.”

Cortez’s hand went in search of the Luckies again. With a glare at the guilty appendage, he pulled it back. I could see that there was a lot of turmoil going on in him.

“It’s funny. There was a shootout today. Supposedly a snatch gone bad, though we’re still not sure. Plenty of calls to us, but damned if the response still wasn’t pretty slow. It was all over and everyone gone by the time we arrived. Funny how it works out like that so often, hey?”

I wanted to ask him about Claryce and the others, but didn’t want to verify his suspicions about a link between the incident and me. “Yeah, must happen a lot in your line.”

He grunted. “Sometimes. So anyways, this ‘Ladykiller’—don’t you just love the names these hoods give themselves?—we’ve had our eyes out for him for a while. He works all sides, especially between Capone and the North. A regular Rey Salomon—sorry, King Solomon—with making judgments and mediating. Guy would know a lot if we could make him sing.”

“Why tell me? I wouldn’t know Ladykiller from Scarface, Cortez. I’m just trying to make an honest living.”

“Mmm. It’s okay, Bo. Just trying to keep you entertained until Maria’s got food made. You’ll love her pozole . . . heck, you’ll love everything, I promise. Nothing fancy. Just good.”

I shrugged. “As tempting as I’m sure that is, I’ve got to get going.” I pushed myself up—and immediately regretted it. The entire room raced around me. I tried to focus, but couldn’t.

“Whoa! Easy, Bo! Lay back again!” Cortez was there next to me, hands bracing me as I settled into my original position. “That wound might not be as vicious as I first thought, but you can’t jump up like that. You’re spending the night and if you think you can argue that, forget it! Maria’s orders, Nick Medea. Those are final.”

“Cortez—”

The good detective snapped his fingers. “Ay ay ay! It’s Miss Claryce! We didn’t know how to contact her. You want to call her now?”

“If I could.”

“Sure, sure. But there’s only the one telephone and it’s in the hall. Don’t think you can stand long enough, you know?”

“I’ll take that chance.” I fought to rise again and this time succeeded. After taking another deep breath, I tried for standing. All the while, the dragon remained stubbornly out of the picture.

Cortez offered me an arm. “Brace yourself. Gonna be a little walk.”

A long walk was more like it. A very long walk. It wasn’t one to be measured in distance, but strength . . . and I was sorely lacking in the latter. Still, somehow we gradually neared the short, worn table where the weathered candlestick telephone stood.

Cortez stayed near as I leaned against a wall covered in some pattern I suspected reflected the land of his birth. As I picked up the telephone, I noticed a pair of sleepy brown eyes peering up at me from a darkened room on the other side.

Cortez followed my gaze. Making a tsking sound, he quietly said, “Bed, Juanito.”

The boy, a miniature version of Cortez, disappeared back into the room.

“Sorry,” the detective whispered. “Our youngest. Got more curiosity than a dozen cats, you know?”

“Future police detective?”

“Hopefully something safer.”

I got the operator and told him Claryce’s number. To my relief, she picked up after the first ring.

“Nick?”

I winced at the fear I heard in her voice. Fear for me. “Yeah. It’s me. I’m fair. Banged up but serviceable. They caught me by surprise.”

“‘They’? You’re not alone right now, are you?”

“As a matter of fact, the good Detective Cortez got a tip about my troubles. He dragged me from the shoreline back to his place.”

When I’d mentioned “a tip,” Cortez had shaken his head vehemently. He clearly didn’t want anyone knowing about his Maria’s gifts. I was struck by all the secrets going back and forth.

I gave him a nod, then indicated with a tilt of my head that he should step away. With a slight nod of his own, he headed for what, from the enticing smell and occasional clatter, had to be the kitchen.

“We’re good now,” I quietly told Claryce.

“Are you actually in his house?”

“Yeah and someday you’ll have to meet his Maria.” I realized I was starting to sound like him. “Mrs. Cortez has the gift.”

“She’s a witch?”

“Probably the wrong term, but she seems to have a pipeline to a certain saint. I’ll fill you in later. Right now I want to know how you are. You, Fetch, and apparently Quiet. He explain how he showed up so conveniently?”

“We’re fine, all of us. They drove off. Right after what happened with you. It looked planned just for that, Nick.”

I’d suspected as much. “And Quiet?”

Claryce paused, then answered, “Evidently, he’s been pursuing another legacy he failed to mention to us. He can explain later.”

“He’s still with you?”

“Yes, and he remembers what happened. He seems . . . resistant . . . to the effects of magic, although I could be wrong.”

Why didn’t that surprise me? “The big question is, do you trust him?”

She paused for a moment. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

“And Fetch is there, too. Just in case.”

“Nick, if what we think is true, Michael chose him for a reason. I’ll be safe.”

I winced from a sudden shot of pain centered around my wound. Despite the dragon’s power healing it, it still had a long way to go to be of no further discomfort.

I must’ve made a sound, because Claryce’s tone immediately changed. “Do you need me to come there right now? Just give me the address—”

“No. I’ll get a cab. You stay put. Galerius is up to something. Not sure what. We need to go through my files at the house. I want to run over everything I have on the Wingfoot Express. By then, Barnaby might have something to add, too.”

“Are you sure a cab’s a good option?”

“No, but it’s the only one right now. Listen. I’ll be some hours still. Try to stay put. I know it’s a lot to ask—”

“Don’t worry. I will. Give me Cortez’s number, though. Just in case.”

I recited it for her. “I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

“I know. I know.”

I started to say more, but the sharp pain returned. I hung up without thinking. The dragon shifted uncomfortably in my mind. The receiver slipped from my hand and, despite my best efforts, the telephone followed from my other hand a moment later.

“I got it!” Cortez growled. I watched him through blurry eyes as he returned the entire telephone to its stand.

“Thanks . . .”

“Listen, Bo. It’s back to the bed for you. Maria wasn’t too pleased with me letting you use the telephone. She says you needed to eat first.” Without another word, he got his arm around me and guided me back to the room in which I’d been recuperating.

After helping me onto the bed, Cortez left. My stomach began rumbling shortly after. Fortunately, Maria soon entered, carrying a wooden tray with a bowl and a small plate atop it. Besides the pozole, there was what looked to be fresh cornbread and a glass of water.

“This will give you strength,” she said quietly.

“I thank you very much. I can’t stay much longer after this, though. I have to return home.”

“I know. I have just told Alejandro that he must drive you once you are ready. The wound should be better after you eat.”

Something in her tone made me eye the pozole. “Something special in the food?”

Maria smiled. “An old recipe from my abuela.”

“Your grandmother? Was she anything like you?”

The smile widened. “Much like me . . . but more.”

I didn’t pursue that comment. Maria nodded goodbye to me, then, after a glance past me, departed the room again.

I couldn’t help it. I looked to see what so intrigued her over there, but I only saw the wall. If she’d been eyeing the small crucifix across from the foot of the bed, I wouldn’t have been surprised. The wall, however . . .

Something occurred to me. Give your sight. . .

Eye will give you nothing, he petulantly replied. Eye give and give and you toss us into chaos time after time . . .

Give me your sight, I repeated, this time more sternly.

In the end, he could not refuse me. I was, after all, the dominant partner.

Partner . . . he snarled. Partner . . .

I ignored his bitterness as the view around me changed, the emerald world of the dragon taking over. I don’t know what I expected. Michael, maybe. Wouldn’t have surprised me.

What did surprise me was the fact that it was Diocles.

Even with the dragon’s vision, he was murky and translucent. He hovered over me, hands clenched tightly together as if he’d been praying.

Georgius . . .

His voice came into my head. It also stirred a memory of someone shouting my name as the dragon and I’d been struggling by the lake-shore. At the time, I’d assumed it’d been Michael’s voice, but now I realized it’d been Diocles all along.

Georgius . . . I prayed you would be better . . .

“How long have you been there?”

Since you arrived.

I frowned, thinking of something else. “How can you be there . . . here?”

I do not know. I remember drifting in nothingness for what seemed forever after the church. Then, someone called my name and said I had to get your attention. I screamed as loud as I could. . .

“Yeah, I heard you. Go on.”

I tried to follow the voice that had called to me . . . and then ended up in this house just as the Hispanian called Cortez brought you through the front entrance . . .

Being Roman, Diocles still couldn’t help thinking that anyone like Cortez originated from the ancient region encompassing Spain and Portugal. I brushed that to the side, though, as what he said registered. “The moment we crossed into the house?”

Yes . . .

“Just like it happens when I enter Holy Name? Exactly maybe?”

His murky form rippled, then, “Exactly.”

I wondered if Cortez knew he lived on hallowed ground. Married as he was to Maria, maybe that fact wouldn’t have surprised him much.

I think she can see me, Diocles went on. He, on the other hand, cannot. I have stood before him and had him walk through me . . .

“Was this while I was asleep?”

Yes . . .

Diocles sounded stronger than when we’d first talked. I thought his form was beginning to define, too.

He stood there in silence. I started feeling some discomfort. Finally, I asked, “Did it hurt?”

Yes . . .

“I’m sorry.”

Diocles acknowledged my comment with a bow of his head. However, as he looked up, his gaze narrowed.

I quickly glanced at the doorway. Cortez stood there wide-eyed . . . but not the Cortez I’d been expecting. Instead, Juanito stared at both of us and it wasn’t clear who captured his attention most.

I quickly dismissed the dragon’s eyes. Juanito didn’t flinch; in fact, he smiled.

His gaze flickered from me to Diocles and back again. When I checked on the emperor, he’d faded away.

Cortez’s voice rose from somewhere else in the house. Juanito’s smile gave way to a look of guilt. He quickly scurried off.

I started in on my food. The pozole was as excellent as expected, with a sharp heat to it I could appreciate. Suddenly, I was ravenous. I emptied the pozole in swift fashion and was nearly done with the cornbread by the time Cortez returned.

“Ha! My Maria is a good cook, isn’t she?”

“She’s a chef. I notice she doesn’t stay exactly with recipes, though. I’ve had pozole and this has got some interesting changes.”

He laughed. “She likes to experiment. Every time she sees something she likes from another country, she has to see how it works with her abuela’s recipes. Not that I’m complaining, you know?”

“I doubt you’d ever have a reason.” I downed the water. “I need to leave, Cortez.”

He started to reach for a nonexistent Lucky. “Hey! After all this, you could call me Alejandro—or at least Alex like they do downtown.”

“Sure, Alex. I could do that, Alejandro.”

He grinned. “Nah. I didn’t think so, either, but Maria suggested it. I’m good with ‘Cortez.’ Least when you greet me, you sound like you mean it. Not like the brass who smile at me and use those two names when what they really want to call me is ‘greaser’ or worse.”

“Surprised you put up with it.”

“I was born to be a policeman. Told Maria that the first day we met, you know? Like my destiny.” He stepped forward and took the tray. “Maria will be happy you liked the meal. She really thinks you’re something. Like a living saint, you know?”

“Guess she doesn’t know me like you do.”

He grew serious. “She’s a good judge, Nick Medea. Now get yourself together and I’ll drive you back, okay?”

“I can still take a cab.”

“From this part of town at night? This ain’t Lincoln Park. No argument.”

He left me again. Maybe there was some extra magic in the pozole or maybe the dragon’s own power had kicked in, but I was able to move around with less pain.

The first thing I did was make an overdue check on Her Lady’s gift. I tossed on the overcoat and let the magic take effect. Reaching in toward my heart, I located the other place where the sword was kept. Much to my relief, it was there and ready. When Galerius’s golem, or whatever that faceless thing was, had attacked me, I’d wondered if it’d been sent for the sword. Of course, now it’d had two chances and failed to act both times.

I finished dressing and, with one last look back at where Diocles had stood, headed out.

Maria stood with Cortez by the front door. She gave me another smile and a strong hug. “Thank you for honoring our home.”

“Hmm. Thanks for patching me up.”

“I’ll come right back,” Cortez told her.

“I know,” she replied.

A dark and well-worn Pilot sedan about six years old awaited us. The car was nothing special to look at, but durable. Cortez was clearly proud of it.

“Not fancy, but it fits the whole family,” he commented as he started it up. “I promised Maria when they make me commissioner I’ll get something special.”

We drove off into the night. It didn’t take long for Cortez to bring up a subject I’d expected to discuss at his home.

“This event you spoke about. It ever happen, Bo?”

“Apparently, my info was off. Sorry.”

“Yeah?” Eyes on the street, he said, “Sorry to hear that. Thought it might have to do with the lake, seeing as that’s where I found you after someone put you through the wringer.”

“Don’t know any connection. I think I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time and got mugged.”

“Maybe so, maybe so.” He was quiet for a minute before asking, “Know anything about a ship called the Frank O’Connor?”

“Should I?”

“Went down off of Door County, Wisconsin? Near a place called Baileys Harbor?”

“Now why on Earth would I be familiar with that? Or why would you, for that matter? Was there a lot of loss of life?”

“No. No one died. It just burned and sank.” Cortez shrugged. “Just something strange that came up, you know? Had a floater last night. Small potatoes hood I ran in a couple of times. He used to brag he was tough, and to show it he always told a yarn about surviving its fire and sinking.”

I assumed there had to be more. “And so?”

“And so, the night before, a beat cop found a stiff in an alley. Literally stiff. Frozen. License said he was from Baileys Harbor. Quite a coincidence, huh?”

I said nothing.

“Got his name here, too.” The Pilot swerved as he tried to retrieve the information from a pocket. “Maybe not a good idea. No matter! I got a good memory for names, you know? Ever meet someone with a last moniker of Tremaine?”

“Can’t say.”

“What was the first name again? Not too common for here. Hang on, it was . . . yeah, that’s it. Sebastian. Know anybody first name Sebastian, maybe?”

Yeah. Yeah, I did. Joseph’s mysterious comrade Sebastian.

Another piece of the puzzle had just fallen into place . . . only I still had no idea just what the picture was.

CHAPTER 13

I had Cortez drop me at Claryce’s. He didn’t say a thing about my choice or ask to come inside. I’d left the subject of Sebastian Tre-maine untouched, but I knew that he suspected I was holding something back.

“Try to stay patched up, Bo,” the detective warned as I climbed out of the Pilot. “Might not be there to gather the pieces, you know?”

“I’ll see if I can accommodate you.”

“Listen, and if you do run into Ladykiller Leighton, best tell me.”

“Sure. If I run into him. Thanks for everything, Cortez.”

He reached into his coat and pulled out a pack of Luckies. He stuck an unlit one in the corner of his mouth, then offered me the pack. As usual, I shook my head.

Putting away the pack, the detective gave me a last nod and drove off.

I surveyed the vicinity and only recognized Claryce’s car. There was no sign of the Model T Quiet had been driving. Nevertheless, I remained wary as I went to her apartment.

She answered after barely a knock. With a pensive glance around, Claryce pulled me inside.

Not at all to my surprise, Quiet sat in one of the chairs, the piece turned so that he could watch the door.

“Nick! How did—”

I cut her off as I focused on our guest, noticing now that Fetch had taken up a position by the couch that would let him pounce on Quiet if need be. Good boy, Fetch.

“So, were you on the Frank O’Connor?”

He shook his head. “No. My brother. Died in the fire.”

“They said no one perished.”

“They were wrong.”

“What’s this all about, Nick?” Claryce asked, eyeing Quiet with renewed wariness. “Is this about . . . him?”

She referred to Galerius. “Actually, it might have more to do with Joseph. Your brother have something to do with a Sebastian Tremaine?”

“Colin got caught up in a lot of promises Tremaine made,” Quiet finally replied. “Got introduced to some bad eggs. Slick types led by some mastermind. Something went wrong with their caper, though, and there was only Tremaine left. He found some other bigwig who wanted the Frank O’Connor to sail to a certain spot just off of the Wisconsin coast. Real specific coordinates.”

“Pretty much where it sank?”

“Yeah. Colin should’ve known better, but he was always looking for something.” Quiet grunted. “Not even a body to bury.”

“I’m sorry,” Claryce told him.

He shrugged. “Lot of buddies in the war didn’t leave anything, either. Like Mike. Happens a lot.”

“Did you kill Sebastian Tremaine?” I finally asked.

“Nah. Was trying to find him. Did get into a fight with a punk who’d been aboard the ship. He gave me the slip, though. Was trying to use him to locate Tremaine. Remembered Tremaine from a letter Colin wrote.”

Something I had meant to check earlier occurred to me again. Cortez had failed to mention what might be one pertinent piece of info. “Just when did the Frank O’Connor go down?”

“Third of October. 1919.”

1919. Just months after the Wingfoot Express disaster and tied to Sebastian Tremaine by his association with Joseph. I was seeing something larger and larger forming, something at the center of which had always been Galerius. He had used Joseph’s ambitions and H. H. Holmes’s own obsessions, just as he had long ago manipulated Diocles into executing me.

Claryce put her hand on my wrist, the only sign that she, too, understood the connection. I could see Tremaine trying to make use of what he and the rest had attempted with the dirigible, this time adjusting calculations. He had done so either as a dupe or even possibly an active ally of Galerius, although with Galerius it’d likely been the former.

“So,” Quiet abruptly started. “A dragon.”

I didn’t say anything.

“It wouldn’t be the strangest thing I’ve seen.”

That got my attention. “How long?”

“Since I was a kid. Seems to be getting worse, though. See a lot more, especially since I reached Chicago. Colin saw things, too. Could never handle them as well. Don’t think he ever saw a dragon, though.”

“And neither did you,” I responded.

“Neither did I,” the veteran agreed with another shrug. “Fine. Not the first time I’ve not seen things, too.”

“How did you know to follow us?” Claryce asked, in what I suspected was an attempt to turn to less discomforting subjects.

“Didn’t follow you. Saw the car near where I was searching for Tremaine. Lost it. Found it and saw you. You know the rest.” He met my gaze as if he’d never seen me transform into a winged leviathan. “My turn for questions. Who are they?”

I shook my head. “Thugs working for someone you don’t want to run into. A personal grudge against me. Thanks for the help, but leave it alone.”

Quiet looked around for what I realized was a cold cup of coffee sitting on the table between the chair and the couch. He reached back for both the cup and his cap, which lay next to it. He downed the contents, then, cap in hand, stood. “Sure thing. Glad I could help. I’ll be leaving, then.”

His sudden change didn’t fool me for a moment. As he neared me, I put a warning hand on his chest. “I mean it. You’ve seen things. I’ve lived things. There’s a difference.”

He looked past me at Claryce.

“She’s lived things, too, Ford. Not by choice.”

Quiet frowned. “Sorry to hear it, miss.” He donned his cap, pulling the brim low over his eyes. “Best of luck to both of you.”

I wasn’t ready to let him go just yet. Not until I was sure he understood just how serious I was.

Quiet looked down at my hand as if debating whether or not to try to break it. Finally, he nodded a last time.

Against my better judgement, I let him leave. Fetch jumped up the moment he left.

“No,” I warned him. “Let him go.”

“He’s a wild one, he is,” Fetch said. “Mark me, he’ll fall back into all this at the worst possible moment, Master Nicholas!”

“Maybe that won’t be such a bad thing. Someone’s got him marked. There’s a particular fate in store for him. I’ve seen it.”

Claryce looked puzzled. “What does that mean?”

“It means I’m not the only pawn I’ve ever met. There’ve been others. A few like him, I’ve seen Michael’s hand. Others, I’ve seen a different power clearly trying to manipulate.”

“‘Different power’?”

“In case you didn’t notice last time we were in a church, there are more saints than just Michael and me . . . and most of them are probably more like Michael. Who knows? Maybe more frustrating.”

Fetch’s ears flattened. “‘Tis beginning to sound too much like Feirie, if ye don’t mind me saying so.”

“Not at all.” I cleared my throat. “Almost forgot to tell you, Claryce. Had a visitor at Cortez’s home. Diocles.”

“He survived! I mean—”

“That’ll do. A little worse for wear, but him.”

She smiled. “I know he and you have a bad history, Nick—”

“It’s your history, too.”

“Don’t think I haven’t given that some thought. But . . . wait. How could he appear in Cortez’s place? I thought he could only materialize in holy spots.”

“If you ever meet Cortez’s wife, you’ll understand.”

“Oh really? I get permanent reincarnation and she gets a holy blessing?”

I tried. “A lot of people would love reincarnation.”

“Dying violently each time takes a lot of the pleasure out of it.”

I couldn’t deny that. Hoping to avoid burying myself deeper, I returned to the main subject. “This keeps revolving around a small list of things, Galerius at the center. Lake Michigan. The Wingfoot. The Clothos Deck.”

“Should we take the motorboat out into the lake, Nick? Clearly, Michael wants us to do that.”

“But where and when? We could waste weeks scouring the lake . . . assuming whatever tried to take the dragon and me doesn’t grab us first.”

Eye will boil it and then devour it whole! My unseen companion snarled. Eye will tear it into hair!

Shut up. Still, I couldn’t fault his desire. Whatever lurked in the depths of Lake Michigan had to eventually be faced. How it was tied to Galerius, I didn’t know, but I was certain it was. I was also certain that it hadn’t originated on the mortal plane, which meant a return visit to Her Lady’s Court was probably necessary.

My legs suddenly started to give out on me. Claryce jumped in and caught me. As she did, I spotted a small brooch on her blouse. With all that’d happened, I was surprised to have missed it.

I was even more surprised to recognize it.

She got me to the couch before I could collapse. As Claryce helped me sit, I managed to gesture at the brooch. It was clearly antique, with a silver leaf border around the profile of a young woman. “Where’d you get that?”

“You need more rest. Worry about that, all right?”

“Where’d you get it?”

Her expression tightened in a way I didn’t like. “It’s hers, then . . . or maybe I should really say it’s mine and I just found it after losing it a long time ago? Say fifty-five years?”

She meant Clarissa O’Halloran, her incarnation who’d died around the time of the Great Fire. I recognized the brooch because I’d been there when she—Clarissa—had first gotten it—

Suddenly remembering something else, my question took on new, more urgent meaning. “I’m being deadly serious. Where did you get that?”

Claryce caught my change of tone. “I ran across it more than a week ago. A sale to support a charity run by the Romanian Orthodox Church on North Clybourn. St. Mary’s, I think.”

“What made you choose it?”

She thought about it. “You know, I just felt like there was something nearby for which I’d been searching most of my life. When I stopped in front of the table where it lay, I knew it was mine.”

“Has this happened before?”

“Yes . . . and more since I started pursuing my past. The brooch was just the strongest incident so far.”

Another change. As I didn’t believe in coincidence, I didn’t trust where this was going. Claryce had long revealed herself to be a strong, exceptional presence, but the timing didn’t sit well with me.

“What made you go to that neighborhood in the first place?” I finally asked.

“Remember the last time we checked your files for information? You hadn’t slept in about a week and finally needed to pause.”

And instead of immediately tying up things as she’d promised, Claryce had instead rummaged through other files first. Familiar with my system, she’d been able to cross-reference what she knew about her previous incarnation with other news reports.

I had only myself to thank for her swift success in tracking down her life as Clarissa. With Clarissa especially, I’d saved articles leading up to her death in the hopes of eventually determining how to save the life of the next incarnation. Of course, that’d gone away simply due to the fact I’d never even known about Claudette and had assumed Claryce was the next. By then, the fifty or so years passing had made me put aside my original intention and even forget the depths to which the articles and notes I’d gathered went.

“And that brought you to the brooch.”

“Yes,” she answered much too quickly.

Before I could open my mouth, Fetch confessed his guilt. “‘Twas me, Master Nicholas. I provided her with any missing clues, such as the boarding house she stayed at before the Fire.”

“You mean Clarissa.”

He dipped his head. “As you prefer.”

“It’s all right, Nick. I’m growing more comfortable with it as time goes on. It’s actually comforting in some ways to recall some of those moments.”

Claryce might’ve been growing more comfortable, but I wasn’t. I thought back to all the mistakes I’d made that’d cost Clarissa O’Halloran her life. I didn’t want Claryce remembering them, too.

My head chose that moment to swim again. I barely laid it down in time.

Claryce came to my side. Kneeling, she gave me a kiss and said, “Don’t worry about anything but getting some rest. We’re not going anywhere or doing anything until you have.”

I would’ve argued . . . but barely a breath later, I was asleep.

I woke up to the comforting smell of coffee and the disconcerting sight of Fetch lying on his back on the floor next to me like a puppy. Fortunately, a few seconds later, his nose twitched from the scent and he rolled over onto his side. Eyes opening, he looked from the direction of the kitchen to me.

“‘Tis a long slumber ye had, Master Nicholas,” he remarked.

I looked at my watch. He wasn’t kidding, We were well into the next day.

Claryce entered, carrying a tray with not just three cups of coffee but a couple of plates of food as well. “Bacon. Eggs. Toast. A little late in the day, but I knew you wouldn’t mind.”

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

She started spreading around the food. “Tell him, Fetch.”

“We tried, Master Nicholas. Like trying to raise the dead, but not as successfully.”

“You’ve been through a lot,” she went on. “Eventually, it had to catch up.”

I supposed I couldn’t argue with that. Despite my stomach rumbling, I went straight for the coffee.

Claryce shuddered. “And on an empty stomach yet.”

“Works best that way.” Next to me, Fetch was eagerly lapping up whatever was in his cup. “Just what’s in yours that’s so good? Beer? Whiskey?”

Long tongue flickering over his muzzle, he answered, “Nay! No hooch for me! Something far better!”

“Believe it or not, warm honey with a little water stirred in to keep it liquid,” Claryce explained with a chuckle.

“Looks awful dark for honey.”

“It’s buckwheat. You might like it. It’s pretty strong. I bought it in a shop. Opened the jar while you were asleep and the next minute I know, Fetch is at my side begging for some.”

“Much better than any giggle water!” Fetch offered.

I noticed a slight difference in the way he talked. “Better be careful, Claryce. I’d almost swear he’s getting drunk on it.”

“Oh, dear. I’ll go seal the jar.”

As she went to do that, I eyed Fetch. With a guilty look, he moved on to devouring his meal.

As soon as we were finished, I made a quick call to Barnaby. To my relief, not only did Joseph not answer instead, but Barnaby assured me that his son had remained perfectly docile.

He then went on to tell me what he’d divined about the charts. While he hadn’t figured out the point of focus—the spot where all this preparation was to benefit someone—he’d come up with a short list of locations matching up with the dots in the diagram.

The third one caught my attention. “What was that again?”

“The address is 2139 North Clybourn. It’s a church now, but in 1919—”

“Never mind. Are we talking about St. Mary’s? A Romanian Orthodox church?”

“Yes.”

No. Definitely not coincidence. I let him read off the rest. “Thanks, Barnaby. We’ll talk again soon.”

I hung up to see Claryce staring at me. “Did he really say St. Mary’s? The same St. Mary’s where I bought the brooch?”

“Could just be coincidence.”

“I don’t believe that.”

I could hardly argue. “Listen. I didn’t want to say anything, but Galerius has evidently had his hands in matters for decades, even longer. The illusions I faced might’ve been old, but they still dealt with relevant situations. One particular situation, in fact.”

“The Clothos Deck. Have you talked to Kravayik?”

“I wasn’t sure how best to. I’ve every reason to believe Galerius knows where it is, but the fact that he doesn’t go after it bothers me. The Galerius I knew didn’t let anything get in the way of his ambitions.”

“So, what do we do first?”

“First, Fetch and I go to St. Mary’s. It very likely might be a trap—” She interrupted me with an exasperated sigh. “Nick. Do you think I’ll let you and Fetch go without me?”

“This is different.”

“In case you’ve forgotten, my home is already marked.”

I forced myself to my feet. I hadn’t recuperated as much as I pretended, but I couldn’t show her that. “I’ve a theory on that. I don’t believe that was done by Galerius. I believe it was done by that trio.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

“Honestly, I think they may be at odds with Galerius. At the theater, I got the feeling that they followed me there. They certainly didn’t act in step with the old illusion I encountered. If they are at odds, that just might work to our advantage.”

“How so?”

I shrugged. “That, I haven’t figured out yet.” She gave me a look.

“Grab your coat, then,” I said, “but, again, assume this is a trap.”

As she turned away, she commented, “I always do. I treat everything I do or everywhere I go as leading to a possible trap.”

“Welcome to my world.”

The Packard looked a little battered on one side, but nothing I needed to be concerned about. I knew Barnaby would take care of it if and when things calmed down. Since I’d first helped him with his son, he’d sworn to pay me back. As far as I was concerned, he’d long ago paid any debt he might’ve incurred. Barnaby, though, felt the opposite.

We drove off without incident. Before long, however, I grew suspicious. “Fetch, anyone following us? Look far back.”

He was silent for a couple of minutes, then reported, “Aye, the jalopy is back there. No mistake.”

“Okay. At the next stop, slip out. Deal with it. We’ll wait for you three blocks down.”

His canine mouth stretched into a very uncanine grin. “Oh yes, Master Nicholas.”

We barely reached the stop before I sensed him depart. I gave him a moment, then drove.

“Galerius’s men?” Claryce asked.

“No. Quiet. He was waiting for us to leave the apartment so that he could follow us. I suppose he thought we might lead him to some clue revolving around his own search.”

“I feel guilty doing this to him.”

I shrugged. “You’re not. Fetch and I are.”

“Nick!”

We drove on to where I’d told Fetch we’d pick him up. I’d barely put the brakes on when he climbed back inside.

“Dealt with?” I asked.

“I bit two tires, just to be safe,” he replied. “I’ve had hooch that tasted worse.”

“You’ve earned some of that honey you liked so much . . .”

He wagged his tail.

There were no other signs of pursuit. We made good time, despite the streets being still covered in ice in places. However, as we neared Cly-bourn, Claryce started to stare off at the surroundings. I let it go for a while, but as I turned onto the avenue itself, I finally had to say something.

“You’re remembering things?”

“Bits and pieces. Sometimes just fleeting images.”

“Is it getting stronger as we near?”

She considered. “I think so.”

“Then we better be even more cautious. That could be something Galerius has in mind.”

“Do you really think so?”

I thought of my own experiences with Galerius. “I have to assume so. It’s safer that way.”

I parked a block from the church. The clouds had thickened and combined with the setting sun to leave us in shadow by the time we got to our destination. The three of us climbed out. Fetch couldn’t enter, but I wanted him scouting the outside in case there was anything suspicious.

Claryce abruptly paused.

“What is it?”

“I think . . . I remember something.”

“About the church?”

Shaking her head, she replied, “No. We’re not anywhere near an amusement park, are we?”

“Not that I know of.”

“I remember . . . it was a fascinating sight. I’d never seen it before. Ferris’s wheel—”

I tensed. “Wait. You said ‘Ferris’s wheel.’”

“Right! A Ferris wheel.”

“No. That’s what everyone says now. You said ‘Ferris’s wheel.’ The only time I heard anyone say it like that was during the Exposition.”

“But Clarissa wasn’t even born then,” she countered.

“No . . . but Claudette was alive.”

Neither of us had known about Claudette, an incarnation who’d existed between Clarissa and Claryce. We could thank Kravayik for that, Her Lady’s enforcer at that time. He’d tried to help me by preventing yet another of my fruitless encounters with one of Cleolinda’s succession of ill-fated lives, only to fall for her himself. That hadn’t prevented Claudette from being murdered by the Beast of Chicago himself, H. H. Holmes.

“Claudette . . .” Claryce whispered, almost as if speaking directly to her past life. “Yes . . . you’re right. I remember it was me—her—now.”

This was racing down a path not to my liking. How far back was she going to remember? Did Galerius have something up his sleeve with this sudden return of memories?

There were lights on inside the church, but that didn’t necessarily mean something. I went to the door first. As I reached for the handle, there was a faint click as the door unlocked. If I came with good intentions, few churches were barred from me.

Inside, I was greeted by trappings consistent with most such places. There were, of course, added reminders of the Romanian homeland, including, ironically, an army flag from the Great War with its blue, gold, and red fields upon which was centered the country’s seal or something. I hadn’t been able to lend a hand to the struggle because of my ties to the Gate, but I’d kept up with all the bloodshed. I’d also made special note of those flags now representing the regions I’d once been familiar with when only a mere tribune of the empire.

And I’d especially paid attention to those that had at some point in the past laid claim to a portion of Dacia, a place I considered cursed if only because it’d been the birthplace of Galerius.

Claryce joined me. We took a few more steps forward before I noticed we were no longer alone.

“Nick . . . I see him again! I see Diocles!”

I wasn’t surprised. Not after everything else. Diocles gave her a courteous bow, acting like the kindly ghost rather than the specter of an emperor who’d order my execution. However, after what he’d done for us earlier, I decided to give him a break and not make any comments. That didn’t mean I cheerfully greeted him, though.

“Should’ve known you’d show up here,” I remarked.

“Where is here?” he asked. “I do not recognize the trappings of this church.”

“No? You should feel a bit at home. There’s a little bit of Dacia here . . .”

Something must’ve crept into my voice, because Claryce gave me a sour look. Diocles, on the other hand, simply appeared his sad self.

“I’d thought that perhaps we’d reached a better point between us,” the ghost muttered.

“I’m grateful for what you did before, but that doesn’t change certain other things. There’ll always be Galerius between us, and I’m reminded of it more and more standing here.” I felt nothing but cold contempt for him. He was responsible for so much that had happened to me. If he’d had a solid form, I’d have torn into him. I—

“Nick! What’s wrong with you? Your expression—”

Claryce’s voice cut through my burst of hate. I hesitated as I tried to make sense of my severe reaction to Diocles. While I might still not be willing to forgive him for my execution, the outburst wasn’t typical.

My suspicions immediately went to my ever-present companion. The dragon had attempted to toy with my emotions before, fortunately not with longstanding success.

Eye am innocent, he quickly declared. Eye would know better than this . . .

Whether or not he knew better, it certainly didn’t feel like he was guilty of anything. I was inclined to believe him . . . this time.

Only then did I notice a figure sitting in a shadowed pew near the front of the church. I didn’t think. I instinctively drew Her Lady’s gift and leaped.

The figure didn’t budge. I grabbed him by the shoulder and turned him toward me.

It wasn’t Galerius. It was some innocent priest. Some innocent priest who sat frozen like a statue.

The laughter that followed shook me a lot more than I dared show. I refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing just how he’d affected me, although it was difficult.

I spun toward the laughter . . . and the shadowed form of Galerius across from me.

A form that this time was by no means an illusion.

CHAPTER 14

Her Lady’s gift gripped tightly, I took a step toward Galerius.

He didn’t budge. He didn’t do anything except watch me expectantly.

I came to a halt. Only then did I notice that the shadows in part obscuring him seemed a piece of him. Even when he casually glanced at Claryce, the shadows remained fixed on the same portions of his face.

“Ah, we are all here,” Galerius remarked. “The knight errant, the princess, the villain . . .” He made an exaggerated gesture at himself, as if introducing his role to a theatrical audience. “ . . . and even the obligatory ghost.”

“Galerius . . .” Diocles breathed angrily.

“Don’t blame me for your sins, Father,” Galerius mocked. “You earned them yourself.”

“My poor daughter!”

“She was a useful tool, just as the Princess Cleolinda remains. Useful and entertaining, to say the least.”

Where I’d been able to hold back, Diocles couldn’t. For the first time I could recall, I saw Diocles the accursed, a horrific shade with the face of death. He lunged toward Galerius, enveloping his former son-in-law and heir. I had to admit the sight of him made me glad I had the sword ready just in case.

Galerius shook himself like a hound who’d just come out of the rain. In doing so, he shoved the murky figure of Diocles off him.

“You are nothing,” Galerius told the ghost.

“Maybe he can’t touch you, but you seem solid enough for this gun,” Claryce warned, the revolver aimed directly at Galerius’s heart.

I’d known he would smile at her, and he didn’t disappoint. I recalled never trusting Galerius’s smile even before he’d convinced Diocles to slaughter innocents, but now there was some ghastly aspect to it that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Galerius went from a stain of a man to something unearthly even Holmes hadn’t achieved.

“Silver-tipped and either blessed or dipped in holy water?” he asked with a nasty chuckle.

“Dipped. Not many priests will bless bullets.” Claryce kept the Smith & Wesson steady. “And if they can’t kill you, I’ll find a way to make sure they deal some pain.”

“You’re remembering. Good. You’re remembering the pain and suffering. Dwell in it. I do. I savor it, princess. I savor each conclusion . . .”

I suddenly felt as if they were having an intimate conversation, one stretching back through time. “Claryce, what’s going on? What’s he driving at?”

She swallowed. “He was there, Nick. When that bastard Holmes killed me. I’m only just recalling. He was there. My death was part of some agreement! My death!”

“The memories are only just stirring, are they?” Galerius asked in amusement. “You need to remember farther back. We’ve had quite some times together, princess.”

“Stop calling me that!”

“What would you like me to call you? There’s some thirty and more names to choose from, after all. Go ahead. Choose one you like . . . I’ve met pretty much every one of them.” His smile grew darker. “Been the death of most of them, too.”

She came very near to firing. I wouldn’t have blamed her.

“What the hell are you talking about, Galerius?” I raised my voice not only out of my own mounting anger, but to break the visual hold he had on Claryce. Watching her, I knew he was using whatever force he’d used on me. I could fight it now, but I wasn’t sure what her limits were in this regard.

“What am I talking about?” All the humor left him. “I’m talking about a little game the princess and I’ve been having with you all these centuries, Georgius. A game where she pops back into your life, gives you hope . . . and then I take both that hope and her away from you. A game I’ve savored each lifetime, if only to watch your suffering over and over and over!”

I knew what he meant, but I didn’t want to accept it. If he was telling the truth, Claryce’s lives had all been cut short because of a vendetta Galerius had against me.

“Why?” I finally managed. I could feel the anger he was fomenting trying to completely overtake my senses. Clarissa, Claudette, and most of those before them . . . all victims of this man. “Why, Galerius? You convinced Diocles to execute me and then desecrated my tomb! What more do you want from me?”

“Far more than you’ve given, Georgius—forgive me, I keep forgetting. Nick.” He started to raise his hand toward Claryce. “And starting with the price I always demand.”

That was it. I couldn’t hold back anymore. I lunged toward Gale-rius, watching all the while to make certain he had no chance to either draw a weapon or use some form of magic.

He hesitated as I neared. I took that as a hopeful sign he’d underestimated me.

With every bit of strength I could muster and my full desire, I drove Her Lady’s gift through his torso just under the rib cage. There was a moist sound as the blade not only cut through sinew and bone, but burst out through his back.

Galerius gaped . . . and then laughed anew.

“Bravo, Nick . . .” he rasped. “Still the consummate soldier, aiming true and making a swift finish of a foe.”

I pressed the hilt of the sword against his body, in the process mentally encouraging the weapon to do its foul work.

But Galerius continued to stand there apparently unharmed.

“It couldn’t be enough, Nick. It’s all in the cards, after all.”

Galerius made a sudden twisting motion and tore the sword from my grip. As that happened, his face began to ripple. His eyes, his nose, his mouth . . . everything, including his beard and head of hair, faded away too.

The faceless figure who’d used a piece of wood to play home run with my head stood before me. I understood now why the sword hadn’t affected him. The thing was a golem, an animated object. It had no life of its own for the sword’s power to touch.

Claryce fired. Her aim was perfect. The first bullet tore into the golem’s head, the second into his chest.

Unfortunately, they didn’t do much to stop Galerius’s puppet.

At that moment, an agonized howl cut through the church.

“You might want to look into that,” came Galerius’s voice from the mouthless figure. “His hide will look good on my wall.”

“Fetch!” Claryce screamed.

I made a grab for the sword, but the golem executed another twist. The shadows still wrapped around it swallowed up the animated statue before my very eyes. Both the golem and the sword vanished.

Swearing, I raced with Claryce out of the church and toward where we both thought the howl had originated. Circling around to the back of the church, we stopped dead as we came upon a disturbing sight.

There was no sign of Fetch himself, but a splattering of blood covered a good portion of a path. Claryce gasped and started toward it, but I blocked her with my arm. Even a view like this could actually be a trap where magic was involved.

Without a word, the dragon granted me his vision. Through it, I saw nothing else out of the ordinary.

“Oh, Nick. Did he really . . .”

“Looks like it.” After Diocles’s betrayal, I’d not trusted many through the centuries. Even with Fetch, I’d always kept one eye open, but, still, I’d come to count on him as few others. I swore next time I had the chance I’d lop off Galerius’s head to make certain.

Of course, I no longer had the sword.

“Don’t give up hope, though. I know Galerius well enough to understand that he won’t want to kill Fetch. Fetch is going to be bait for me.”

“Are you certain?” Naturally, Claryce sounded both relieved and more worried.

“Yeah, he’d never waste a good piece in the game, as he sees it. We’ll get Fetch back.”

“How will we locate him?”

“Exactly as Galerius no doubt expects. I have to go to Feirie. I would’ve had to anyway, due to the sword. At first, I summed up its inability to affect the golem because the thing isn’t actually alive, but the simple fact that it’s magical should’ve allowed the sword to affect it. Hopefully, she can explain that and at the same time help us with Fetch.”

I eyed the stain. There wasn’t an untainted part from which I could save a reasonable dot of blood. If I hoped to get the sword back and also track Fetch, I definitely needed something better. Her Lady would surely have a better idea.

Of course, there’d be a price.

We returned to the church long enough to check on the priest and anyone else who might’ve been affected by Galerius. Fortunately, no one recalled anything.

Diocles trailed behind us, but as I didn’t talk to him he remained silent. I caught Claryce giving him a supportive smile and decided to pretend I’d missed it.

I’d planned on bringing Claryce back to her apartment, but she refused to even discuss it. Bowing to the inevitable, I headed to the lake.

Images from my aquatic struggle returned to me as I pulled up at a quieter part of the lakeshore.

“Do you really think she’ll help us, Nick?”

“Logic would say yes . . . but logic and Feirie don’t always intersect with one another,” I answered truthfully. “Not much choice, though, especially not for Fetch.”

We both knew that this situation involved far more than just a threat to Fetch . . . or to Claryce, naturally. What it actually all entailed still didn’t make sense. Galerius appeared to have pretty much everything he desired. So far, it seemed all he was doing was entertaining himself by putting us through hell. But with Galerius, there had to be much, much more.

Before heading to the lake, I’d made another call to Kravayik to check on the card. He assured me it was still in its place. He also assured me that there’d been no suspicious characters visiting Holy Name. That should’ve made me feel better, but instead it only made me more uneasy. I’d expected some stunt by Galerius’s stooges. It almost felt as if he was going out of his way to avoid the card.

We weren’t all that far from the warehouse where the boat was stored. Michael had stored that boat for the future, but I still didn’t know exactly why. It couldn’t have been so I could go hunting whatever sea—lake— monster was out there, but it had to be connected to the beast.

“Did you remember something about what happened out there?” Claryce asked.

I must’ve spent too long staring at the water. “No. Just trying to make all the connections.”

“God! When I think about what you went through!”

“Don’t.” I turned my attention to a another part of the shoreline. “I really wish you’d stay here.”

“No arguing. I need to go with you.”

I sighed. “All right. Prepare yourself. I’m going to open a different way. It’ll mean some disorientation.”

“I’ll handle it.”

“All right.” I shut my eyes and concentrated on the Gate, visualizing it.

I’d barely done so when Claryce said, “The water is shimmering, Nick.”

“I know.”

“No . . . I don’t think you do,” she countered, her voice rising. “I think that thing is coming after you again!”

I opened my eyes just as a long, sinewy appendage shot out of the water toward where we stood. It was massive enough that it could carry off both of us if given the opportunity.

I was left with no choice. “I’m sorry!” I shouted to Claryce. “Only way!”

Grabbing her in my arms, I jumped. As they always did, my clothes magically faded away. Fortunately, by that time there wasn’t much human left. My body had already taken on a more reptilian aspect and wings had sprouted from my back. I felt the dragon revel in yet another transformation. I still kept control, but now we were nearly two equal minds. He could feel the air, dwell in the glory of flight.

A flight almost aborted as two more tentacles shot from the water.

The Gate opened up. I had no time to admire its ancient, arresting beauty. We darted through before the tentacles could snare my legs or my tail.

I willed the Gate shut behind me, hoping at the same time I hadn’t accidentally allowed something out of Feirie. I had no doubt that there were still many creatures of the dark realm seeking escape from Her Lady’s purge. They were somehow slipping through enough without me leaving the door open, so to speak.

We landed far more gracefully than we had last time. I gently set Claryce down just before willing the change back. The dragon didn’t argue, not only giving way to the transformation but slipping into the recesses of my mind without another word.

I adjusted my overcoat slightly as I avoided Claryce’s eyes.

“When are you going to learn I’m not bothered by all that?” she quietly asked. “My only concerns were you escaping that—that thing—again and whether the dragon would fight you at all.”

“I guess he was as happy to get away from it as I was.” Feeling a little bit more at ease, I looked around. As usual, the endless forest was quiet, almost deathly still. That meant nothing. Among the legions of oaks and other trees, I knew that there was a wave of fear and violence progressing.

“So, how will it work this time?” Claryce eyed our surroundings. “Will she form out of the shadows or separate from a nearby tree? Maybe appear as a raven or some other animal?”

I swore the trees rustled angrily in response. I didn’t care. Claryce was under my protection. She’d already been used in the past by Her Lady and as far as I was concerned had every right to not treat her with respect. Feirie might have to bow to Oberon’s widow, but we didn’t.

I only wondered if Her Lady understood that.

We waited for a couple of minutes, but nothing changed. It was possible that Her Lady was caught up in other matters, but there was no way she would’ve not sensed our arrival. I doubted that, with her power, she had any other concerns truly keeping her from us. We were simply being made to wait, something for which we had no time.

“I know you can hear me, your majesty,” I told the forest, “and you know I wouldn’t have returned so soon if it wasn’t important not just to me but to you.”

A wind rose up. It shook leaves loose from the surrounding trees, leaves that swirled madly around us before collecting in front of us. They quickly piled up until they formed a tall mound.

The wind shifted, blowing apart the pile . . . and there, very theatrically, of course, stood Her Lady.

Her darling Gatekeeper, she sang in our heads. Her veiled eyes looked to Claryce. And his warrior maiden . . .

“I’ve never been called that before,” Claryce muttered.

Her gift to you has been taken, the queen of Feirie went on, her song taking on a more threatening tone. This is not the first time, Her darling Gatekeeper. There have been too many times over the years . . .

“There’s been times over the centuries,” I admitted. “but I always got it back, didn’t I? And I usually lost it because you failed to warn me about something I should’ve known about before it happened. Maybe like now, too.”

Did not Her darling Gatekeeper receive our warning through our loyal servant?

“You mean that pin Lon left me? Yeah, I got that. Thanks for that little bit. There’s a lot more, though, like maybe what you know about Galerius’s activities over the centuries. We already have your history with the Beast, Holmes. He had ties to Galerius. I’ve got to believe that means you might have some information concerning what he really wants. It’s something about the Clothos Deck, but not simply gaining the card I watch over, is it?”

Her Lady said nothing at first. Then, slowly, gracefully, she circled us. As she did, I sensed other presences encroaching from every direction.

The legacy of He is far reaching, Our darling Gatekeeper. His are in every shadow, every little hidden place. They must be rooted out like the weeds they are using whatever means necessary . . .

It took me a moment to understand that the “He” to whom she referred wasn’t Galerius, but rather her former liege. Her Lady always appeared in control; in reality, she dreaded anything that even remotely suggested Oberon’s power remained a danger. Small wonder she’d begun the purge.

But I had more important things to concern myself about than the Feirie Queen’s paranoia. “Stop evading. The conversation concerns Galerius and the Clothos Deck. What do you know?”

She stopped circling. Her deathly beautiful face revealed no emotion, although I suspected a number of them bubbled below the surface. A card here, a card there. Where do you think yours was played before it fell to you?

I’d never given that question much thought. Once I’d gotten the card, my only interest had been to put it where no one else could get it. Just the thought of what it could do had been enough to make me never want to touch it.

Of course, I apparently had been in the minority.

“Who’d Oberon take it from?” I asked impatiently, not caring how the trees rustled nervously at the mere mention of the late Lord of Feirie. “Are you saying he took it from Galerius?”

Twice you ask, but three is the charm. Three are the faces, one and the same . . .

“Does she never answer straight, Nick?”

“Hardly ever, even when doing so would be to her benefit.” Scowling, I responded to Her Lady, “All right, I’ll ask a third time, then. Where’d the late lord of the realm get the card?”

The one who is three and can never be free. The pull of the card brings him together even as it tears him apart.

There she was with more threes. Better her riddles and—”I’ve had my head messed with too much. It’s him, isn’t it? Not ‘them,’ but just a him.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Remember our friends in Dunning? The same ones who attacked me earlier? She’s saying that they’re the same man. Not three who look similar, but the same exact man.”

Claryce shook her head. “But they aren’t exact! The two I saw had subtle but real differences.”

“Remember what the card did to Chicago even for a brief time? Imagine being around its inherent forces for so long. The possibilities are as endless as they are heinous.”

Her Lady laughed lightly. The Triple Man is ever bound to happen. He cannot do anything else, sealed as he is, to the card you now wield . . .

And there it was. Galerius’s tie to the card I protected faded away, replaced by a hunt by its previous possessor, who had apparently been affected by his years of claim. “So the card made him this . . . triplicate figure?”

All three shadows of the one, but together a very part of the card’s essence. What it can do, they can do to some small effect. They need the card, though, to be whole again. Her Lady gave me her most winning smile, which, aware of the shadows within her, did not in the least entice me. She would advise Our darling Gatekeeper not to allow that to happen.

“No kidding. Where did it say when I was chosen for this that I’d have to spend time cleaning up after what others have done?”

The Dacian Dragon is yours, Our darling Gatekeeper. You brought him into this game.

My scowl deepened. “What about the sword?”

You have wielded it for some time. It will call you. Just allow it in.

I was getting some surprisingly cogent answers at the moment, which worried me even more. So now I had a link to the sword that’d let me reach out to it or vice versa. “Would’ve been nice to know that over the centuries. When did that happen?”

When He returned.

Her short response said something as to its significance. Okay, so she’d only added it when Oberon had proven to be alive just a few months back. I hadn’t been missing out on some extra helpful ability. She’d just not thought it important until her own hide had been on the line.

Thunder abruptly roared in the distance. I glanced up, saw that to my left—presumably north—the sky had darkened. Weather didn’t just happen in Feirie. This was her doing, and I knew exactly why. Even as she dealt with us, Her Lady continued her crush of any potential opposition in the realm.

That brought me to our other important reason for coming here. “Fetch is in danger, maybe badly wounded. Galerius has him. I could probably track him myself, but being of Feirie, Fetch may be quicker to find with your help. I’ll brook no argument. Fetch has—”

She surprised me by extending one slim hand my way. The track is simple, if his gift is still with you . . .

“The what?”

You were presented it to give to him. Now, it will serve doubly . . .

Suddenly I understood what she meant. I pulled free the tooth that I assumed belonged to Fetch’s kin. I also remembered something else. I drew forth Galerius’s coin with my other hand. “Will this be of any use to you?”

Her Lady studied it for a moment. Set it down on the ground before you . . .

Once I did, she made a brief gesture indicating Claryce and I should step back. Once we had, Her Lady stared at the coin.

Galerius’s token sizzled, then melted. The remnants quickly seeped into the soil.

“Hey! Damn it! That—”

Is dealt with as it should be, Our darling Gatekeeper. There is a taint of Feirie blood shed in making that, Feirie blood shed in human magic . . .

“Fetch . . .” Claryce blurted, obviously not meaning that he’d been used to make it but that now we had another possible motive for him taking Fetch.

Feirie and human magic had connections and could be used in conjunction with one another, as I’d learned to my dismay many times over the centuries. However, what Galerius had evidently done was actually work to meld the two together to do whatever monstrous spellwork he had in mind.

Her Lady kept her hand extended to me. I dropped the tooth in her palm.

She shut her eyes. An abrupt stillness overtook the forest. Claryce moved closer to me. We watched as the elven queen covered the tooth with her other palm.

Her Lady gasped . . . and from her shut palms sprouted a glowing figure, a tall, lithe creature with features mixing canine and lupine with something almost human. Red eyes stared warily around. The creature bared a strong set of teeth, whose sharpness was matched only by the long, curved claws.

I’d seen Fetch in his true form, but it was still easy to forget sometimes just how deadly he was at his peak. In the mortal world, he had only a fraction of his true power, and even then he was pretty capable.

Then it occurred to me that this wasn’t Fetch. There were subtle differences, even a slight hint of more age.

The ghostly figure leaped into the air, vanishing as it did. All the while, Her Lady stood with her eyes shut and her body still. Quiet continued to envelop the forest.

Her Lady’s eyes shot open without warning. They widened and stared past us. For a brief moment, they also changed, becoming like those of Fetch or one of his kind.

They shifted back just as quickly. Focus returned.

Eyes narrowing to the slightest of slits, Her Lady gazed at me. Our foolish Gatekeeper! What have you thought to release into Our domain?

A full-fledged storm rocked the forest. Trees swayed dangerously. Lightning wracked the land and thunder boomed.

I couldn’t recall ever seeing her so openly outraged. As the ground shook, I instinctively grabbed Claryce and held her tightly to me.

“Nick! What’s happening?”

“I’ve apparently done something to rile her up!” I gripped Claryce tightly. If this was going where I thought it was going, we were in for a wild ride.

Thousands of leaves ripped from the trees. As each flew into the air, it transformed into a large black bird. I’d forgotten one old title of hers. The Mother of Ravens. They swarmed above, a growing, cawing cloud of dark design.

Her Lady angrily thrust her left hand to the side. The still-growing unkindness gathered in that direction . . . and then dove at us.

CHAPTER 15

“Hold tight!” I started to transform again, but the change came slower for some reason. The ravens thrust out their talons and began plucking at us. With so many attacking at once, we were immediately lifted a few inches off the ground. Then a few more. And a few more.

In seconds, we were hurtling away from Her Lady.

The dragon’s wings finally burst through my back, scattering a good many of the ravens. We briefly plummeted, until the wings took over and kept us afloat. Still, the flock as a whole continued to harass us and force us back to the Gate.

I’d yet to figure out just what had happened to cause Her Lady to cast us out like that. Her claim about my trying to bring something into her realm made little sense on the surface, unless she was referring to whatever lurked in the lake. Somehow, though, I couldn’t see it having snuck through the Gate in the few seconds after we’d just passed through. I’d instinctively willed the Gate shut at that point. A thing that huge could not have crossed without me knowing.

The Gate began to open. I was prepared this time should the thing in the water try to grab us.

What I wasn’t prepared for was sensing something right at the very opening. A tiny presence compared to the dragon’s form, but with a unique magical signature . . . in fact, one I’d never sensed before in all my centuries.

Claryce held protectively, I dove. The dragon himself kept quiet, allowing me unfettered control. I questioned his continued docile attitude, but I accepted his willingness to let me lead.

And there it—or rather she—was. Louise Crying Wolf. With the obsidian blade. The latter the source of the strange force I sensed.

Somehow, she’d managed to follow us through the Gate. I knew she couldn’t have been tracking us, which meant she would have had to have been nearby when it opened. How that happened, I could find out once things were calm. For now, she had no idea that the horde of ravens with us likely had her as their next target . . . and I doubted Her Lady intended on treating this new intruder as kindly she had Claryce and me.

I had no choice but to swoop down and, with Claryce wrapped in one forearm, grab for the girl.

It was at that point that the dragon decided to exert mastery over his body.

He caught me by surprise, I’ll admit that. I’d gotten too complacent. We suddenly spun in a circle. Claryce let out a cry—one I’d have echoed if I’d had control over a voice—as the dragon whirled to face the vast flock.

“Burn . . .” he rumbled.

The dragon unleashed a plume of flame at Her Lady’s servants, incinerating hundreds of ravens in the blink of an eye. Smoking fragments rained down on the forest, setting treetops on fire.

The ravens spread out, but even this didn’t prove an impediment to the dragon. As he exhaled again, he swung his head left and right. Fire engulfed hundreds more.

The flock scattered, at least for the moment.

There . . . he said in my mind. That is how it is done . . .

I was in control again. Focusing on the moment, I retrieved our unexpected companion and soared through the Gate. This time, I shot up into the air to avoid any surprise from the lake.

I needn’t have bothered. While turbulent, the nighttime waters revealed no hint of the leviathan. Regardless of that, I veered clear of the lake, finally landing in a secluded spot a little north of where we’d parked.

The moment we landed, I willed the change. The dragon made no protest, not even a peep. Although still wary after the stunt he’d pulled in Feirie, I nevertheless decided to put aside my situation with him in order to deal with yet a new one.

“Just what the devil is Laertes up to?” I demanded.

Louise Crying Wolf didn’t have the decency to look at all guilty about what she’d done. If anything, she looked furious at me. “He is not part of this! You took me—”

I waved her silent. “So you just happened to know about the Gate? And could see it, for that matter?”

She glanced back longingly at where the Gate had stood. I could see her visibly fighting to regain her calm. “The forest . . . it was so beautiful, so ancient . . .”

“So deadly. Didn’t Laertes warn you about it, Winifred Louise Crying Wolf?” Her glare returned at my use of her full name as part of a reprimand. “All right. Louise Crying Wolf. Now, you need to forget the Gate, do you understand?”

“It seems so vast, as if it goes on forever.” Her wistfulness was evident in each word. “I could feel . . . feel like I did as a child—”

“No!” I leaned close. “Listen to me! That is not some spiritual world of your ancestors! That is not the past you’re trying to regain! Feirie is the very opposite of what you want!”

I could see I wasn’t getting through to her. I glanced down at the obsidian blade. Here on the mortal plane, it no longer radiated the intense forces I’d noticed in Feirie. Still, it answered one of my questions. “Laertes didn’t tell you about the Gate and Feirie, did he? That weapon brought you here, the same as happened the last time we met by the lake. That’s what happened, isn’t it?”

She didn’t answer, which was answer enough.

“Nick . . .”

I looked to where Claryce pointed. A lupine figure loped toward us. At first, I thought Fetch had escaped, but then I noticed that I could see him too clearly in the dark even without the dragon’s vision. “It’s the thing she conjured. Stay behind me, both of you.”

Louise Crying Wolf did just the opposite, readying the obsidian blade. I quickly shoved her arm down.

The ghostly figure slowed as he approached. I watched the eyes, which never blinked. They stared at me, but not into my own eyes. Instead, they seemed to be gazing off a little to my left. I started to move my hand and saw the gaze follow. On a hunch, I opened my hand and set the palm up.

The figure leaped at me. Claryce gripped my arm, while Louise Crying Wolf again attempted to ready the blade.

I kept both of them out of the way as the creature flew toward my open palm, shrinking rapidly as it neared.

The figure faded away just before he would’ve collided with me . . . and a small familiar object dropped into my palm.

The tooth.

As my fingers folded over it, I was struck by a vision. I saw Fetch lying prone in an empty room. There was no hint of the address, but I immediately knew where the building was located.

“That was from that spell she cast,” Claryce murmured. “After all that, she still sent it on to you?”

“Yeah, interesting, isn’t it?” I toyed with the tooth as I considered that. “We’ll have to try to figure that one out later. No telling how long Fetch will be at the location I just saw. We need to go.”

Louise Crying Wolf followed us. I was inclined to put a stop to her right there, but then she surprised me by offering the obsidian blade.

“Please. I would be honored if you would wield this for your friend.”

“What about you?”

She straightened. “I have been fighting for myself since the boarding schools. I also have both my ancestors and my Christian saints to watch over me.”

“Can’t say how much help the latter side is going to give you. Better stick to your ancestors and their ways . . .”

Louise Crying Wolf continued to press the artifact on me. More because I wanted to make certain she wasn’t going to go back and try to get into Feirie than because I really trusted the blade, I finally accepted her offer.

I felt an odd tingle as I gripped it and was reminded how it had touched my senses in Feirie. I suspected that I now knew in part why Her Lady had reacted so violently to its—not its wielder’s—presence. It, too, represented an old power, one with ties to the mortal plane, not Her Lady’s realm. She would’ve seen it as a viable threat, especially if it’d gotten into the hands of one of Oberon’s loyalists and somehow made useful.

I carefully placed it in the sword’s secret pocket and found it would be just fine there. Louise Crying Wolf climbed into the Packard behind us. She didn’t make a comment about any other vehicle being left behind, so I didn’t bother to ask.

As I drove off, I did ask one important question, though. “Did you happen to get a good view of the thing in the lake?”

“No, Saint George. I only saw the three limbs stretching from far beyond the shore. Of the body, there was nothing visible above the surface.”

Damn, that thing had to be big.

I tried not to think of how that beast had survived so long without it cleaning out Lake Michigan of every single fish and fisherman. I was sure it was guarding some part of Galerius’s scheme, but until I knew more I didn’t dare have the dragon and I fly out there. The close encounters we’d had with it had shown it to be incredibly powerful. That’d made Louise Crying Wolf’s intrusion into Feirie all the more frustrating. I’d hoped to get more information from Her Lady, but Fetch was more important right now.

I drove on and on, making turns instinctively. We were deep in North Sider territory by the time I slowed. I’d already become convinced that Weiss and Moran were personally entangled with elements of magic originating from the other side of the Gate, but now I wondered how much Galerius might be involved with the gang as well.

It didn’t surprise me that we ended up in an area with warehouses. No doubt there was a hooch distribution spot nearby. I parked us in an out of the way location, then led Claryce and Louise Crying Wolf to where I knew with absolute certainty we’d find Fetch . . . and hopefully the sword as well.

“I need you two to keep back as much as possible,” I whispered as I drew the knife. The surreptitious glance I received from Claryce indicated that she understood I was saying this mainly for our new companion’s benefit.

Louise Crying Wolf nodded. I still didn’t trust her not to go rushing in even without the blade, but I just had to hope for the best.

Sure enough, a goon trying too hard to appear nonchalant leaned next to what I knew to be the entrance to where Fetch was being held. As the sentry smoked what by the several cigarette butts at his feet was clearly just the latest in a chain, I also sensed the presence of Her Lady’s gift inside. Everything smelled of a trap, which was fine with me. I would’ve been more worried if it hadn’t.

The obsidian blade began vibrating slightly. I wasn’t sure what to make of that, but I didn’t want to take the time to ask. Instead, I slipped toward the lookout.

He didn’t see me coming, but not due to any failure on his part. I kept my focus on him right up to the point where I slugged him hard in the jaw. As he fell into my arms, I located a place to set him.

Inside, I heard muttering. Opening the door a crack, I looked around. A moment later, I angrily gritted my teeth as Fetch came into view.

He lay in an unceremonious heap, his side stained with blood. I couldn’t see whether he still breathed and wondered if we were already too late. There was no sign of the sword, but I could definitely feel it. I could also see the half dozen hoods Galerius had evidently arranged for my benefit. I wondered what he thought they could do, even armed with two tommies. True, I didn’t have the sword, but even without the obsidian blade I’d be willing to take a lot of hits to rescue Fetch.

Then, one thug who’d been sitting in the shadows stood up and looked around as if noticing something. I noticed in turn his gaunt, ghoulish features that were almost a dead ringer for the vampire Count Orlok in Nosferatu a few years back.

I’d faced the creatures I’d come to call “Schrecks”—after the actor who’d played Orlok—while chasing after Holmes. At the time, I’d thought both of them dead. Either one had survived or Galerius had had another at his beck and call. That explained a lot better why Gale-rius might’ve thought this band a tougher nut to crack.

The other thugs didn’t seem the least bit disturbed by the Schreck’s presence. Either they’d had some spell put on them or they’d been introduced to Galerius’s true world. Either way, it meant that any of them might also be armed with something other than an ordinary weapon.

I studied the entire room one last time, then, my first targets chosen, I started forward—

And my battle plan, such as it was, completely unraveled as Louise Crying Wolf burst through from a window on the opposite side and landed on top of two hoods nearby.

Swearing, I charged in. At that point, I had no doubt that Claryce, too, planned to join the fray. That didn’t matter, anymore. What did was trying to prevent both of my eager companions, especially the overzealous Indian, from getting hurt or worse.

Louise Crying Wolf was already on her feet. She’d grabbed the automatic one of the fallen thugs had dropped and used it to knock both hard on the back of the head. She then flipped the automatic around and aimed for the Schreck.

Only, the Schreck wasn’t where he’d been. She’d not known about their ability to pop short distances. Instead of an easy target, he now stood behind her ready to snap her neck.

The force of a gunshot to the head sent him falling back into the shattered window. Claryce fired a second time, leaving him hanging halfway out.

I hadn’t stood idle. One gunman already had his tommy ready to fire. I made sure I was the best target by waving the obsidian blade.

A stream of bullets cut into my midsection. I did my best to ignore the searing pain as I lunged for the machine gun. As the hood gaped, I seized the tommy by the red-hot barrel and ripped the weapon from his grip. For good measure, I knocked him on the side of the head using the reinforced stock.

One of the other hoods got past me. If he thought Claryce the weakest link, he was wrong. She met his attack with a fist to his face that made him topple back and crash onto the floor. While he was down, Claryce kicked him soundly in the head to make certain he stayed there. I wasn’t appalled by her reaction. After finding out that each of her previous incarnations had very likely been murdered by Galerius, she was taking no chances.

The obsidian artifact vibrated harder. I had the strong urge to turn to my left.

I decided to trust in the urge. As I turned, I brought the blade up.

The weapon sank deep into the chest of the Schreck, who’d popped from the window to my side. He hissed angrily, then collapsed. I kept the blade in his chest all the way to the floor.

Once I was sure he wasn’t going to be springing back up, I pulled out Louise Crying Wolf’s weapon. There was no trace of blood or any other fluid, either from the blade or the shots Claryce had fired. Still, the thing appeared dead.

I turned back to see to the remaining hoods, only to find another door wide open. There wasn’t any good reason to go chasing after them; I knew Galerius enough be certain that none of this bunch other than the Schreck would’ve had information on his whereabouts.

Louise Crying Wolf was staring at the Schreck with clear disgust. “What is that?”

“That is a part of the place you so desperately wanted to sneak into. Feirie isn’t part of your ancestors’ world. What you’re searching for lies elsewhere. Feirie is nothing more than a dark seduction. Stay away.”

“But it felt—”

I tossed the blade to her. She caught it expertly. “Think about the life and culture you lost thanks to the boarding schools and the rest. You’ll lose even more if Feirie snares you. You’ll lose your soul.”

I could see she wasn’t entirely convinced, but there wasn’t much more I could say. Feirie was beguiling. I’d seen other humans drawn to it through their gifts, only to watch its taint eventually destroy them. It hadn’t just been manipulation by either Oberon or his treacherous queen. The realm itself was alive in a sense and always seeking the unwary.

I gave up on her for the moment as Claryce knelt down by Fetch and gently touched him.

“He’s still alive, Nick, but what can we do for him? Can you heal him somehow?”

My gift is not for such as him, the dragon declared without warning. Find another path, if you wish . . .

He’s been our friend and ally! I countered. Anything he’s done in the past he’s more than made up for!

Find another path . . . I must heal you. I will not him . . .

Only then did I think about the bullets I’d taken. He’d already nearly completely healed me. It took effort—we were immortal, not invulner-able—but I knew that he still could’ve done something for Fetch.

He just wouldn’t.

“We’ve got to move him,” I finally said. “We’ll bring him back to somewhere safe before we do anything.”

Claryce reluctantly nodded. She understood that my hands were tied and why. I could see some fire in her eyes, resentment over what the dragon was letting happen to Fetch.

I bent to seize Fetch, only to this time sense the sword. Peering around, I focused on the old wooden table sitting to the side. Other than a coffee cup and a pack of cigarettes, the table was empty.

“Wait a minute,” I ordered the others. Although still angry with the dragon, I asked for his vision. He granted it without a word.

And there, through the dragon’s emerald gaze, I saw the sword just sitting there. Hidden from ordinary view.

Yeah, too easy.

We didn’t have much time, but that didn’t mean I was so naive as to believe that Her Lady’s gift would be that easy to recover.

I bent down and looked at the underside of the table. Sure enough, there was a surprise waiting for me . . . but not the surprise I’d been expecting. Someone had fashioned a nice little explosive that would probably go off if I jostled the table even the slightest.

I gritted my teeth as I fought down my hatred for Galerius. I knew exactly what he’d intended with this setup. Yeah, it could’ve killed me. Odds were greater, though, that the dragon’s power would’ve meant I survived with some damage he’d heal soon after.

My gaze flickered back to Claryce before returning to the bomb. Galerius hadn’t set this up to kill me; he’d planned my actions to be the catalyst that’d kill her.

“You filthy . . .” I studied the setup again. There wasn’t any way I could see by which I could undo things without an explosion I had no doubt would encompass this room.

“Is the sword there?” Claryce asked with clear growing anxiety.

“Yeah, but he’s left a little gift with it. Can you two carry Fetch out to the Packard?”

“I think we could, but what are you going to do?”

“Take care of matters. Get Fetch out. Now.”

Thankfully, rather than argue, they both obeyed. I knew from experience that while large, Fetch was surprisingly light . . . unless he pounced on you. After some initial awkwardness, they carried him out.

I was tempted to leave the thugs we’d fought, but finally dragged them from the room to where I estimated they’d be safe. Then, returning to the table, I stared at the sword. I decided I’d make one quick yank, then dive for the window. Maybe I’d save the dragon some trouble healing me, and myself some extra pain.

Taking a deep breath, I grabbed the hilt.

The bomb exploded before I could even manage a step. I’d already braced for the worst . . . and then the sword flared so bright I was half-blinded for a moment.

What little I could see astonished me, no small trick. For just an instant, the table and everything above and below it became engulfed in an inferno. I’d guessed wrong about the intensity of the blast. Gale-rius had intended to take out the entire building just in case I caught on. The blast would’ve sent piles of debris down on the street.

But what neither he nor I had counted on was the sword. The flaring light met the explosion just a couple of feet away from me. Both froze for a second . . . and then the full force of the blast vanished into the blade.

The entire sword turned a fiery crimson. The hilt grew so hot I nearly let go.

The crimson faded, Her Lady’s gift becoming charcoal gray. Suddenly, the weapon felt as if it weighed ten times as much.

I gripped it tighter. Returning it to its hiding place proved a lot more difficult. It was almost as if only a fraction of its power remained.

Once the sword had been dealt with, I hurried—staggered, actually—out of the building and to the others.

Claryce jumped out of the Packard and helped me the last few steps. As I climbed in, I saw that Louise Crying Wolf had Fetch’s head in her lap and was muttering rhythmically.

“Something she recalled from her grandmother,” Claryce explained. “It seems to be keeping him stable . . . I don’t know . . . maybe I just hope it is.”

“Anything’s welcome at this point.” I started up the Packard. “I need to find a phone.”

“There was a drugstore about a mile back.”

“That’ll do.”

I broke speed limits as best I could until we got to the drugstore. As I struggled my way out of the car, Claryce came around to assist. I didn’t argue. Everything we’d been through had weakened the dragon, too. I also didn’t trust seeking too much of his help when I was like this. At these times, there was always the chance he’d try to usurp control. He’d done it before.

There were narrow phone booths at the rear of the store. With an apologetic look to Claryce, I slipped into one.

Giving the operator the number and the right coins, I waited while the phone rang. The moment I heard the click indicating someone had picked up, I spoke. “Fetch is bad off. I need your skills. No argument. You know where the safe house is. Go there immediately.”

There was a pause . . . and then a single word.

“Yes.”

I hung up. As I stepped out of the phone booth, I nearly lost my balance. Claryce grabbed me and slung by arm around her shoulder. We both ignored the cashier’s look as we headed toward the car.

“Who’d you call?”

“The only one I know who could help Fetch at this point.”

“Doctor Fremd?”

I shook my head. “No. For something more human, I’d go to her just like I did for Barnaby when he got injured. No, not with Fetch. He can’t pass for human, and it’d look suspicious for her to be treating an animal. This requires someone with ties to Feirie. Someone who’s had the gift and that we can trust.”

Claryce frowned. “Oh, Nick! Not—”

“Yeah. I called Kravayik.”

CHAPTER 16

I left Claryce and Louise Crying Wolf down in the former millinery while I carried Fetch up to the safe house. Whatever our new companion had been chanting had indeed kept Fetch from worsening, but I wasn’t going to relax at all until Kravayik arrived.

Returning to the shop, I pointed at Louise Crying Wolf. “You are to remain quiet once Kravayik gets here. I appreciate all you’ve done, but your part in this ends once you leave here.”

“Nick!”

“She needs to really understand. It’s bad enough you have to be part of this. You were given no choice.” To Louise Crying Wolf, I added, “Forget Feirie . . . and if you can’t, demand Laertes tell you all about Oberon and his queen. Clearly he hasn’t, otherwise you’d never have mixed Feirie with the realms of your people—”

I stopped, not because of the defiant expression on her face but because we had a visitor.

“I came as quickly as I could,” Kravayik quietly remarked.

Louise Crying Wolf gaped. Sure, she’d been hanging around Laertes, but the differences between Laertes and Kravayik were many. Most were subtle, but put all together they made Kravayik stand out even among his kind.

He was tall and extremely lanky. Handsome like all male elves, but with a darkness to his cast that made him more foreboding. His eyes were a little too large and his nose a little too small, but somehow it worked perfectly. Kravayik had a narrow face and an intense gaze few could match.

With his slim, tapering hands, he removed the simple brown overcoat he wore. I’d expected Kravayik to come dressed something like a monk, as that wasn’t an uncommon look for him when acting as a caretaker at Holy Name. Instead, he wore a simple, serviceable brown suit that still made him look far more dapper than me.

“Can you help him?” asked Claryce, her mind on the most important of things.

“I do not know.” Kravayik gave us both an apologetic look. “Master Nicholas, it has been so very long since I made such use of my powers. In fact I worry about even trying. It may be a mortal sin—”

“First, you’re not mortal. Second, are you going to take the chance of Fetch dying? What does your faith say about that?”

“It is your faith as well.”

“Maybe, but at this point, you probably have a more direct line to him. At, least, he’s more likely to answer.”

Louise Crying Wolf continued to stare at Kravayik. He finally acknowledged her with a slight nod. “Forgive me. I am Kravayik. I did not catch your name, but I perceive you are one of the indigenous people. Have you been baptized?”

“Don’t get started on that,” I warned him. “Yeah, she’s been baptized. She’s also gone through a lot of rough patches in life without you acting like a missionary.”

“But of course she has. I am remiss. The schools, the forced relocations, the eradication of her heritage. That was not the way of the Lord. I hope you understand that, child. Those were tragedies caused by mistaken beliefs. I can appreciate that, my own past being one filled with mistaken beliefs for which I still attempt to atone.”

It’d been years since Kravayik had converted and, while I could appreciate his commitment to his beliefs, there were times when he made me feel like one guilty saint. Atoning was something I’d never been too good at.

Louise Crying Wolf showed him her medallion. “I don’t condemn my faith, Father, but neither do I condemn my heritage.”

Kravayik looked aghast. “‘Father’? You honor me, but I am simply Kravayik the sinner.”

She was about to reply, but I cut in. “Kravayik. I know you’re stalling. We need your powers for Fetch. Are you going to help or not?”

He spread his hands. “I do not wish to summon those ungodly forces, and yet how could I deny helping another? Let me see.”

Moving over to Fetch, Kravayik studied the injuries. He ran his hands just a couple of inches above the body, pausing here and there.

“Well?” I finally asked, getting a little impatient.

“The wounds are deep on more than one level,” he replied.

I fought back my frustration. “Can you help him?”

Kravayik slowly nodded. “Yes.”

“Then get on with it.”

He’d once been the most feared of Her Lady’s servants. I had no doubt that he still retained most of the skills that’d made him so. Still, all he did now was give me an apologetic look, then shift his hands to a spot where I assumed Fetch’s heart was approximately located.

His fingertips glowed faintly. Kravayik started to shut his eyes, then opened them wider instead. “I would prefer to do this unseen. Please.”

I looked at Claryce. She nodded and silently led Louise Crying Wolf out of the apartment.

Kravayik looked at me.

“You’re lucky Claryce didn’t stay, too. Get going.”

Kravayik focused again. I watched as his fingertips got even brighter.

Then, a change came over his appearance, one that made even me flinch. Those inhuman looks got a lot more inhuman, to the point where I moved my hand near where I stored Her Lady’s gift. Kra-vayik’s features took on a monstrous cast, becoming akin to a skull over which some psychotic had stretched a mask of dried, gray skin. His eyes filled with blood, and his hands twisted until they almost reminded me of the dragon’s paws.

He started muttering in another tongue. Not the Latin for which he’d found a fascination, but the ancient language of Feirie. It had some sounds similar to Latin, maybe due to ancient mixing of the two.

I’d understood from the beginning why he’d been hesitant. His absolute rejection of all things Feirie, including his innate powers, had been the most likely reason he’d been able to do the impossible and not only step safely onto hallowed ground, but reside on it.

The glow from his fingertips spread to Fetch’s body, then quickly covered Fetch from head to toe. Kravayik continued to mutter.

I felt a heat in my chest. It took me a moment to realize that the sword was stirring because of Kravayik. I took a couple steps back and the heat faded.

Fetch shook violently. At the same time, Kravayik moaned. I couldn’t do anything, which frustrated me. As I watched, Fetch writhed around on the couch as if trying to escape his very flesh. He whined and nearly scratched Kravayik in the face. The elf just barely evaded the paw, not for one second losing control of his spell.

Raising his voice, Kravayik planted his fingers on Fetch. Sparks actually flew where he touched.

Fetch yelped . . . then stopped moving.

“Do not intercede!” Kravayik shouted.

I didn’t realize I was moving until then. The heat in my chest rose again, verifying Kravayik’s demand. I forced myself back. Fetch shivered once.

A black mist shot from his body into Kravayik’s fingers. He gasped as the mist seeped into him. Now the elf shivered. Kravayik started to slump forward, but forced himself straight again.

The last of the mist faded into Kravayik. With a final shudder, he fell back. His face and form returned to normal, although he did have a haggard expression.

“I could use . . . use some coffee. If that is all right.”

“Yeah. Sure.” I went over to the American Metal Ware electric percolator Claryce and I’d recently installed in the kitchen and poured a cup.

Kravayik gratefully took the coffee. He took a sip, then made a face. “This is coffee?”

“Yeah, it’s coffee. Drink.”

Kravayik took another sip, then set the cup down. And far away. “He will recover fully within the hour.”

“Thanks. I mean that. Do you want to lie down or something? You look all out.”

Before he could answer, Fetch let out a growl and picked up his head. Blinking, he looked up and saw the elf.

“They’re safe . . . Kravayik . . . snug as bugs in a—”

Kravayik flinched at the mention of his name. Fetch struggled to finish, but then his eyes lost focus. He whined and fell unconscious again.

I leaned over Fetch. A slight moan escaped him, then silence.

“Don’t skip out,” I warned Kravayik without looking back. I peered over my shoulder and saw I’d been correct. Kravayik stood near the door, his overcoat already on. Yeah, he hadn’t lost any edge since his days serving Her Lady.

“My apologies. I believed my services here at an end. I must get back. It will be difficult to get a taxi from here.”

“Don’t play games,” I returned. “I expect better from you, Kra-vayik. I thought you left all that behind when you saw the light . . . or are you having second thoughts?”

His expression hardened. I’d hit him in the most sensitive spot. “Never!” Then, looking abashed, Kravayik added, “Forgive the outburst. I am ashamed.”

“Just tell me this. What was Fetch referring to? And come to think of it, is it why you were so damned reluctant to come here in the first place? The card’s safe, right? I wouldn’t have called you if I didn’t think it was.”

He drifted back into the apartment. Yes, “drifted.” I swear I didn’t see his legs move. Maybe he’d found the light years ago, but there were elements of Feirie that would always be a part of him, no matter how much he embraced his faith.

“First, yes, the card is secure. It is not what you might think. You know very well what is taking place in Feirie. She has begun the purge she always intended but feared to put into place until she could be absolutely certain Oberon was dead. You thought he perished during the Night the Dragon Breathed, but there was no absolute evidence.”

“There was pretty damn good evidence.”

“Which proved to be inaccurate, as we recently discovered. We born of Feirie are a devious people—although humans can certainly impress us with their own depths—and Oberon was the master.”

There was no denying that. Even while he had everything else in play, he’d worked for several human generations molding the Delke business dynasty. I still wasn’t sure if there’d even been any Delkes. At the very least, Oberon had, with the aid of his elven and human services, created a formidable base of power in the mortal plane.

“He even knew the Gate would eventually reach Chicago, did you know that, Master Nicholas? He had calculated its eventual course even before it touched the New World.”

“Yeah. I figured that out.” It’d been long after the fact, but I’d finally deduced it. “We’re wandering far afield, though. What about Fetch? Remember him?”

Kravayik bent and retrieved his cup. This time, he took a longer sip. Putting the cup down again, he muttered, “It must have to grow on you.” To me, the elf finally said, “The chaos is magnifying. She will accept nothing less than absolute control. The slightest infraction is seen as betrayal . . . and you know how she feels about betrayal.”

“Yeah.” I was also beginning to see where this was going . . . and I didn’t like it. “This is about the Wyld. The ones he’s been helping. The ones he shouldn’t be helping! Damn it, Kravayik! You’re helping him! I knew this had to be more than just him!”

For sixteen hundred years, I’d been tasked with keeping passage through the Gate at a minimum. I’d also been tasked with dealing with those Wyld that managed to infiltrate the mortal plane. My record wasn’t stellar, but it wasn’t too bad, either.

But it would’ve been a lot better if I hadn’t constantly been betrayed. I was beginning to appreciate some of Her Lady’s frustration.

Kravayik didn’t deny my accusation. He spread his hands. “How could I not? How could I not try to offer them the salvation offered me?”

“These are Wyld we’re talking about!”

“I am not speaking of the dark things you rightly battle, Master Nicholas. These are the weak, the defenseless—”

I scoffed. “Nothing of Feirie is defenseless. I warned Fetch. I was too forgiving in the first place. I should’ve had him surrender them.”

“But for what final purpose? Would you have planned to execute each of them? You forgave both Fetch and I for our past sins, and both of us had particularly harsh, brutal backgrounds.”

“That was different.”

Kravayik smiled sadly. “Yes. It was exceptionally forgiving. These refugees have done nothing compared to us.”

“What’ve you been doing with them?”

“Finding places of safety, places where being what they are will not affect either them or the humans.”

I didn’t like this one bit, but for now I couldn’t do much about it. I had too many problems just with Galerius. “This is insane, Kra-vayik, and it can’t go on.”

“I agree. She must be made to put an end to her purge.”

“That is not what I meant.”

Eye could singe him, interrupted the dragon, finally stirred enough to take part. Just a little bit. He might see sense then. What a fool. . .

While I couldn’t argue the fool part, I declined his suggestion.“No.”

Kravayik’s eyes widened. “I am the subject of discourse with him. I think it best I go.”

“This can’t last. You know that. And I mean what you two are doing. You know her, Kravayik. She’ll take this personal. That’s not good.”

“This was personal long ago, Master Nicholas. You made it so when you accepted that.” He pointed at my chest at exactly where I’d felt the sword. “You have no idea what that meant . . . and it can never be undone.”

More damned riddles. “Just what do you mean by—”

Fetch whined. I glanced at him, but he settled down almost immediately.

I returned my attention to the elf. “So just what—?”

Kravayik was gone.

“Damned elf.”

You should have let me singe him. Just a little.

“There’s nothing little where you’re concerned. You’d have ended up setting the entire block on fire.”

It would have been glorious, though . . .

“Yeah. Okay.” I considered going after Kravayik, but realized he was already long gone. Instead, I knelt down by Fetch to better inspect his condition. He’d been cut open pretty bad in the process, but even those wounds had healed. Outwardly, he looked much better.

His eyes opened. They were a little unfocused at first, but finally they fixed on me. “All . . . copacetic . . . copacetic? . . . Master Nicholas . . .”

He went back to sleep before I could respond.

“Did it work?” Claryce called. “Where’s Kravayik?”

“Done and gone,” I answered as I stood. Claryce was alone. “Where’s our other friend?”

“Some promise to Laertes. Apparently, she owes him a lot. She clearly didn’t want to go, especially with Kravayik here. So he just left after he finished?”

“Yeah. Fetch looks to be doing better, so I can’t fault him on leaving.”

Stepping up next to me, she eyed Fetch. “So, what now?”

“Now, we both get some rest. As soon as I can, though, I need to make a stop at the house.”

“God, that’s right! We never really got around to it!”

“You take the bed. Tomorrow, we’ll go to your apartment first, then, assuming nothing happens in the meantime, head to the house from there.”

“All right.” She paused. “Are you certain you don’t want to use the bed? You know if you want to, I’ll certainly be agreeable to it.”

I answered by dropping into the chair closest to Fetch.

“I’ll take that as a ‘no, I don’t.’” Claryce turned away. Just before she shut the door, she added, “Pity.”

By the time I figured out what she meant, it was far too late to do anything that wouldn’t have been very awkward and likely embarrassing . . . at least for me.

The dragon’s sniggering certainly didn’t make things any better

I woke to Fetch’s howl. Hell, the dead would’ve woken to Fetch’s howl.

Claryce burst out of the bedroom brandishing her revolver. The Smith & Wesson wasn’t the only thing she was brandishing, either. Her slip wasn’t covering up very much.

Fetch stared wide-eyed from me to Claryce and back again. His ears flattened, and he looked as if he wanted to bury himself in the corner of the couch.

“Master Nicholas! Mistress Claryce! Ye must be forgiving me for either. my cry! I dreamed someone stuck a shiv in my belly and then sliced me to my throat! I’d never be dreaming of interrupting the two of ye—”

“You’re fine, Fetch,” I interrupted. “At least, now you are. Gale-rius had you done over badly, but Kravayik healed the damage.”

If anything, his ears flattened more. “Kravayik? He healed me? But he’s sworn off that life!”

“He just did enough to help you.”

“Better to have left me, Master! He’s done himself no good helping the likes of me. Now, she’ll sense it back in him!”

I sat up. “Who and what?”

Fetch cocked his head. “Why, herself! Do ye not know she can now try to reach out from Feirie and touch his thoughts? Think what a triumph for her to bring him back into her Court!”

Claryce lowered the revolver. “That doesn’t sound good, Nick.”

“No, and it would’ve been nice of Kravayik to mention that outright.”

“Kravayik’s the cat’s meow, Master Nicholas! Once ye mentioned me, I doubt he could really refuse. Maybe weakly, so the refusal’s easy to overcome, but that’s it.”

I rubbed my jaw as I considered the fact that he still had access to the one Clothos card with which I was familiar. “We’ll just have to keep an eye on him, I guess.”

“Aye.”

Shoving aside that new concern, I said. “He also told me about the two of you and the Wyld.”

Fetch’s tail sagged. “I’ve been careful, just as promised! I wouldn’t betray ye, Master Nicholas! Not me! I’m a straight shooter, Scout’s honor!”

“What’re you doing?”

“Just finding refuge for the weak, innocent ones—”

I managed to arch an eyebrow. “Innocent Wyld? That’s a contradiction.”

“’Tis as I told ye once before, these are creatures of little power and no risk to humans. Surely Kravayik said the same.”

“Never mind what Kravayik said and what you said earlier. Besides that, I never figured you and Kravayik would work together on anything.”

Fetch looked more and more like a dog who’d just been discovered having run across the carpet with muddy paws. “Aye, we’ve not been close, but I found one little one I couldn’t figure out what to do with and finally trotted over to the cathedral. Whined and howled until Kravayik came out to see. Couldn’t speak a word to him, but showed him my problem. He understood.”

I’d wondered about how they’d communicated, considering the only way Fetch could speak in the mortal plane was if he was near me. Still, a lack of voice didn’t mean a lack of ingenuity, apparently. “Let me guess . . . and then you abused his generosity and brought him another and then another and so on.”

“Actually, he told me to do so. I think . . . I think Kravayik said once he saw it as being what he was called to do now because of his strong faith. Wanted to keep the soul he’d gained, maybe.” Fetch shook his head. “And now, because of me, he might lose all that.”

“Is he really that much at risk?” Claryce questioned.

“With herself involved? Aye.”

“Well, we’ll just have to see he stays okay,” I insisted. “For the moment, though, we need to head over to Old Town.”

“I guess I’d better get dressed.” Claryce reached the doorway to the bedroom, then paused there . . . which I have to admit I appreciated. “Can we stop at my apartment for a minute before we head to the house?”

“Sure, but we’re not going to go directly to the house when we get to Old Town.” I reached over to the table and retrieved Kravayik’s coffee. Cold as it was, it still hit the spot at the moment. “I need to stop at St. Michael’s.”

She gave me a quizzical look. “To talk with Diocles? We can stop at another church on the way, if that’s more convenient.”

“Oh, I want to talk with Diocles, no doubt about it, but I need to go specifically to St. Michael’s. I need to talk with Father Jonathan . . .”

CHAPTER 17

I’d made use of Old Town as my base of operations for years. I’d purchased an innocent-looking Queen Anne—style house in a very normal neighborhood and then promptly made certain that the dragon’s power enveloped the area in something akin to a forgetting spell. The neighbors knew someone lived in my house, but really never cared to find out who. It’d worked out just fine for nearly three decades.

Of late, though, I’d come to wonder if it was really safe to go back. What the neighbors didn’t remember was that the house had been thoroughly destroyed by Oberon’s minions. The building now standing there had been raised up by Her Lady’s efforts. It’d been no small feat on her part, considering she’d done it from Feirie, and I knew it’d cost her plenty. It’d been done in part because she’d been doing her best to keep me working against Oberon.

Everything had been reconstructed down to the letter. I didn’t take any comfort in the fact that she’d obviously gathered the burnt remains and in many cases “refreshed” them. There was the taint of Feirie on everything.

But I had to make use of the house.

Fortunately, there was still St. Michael’s first. Generally, I parked close by, but not at the church itself. I never liked to draw such immediate attention to any place I frequented. That tended to eventually get them destroyed. This time, though, I parked as close as I could get without actually being on hallowed ground.

Neither Claryce nor I were too keen on leaving Fetch by himself, but he insisted on pressing both of us to go inside.

“All’s copacetic, Master Nicholas! Any palooka comes around, he’ll get what he deserves, ab-so-lute-ly!”

“If you’re starting up on all the slang again, then you must be fully recovered,” I remarked. “All right, but we won’t be long . . . and if anything does happen, make sure you howl us a warning immediately. Understand?”

“Yes, Master Nicholas!”

A minute later, Claryce and I entered the church. We were barely inside when Diocles popped up. He solemnly bowed his head toward me, then gave Claryce a welcoming smile.

“Can you still see him?”

“He’s clearer than ever.”

I grunted. “Pity.”

She made an exasperated face. “How can you hold such resentment against him for so long? He’s tried so much to make up for things. Don’t you think sixteen hundred years punishment is enough?”

“No.”

“Nick! I’ve seen you with him. There’s obviously a part of you that wants to set him free.”

A door opened. Father Jonathan peered out. “Nick! Miss Simone. What can I do for you?”

I looked from the priest to Claryce . . . and then even Diocles before returning my attention to the good Father. “Your predecessor should’ve mentioned he was holding something for me.”

“Did he? Let me—” His eyes widened. “Of course! Forgive me! It’s been years.”

Years for him. Decades for me since the last time. “I’d like to retrieve it.”

“Oh, of course! Come with me . . . uh, I’m afraid it’s in a place that would be inconvenient for me to have Miss Simone witness . . .”

“I’ll be fine out here for a few minutes, Nick.”

There wasn’t much choice. “I won’t be long.”

She was as curious as the priest was about what I’d wanted to retrieve from St. Michael’s. I’d asked her to wait to find out. It’d be easier to explain once she saw it.

I quickly followed him into his private quarters. Father Jonathan was nervous. He’d never seen what I’d asked Father Peter to keep safe, and I was sure that it bothered him that I’d appeared to have trusted the older priest more than him. Of course, Father Peter had known the truth about Feirie, something I hoped to spare his successor.

“The space is here,” he explained, as he reached an old armoire. “Obscured by . . . personal items, as he suggested.”

I didn’t bother to interrupt and tell him that Father Peter has arranged everything per my instructions. “I appreciate all this.”

“Father Peter said it was something very precious and well-suited to being a part of the church.” He began moving aside things until he made a small space at the back interior. Then, with the utmost care, he slid a small panel to the side. “I understand he said you inherited it . . . whatever it is, I mean. I swear I have never looked.”

“I trust you.” I did, really. I just didn’t want him trapped by the truth. My world was too dangerous for him. I’d had no choice with Father Peter; he’d discovered everything on his own. He’d also nearly paid for that discovery more than once through the years.

“Here we are.” The priest pulled free a flat, wooden box, worn with age. He eyed it longingly, clearly wondering what he’d guarded for so long.

At this point, I figured I owed him that. I carefully opened the lid and pulled out something about seven inches long, wrapped in a deep purple cloth. As Father Jonathan watched, I unwrapped the contents.

The moment he saw it, he made a cross and murmured in Latin. “Is it real? I mean, it must be for you to take such care, but—”

I held up the T-shaped artifact so that he could see it better. Father Jonathan crossed himself once more.

“It’s real,” I finally answered. “Been in my family for some sixteen hundred years.” It’d actually been in my custody for all that time, but I couldn’t exactly say that.

“It is—it is a cross, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Sixteen hundred years ago, that design had been pretty much one of the accepted representations, the more modern and now prevailing design gaining dominance about a century later.

“And you inherited this?”

I heard the hint of uncertainty. Despite being a fairly simple cross, it was obviously real, and invaluable because of its age. There were a few scratches so worn away only I knew what they’d once meant, and a simple fish symbol.

Who’d put it in my tomb, I never found out. When the Gate and the dragon’s blood had brought me back, it’d been one of the few things Galerius’s men hadn’t stripped away. I guess to them it had been worthless. It hadn’t been made from gold or anything else of value. Still, when I’d awakened, I’d found myself clutching it tight.

It had been with me for centuries before I realized it had another purpose.

“My family traces back to a place called Silene,” I told him, twisting facts around as usual. “It’s been with someone of my blood ever since.” Another twist, but true. I just happened to be that “someone” for all sixteen centuries.

“This . . . this should be in a museum . . . or at the Vatican,” murmured Father Jonathan.

“Maybe someday.” I put the cloth back in the box and handed that to him. “You’ll need this. I’ll bring the cross back once I’m through with it.”

“What are you planning to do with it . . . if I may ask?”

I carefully tucked the cross in an inner pocket on the opposite side from the sword. “Pray, of course.”

He chuckled. “But of course.”

“Thank you. We’ll just be a few minutes out there, then leave. Is that all right?”

“Hasn’t it been, Nick?”

“Thanks again, Father.”

The priest made another cross. “Blessings upon you, Nick.”

I returned to Claryce, who was looking too chummy with Diocles. I’d hoped he’d vanished, but I should’ve known better.

“We’re done here,” I declared. “except for a couple of questions I have for you, Diocles.”

“We were just discussing some things,” Claryce interjected. “About Galerius and my—”

I cut her off. “Galerius is who I need to talk about. Diocles, I need you to think some more. Galerius was dying of some awful stuff. He had gangrene and more. We spoke about his search for cures. Can you recall anything else?”

“That is what she was trying to tell you before your rudeness to her,” the ghost replied with an air of offense. “Truly, you have lost your manners! I expect nothing less with me, but the princess—”

“I’m not a princess now, Diocles,” she pointed out, “and Nick’s just impatient about Galerius. You understand that, don’t you?”

He bowed to her. Again. “As you say, Lady Claryce. But I met you then—”

“Hold on!” I blurted loudly. Both of them looked at me as if I’d just disavowed Heaven here in the church. Fighting to keep my voice level, I continued, “What do you mean, you met her then? How does this slip your mind, Diocles?”

“I am a ghost, Georgius! A shade. I am cursed to follow you around until such time as you forgive me . . . which at this point will likely not occur until long after Judgment Day.” He went through the pretense of taking a calming breath, never mind the fact that he didn’t breathe. “It was not long after I began to feel ill. Like Galerius, I made my own searches for a cure. Even secretly visited other lands, not all that easy when even as a former emperor your face is still on coins.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. You didn’t look any more like your image on those coins than I look like those Rudy Valentino images on all those posters.”

“Hmmph. Well, eventually I learned of a new avenue of hope. Word reached me of the mystic properties of various mighty beasts, especially those considered most . . . exotic.”

Inside me, the dragon hissed. Couldn’t say that I blamed him. “You were after his bones!”

“Bones, scales, teeth . . . all proclaimed to have healing properties.”

“Well, clearly that didn’t work out.”

He spread his hands. “I would not know. There was nothing to find. No trace.”

That didn’t make any sense. “Wait. Are you trying to tell me you couldn’t find any remains . . . of a dragon?”

“Not a trace. Others had come before me, evidently stripping everything, including the flesh from the—”

Make him stop! Silence him! Eye will burn him! Eye will burn all of them!

The outburst came so abruptly, so powerfully, that it shook me to the core. I weaved toward the pews and nearly collapsed into them.

“Nick!” Claryce was instantly at my side. She helped me sit. Diocles had his hands stretched toward me, forgetting that they’d just pass through my body.

“Are you all right?” She looked me over. “What happened?”

“I think we just discovered a sore spot with him,” I muttered.

“The dragon? Why would—oh. Of course.”

The ghost frowned. “My apologies! I did not think—”

“Just . . . spare some details. Nothing remained. Your hopes were dashed.”

“I was about to return home when I had a secret visitor. The princess.”

I looked at Claryce. “This ring a bell with you?”

“No . . . but it sounds like the truth. I only remember little bits from Clarissa and Claudette . . . nothing older as far as I can tell.”

“I swear I speak nothing but the truth.” Diocles put a hand over his heart. The pledge might’ve meant more to me if he had a heart still beating. “She came disguised and her manner was furtive. I’d forgotten, since at the time it seemed it ended in nothing. Now, though, I think there was more to it.”

Diocles hadn’t even been sure at first who Cleolinda had been. A princess from a far off, tiny realm engulfed by the great empire wasn’t something the former emperor would have paid attention to. It was only when he learned of her link to me that he reluctantly agreed to meet her.

That guilt for both the Great Persecution and my beheading had already been eating at him didn’t make me feel any more sympathetic. Diocles had known he was dying; I knew he’d decided to meet with Cleolinda in part to try to cleanse his soul.

He did surprise me at this moment by admitting it, though.

“I finally said I would grant her an audience, but not so much out of respect for her. I hoped Heaven might look favorably on me at least a little if I could make amends with someone who had been a part of your life.”

Instead, to his surprise, Cleolinda had tried to offer him a lifeline.

She’d come to Diocles with a small fragment from the dragon, a piece of scale. There’d been more, but the princess had already given that away a little at a time to any in need of the possible healing properties.

“I clutched that scale to my bosom as if my own child, Georgius. I knew the potential power it held. Indeed, I abased myself before her, so grateful was I.”

“So what went wrong?” I asked. “You didn’t recover. Was it all a myth . . . the scale’s power?”

“I would not know. It was stolen from me as I made my way back to Dalmatia.” He hesitated. “I desperately sought to contact the princess to see if she might have any other relic from the dragon. I learned then to my horror that though it was officially proclaimed that she had passed from an illness of her own . . . she had been, in fact, murdered.”

I so wanted Galerius’s neck at that moment.

Claryce touched my hands, which I only then noticed were clenched tightly together. “Easy, Nick.”

More pieces of the puzzle slipped into place. The scale, and maybe whatever else Galerius had stolen from Diocles and Cleolinda, must’ve been how he’d survived all these centuries. Somewhere along the way, he’d also learned about the Clothos Deck. “The dragon and the deck. He found a way to more than just survive. He found a way to thrive, damn him . . .”

“I fear that is so. My apologies, but I brought it up to Lady Claryce while you were in there in the hopes that she might recall something about when Galerius took whatever she had. I thought that perhaps there was some clue.”

“You thought you’d just remind her of when she died? Yeah, that sounds like you, Diocles. Cold to the core. Not caring who you hurt—”

“Nick! I want to remember!”

“It was sixteen hundred years ago, Claryce! You said yourself you can barely remember much from a few decades past. This does nothing but stir old, dark deeds. It accomplishes nothing useful!”

“We were just discussing a way to possibly overcome that,” she countered.

“Mesmerism, I believe they called it a century ago,” Diocles had the audacity to add.

Claryce shook her head. “Hypnotism is more accurate.”

“I know what it was called then and I know what it’s called now.” I gave him a foul look. “And the good emperor failed to mention the trouble I had with an acolyte of Mesmer, didn’t he?”

“It has been over for—”

“The man tried to fiddle with things beyond him! He nearly let the dragon loose!”

At least Claryce seemed to find that disturbing. “Through hypnotism? How? Why would you allow him to try it on you?”

“I didn’t! This so-called expert had been delving too much into the Feirie world in the mistaken belief that it’d help strengthen his knowledge and skills. Instead, he ended up with a Wyld manipulating him. Herr Goettelman got his stronger abilities, all right, and then used them to pry my mind open . . . just like the Wyld had wanted all the time.”

“Oh, Nick . . .”

“The man apologized a thousand times over, Georgius. You gave him forgiveness, as I recall.”

“Only to shut him up. He kept babbling in German.”

Claryce was quiet for a moment, then, “I still think it’s worth a try. If we can find someone trustworthy enough.”

“The dwarf seems an honest fellow,” Diocles of course had to offer.

“No!” I snapped too late.

“Dwarf?” She looked puzzled. My glare kept the emperor from clarifying, but Claryce figured it out, anyway. “You mean Barnaby! He knows hypnotism?”

I tried. “No. He doesn’t. Diocles is mistaken.”

“I know that tone. Don’t lie, Nick. It’s settled, then. We’ll go see Barnaby.”

“Claryce . . .”

“No argument.” She stood. “I assume you got what you wanted from Father Jonathan. May I finally see it? I gather Diocles knows what it is, but out of respect for you he didn’t say anything.”

“Sure. That he stays mum about.” I pulled out the cross.

Claryce was properly impressed . . . and startled. “I’ve seen that before!”

I wracked my memory, but couldn’t recall when I’d shown it to either her or one of her previous incarnations, and I told her this.

She continued to stare at it. “I know I have . . . and that it might be important.” Claryce looked defiant. “Now we have another reason to see Barnaby about hypnotism.”

I gave up. “All right. We stop at the house, then call Barnaby. Maybe he’s made better sense of Joseph’s papers by now.”

“Fare you well, my lady,” Diocles said to her as he added yet another bow. “I pray it all works out for you.”

“Thank you, Diocles.”

“Yeah. Thanks a lot,” I added gruffly.

The late emperor had the nerve to make an exasperated face before fading away.

I carefully put the cross back in its hiding place. Thankfully, we finally left St. Michael’s and returned to Fetch.

“Anything out of the ordinary?” I asked as we climbed into the Packard.

“Everything’s copacetic, Master Nicholas!”

“Okay, that’s one that’s getting on my nerves.”

“All’s swell?” he tried, his expression dog-innocent.

Claryce chuckled. I shook my head and started up the car.

We arrived at the house a short time later. I noticed a car parked near the doctor who lived a short distance from me. There was no outward sign, but I suspected he had a patient he’d prefer not show up at his office.

“What’s the matter?”

“The war’s getting a little too close to home. Literally.”

She cautiously peered in the direction I’d been looking. “Capone’s?”

“Most likely. Might be another reason to move soon.”

Everything about the Queen Anne looked normal. The lawn was neat and with little landscaping that would allow anything human or otherwise to hide. The house itself appeared to have been kept up well, with only minor hints of weathering despite the tempestuous Chicago winters.

We entered to find my eclectic collection of furniture seeming pretty intact, along with the other pieces I’d gathered over the centuries. In the hall, a candlestick telephone stood waiting. It didn’t get much use, of course, since nearly all the incoming calls were from those in desperate need of my “ghostbusting” skills. For the rest of humanity, the number didn’t exist.

Fetch made a beeline to the kitchen—and, more importantly, the Kelvinator—to see how well I’d stocked food supplies. Never mind how well he’d eaten at the safe house.

“I’d better see that he leaves something,” Claryce offered.

“Go ahead. I think I know what I want to check first in my files.”

I went to the room I used as a makeshift office. There, I opened one of the cabinets filled with news articles from Chicago papers past and present. Grabbing the thick files I wanted, I dove into my task.

Claryce joined me without me even noticing. I eyed the cup of coffee she’d set next to me. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me. I’d hate to think what that tar would be doing to your insides if you were like regular folks.” She studied a couple of the clippings. “These are pretty old. The Chicago Democrat? I’ve never even heard of that.”

“Hmm? Joined with the Trib around the start of the war.”

“Which war?”

“Sorry. The Civil War.”

“‘The Civil War,’ he says.” After digesting that for a moment—an uncomfortable moment for me—Claryce said, “These mostly seem to be about ships lost on the lake.”

“Some.”

She picked up a couple more articles. “The Chicago Express. The Chicago Democratic Press. These are some pretty obscure ones.”

“Sometimes they have the most helpful articles.” I sat back. “But not this time. I’ve referenced several stories, crossed them with others, but got very little. Galerius’s done a good job of keeping things mum. I have two articles vaguely mentioning something monstrous out in Lake Michigan, but nothing else.”

“What’re you trying to find?”

I shoved the files aside. “Odd events out in the lake, especially ones coinciding with certain other events.”

While I’d explained, she’d been going over a few clippings herself.

“I don’t even know how well we can trust any of the eyewitness accounts. This one article has the man who survived one sinking dismissed as not a credible witness in part because he kept insisting the captain was a man named Edwards and records said the actual name was Stockton.”

That made me think of something else I’d read. I grabbed the clippings I’d gone through and searched.

“What is it?”

“I’m not sure. Hold on.”

I went through article after article. Finally, I located the one I wanted. I read through it three times before making a decision.

“Well?”

“Here’s something of interest. Three men. Survivors of a schooner. Adrift in the middle of the lake for two days because of violent storms preventing rescue. About twenty years after your story. Capable men, all with years of sailing.”

Claryce leaned close. “So what’s the catch?”

“According to this, the three men kept insisting that they were from the Vincent Charles, but all records indicate a different name for their vessel.”

“Maybe they were just confused after their ordeal.”

“Two them had been part of the crew for a decade, it says. All records show no Vincent Charles existing.”

She compared the two stories. “What kind of connection are you trying to make?”

“The one I least want to make,” I answered, as I downed a good swallow of coffee and sat back. “Facts that seemed to have changed for all but those caught directly in the events. Like what happened with the Tribune Tower even though it wasn’t at the center of Oberon’s plans.”

Her expression suddenly mirrored my concerns. “Nick . . . you’re not saying—”

“Yeah.” I stared at the two seemingly innocuous articles. “Not only does Galerius have access to a different card from the Clothos Deck, but he’s apparently been using its powers near Chicago for at least a century . . .”

CHAPTER 18

Claryce and I agreed not to mention this to anyone else, even Barnaby. Fetch was the only exception, since no one could speak with him unless I was nearby.

That made me suddenly wonder how he and Kravayik had managed to work together once they realized their mutual goal concerning the refugees from Feirie. The answer proved very simple. Kravayik had just been smart. Fetch had smuggled the one Wyld I’d earlier discovered him hiding to Kravayik. Kravayik, understanding what Fetch had done, simply asked the right questions, to which Fetch responded with a bark or a wag of the tail. That was all the communication they’d needed.

I called Barnaby right after our discovery and checked if he was still able to, not to mention willing to, use hypnotism. He proved to be quite agreeable when he thought it was going to be me he put under. Claryce, not so much. She finally had to take the telephone and insist that he do as she wanted.

He shut up after that, somewhat to my disappointment. I’d hoped he could talk her out of it.

With Fetch having left just enough in the Kelvinator to feed Claryce and me, we tied up things at the house and headed to Barna-by’s. I tried to think of some other reasons to put an end to this idea of hypnotism, but drew a blank. Claryce was determined to see this through.

Barnaby led all three of us to his study. I hadn’t paid much attention to that part of the house the last few times I’d visited, but knowing him as I did I suspected it’d been a lot neater until recently.

“Still trying to deduce things from Joseph’s work?”

“Still. Three times I thought I had it, and three times the answers came out as nonsense.”

“For example?”

He sighed. “Bottom of the lake and shifting each time I try to verify a final location.”

I knew that Michael had done his utmost to steer me toward Lake Michigan and that there was something out there tied to all this, but I was also painfully aware that Galerius wanted me out there, too. That tentacled thing out in the waters was just waiting for me. I wasn’t going out there until I’d exhausted every avenue on land. I needed to be fully prepared when next we confronted it.

“Any of the other points make more sense?”

“Sadly, not—”

There was a thump from somewhere beyond the room. I had Her Lady’s gift drawn even before I reached the hallway. Fetch was at my heels.

I saw no one. Fetch darted past me. He thrust his nose in the air and sniffed. His ears stiffened.

“Above us, Master Nicholas!”

Of course. I silently cursed myself for overreacting. There, at the top of the stairs and with one hand on the rail, stood Joseph. He was staring down at us with an expression that reminded me of a hopeful child. I kept having to remind myself that this was the same Joseph Sperling who would’ve sacrificed hundreds of lives if his plan hadn’t been stopped.

“Is she home yet?” he asked.

“No, Joseph,” Barnaby quickly answered, stepping past us. “Now, didn’t I ask you to stay in your bedroom? Run along.”

“You’ll tell me when she comes home, right?” He smiled wide. “She always likes to play with me when she gets home.”

“Yes, of course I will. Go on now.”

Apparently mollified, Joseph departed.

I returned the sword to its hiding place. “Well, that’s different from him.”

“He’s really balled up, Master Nicholas!”

“His staying at Dunning didn’t tell you that already?”

“Forgive me,” Barnaby said with a sad expression. “He’s waiting for Emma to come home.”

“He’s done this before?”

“Twice today. He always forgets later. Come, back to the study. We should be done with this as soon as possible for Claryce’s sake.”

“Don’t worry about me,” she said from behind him. “I just want to see if I can help us.”

Barnaby guided her to the plush leather chair by the half-buried desk. “Please. Sit here.”

After she obeyed, he pulled something from his shirt pocket. It looked a woman’s jeweled bracelet.

“It helps for focus,” was all he said by explanation. “Are you ready, my dear?”

“Go ahead.”

Barnaby held the bracelet before her eyes at an angle that enabled it to catch the light from the lamp on his desk. As he rhythmically twisted the bracelet back and forth, he leaned to her left and whispered in her ear.

Claryce stared at the bracelet. After about a minute, I noticed she had stopped blinking. I almost said something, but Barnaby must’ve sensed that because he shook his head even as he continued to whisper.

Another couple minutes passed, by which time I was gritting my teeth. Finally, Barnaby straightened.

“She is under. That was quite a strain. Miss Claryce has a strong will.”

“It was difficult?”

“Don’t judge based on time. The method I used should’ve had her out within seconds.”

Claryce continued to stare ahead. I eyed her for a breath or two, then asked, “So what’s next?”

“I must guide her back to that time. This could take a little longer.” Bending to eye level, Barnaby murmured, “Claryce . . . can you hear me?”

“Yes.” Her eyes continued to stare without blinking.

“There is a path before you. A beautiful garden path. It has flowers of all shapes and sizes lining it. Do you see it?”

“Yes.”

“Follow the path. Are you following it?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now, as you follow it, you will see a long row of mirrors to your left . . .”

“In a garden?” Fetch asked.

I’d had the same thought, but I silenced him with a wave of my hand. He could’ve added Duke Slater and the entire Rock Island Independents football team doing laps so long as he got Claryce safely where she needed to go.

Ignoring us, Barnaby said, “When you reach the first mirror, look in it. Do you see yourself? Good. Proceed to the next.” Glancing at me, he whispered, “What was the name of her previous incarnation?”

“Claudette.”

To Claryce, he said, “Now, I want you to look in the next mirror. Look and see Claudette. Look deep. You know Claudette. You are Claudette. Do you see her?”

Claryce hesitated, then answered, “Yes.”

To me, he asked, “And before Claudette?”

I winced. “Clarissa.”

“Ah, yes. I remember. You told me of her.” Focusing again on Claryce, he commanded, “Now, move to the next mirror. You will see Clarissa. You remember Clarissa. You are Clarissa. See Clarissa. Do you?”

She paused again, but then in a more assured voice added, “Yes.”

“Excellent. Now, do you see the other mirrors beyond?”

The fact that he’d succeeded in getting her this far stirred all sorts of thoughts. I wanted to ask Claryce how many mirrors there were and what she recalled about each . . . but right now I also wanted this over and done with.

Fortunately, Barnaby saved me from further mental struggles by quickly moving on. “I want you to go to the farthest one, Miss Claryce. You can ignore the others for now. We’ll get to them another time. Just head to the farthest mirror. Can you do that for me?”

“It’s so far,” she finally responded. A look of intense concentration spread over her face. “So far . . .”

“Is it? Hmm.”

I touched his shoulder. “What’s going on?”

“One moment. Miss Claryce, I want you to pause at the next mirror. Are you there?”

“Yes.”

“Look at it. Who do you see? What name do you have in it? Use the tongue of Claryce to speak, but give me the name as it is in the mirror.”

Another damned pause. “Clianthe.” Barnaby eyed me.

“Sound familiar?”

“No.” Great. Another one I’d missed protecting. Some saint.

“Tell me, Clianthe. Tell me who is the most illustrious man of your time?”

There wasn’t any hesitation this time. “Philippos, of course!”

“‘Philippos’?” Barnaby muttered something in what I finally recognized as a form of Greek. Claryce smiled and answered in the same language.

Barnaby laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

“Forgive me, Nick. I was just thinking how self-centered some assumptions can be. She’s referring to Philip of Macedonia. I’m afraid we’re about six centuries farther back from where we wanted. It seems Princess Cleolinda was not Claryce’s first incarnation after all!”

At first, I thought I hadn’t heard him right. Then, the enormity of it sank in. Claryce hadn’t been just cursed to keep being reborn as part of my foul legacy: she’d already been doing it for centuries before that.

I had no idea what that meant and decided that I didn’t need to deal with it right at the moment. “Get her back to the right time. Get her back to Cleolinda. Let her forget the earlier ones again.”

“As you say,” he replied with more than a hint of reluctance. Barnaby leaned close and murmured in her ear.

Claryce’s expression changed again. It softened, then took on an earnest cast.

“This should be better. I asked her to focus on Cleolinda if she could. It looks like she has. I’ve instructed her to continue to use Claryce’s language. It should work. Her incarnations are tied together more than most. It’s fascinating, really.”

“Really.”

Barnaby frowned. “I’m sorry. Let me continue.”

I hadn’t been the one stopping him, but I bit back any further comment. He whispered in her ear. Whatever he said earned him a nod.

“Here we go. Claryce and Cleolinda, one and the same. You both hear me. I want to speak of a visitor. The emperor of Rome. He came to you seeking help. He was dying. Do you recall now? This is what you experienced, Cleolinda. Do you remember?”

“Yes.”

Not much makes me shiver, but the short answer did. I heard a slight difference in Claryce’s voice. Right away, sixteen hundred years later, I knew I was actually hearing Cleolinda.

“You remember,” Barnaby urged. “He came in secret.”

“Yes, he did. In secret. Very desperate. The disease had already eaten deep into his mind, body, and soul.”

I pictured Diocles in the last stages of his life. Once the most powerful man in all the world, now reduced to begging for help from quacks, charlatans, and criminals. He must’ve looked at Cleolinda as a godsend, an irony considering what he’d done to me.

“Did he speak of some of the cures he’d tried?”

“Yes,” she replied easily. “Nothing worked. The one thing that at first appeared to do so made him much, much worse. It made him even more desperate. He became demanding.”

I scowled, thinking about the next time I saw Diocles. If he’d thought me obstinate before when it came to forgiveness, he was about to get a really harsh surprise. He’d not mentioned a thing about threatening her.

Without warning, Claryce gasped. She clutched her throat with both hands as if trying to pry something from there.

“Master Nicholas . . .” Fetch growled.

“Not now.”

“But Master Nicholas! I smell something sinister!”

He’d barely said that when I, too, noted the odor. It was like some corpse left out for days in a humid place. “Barnaby? Is Joseph up to something?”

“Nay!” Fetch continued. “’Tis not from up there! It seems to be emanating from around Mistress Claryce, but not from her! It’s just . . . here.”

Barnaby also smelled the air. “Curious. I wonder . . . there is great latent energy in her. I think . . . I think she is reliving some extraordinary memory and this is how it manifests.”

The only thing I could think of was that Diocles had been in a lot worse shape than he’d ever let on.

She started babbling in another ancient tongue. I knew this one, even if after all these centuries I could scarcely even translate it these days.

“The language of Claryce,” Barnaby reminded her.

“There is nothing else to give!” Claryce shouted. “I have no reason to lie to you, I swear!”

“What the hell is he doing to her?”

“Please, Nick! It is only a memory! She is beyond being hurt!”

I was finding that hard to believe, but I held back.

Completely ignoring us, Clarissa added, “The teeth were all I had left! You have one of them now. Is that not enough?”

The stench filled the room. If we hadn’t been in danger of being heard, I’d have opened wide the windows. Fetch trotted around the room, sniffing. He tested all three of us, then every nook and cranny. I could’ve added the dragon’s sense of smell, but I trusted Fetch’s abilities enough.

“This isn’t kosher, Master Nicholas! It’s coming from nowhere!”

I no longer cared about that. More and more, it reminded me of other stenches. I was on the battlefield, after the carnage had finished and the dead had started to decay. I could hear the carrion crows and see the rotting corpses . . .

Claryce shouted something I couldn’t make out.

She screamed.

“Snap her out of it, Barnaby!”

He went to her ear, muttering, I realized, in the same tongue. At the same time, he turned the bracelet this way and that.

Claryce jerked upright. She continued to spout, but suddenly switched to English.

“No! No, please not him too! The blood! Let it just be the beast’s!” Her hands thrust out as if she sought to cradle something. I had a bad feeling I knew just what.

“Claryce!” Barnaby called. “Claryce!”

“Find the healer! Someone! Help him! He’ll suffocate on the beast’s blood—”

“Barnaby, do something!”

He hesitated . . . then snapped his fingers right in front of her face.

“Wha—?” Claryce shivered. She blinked several times. Gradually, her eyes gained focus.

Barnaby poured her something I was certain Prohibition had made illegal. “Here! Drink this.”

She gratefully took it. After downing more than half, she finally calmed . . . that is, until she looked at me.

“Oh, thank God!” Claryce threw aside the cup, leaped up, and clutched me tightly. “You’re alive! Alive!”

“What’re you talking about?”

“I saw all the blood! You were drenched in it! I couldn’t tell what was yours and what belonged to—to—him.” She tapped my chest. “Him.”

The dragon. She meant the dragon.

He stirred, his anger strong. His death remained fresh enough to him even to this day without her having relived a portion of it for us.

Forcing him back, I held Claryce. “That was long ago,” I told both of them. “Long in the past.”

“But it seemed so real!”

Not long enough, Eye say! Never long enough!

“Just a memory,” I insisted.

Claryce at least seemed to take this to heart. I knew the dragon didn’t have one to take it to.

“You’re right. Just a memory. God! What an awful one, though! I just—oh, no!”

“Do not follow that thought, Miss Claryce!” Barnaby warned.

The awful smell returned. Fetch whined and his ears flattened. As that happened, I felt the hair on the back of my neck stiffen. “What’s happening, Barnaby?”

“Her will is strong! She’s stirring up those latent energies! You are not the only one who swallowed some of the dragon’s blood, it seems!”

It was worse than that, though. Claryce’s eyes widened yet again. “Dear Lord, Nick! You should see him! It’s awful how he looks! God! Those hands around my throat and that smell of rot around him—”

“Forget Diocles, damn it! Forget—”

“Not Diocles! Galerius! He’s the one strangling me! That smile! He said it was like having the pleasure of having you killed again!”

Things made sense again. Barnaby hadn’t been specific enough when he’d mentioned the emperor visiting. Instead of Diocles, Cle-olinda’s memory had chosen the imperial visit of most significance . . . and what could be more significant than being murdered?

I wanted to rip out Galerius’s throat, but couldn’t.

“I’m sorry about that,” I told her. “I warned that you this might be dangerous. I should’ve been adamant. Still, that doesn’t explain how you ended up recalling my fight with the dragon.”

“I am so sorry, Miss Claryce!” Barnaby interjected. “I am responsible for that. I tried to steer you away from her death, but ended up sending you to the aftermath of the struggle between Nick and the beast! Both memories seem to be locked together!”

“No,” I replied to him. “There’s—Barnaby!”

We were no longer alone. Out of nowhere, one of those Her Lady had referred to as the Triple Man stood behind Barnaby, a deadly looking dagger with a cylindrical blade raised high. I’d had one of those used on me by a Schreck serving Holmes and lived to regret it. What it would do to Barnaby, I didn’t even want to think.

Then, something struck our attacker from behind. Joseph, his expression blank, watched as the pale figure fell into Barnaby’s desk. Joseph’s left hand was still in a tight fist.

I didn’t know what it was about the trio called the Triple Man that seemed to stir Joseph up, but it was clear that he didn’t care for their presence. That was a good thing, because naturally where there was one, there were more.

My insides abruptly turned. The room shifted. Barnaby’s desk changed into a taller, dark oak affair with a wall of bookshelves atop it. I hoped that was the only shift happening this time.

With the alteration came the other two parts of the Triple Man. This time, in even more cramped quarters than Joseph’s place at Dunning, I could see that they definitely weren’t identical siblings, but actually the same man in slight variations. They clearly had some tie to the Clothos Deck that went beyond anything I’d ever seen.

Curiously, as soon as the other two arrived, all three looked around as if something they had expected to see was missing.

“Is he not?” asked one.

“Was he not s-supposed to be?” grunted the one Joseph had hit. He fumbled around for the dagger.

“No . . .” the third stared angrily at me, then glanced at Claryce. “No . . . he is not . . . again.”

I didn’t like the way he eyed Claryce. I seized him by the shoulder and spun him back to face me.

Apparently that was the wrong move. My gut churned again. The room shifted.

“So many ways to go, so many probabilities,” Joseph remarked.

The chair turned into a short wooden one. Several of the books on the shelves changed size and binding.

The Triple Man—all of him—briefly went transparent.

“Turn the card?” asked the first.

“Too soon?” asked the second as he secured the dagger.

I suspected I knew where this was leading. I tightened my grip on the third one.

“We must . . .” he responded, staring at me. “Too soon, but we must.”

“No—you—don’t!” I shouted as I took hold with my other hand as well.

He shimmered and started to fade. The other two did the same.

But that was as far as they got for the moment. The one in my grip stared wide-eyed, as if I’d done something he’d never experienced before.

“Is—it—him?” the first rasped.

“Could—it—be—him?” added the second.

“Yes.” The third’s eyes went from wide and stunned to narrowed and calculating. “It is them.”

He threw his head back and let out a guttural cry. I felt power surge through the room, a power as old and as unique as the dragon’s. I’d only felt that power when I’d had to hold the one card from the deck.

All three contorted in pain. I might’ve had more sympathy if they also hadn’t finally vanished in the next breath. Despite letting the dragon’s power flow through me, I still ended up with empty air in my hands.

“One, two, three, all the same to me,” Joseph commented.

“Yeah. Me too.” I turned to Claryce. “Are you all right? Do you feel any different?”

She understood exactly what I meant. “No . . . I mean, I’m all right. I feel the same. Do I look the same?”

“You do. What about me?”

“I doubt it can affect you, Nick, but, yes, you look exactly the same.”

I wasn’t so sure about my invulnerability to the power of the cards as she was, but, then again, I wasn’t sure if the Triple Man was actually utilizing whatever card they—I decided to stick with they even if it was the same person—were supposed to have. I certainly hadn’t been expecting them to scream and writhe in agony. That didn’t sound like controlling the card . . . that sounded more like being partly enslaved by it.

“You okay, Fetch?”

He turned in a circle, which looked an awful lot like chasing his tail. “Ab-so-lute-ly, Master Nicholas.”

Barnaby had been silent all this time, which made me fear the worst. At first glance, he looked like he was supposed to, but I wondered if anything had changed inside. “How’re you doing, Barnaby? Tell me truthfully. Do you feel any different?”

“My taste in furniture is not what it used to be,” he answered as he stared at the new but old pieces. “There appears to be one benefit. My sight is sharper in my left eye. It was worsening, not that you knew that.”

I wasn’t planning to thank the Triple Man for that, but I was glad nothing else had apparently altered. Joseph, too, looked pretty much the way he always had—

No. There was something on his neck. I went over to him. He made no sign he even knew I was next to him. All he did was stare at his father.

Claryce stepped up next to me. “What did you find? Has he changed?”

“Joseph?” A nervous Barnaby peered up at his son. “Tell me it’s nothing significant, Nick!”

It took me a moment to decide how to answer. “Well, it is . . . and it isn’t. Joseph’s sporting a tattoo.”

“A tattoo?” Barnaby came around to see. “What sort?”

“It’s not that awful symbol of Galerius’s, is it?” Claryce asked as she bent to see it.

“That actually might’ve made me happier.” I shifted so that they could both see it.

“It’s a goblet,” Joseph’s father commented.

“A cup,” I corrected. “Filled with a black liquid.”

Claryce took hold of my free hand. “Isn’t that—”

“Yeah. It’s the same kind of cup. Just one instead of three.” I could feel the dragon sharing my concern over what this might mean. “The same exact cup as the one on the card in Holy Name.”

CHAPTER 19

That Joseph now had a more direct link to Galerius didn’t surprise me too much, but it did leave open the question of what else Barnaby’s son might’ve done for the former emperor in this new variation of events. Barnaby pored over his son’s notes while we waited, but in the end he couldn’t locate any change.

Claryce wanted to return to her apartment, at least long enough to change. I reminded her of the Clothos symbol on her building, but she insisted. Leaving Barnaby to deal with both Joseph’s papers and Joseph himself, we drove with Fetch to Claryce’s place.

“It’s still there,” I commented as we parked.

“I didn’t expect that to change. It would’ve been nice, but I didn’t expect it.”

As we entered, I took a peek around the vicinity to see if “Quiet” was nearby. I knew we hadn’t seen the end of him, especially with his brother’s death a factor.

Claryce turned to her bedroom the moment the three of us entered. “I promise I won’t be long.”

I sat down and stared at the wall. Sensing my mood, Fetch beat a hasty retreat to the kitchen. Between the magical markings on her building and what’d taken place at Barnaby’s, nowhere felt safe to me anymore.

So naturally the phone had to ring.

It could’ve been just a call from one of her former coworkers at Delke Industries. Claryce remained in touch with a few of them. I’d carefully and surreptitiously checked most of them out to make sure none of them had had strong connection with Oberon. I knew I took up a lot of Claryce’s life and was determined not to take the rest. She needed the outside contact, especially since she still planned to open some small business now that she was no longer part of a major company. The payoff they’d given her wouldn’t last forever. There’d been no question of me assisting her financially. Claryce was determined to make her own way.

The telephone rang again. I waited for her to say something, but when she didn’t I had a sudden compulsion to answer.

“Hello?”

“This would be Nick Medea?”

I knew that voice. Scowling at the receiver, I replied, “What are you doing calling here, Laertes?”

He didn’t even bother to apologize. “I’ve been trying to call you since late last night. You have a situation brewing, my friend.”

“Another one? What is it this time?”

“Hymie Weiss has been asking around about a person that sounds a lot like you. He’s gone to several establishments and contacted those like me who have our ears to the ground about other things already.”

“Why this sudden increase in interest by him?”

“Someone has linked a person of your rather unique profession— the ghost hunting business, I mean—to the disappearance of the gang’s benefactor, one William Delke. Weiss seems to be taking it even harder than Moran, who isn’t exactly quiet on the subject, either.”

I’d wondered if Oberon’s connections to the North Side gang would come back to haunt me and naturally they had. Still, bootleggers were the least of my concerns right now.

“Thanks for the warning,” I told him. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

“There’s more.”

Of course. There had to be.

“Word is also out through more—shall we say, different—sources that there’s a sour and quite unsettling enforcer going around. I’d not have bothered to mention this one, but he sounded a bit like he was . . . well, from my old neighborhood.”

He had more of my attention now. “Oh? You’re sure he’s not just some goon?”

“So he sounded at first, but he’s been said to have taken out a couple Wyld.”

Things came together. “Ah. Word of warning. Don’t even let him know you exist.”

“I wasn’t planning to. You know him?”

“Yes, and you don’t want to give him the slightest clue you’re here, Laertes. He belongs to Her. One of the worst. Feir’hr Sein.”

I heard a sharp intake of breath. “One of those?”

“One of those. Where was he last seen?” I memorized the address he gave me. It was near where I’d found Fetch shielding a small Wyld weeks back. I didn’t have to guess who it was. Lon. It looked like he still had use of the body of Lysander, one of Oberon’s loyalists. Lysander had been working with Holmes until he’d gotten himself killed through his own arrogance. Lon had claimed his body behind my back, using the shell so that he could move around among humans.

I hadn’t forgotten that he was the one who had left me the small memento from Galerius. I’d wondered where he’d gotten himself and now I knew. He was out hunting those who’d managed to escape into the mortal plane. Lon had remained pretty strong despite his lengthy time on this side of the Gate, but that didn’t matter. Something had to be done about him.

I had another thought. “I’m not going to find Louise Crying Wolf around there, am I?”

“No. I have had a word with her. She will steer clear from anything involving the Gate and my former home . . . at least for now. She is strong-willed. I trust you do not think I have ultimate control over her. She lends me her talents as a bodyguard I can trust not to sell out, but that is it. Still, for now she seems less enamored with the idea of Feirie being part of her spiritual journey.”

I thanked Laertes for the warning and the information, then hung up. After a few seconds of consideration, I knew what I had to do.

“Fetch.” I only whispered his name, but as I’d expected he heard me and quietly came running.

“Master Nicholas?”

“Stay with her. I need to go somewhere.”

His ears flattened. “But—”

“It’s Lon.”

If anything, his ears got flatter. “Aye. I understand. Have a care with that one. He’s crafty even for one of those.”

“I know.” As silently but as quickly as I could, I slipped out of the apartment. I felt some guilt, but this was a situation I honestly believed I was better off dealing with alone.

After double checking to make sure I didn’t have any tails, I drove off. The address I’d been given by Laertes was near the South Side, pretty much in Capone territory. I’d know Lon long enough to understand that he’d stick in the same neighborhood until he was sure he’d cleared it of all “traitors.”

My hope was that Capone was spending his time at present at some place like the 226 Club on Wabash and not near where I had to go. That would also mean that most of his boys would be in that vicinity, too, making my job easier.

The area where Laertes said Lon had been hunting wasn’t much to look at, which was probably why he’d chosen it. Wyld always sought out locations least likely to appeal to their own kind . . . which ironically meant that it had the opposite effect. What they’d done was put themselves exactly where a hunter like Lon would expect them to be.

I don’t know what I thought I’d find, but a bust in progress wasn’t it. I would’ve turned around, but a paddy wagon pulled up behind me just as I was beginning to maneuver the Packard.

Cops started dragging four ragtag hoods from a nearby building. I stopped worrying about moving the Packard the moment I spotted the half-hidden face of the third goon.

Lon’s “face” was expressionless, probably because he didn’t have complete knowledge of how such minor things worked. He was only tolerating the situation until he found a time to slip away. I had no doubt that if that moment required some violence, he wouldn’t care who got the brunt of it.

Someone tapped on the driver’s door window. I reluctantly rolled it down.

“Well, Nick Medea! You know, I can’t say I’m really surprised to see you here!”

It said something for my focus on Lon that I hadn’t even noticed Cortez coming up from the side.

“Hi, detective.”

“No Miss Simone? And don’t you have some giant mutt?” He stuck the unlit Lucky in his left hand into the side of his mouth. Leaning close to the window, he said in quieter voice, “You are getting into some bad places, you know? What brings you here?”

I tried to keep an eye on the Feir’hr Sein while still dealing with Cortez. “Just trying to get to a client. What’s going on? Should I wait or turn around?”

“Probably be more trouble than it’s worth to turn around. Got a stiff and we’re pretty sure one of these gentlemen pulled the trigger.” He toyed with the cigarette. “Me, I don’t gamble, you know? Maria, she calls it sinful. Still, if I was a gambling man, I’d pick that third one, the fantasma. That spooky one.”

“Sometimes it’s the one you least expect.”

“Nah. That just happens in movie serials and books. It’s usually the one you think it is. They’ve already taken everything else away. You want to wait a few more minutes, it’ll all be free—”

We both saw the same thing at the same . . . or rather, we both didn’t see something. Instead of four prisoners, there were now three. Lon was missing.

Cortez and I both swore at the same time, but for different reasons. Cortez because losing a collar meant trouble in several ways, while I had the awful feeling that the Feir’hr Sein hadn’t just chosen this moment to simply make an escape. I could smell something in the air, only because there was always that bit of the dragon’s senses available to me for when I had to go on the hunt.

Lon was after another Wyld. Right now. With cops all around. With Cortez around.

I pulled the Packard to the curb, then leaped out. Cortez was already far ahead, the detective shouting angrily at the officers, who were just now noticing they’d lost a cuffed man.

In contrast to Cortez and the two officers who followed him, I went around the building next to which I’d parked and darted over to the next one after that. I wasn’t chasing the supposed trail left by Lon, but rather the place where his new quarry had gone to hide.

The cold weather combined with the police presence meant I didn’t have any accidental encounter with some innocent or even not so innocent. Unimpeded, I reached a crumbling house I had no doubt also acted as a place bootleggers were using. That was verified a moment later as I broke through the front door and came across several wooden crates just perfect for shipping hooch sitting right in what used to be the living room.

I heard a slight sound from the floor above. After a glance around, I drew Her Lady’s gift and headed to the stairs. Above, I saw only gloom.

Eye will help you see . . .

As the world turned emerald, I made my way up. There was another slight creak from what I assumed was a bedroom. Sword poised, I reached the second floor and turned toward the sound.

There was no hint of Lon yet, but I was certain the Feir’hr Sein couldn’t be far away. I wasn’t particularly concerned if he reached the Wyld first, but I needed to keep him from making any public spectacle in the process. I blamed this on Her Lady, who seemed not to care about the chaos she was creating on both sides of the Gate.

Again there came a faint noise. This time, I could verify from which room. Ready for the worst, I entered.

Something moved in the far left corner. I brought the blade around—

A short, bedraggled figure crouched there. His coat was too thin for this weather and his graying beard was matted against his chest. I doubted the nondescript bottle near him had contained water. He’d probably either stolen from the bootleggers or they’d paid him with liquor to act as a lookout.

He had no idea how lucky he was. The Wyld was somewhere in this room. There were a lot of dark corners, not to mention a closet and a battered wardrobe. Lots of places where a Wyld, with their often fluid forms, could hide.

“Get out of here,” I muttered. When he didn’t move, I shifted the sword away from him and indicated the doorway with my other hand.

Scrambling to his feet, he slipped past me. I started toward the closet—and realized I’d just made a stupid mistake.

I spun around, only to be picked up and tossed hard against the far wall by a long, black appendage. I hit hard, but not so hard I didn’t get a look at the subject of my kindness, now a twisted thing only superficially still human in appearance. The Wyld had probably slipped into the man at some point while he’d been sleeping off a drunk and basically worn his corpse just like Lon did the elf’s.

At that moment, I didn’t care what’d become of the Feir’hr Sein. Used to keeping a tight grip on Her Lady’s gift, I was just able to use the blade to fend off a grasping hand now ending in long, sharp talons.

The man’s face split open, the halves falling to each shoulder. There wasn’t much in the way of blood, which meant the Wyld had worn him for some time. It’d no doubt been building up its strength with this body in order to eventually find a stronger host. The grotesque sight made me wonder again if Oberon had done much the same thing when he’d first taken on the identity of one of the Delkes.

As it shed its human shell, the Wyld also grew. Its mouth extended to a sharp beak and its yellow eyes grew bulbous.

Out of its back sprouted two more arms ending like the first. The Wyld now filled my entire view.

Unimpressed, I pushed myself to my feet and thrust. The blade came up short, but close enough that the Wyld backed up.

It opened its beak. That was a trick I’d seen before. When the tentacles shot out of its maw, I was ready. Her Lady’s gift not only met the attack, but cut away several of the limbs.

The Wyld recoiled. It’d felt the touch of the sword and knew the power behind it. Despite the fact that it continued to display a ferocious appearance, I could tell that it was also seeking escape.

“Sorry,” I muttered to it. “You’re going nowhere.”

The tentacles withdrew into its beak. It inhaled.

Let me . . . the dragon requested. Eye promise. Just enough . . .

I knew I was crazy to give in, but I agreed. I quickly inhaled, then let the dragon have at it.

The Wyld exhaled, an inky darkness spilling from its beak. I didn’t want to think what that inkiness was supposed to do to me.

It didn’t matter. The dragon matched its exhalation. We breathed a plume of fire that scorched away the inkiness and did it one better. The flames seared the abomination.

It shrieked, then turned and rushed to the door to escape us.

Something slashed through the air.

The Wyld’s smoking head landed near our feet. The body writhed, the Wyld not exactly dead despite the loss of its head.

A second swift slash cut through the torso. The Wyld’s body collapsed into itself. The heap looked like nothing recognizable.

Lon peered down at his work. His hands were still melded together in that long, wicked scythe. I kept Her Lady’s gift—and the dragon’s breath—ready just in case.

His dark gaze took me in for a moment . . . and then he dismissed the scythe.

Gatekeepers. . . he said in my head.

“If you think I’m going to thank you for that, try again. It wasn’t getting away. Besides, you’re the one I’m interested in.”

For just a second, I thought I detected a touch of fear. I did notice his hands inch toward one another.

“Relax, Lon. I’m only going to give you a warning this time. That and ask a few questions.”

The pale, bony hands calmed.

“Good boy. Now, first thing. No more of this wanton hunting. I’m never sad to see a Wyld like this go, but you’re getting too zealous, not to mention sloppy.”

I swear he bristled when I called him sloppy.

As I spoke, I thrust the point of the sword into the Wyld’s head. Instantly, the blade began absorbing its essence. The head shriveled rapidly as Her Lady’s gift did its work.

The sword finished, leaving no trace. Most of the time, Wyld remains tended to quickly fade away on their own, but I’d learned not to take chances anymore.

I moved toward the rest of the corpse. Lon stood his ground as I stuck the sword point into the congealing mess. His cadaverous face, which still reminded me so much of Chaney’s recent Phantom of the Opera, continued to show no emotion. Despite that, I knew he was still very uneasy. One of the most fearful servants Her Lady had ever set loose and he was uneasy about me.

I smiled just to irk him. Yeah, I knew his secret. For reasons I couldn’t explain, I had the power of names over him. In Feirie, such a power was restricted to the highest of the Court, meaning basically Her Lady at this time. Yet, once I’d given him what I’d considered a mocking nickname I’d sealed it to him and made him subservient to my will.

It made him seethe every time, but he couldn’t outright disobey me. He’d try to find loopholes, though, so I tried to stay on my toes.

“You understand me? No more purge. If there’s something I’d consider a threat and it has to be dealt with, fine, but do so without drawing attention. Understand? I want an actual answer, by the way.”

He stood silent, then gave me the slightest of nods.

“That’ll do. Now, while we’re chatting, let’s finish some other business. You gave me a little trinket. You know who it belongs to. Where did you find it and what does it mean?”

I expected him to try to finagle his way out of things, but instead his voice—which reminded me of someone slowly and painfully shoving open a rusty mausoleum door—resounded in my head once more.

The great water . . . where the Devourer of the Deep was plunged by the dragon wolf and He Who Once Ruled. . .

I have to say, it was a pretty long answer for him, even if it mostly gave me more questions. Lon shimmered, almost as if it’d taken a toll on him to say so much.

Too bad I needed more. “The dragon wolf. You wouldn’t also happen to know him as Galerius, would you?”

He bowed his head.

“And the other one . . . Oberon?”

This time, Lon definitely shimmered. Even dead, Oberon’s very name could send chills through a thing like him.

“Why did they plunge this monster into Lake Michigan?”

He surprised me by not hesitating. For He Who Once Ruled. . . for his queen. For the dragon wolf. . . to be his death and life . . .

Well, I understood the first part. Oberon had planned something nasty for his treacherous queen. For some reason, he hadn’t been able to act on that plot. As for the second part . . . “‘His death and life’?”

The Feir’hr Sein bowed his head.

“What does that mean?”

The murky figure spread his hands. Whether that meant he didn’t know or couldn’t say, I wasn’t sure.

It didn’t matter for now. There was something more important. “The dragon wolf has a card from the Clothos Deck, doesn’t he?”

Another bow. I was on a streak worthy of the Cardinals’ Rogers Hornsby . . . so naturally that streak had to end the next second.

Downstairs, someone swore in Spanish. I didn’t have to guess just who.

Lon spun about and vanished into the hallway. I rushed after him, only to find no sign.

“You up there!” Detective Cortez shouted. “I hear you moving around! Come out with your hands up!”

He hadn’t seen me yet. I returned the sword to its hiding place and reverted my eyes back to normal.

“One more time, Bo! You got a gun; you toss it down, then come out with your hands where I can see them! That clear enough for you?”

My hands positioned as he’d ordered, I stepped to where he could make me out. “Easy, Cortez. It’s only me.”

He whistled. “Buddy, do you want to get shot? Why didn’t you say who you were right away, you know?”

“I wasn’t sure at first that it was you. Couldn’t hear too well where I was.”

“Yeah.” Even though I’d identified myself, he remained alert.

“Nothing up here, by the way.”

Cortez gestured with his gun. “Something’s down here, though. Take a good look when you come down those rickety stairs.”

I did as he suggested. As I reached the bottom, I saw what had his interest.

The body that’d once belonged to Lysander sat propped against a wall like some macabre marionette. I had to give it to Lon; he could move quickly. What made it more disturbing was the way the eyes stared ahead. I noticed Cortez cross himself and really couldn’t blame him, especially since I knew the truth.

“You didn’t notice him when you came in?” the detective questioned me.

“I was pretty focused on the upstairs. I was certain I heard someone there.”

“Yeah. Creepy, isn’t he? Doesn’t look like any Mick, but he certainly don’t look like he came from anywhere near Italy, you know?”

“Polish, maybe?” I offered, perfectly aware Lysander wasn’t.

“Maybe. Doesn’t matter now, I guess. Now, he’s just another stiff.” Cortez lowered his gun. “Wonder what killed him, though. Don’t see no holes.”

“Maybe he was shooting something other than bullets. That’d explain the odd behavior and abrupt death.”

“You may have it there. They get high on this junk and then do the damnedest things.” He shrugged. “Saves a lot of trouble. I’ll just get a wagon here to bag him.”

“Ties things up nicely for you.” I kept an eye out for some sign of Lon. He wasn’t likely to give up the most durable suit he had. “He’ll certainly keep by himself until the wagon arrives.”

“No doubt about that.” Cortez started to turn to the door, only to pause. “I wonder.”

Much to my dismay, he put away his weapon and headed to the body. “What’re you doing?”

“Checking to see if he’s got anything interesting on him . . . and maybe that ties him to Ladykiller Leighton.” He knelt by the corpse. “Hoo! Talk about a stink. Didn’t he ever hear of a bath?”

Lon could do nothing to stop the natural decay of the bodies. When he’d taken over those of simple hoods, they’d lasted a week at most. Lysander’s body had lasted months, thanks in part to the weather.

“Ugh. Nothing in his pockets. Well, the morgue can have him now and good riddance.”

I sensed eyes on us. Aware of what to look for, I noticed a hint of movement in the darkness upstairs. Lon was getting impatient for us to leave so that he could claim the body again.

“How’s Maria?” I asked, as I nonchalantly headed for the shattered doorway.

“She is very fine, thanks. She asked about you and said her usual prayer for you, too. Good that she did, eh, Nick Medea? Seems almost like she knew you’d endure some heavy stuff today. How about this here for instance?”

“Nice of her to be thinking of me,” I returned, actually meaning it.

He toyed with his cigarette as we finally left the building. “She’s a saint. Still, she was pretty adamant this time, you know? Of course, guess even I could’ve made a fair prediction with you. Just look for trouble and he’ll be there, I could say. Nick Medea, the man who always seems to be caught up with some pretty live ghosts.”

“Listen, Cortez—”

He plucked the cigarette from his mouth and used it to point at me. “No, no. It’s all right. You want to use that as your cover while you act as a private dick, that’s fine. You’re a good guy. My Maria says so and I take her word as gospel. Hell, I’d vouch for that myself.” He tossed the unlit Lucky away. His tone grew serious. “Not too many look past my skin, Bo, but you’ve always done it. I may not know a lot about you—Hell, you’re a damned blank in the police files—but I know you. That’s all I need.”

Cortez pulled out another Lucky and tucked it into the corner of his mouth. He stepped out of the building without looking to see if I followed.

I took a step after him, only to halt as I noticed one of the deeper shadows shift. I glanced at the body. Naturally, it was gone.

I picked up my pace in order to lessen any chance that Cortez might come back inside. When the wagon came, they would find no corpse. By that time, though, there would be some plausible excuses, most of them mob related.

Outside, the detective had already gone several paces ahead. He paused as if remembering something.

“Say, just thought of something I’d like your opinion on. Pulled in a drifter the other night. Punk named ‘Quiet’ Ford. Out of the northeast. Petty record, nothing special, you know?”

“What about him?”

“He was supposed to stay with us a few days, but someone gave word to toss him out after one night. I tried to find out just who, but only got a vague name.”

“What’s that got to do with me?”

“Thought you might’ve run across this Ford. He’s been spotted in a couple of places I know you or Miss Simone have been, including Dunning of all creepy spots. You know anyone in Dunning?”

I decided Cortez knew a lot of the answers to the questions he was asking so I responded as truthfully as I could without giving too much. “No. Not anymore. The son of a friend.”

“Yeah? Wasn’t sure you had any friends but me.” He chuckled. “‘Course, I could be wrong. Maybe you got the same friend in City Hall Ford has. Someone who keeps you out of jail and unnoticed by cops.”

“Sounds nice to have. Let me know if the opportunity opens up. I’ve just been lucky, Cortez. That’s as near to having a friend in City Hall as I get.”

“Yeah. Okay. Just had to clear that up. You better get going. I bet you’ve already got Miss Simone anxious.”

“Probably.” We were far enough from the building that I could finally relax. “See you, Cortez. Hello to Maria.”

“I’ll pass that along.”

Damn it if he didn’t stop again.

“Something, detective?”

Cortez shrugged. “No. Just a piece of info. In case you pick up something on your end, you know? Always good to know as much as you can, my abuela used to say. Just in case you find yourself at City Hall, maybe you can find out more about this fixer who gets petty crooks out. Not much I got, just a first name.”

I forced myself not to grit my teeth. I just knew he was going to say one name in particular.

“Guy goes by the name of Michael.”

Of course.

CHAPTER 20

I was getting sick and tired of Michael.

I didn’t care if he was an archangel; he’d played too many games with me and others over my long lifetime, but especially the past couple of years. Leaving clues that taunted, popping up and leaving cryptic remarks . . . I was through with all that.

So naturally he himself had to turn up while I was on my way back to Claryce.

I was nearly back in Old Town and working on my explanation as to why I’d left without a word when I saw him leaning against a building. He stood under an awning and was staring out at the street. Unfortunately, I was going too fast, and by the time I realized who he was I was well past.

I tried to look back, but the angle was bad. In the process, I nearly ran into a Nash Ajax. Even new, the other vehicle wasn’t as fancy or as strong as the Packard, but I was tired of building up repairs for Barnaby. I managed to barely evade the collision, but doing so meant turning around and heading back to where I’d seen Michael was a difficult proposition.

It ended up not really mattering. Two blocks later, there he was again, his dark face expressionless, his eyes on the traffic. This time he stood with arms folded and leaning in the entrance of a diner.

Now my problem wasn’t finding him, but rather reaching him. There was no place to park, not even illegally.

My hand went to where I’d kept the cross. It’d served me in another way over the centuries, but, in truth, I’d picked it up for one specific reason. I’d thought that maybe it’d give me a better link to Michael, so that I could finally face him. However, this futile routine wasn’t what I’d had in mind.

Gripping the cross through my coat, I thought about Michael and kept an eye out. Naturally, nothing happened.

“You couldn’t have picked a more convenient meeting place?” I finally muttered.

“I do apologize. Will this do better?”

The Model T in front of me nearly got what I’d avoided doing to the Ajax. I planted both hands back on the wheel. Managing to swerve, I regained control and continued on despite the passenger now situated in the back seat.

I shot a venomous glance at the dark-skinned figure sitting in the shadows. “You—”

“Some say it’s not good to use the Lord’s name in vain.”

“Oh, it won’t be in vain . . .” I momentarily focused on traffic. “And I don’t need to use that, anyway. I’ve got plenty of other things to call you.”

He laughed briefly. It was a sad laugh, as if he only went through the motions and really wanted to drink away some terrible event. Me, I had little sympathy; I was a human saint. I didn’t have all the benefits that came with also being an archangel.

“With a great mantle comes greater responsibility.”

“I’ve got enough things running through my head without adding you rummaging through it. Get out! Immediately!”

“I was never in it. We’ve just known each other that well.”

I tried finding a place to park, but Chicago wasn’t cooperating. “I don’t know you at all, and I don’t want to.”

“Which proves you do know me.”

“If I know you, then tell me why I don’t know the reason you’re suddenly being so straightforward with me when generally you play some side game. You’re always ‘Michael’ this and ‘Michael’ that. Some character and not yourself. Tell me why this and why now?”

“Because I owe you this much, Nick. Because I actually owe you a lot more, but I can only give you this. In fact, even this is more than I should be doing.”

I gave up on parking and just continued on to Old Town. “Well, I was wrong about one thing. That was nothing straightforward about that answer. That was as murky as hell.” I grunted. “Sorry. Do I lose my saint status for swearing?”

“If that was the case, I’d have been cast out before the flood.” Michael raised a flask to his lips. I hadn’t seen a flask earlier. “Don’t worry. Just water.”

“Holy?”

He didn’t acknowledge the attempt at humor. Instead, he looked out the window. “Sixteen hundred years is a long time, even for an archangel. Especially after a terrible mistake.”

It was getting harder to concentrate on the driving. “What the hell does that mean—and I’m not going to apologize every time I do that.”

“It means I left you in an unenviable position and with a trail of other sins not of your making. What’s worse, sir, is that I can’t do more than prod a little or leave a few suggestions here and there. It’s got to be you in the end, even if I’m to blame for so much.”

“This is your idea of straightforward?”

Michael set the flask down. “I can throw in the occasional extra soldiers—such as the good Alejandro Cortez—to help you, even if they don’t realize what they are.”

“You didn’t happen to provide a vet named Quiet and an Indian, too, did you?”

He rubbed his perfect chin. “We were strong friends over there fighting the Great War. Shoulder to shoulder. I hated leaving him behind. As for—” The archangel said something in a language I’d never heard before. Seeing my face, he frowned and added, “Sorry. You didn’t know her by her original name. As for Winifred Louise Crying Wolf, she was a child of iron will despite her circumstances. Despite the . . . excesses . . . of the boarding schools, she’s remained true to herself and her heritage. Both worthy choices, I can promise you.”

“I’ll take your word for that, but let me make those decisions, okay?”

Michael didn’t seem like he was listening. “I can also provide you with a weapon or two less devious than that sword. Unfortunately, though, I can’t do anything for her if it’s meant to be. She’s got her own path, even if it generally coincides with yours. She was on it long before you did what I didn’t think you could do and ended up in her place.”

It took me a breath to realize that his talk about the sword wasn’t connected to the “her” he was speaking about. Michael wasn’t referring to Her Lady. He was talking about Claryce . . .

That was more than enough. I had to find somewhere to pull over so I could have it out properly with my fellow “saint.” I spotted a parking lot and quickly turned into it. The second we were out of traffic, I parked. “Okay, I’m going to get some actual answers from you and if they still don’t make sense, I’m going to—”

The back seat was empty.

I swore so hard I was half-certain that he would come back to tell me my sainthood had been revoked.

It didn’t help that he’d made all those cryptic remarks at the end that sounded like they referred directly to Claryce. I suddenly became very anxious to get back to her.

I turned the Packard around and only then discovered that I’d pulled into none other than Father Jonathan’s church. St. Michael’s.

“So glad I could give you a lift home,” I grumbled. It meant I’d somehow gotten slightly off track. I quickly pulled onto Cleveland Avenue and adjusted my route.

More and more, I had the suspicion that the phone call from Laertes that’d led to me to slip out and deal with Lon and the Wyld had been manipulated at least in part by Michael. Just so he could finally have a face-to-face conversation—so to speak—with me. It wasn’t that the incidents weren’t happening; it was just that Michael needed to add me to the mix so I’d be right at the right spot.

Her car was still parked, but I knew that could mean anything. It didn’t help to also know that the sign of the Clothos Deck was still on the side of the building. I pretty much ran from the Packard to her apartment.

In the if-looks-could-kill department, the one I received from Claryce upon returning was up there with the most fatal. If I hadn’t been fairly immortal, I’d probably have been lying dead on the rug. I took no comfort in the fact that Fetch’s expression indicated he’d gotten the same.

“Don’t ever do that again! I came out to ask if you’d answered that call and found Fetch trying to hide in the far corner of the room! When he told me you ran out . . .”

“It had to be done. There was trouble with Lon, and Laertes had a good idea where I might find him if I left immediately.”

She threw up her hands. “Lon! Well, that makes it all better! You went to face down Lon? That monstrosity? Are you mad?”

“It wasn’t as bad as you think. You’ve seen it. He can’t stand against me, remember? I’ve got power over him.”

“Sure, until some day he gets wise and tries to decapitate you from behind so you can’t tell him not to first!”

I’d thought about that in the past and didn’t have a counterargument. I decided to switch tactics. “I can’t be blamed for it all. Turns out Michael had it planned. He finally wanted to talk.”

That had her attention. “Michael as in Father Jonathan’s Saint Michael?”

“None other. He seemed apologetic about things. As if it wasn’t exactly our fault some situations have happened.”

“Really?” Claryce had a thoughtful look now, much preferable to the previous. “I wonder . . . Nick, Galerius tried to make it sound like he was responsible for my remembering, but I can’t help feeling he wouldn’t want me recalling everything.”

“If there was something we could use against him, sure.”

“Do you think Michael might go so far as doing a little prodding of his own on my memories?”

“It’d be small compared to what’s already done . . . not that it’d be any less reprehensible in my opinion. Why?”

She looked a little uneasy. “I had a dizzy spell after I left you. That’s actually why I didn’t come out to answer the telephone. It took me about ten minutes to get over it. All the while, I kept praying you wouldn’t come looking for me.”

“I’m sorry!” I crossed over to her. Putting a hand on her arm, I asked, “Are you all right?”

“I am now.” Claryce gently touched my hand in turn. “I really am. I’m also sorry for the way I behaved, but it was too much after what happened.”

“Yeah. I know.”

How utterly cloying . . . had Eye a choice . . . .

I must’ve flinched in anger, for Claryce shook her head and said, “Forget him. Listen. Let me tell you what I remembered. It’s not from Clarissa or Claudette. It’s all the way back to Cleolinda.”

“Are you sure it isn’t left over from the session with Barnaby?”

“It’s not. It came back to me in a different way, with a different feeling. Something about the use of . . . of the dragon afterward. Things didn’t always go well with those who tried to cure their troubles with some piece of the dragon. The results . . . the results could be horrifying.”

I led her toward a chair. “Sit down and tell me.”

She sat. I joined her. Fetch, now apparently trusting that the argument was over, trotted up to us. Sitting next to Claryce, he listened with taut ears.

“I—she— I remember now that Galerius didn’t just come one time. He was there twice.”

“Twice? Why?”

“The first time, he took a different piece. He did it secretly, not wanting any of his rivals to know the truth.”

That made sense. By that time, Diocles had long ago established the “tetrarchy,” also known as “the Rule of Four.” Believing he was saving the empire after the tumultuous century before, he’d made himself co-emperor along with Maximian, a commanding officer. Diocles had figured that no one, not even him, could fully control so vast a realm. That might’ve been okay, but among the two Caesars—or junior emperors—he’d added had been Galerius.

After Diocles had retired, the infighting had really started. Yeah, Galerius couldn’t have risked showing weakness, especially illness. He hadn’t been the most popular of emperors, of course.

“Was it a dangerous piece he took the first time?”

“Yes. Two, actually. Two of the dragon’s teeth.”

The moment she said that, I felt a painful twinge where I was earlier stabbed. I recalled the odd shape of the blade. Like a huge, sharp tooth.

“Go on,” I urged, pretending I wasn’t in pain. It didn’t help that Fetch took a sudden concerned interest in me.

“I’d seen a couple of others who’d been desperate enough to use the teeth. They didn’t get better. They turned into something worse.”

I tried to imagine what she meant by that. All I could think was that whatever had happened couldn’t have been pretty.

“I didn’t really know he’d taken the teeth until he came back threatening my life for what he claimed I’d done to him and demanding something to cure him of that as well.” Claryce shivered. “Nick, he had signs of gangrene on his arms and even his face. I’d never seen such a thing before! It was awful! I remember, from when Barnaby put me under, that his speech was slurring slightly and that he had to be near to madness.”

Over the centuries, I’d seen the effects of gangrene on men and women, especially on the battlefield. If Galerius had been that bad off, there was no doubt that madness had already overtaken him.

Claryce nervously cleared her throat. “The only piece I had left was a minor one. I tried to tell him it wouldn’t be strong enough, but he insisted I was lying to him. He started raging that I was in league with a Constantius! That I wanted his empire! He grabbed my throat—”

“Easy!” I pulled her to me. Claryce was as strong as anyone I’d met and even stronger than I could recall from any of her previous incarnations. Still, reliving your own murder was enough to break anyone.

“His face . . .” she whispered. “I’ve seen his face, Nick. I’ve seen it.”

“Of course you have. Both as Cleolinda and in that other church—”

“No! All these memories beginning to stir from the past . . . they’ve started stirring my own—I mean from this lifetime—my own memories!” Claryce looked up at me, her eyes wide with shock. “I saw him, Nick, if only for a moment. Here! In Chicago. Before William— Oberon—ever revealed himself.”

“Where?”

“It was somewhere familiar. Somewhere . . . Nick! I was at the razing of the Illinois Trust and Savings Bank almost two years ago. Delke Industries had an interest in the new bank building—you know, Continental—that was going to be built.”

“Are you sure?”

She stared off into empty air. “He looked right at me. He looked at me like someone who knew me well. No wonder! If I’d only known then!”

“You couldn’t help that.” I considered. “Let me give Barnaby a call.”

“You think he might know something?” she asked as I headed to the stand.

“No, but maybe Joseph did.” I picked up the telephone and gave the operator Barnaby’s number.

“Hello?”

“It’s Nick. Listen. In Joseph’s papers, did you come across anything about construction or repair work on the bank building before the Wingfoot disaster?”

“It’s funny you should ask. I did see some notations on the pace of some repair work he watched taking place on the roof. The date was about a month and a half before everything happened.”

“The roof,” I repeated as I looked back at Claryce.

“Yes. Is that what you wanted?”

“I think so. Thanks.” As I hung up, I said to Claryce, “Maybe there was a reason the Wingfoot was so close to that building in particular. I’d always assumed the pilot, who was still under their control, just kept going as per orders, even when it was clear what was about to happen. It wasn’t until the last moment that he snapped out of it and abandoned ship.”

“So you think Joseph and the others had something built on the roof? Something to do with their plan?”

“Yeah. What’s worse is I think there’s something very similar on the roof of the Continental. Something no one’s seen thanks to a touch of magic.”

“We all going for a ride this time, Master Nicholas?” Fetch queried. His tail wagged in anticipation.

“We are.”

“Maybe we should take the Wills this time, Nick. They must know the Packard by now. It’s possible that they won’t recognize the Wills.”

She had a point. While a bit fancier, the Wills St. Claire wouldn’t likely be recognized by anyone serving Galerius. It also handled pretty good. “All right.”

We headed out immediately. It was getting late in the day, but that worked in our favor. The less folk around the better.

As we stepped out of the apartment, a glint caught the corner of my eye. Considering that the sky was completely overcast, there shouldn’t have been any glint. There also wasn’t anything in the direction from which it’d come except the Packard.

“What is it?”

“Go on ahead. I need something from the Packard.”

Neither she nor Fetch questioned my action. I picked up my pace. I didn’t walk toward the driver’s door, but instead reached for the passenger one. There was no more sign of a glint, but I had every confidence I’d find some source.

And there it was. The flask Michael had been drinking out of.

He wasn’t the forgetful sort. In fact, I suspected Michael had a hard time forgetting anything.

I picked up the flask. It wasn’t anywhere near empty as I’d initially assumed. While I still didn’t see what use it could be, I knew better than to leave it. Nothing Michael did was by chance.

Stuffing the flask in a coat pocket, I rejoined the others. Claryce sat in the driver’s seat, a choice I didn’t argue. The Wills St. Claire rumbled smoothly in comparison to the much-beaten Packard and left me resigned to the fact that, should we survive, I’d have to let Barnaby overhaul it again.

Without taking her eyes off the slippery street, Claryce asked, “What’d you find?”

“A flask.”

“Michael’s? What’s in it? Liquid gold?”

I grunted. “Water.”

“Will it turn into wine?”

“I have no idea what its purpose is, but I thought it best not to leave it. For all I know, he left it so we don’t get thirsty.”

Claryce made a face, but said nothing in return.

We drove down to Jackson and LaSalle. Traffic had cleared a bit, but we waited in the car until it got even thinner. I guess I must’ve been staring at the bank for too long, because Claryce finally broke the silence.

“It’s still fresh in your mind. The Wingfoot, I mean.”

“Six or so years is only a blink. I can still see it burning. I can feel the heat and see the panic below as it crashes through the skylight. I think the Illinois Trust was even closed then, but there were employees everywhere still.” I gritted my teeth. “I can still see Joseph insisting that it would all come together even though three of his compatriots were already dead and the others were screaming in fear.”

“Did you . . . did he. . . start the explosion?”

“You mean the dragon? No. Credit all goes to Joseph and his friends. They underestimated the volatility of the dirigible’s lifting gases. We were about twelve hundred feet above when the initial explosion happened. The Wingfoot—remember, it was on its maiden voyage and so pretty untested—buckled badly as it started to drop.”

“How horrible . . . but the crew, you said they were under the control of Joseph?”

I nodded. “He and two other especially gifted. The explosion shook most of them out of it, and the sight of the fire sent them all fleeing to their parachutes.” I heard the screams yet again. “One guy . . . his chute got caught up in the flames. It burned. He fell with us. They kept one of the crew under control long enough to try to steer the ship, but even he broke away finally, if only too late. He got caught up in the gas bags.”

And then there’d been the employees. Men and women crying out as their clothes caught fire. Tons of material collapsing on them.

“It’s amazing more didn’t die,” Claryce remarked.

Eye did it! Tell her Eye did it! Saved their little lives . . .

“Yeah. Reluctantly, but you did.” I realized that Claryce and Fetch had heard me. “He’s wanting his due. No one could really see what was going on in the mess the Wingfoot had become. We changed. He did something we’ve done once or twice, but would really prefer not to. Instead of exhaling flame, we took it in.”

“Talk about your strong quilt!” Fetch blurted. “I’d rather drink that tar ye call coffee!”

“Nick . . . was it . . .”

“It wasn’t pleasant.” I could still feel it. An awful searing.

No . . . it was not pleasant for you . . . but far worse for me . . . Eye had to keep it. . . Eye had to keep the pain long after you . . .

He was right. Of course, without me, he would have been completely lost. The dragon had taken the agony from my mind and secreted it with him. I’d not noticed his presence for two weeks after that.

“It’s pretty clear now,” I finally announced. “I’ll head inside—”

“We’ll head inside,” Claryce corrected.

“No. This is going to require more than stealth. I need to slip in and get to the roof as quickly as possible . . . and before you think it, Fetch is staying with you. Galerius has too many agents around.”

“All right, but be careful.”

“I will.”

I slipped across the street and positioned myself near one of the entrances. The bank was closed, but there were still employees inside.

As I’d hoped, one of the employees stepped outside. I immediately slid past him into the building.

No one inside looked my direction. When one started to, a book at the edge of their desk fell off as if by magic . . . which it was.

It took me a little time, but I finally reached the steps leading up. Treading lightly, I made it all the way to the top . . . and then turned and started down when I realized I shouldn’t have left Claryce with only Fetch to protect her. I had to find a safe place—

I stumbled to a halt. While I was always concerned for Claryce, the sudden intensity with which I wanted to leave the vicinity of the roof was suspicious. I immediately turned and headed up again . . . only to find myself turning yet once more toward the lower floors.

“Clever.” I inhaled, then faced the way up. The urge to descend magnified. Letting loose a low growl, I pushed upward.

My body screamed for me to go downstairs. I fought it each step of the way. The moment I could reach the handle for the roof door, I gripped it tightly. Doing so gave me a better sense of balance inside. The contrary desires faded.

The door was locked. That, at least, was a simple problem. St. George, unofficial patron of lock picks. Sure, I could’ve ripped it open, but I was trying to be inconspicuous.

The door squeaked loudly as I carefully opened it. Right away, I could see no one had been here for years.

Well, no one but the desiccated corpse lying a few yards away. I knelt by it. Male. About thirty. His back was to me, which made it easier to see the Dacian Dragon tattoo on his neck.

There was no visible sign as to the cause of death. I doubted it been by mundane means. It just served as a reminder of why I was here.

Leaving the corpse, I started inspecting the rooftop. For the most part it was flat, but there were odd bits sticking up here and there that made no sense. I walked along the entire edge of the building without making any headway on what I was supposed to find.

The wind picked up. I made one more quick circuit around, pausing only to see what view each side offered me of Chicago. Those revealed no clue, either.

I was missing something. I knew it. This building was part of the key. I wished that I had a telephone with me so I could ask Barnaby a few more questions, but since that wasn’t possible, all I could try to do was figure out why someone had added the odd protrusions.

Then, I had the strange feeling that something had just changed. I slowly turned—

A figure barreled into me, sending both of us toward the edge. He had his arms wrapped tight around me—so tight I couldn’t break free. I had a glimpse of a cracked, wrinkled face and eyes with only the whites visible.

The corpse.

I wasn’t sure whether some Wyld was controlling the body the way Lon did or whether it was just a spell animating the figure. However, at that moment what really mattered was that we were about to go off the building. I managed to slow our progress with some quick readjusting of my feet, but that was only a gain of seconds. I continued to strain to break the literal death grip, but with no luck.

A growl rose behind me. Our progress came to an abrupt halt.

“Hold him!” I heard Claryce call. It was pretty easy to figure out that she was giving orders to Fetch. I planned to have some fine words with both about disobeying commands . . . assuming nothing worse happened to all of us.

So, naturally, something did.

The Triple Man appeared. I didn’t know if they’d just materialized or followed us up the stairs. What did matter was that one suddenly stood behind the corpse while beyond my sight I heard Claryce shout a warning.

The warning was followed by a gunshot. Fetch growled and let go. I would’ve fallen off if not for nearest of the pale trio grabbing hold of the corpse by the arm.

Eye can save you! roared the dragon. Eye can save you!

He was right. It’d be tight quarters, but it’d work. I let him take over.

I was expecting him to breathe on the corpse and set it ablaze. So close, we would’ve probably suffered some repercussions, but it would’ve been swift.

Instead, he began transforming us.

No! Stop it! I’d let him loose, though, and there was no way to regain mastery before he achieved what he planned.

We exploded, swelling to ten times my normal size in the blink of an eye. The corpse’s grip broke.

Wings spreading, we rose above the animated corpse and surveyed the others . . . or we would’ve, if they’d still been there. The Triple Man, Claryce, and Fetch had vanished.

The corpse shambled forward. The dragon reacted instinctively. A plume of fire engulfed it, turning it into ash.

Not caring at that moment who saw us, the dragon peered around in search of any sign as to where the rest had gone.

And in doing so, I finally beheld what I’d come to find. It hadn’t been built on the roof; it was the roof. The protrusions were only a part of it. They, together with what Galerius had evidently had the construction crew place into the physical makeup of the roof, created a complex pattern that reminded me a lot of Joseph’s final calculations. Just as important was the fact that you could only see the pattern in all its glory if you were well above it. Like in an airplane or a dirigible.

I had no doubt that Joseph and his friends had set up something like this on top of the old Illinois Trust. It’d probably taken months and had looked crude in comparison, but it’d been enough for them to attempt their spellwork.

I saw one other thing. I could tell exactly the point where all these forces were to channel would be located.

I now knew where Galerius would be found . . . and I hoped that information would be enough to trade to the Triple Man for Claryce and Fetch.

CHAPTER 21

I managed to keep the dragon above the Continental Bank. That, combined with the weather, time of day, and the spell meant it was very unlikely anyone would see or remember seeing us. The dragon didn’t fight for control when I demanded we change back, perhaps noting my rage over what’d happened to the others.

I knew they wanted what I’d discovered. All along, they’d been tracking Galerius. It made sense now. He’d mentioned cards. One of them was clearly tied to the Triple Man.

They’d understood better than to try to deal with me in that situation. I doubted they could pop away with Claryce and Fetch as prisoners without trouble. I’d taken them for pretty strong at the beginning, but now I had it figured out. Together, they could draw on some power that they’d retained from what had to be a very long bond with their card. It had its limits and its dangers, including the Clothos Deck’s tendency to shift reality in small ways and large.

And their power was weakening. First, they’d come across me while following an old trail Galerius had left for me after the Wingfoot. Then, they’d found out about Joseph and his involvement in what had actually been part of Galerius’s secret designs. After failing to get either Joseph or his notes, they’d clearly been keeping watch to see where I could lead them . . . and struck when it served them best.

I returned to the Wills expecting to find some note, but nothing was there. Belatedly, I reminded myself that the Triple Man was no longer what could be considered human. He wasn’t even much like anything from Feirie. Still, magic was a thing more open where Feirie was concerned, so it occurred to me that there was one person—already straddling the mortal plane and Feirie—who the Triple Man might know about.

I called Laertes.

Well, I tried. Instead of him, I got a terse human voice, probably one of the very same goons I’d met previously, who answered the phone with an address on North Michigan Avenue. The Wrigley Building to be precise.

It didn’t set well with me that Laertes had anticipated me calling him. I could think of a few other reasons, but I suspected it had to do with Claryce and Fetch.

I left the drugstore where I’d located a pay phone and headed straight for Michigan Avenue. If I could’ve let the dragon take over and flown there, I would’ve done so. That, though, would’ve put an incredible strain on the spell shielding us from the notice of the city’s inhabitants.

As I neared the address, I noted with some concern that it was only just over half a mile from Holy Name. I hoped that was a coincidence, even though I didn’t believe in coincidence. Still, I hoped.

The Wrigley Building, with its French Renaissance accents and its outline based on the cathedral in Seville, Spain, seemed an oddly appropriate place for Laertes to choose. It was just about two years old, but the design made it seem like something out of the fabled past. After parking the Wills, I all but ran inside. I’d been given a number, but not a name. A quick glance matched that number with the trade offices of the Lawrence Faust Company. Cute.

The same blonde flapper I’d met along with Louise Crying Wolf now sat in prim office dress at the reception desk. She didn’t even look up, instead immediately turning to the telephone at her side and murmuring something into it.

Setting down the receiver, she pointed at a door to her left. “Mr. Faust will see you now.”

“Thanks,” I muttered.

The door swung open as I neared. Behind it stood the same thug who’d opened the door at Laertes’s other office, only, just like the flapper, he was suitably dressed for a business set in the Wrigley Building.

The Lawrence Faust Company appeared to be a recent addition, the furniture and decorations all shiny new. Laertes, too, looked shiny and new, the elf sporting a expensive silk suit, beige in color. His hair was freshly done, with a slightly archaic but still stylish cut that obscured the upper tips of his ears.

“You are rapidly becoming a troubling situation for me,” he remarked with open frustration. “I had to give up our previous meeting place. That thing she sent to this side of the Gate started sniffing too close. I don’t suppose you could have a word with it?”

“I’ll see what I can do. Listen, Laertes, I don’t have time for chitchat. Claryce and Fetch—”

Laertes opened a desk drawer and can pulled out a small scrap of what I swore looked like papyrus. “I was given this by a rather unnerving man . . . deathly pale and speaking only in questions even when he was answering me. I’d appreciate you not spreading my name around like that. Those kind of guests bring Her attention.”

“I didn’t do it. You play both sides—whether it’s between bootleggers or between Feirie and the mortal plane—you better expect that they’ll draw you in deeper as things progress.”

Laertes seemed none too happy with my reply but didn’t counter. I took the parchment and unfolded it. “You read this?”

“I do not wish to be drawn any deeper into your affair.”

“That isn’t exactly a no.”

Laertes tapped a finger on the desk. “I looked into the eyes of the one who brought the message. I can usually get a feeling about others when I do that. After that encounter, I may never do it again.”

That intrigued me. “Why?”

“Because all I sensed was that here was someone who’s very being had been consumed by some powerful force . . . and who would have gratefully let it happen again.”

That didn’t shock me one bit. The cards weren’t just addictive; they became their wielder’s everything.

The note was simple—the card for Claryce and Fetch. If it hadn’t been written on parchment with letters that now began rearranging themselves for some second part of the message, I would’ve thought I was dealing with some petty mob kidnappers.

The second section finished. It made quite a bit more of a difference.

I will give you the dragon wolf.

They’d thought this through. Aware that even the two lives they had might not be enough to persuade me, they’d added what they felt was a real incentive.

I noticed they referred to themselves in the singular. That was a point I decided might be of use.

As I folded up the parchment and pocketed it, another subject came to mind. “Where’s Louise Crying Wolf?”

He tapped the desk. “Someone on orders of Hymie Weiss came looking for you at the other building. Broke all protocol and agreement doing so, but evidently Weiss doesn’t care about that where you are concerned. He made the mistake of using some odd combination of harassment and flirting with her in an attempt to find out who you might be.” Laertes smiled ruefully. “She did not kill him, at least. I’m not sure which angered her more, the harassment or the flirting. Either way, I have told her to keep out of view for the time being.”

“And she listened?”

“On occasion she does.”

I tapped my coat pocket. “Thanks for this.”

“I wish you the best of luck. Please do not contact me again unless this affair is over.” Laertes gestured to the bodyguard. The man opened the door. “Farewell.”

“Good to see you, too.” I nodded to the bodyguard, who stood like a statue. He was quick to shut the door once I was back in the reception area.

I started past the blonde, only to have her wave me over. When I opened my mouth to speak, she shook her head. Instead, she reached into the desk and pulled out a small object wrapped in a woman’s handkerchief.

“Winnie asked me to give this to you,” she whispered. That said, she waved for me to hurry out.

I nodded and did just that. I didn’t even look at what was in the handkerchief until I was back in the Wills.

It was her medallion. The one dedicated to me—Saint George, that is. I had no idea what giving that to me meant. I doubted she was praying I would watch over myself. In fact, over the centuries, I’d tried to avoid churches and shrines dedicated to me. They felt like frauds. I certainly had no blessings to give anyone. My own existence had convinced me of that.

I put away the medallion with the parchment. The Triple Man wanted me to bring the card I had to a location just off of Municipal Pier. They would have Claryce and Fetch. That simple.

Of course.

I headed toward Holy Name. I hadn’t made up my mind as to whether to actually retrieve the card, but Holy Name was the only place I could find someone with whom I could discuss the situation, namely Kravayik.

I waited as long as I could to make certain that the cathedral was for the most part empty, then entered. The nave was fairly dark, most of what illumination there was coming from votive candles. I quietly made my way down the main aisle, wondering if I should cautiously call for Kravayik.

“Something is amiss,” he murmured from the shadows.

Okay, he made me jump. The dragon sniggered, not helping the situation any.

“How’d you know I was here?” I asked.

“I did not know. I have been in here praying every opportunity I had since our last encounter.”

I remembered what Fetch had told me. “Are you afraid what you did will bring you back under her influence?”

Kravayik stepped out of the darkness to my right. He still looked haggard. “I have always been concerned by that occurring. You have no idea the influence she wields over all Feirie. She even convinced Oberon to cast out his own to please her—”

“Yeah, I met one a couple of years ago. She wasn’t exactly the apple of her father’s eye anyway.”

Kravayik looked like he wanted to ask about that case, but instead carried on. “She was his fatal mistake. It took centuries—more even— but finally she cast him out. That is how powerful she is, Master Nicholas.”

“I’m sorry for whatever you’re going through, but things have gone from bad to worse—”

“Fetch has not recovered?”

There was genuine concern. Amazing. “He did, but both he and Claryce have been kidnapped—”

“Mistress Claryce?” It was the closest I’d heard him come to shouting in some time. Kravayik scowled. “Here I am wallowing in self-pity! You should have slapped me in the face and told me to listen! Please! What happened?”

I told him. Even showed him the parchment. By the end, I noted the hand holding the parchment was shaking slightly. I’d never seen Kravayik shake.

“This explains one thing,” he muttered. “Over the past week or so, I have woken up thinking I felt the card stirring.”

“Wait! This happened and you didn’t report it to me?”

“There was no proof. I spent many waking hours monitoring it, but feeling nothing. Only when I slept did it appear to happen. I finally decided it was a dream built on my concerns. I see I was likely wrong.”

I studied the doors on the far side. “Are we liable to be interrupted?”

“Let me.” He shut his eyes for a moment, then, in a sad tone, said, “No one will interrupt. Their minds will be distracted elsewhere.”

I could see that what he’d just done really bothered him. “You could’ve let us handle it if it concerned you that much.”

Kravayik frowned. “Let him touch their minds? That would be an even greater sin on my part!”

So sacrificing . . . so caring . . . Eye wonder if he was so caring when he sacrificed his Claudette?

I didn’t dignify the dragon’s snide comment, but my anger must’ve shown.

“He did not like my remark, did he?”

“No.”

Kravayik looked thoughtful. “His retort must have been particularly biting. He mentioned Claudette, did he not?”

“Just leave it. We’re past that now. I need you for Claryce and Fetch.”

“Of course . . . and gladly.”

We went to the altar, where the card was secreted. At that point, I realized I’d decided to take the card with me. It was a monumental and dangerous choice.

A foolish choice. . . the dragon added. Leave her be . . . she will return in a few decades at worst. . . you, on the other hand, risk everything else . . .

He was right . . . in a sense. He was also wrong. If I lost Claryce, I lost her. I couldn’t explain it. This felt different. I didn’t want to lose Claryce.

And that was why, just a few minutes later, I stood there with the card in my hand.

“Be wary of it at all times, Master Nicholas,” Kravayik warned. “If you think the beast seeks to usurp your will, the card makes him simple by comparison.”

“He speaks true, Georgius.”

I slipped the card into the most secure pocket I had. “I was wondering when you’d show up, Diocles.”

The emperor stood a few feet behind Kravayik, who slowly turned his way.

“You can see him, too?” I asked.

The elf nodded. “The card is freed of its prison. Its effects are already spreading.” He made a cross. “May the blessing of the Lord be upon you. Thank you for your assistance last time.”

“I wish it had gone better,” Diocles returned. “The dragon still got away.”

“The attempt was appreciated.”

I’d forgotten that when the dragon had seized control of my body and tried to steal the card in order to make a deal with Oberon, one unexpected delay had been him not only having to fend off Kravayik, but a solid Diocles as well. That’d turned out to be one of least of the card’s surprises.

To that point, the ghost tapped his fingers on the nearest pew. The sound echoed.

“How odd to be able to do even that simple thing,” he remarked.

“Yeah.” Something occurred to me. It was a wild thought, but I admit I was a little desperate. “Diocles, go away. Come back only when I summon you.”

He glowered. “I cannot stay away until Judgment Day, Georgius. You know it doesn’t work like that.”

“I’ll be summoning you in just a few minutes. I swear. This is for Claryce and Fetch.”

With a wary look—and I certainly couldn’t blame him—Diocles faded away.

“Thanks for everything, Kravayik. Keep near the telephone. Just in case.”

“I should come with you—”

“No. They have me meeting them where even with your stealth it’d be hard to reach them in time. Thanks, though.”

He nodded. “I will pray, then . . . and be near the telephone.”

Keeping my hand near the card, I left Holy Name. I slipped into the Wills and took a deep breath. “Okay, Diocles. I’m summoning you.”

I don’t think I’d ever seen him as startled as he looked at that moment, not even the first time he’d ever materialized before me as a ghost. That’d proven a shock to both of us, discovering we were bound together after his death. This time though, I’d been expecting—or rather hoping—for something to happen.

“I am outside . . . beyond the sacred boundaries . . . Geor-gius . . . I am truly outside!”

“Yeah, and seated comfortably in Claryce’s car. Hang on for a second.” I reached over and tried to poke him. It felt like pushing my finger into marshmallow. It went through, but not readily. “That’ll do. Where were you when I summoned you?”

“Still in the cathedral.”

“Do you generally stay where last I met you?”

“For a while. Then I return to Saint Michael’s. From there, I wait for you to enter some place of hallowed ground.”

That satisfied me. With Diocles next to me, I drove off to meet with the supernatural kidnappers. It was an odd drive to say the least, with my ghostly traveling companion acting more like a child than the former emperor of one of the greatest realms to ever exist. Diocles all but pressed his face against the window at every new sight—which just about covered everything he saw. All dignity went by the wayside. If it hadn’t been for Claryce’s situation, I suspect he would’ve tried to convince me to drive him all over the city.

Fortunately, the drive to Municipal Pier wasn’t that long. There were still a fair amount of people despite the weather, the pier a popular attraction already. Word was that the city planned to rename it Navy Pier to honor that branch of the military and intended to add to events going on there. I hoped that there’d still be a pier left for them to rename after this encounter.

The ghost chose that moment to ask a question. “The mesmerism. It did not go well, did it?”

“She remembered too well. Don’t ever suggest anything like that again, do you understand?”

He nodded and fell silent once more.

Parking in one of the more out of the way spots near the pier, I climbed out. To Diocles, I ordered, “Stay here or vanish to St. Michael’s, whatever you have to do. Just make sure when I summon you, you come ready to act.”

“But what am I supposed to do?”

“You led armies once. Think like a warrior, if you still can.”

His expression indicated he wasn’t certain if he was supposed to take that as an insult. I left him in the Wills and headed toward the pier. As I neared, I wondered what to do about the people. The Triple Man might be crazy enough not to care if they harmed any innocents, but I was going to do my best not to let that happen.

Our hero . . . .

“Quiet,” I whispered, even though I doubted they’d be able to hear the dragon. One never knew, though. The Triple Man had been utterly transformed by the Clothos card. They were really no more of the mortal plane, but neither were they of Feirie.

Abominations . . .

I didn’t argue, this time.

The weather had held up pretty well even despite the legendary mercurial nature of the lake. That changed without warning the second I stepped onto the pier. A powerful gale rose up. The water churned wildly and the waves crashing against the pier more than doubled in size and ferocity.

People started running past me in order to escape the change in weather. The spray began creating a chill mist that quickly enveloped Municipal Pier. Visibility died.

Within a couple of minutes, the pier stood abandoned. Even the hardiest of business operators had no desire to stick around.

I was tempted to summon Diocles, but it was far too soon. I had to time things exactly.

I slowly continued walking. After my last experience with Lake Michigan, I kept a wary eye out. I wondered if the Triple Man was aware of the creature the waters and weather hid. If not, that boded ill not just for them, but for Claryce and Fetch as well. I couldn’t let that happen.

I spotted movement in the mist. While I debated whether or not to draw Her Lady’s gift, the figure coalesced into a worker. He didn’t even bother to look at me as he raced toward the security of the shore.

I continued on. There was no doubt in my mind that the ungodly trio would show up. The card demanded it of them.

I had a tremendous desire to rip the card out of my pocket and throw it far away.

Another figure formed out of the mist. A solitary figure wearing an overcoat and a newsboy cap.

The newcomer’s shape became defined. It was one of the Triple Man all right. I judged him to be the one who always answered the other two’s questions.

Two more shapes formed a few paces behind and to his left and right. They not only looked exactly like him but even wore the same clothes.

“Does he have it?” asked the one on the far left.

“Do you think he brought it?” questioned the one on the far right.

“Yes, he has it,” the lead one answered with a nod. “He knows he has to have it.”

“Nice to see all of you,” I replied. “Yeah, I have what you need. What you really need. Where are my friends?”

As one, the Triple Man stretched their right hands to me.

“No. You’ve got to be kidding me. Do you think I’d just hand it over? Where are they?”

They lowered their hands in perfect unison.

I hoped Diocles was paying attention. We were fast approaching when I’d need him.

The water churned more strongly.

I had a bad feeling.

The first tentacle shot high out of the lake, then quickly came down on the pier. As it did, a second tentacle followed the first.

The first one came to a halt just behind the Triple Man. It unrolled just enough to reveal Fetch’s head and shoulders.

My bad feeling had just gotten a lot worse.

The second unrolled as well, this one uncurling enough to display Claryce’s head and shoulders.

The Triple Man extended their right hands again.

What now, oh saint? The dragon mocked.

CHAPTER 22

I’d assumed the beast in Lake Michigan to be at Galerius’s beck and call. I couldn’t have been more wrong. When it’d attacked where Michael had stored the boat, I now suspected it’d been searching for Galerius . . . or at least the faceless golem that’d probably carried his magical trace. I’d just happened to be nearby, maybe even set up by him.

The latter seemed more likely. I’d played a double role for Gale-rius then. On the one hand, he’d shown the Triple Man I was important to him. An enemy who might have a clue to his whereabouts. On the other, Galerius had done his best to force me to fight those pursuing him. Let his adversaries beat up one another, then deal with the battered survivor.

Unfortunately, I had no more choice in the matter. They’d taken Claryce and Fetch, and I didn’t plan on letting that thing in the water stop me from rescuing them.

Saint George, once more to the rescue of the maiden . . . and her hound. . .

I didn’t let his continual mocking bother me. He was as much a part of this as I was. He knew that, too.

“Release them,” I demanded.

Again, they lowered their hands.

I felt a sudden turning in my stomach. The pier groaned.

They were using their combined abilities, which in turn caused a card effect on the reality around us. Things had just been altered, but that was only a side effect. The spell itself would hit me directly.

Only . . . nothing happened. I stood there, prepared for the worst, only to find all three aspects of Triple Man looking as perplexed as me.

I figured it out first. The card. They might have some ability due to their very long association with the card . . . but I actually had the card.

Smiling, I asked, “So, will you release them now?”

Naturally, in answer they sent two more tentacles after me.

I’d yet to even see the blasted creature beyond its tentacles, but I’d already had enough of it. I decided to put aside my original plan and just let loose the dragon. He had no more love for the monster than I did. It’d already attempted to kill him.

“All yours,” I told him.

Yesss . . .

But the transformation we both expected didn’t happen. Despite our combined wills, we remained just as before.

I dodged the two attacking appendages just in time. The moment I had the chance, I drew Her Lady’s gift and swung at the nearest tentacle. The blade cut into the thick, dripping flesh.

The tentacle instantly withdrew. So, the thing could be hurt. That gave me some hope . . . which naturally got dashed as the other tentacle bowled me over.

I maintained my grip. As the appendage came down on me, I braced Her Lady’s gift.

The tentacle drove itself right into the point. The blade sank deep.

An ominous rumble arose from the water. It didn’t sound as if the beast was in pain. It just sounded angry.

I caught a glimpse of the Triple Man. Expressions taut, all three stood motionless. I could see this entire situation was stressful for them. Use of their magic appeared to strain them more and more. I wondered what limits they had. They were relying heavily on gifts they’d gotten from excessive abuse of the card, but it’d been centuries since they’d actually wielded the card. I was curious what would happen if I pushed hard enough.

I decided to unleash Diocles.

“All right, Imperial Majesty, time to join the fun.”

And there he was, right beside me.

“Georgius?”

I hadn’t bothered in some time to correct him about what he called me. Generally, I made him call me “Nick” to remind him of where I’d been executed at his command, Nicomedia. Now, though, I didn’t care what he called me so long as he did what I required.

“See if you can bother one of the two goons in the back.”

He vanished again. I didn’t have the chance to see where he’d gone because a tentacle immediately came crashing down where he’d just been standing.

I thrust at it. Green ooze spilled out of the wound. The serpentine appendage rose high in the air—and abruptly flailed as if out of control.

I got a glimpse of why. Diocles was having more success than I’d hoped. He’d popped up behind the figure on the left and evidently taken a swing at the back of the head. To what looked like even the ghost’s surprise, the blow had landed. His target rolled on the pier, for the moment stunned.

And without all three, the Triple Man could no longer completely control the beast.

I had to move quickly, before they lost full control. They’d taken extra care to control the appendages holding their captives. They hadn’t done so because they cared at all about the pair. Claryce and Fetch were just pawns of value. The minute the Triple Man decided they no longer were needed, they’d get tossed into the lake . . . or worse . . .

But before I could get there, someone else beat me to it. Someone who really, really should’ve known better.

Louise Crying Wolf was dressed much as I’d seen her by the boat-house. Dressed not for dancing to Armstrong or King Oliver, but for . . . well . . . fighting monsters. She leaped up from the side of the pier and headed not for the beast but for the foremost Triple Man.

There wasn’t a bit of hesitation as she drove the obsidian blade into him. She was helped greatly by his turning at that moment to see who was behind him. That meant the blade sank into a part unprotected by his ribs.

He shuddered and pulled away. A thick, brown substance that had started out centuries ago as blood slowly dribbled from the wound.

I had no time to waste. Without control over the creature, it was just as likely to withdraw into the lake, taking Claryce and Fetch with it. I charged toward the limb securing Claryce and swung with all my might at the thick flesh.

Her Lady’s gift cut deep. The tentacle shivered and jerked. It lost its hold on Claryce.

I grabbed her arm the second it was visible and pulled. Claryce tumbled toward me.

“‘Ware, Georgius!” Diocles called.

I dodged a gunshot. The Triple Man wasn’t so ancient that at least one aspect of him didn’t favor guns. The one figure who hadn’t been directly attacked pointed a Schofield revolver with a shortened barrel at Claryce, evidently figuring out that she was a better target than me.

I spun Claryce behind me and took the .44 slug right next to the heart.

He was a damned good shot. If not for the dragon, I’d have been a corpse. The dragon snarled as he healed the wound and ejected the bullet twice as quickly as usual. Even still, it stung like hell and made me wobble.

It was during that moment that the tentacle holding Fetch began rapidly withdrawing into the water. I swore. I’d already almost let him die once already and, while he would’ve been the first to tell me to save Claryce, I still couldn’t let him be taken.

“Go after him!” Diocles shouted in my ear. I hadn’t even noticed him pop in next to me. “I will stand with her!”

I wasn’t sure how much good he could do her, most of his use coming from surprise, not his strength. He was still a ghost and could only muster enough strength for a blow with strong effort.

But I took a chance. Claryce would’ve never forgiven me.

Fetch was already halfway down the pier. Both he and Claryce seemed to be under some sort of spell. It’d obviously prevented them from drowning or in any other way being affected by the water, but I doubted things would remain that way.

A figure who wasn’t Diocles materialized in my path: the aspect wielding the Schofield. He looked a lot worse for wear, as if popping in had taken a lot out of him. The hand that held the revolver looked plenty steady, though.

For some reason, I had the suspicion that he’d reloaded the gun with something a lot more deadly than .44 bullets.

I was wrong. It wasn’t magical ammunition I had to concern myself with . . . it was the second attacker popping in right behind me. He wrapped his arms tightly around mine and squeezed with a wrestler’s strength worthy of any of the Gold Dust Trio.

His companion lowered the Schofield and lunged toward me. I didn’t have to guess that he was going to try to snatch the card from my pocket. I tried to get the sword up, but couldn’t.

All the while, I watched Fetch being dragged away. If I could’ve let the dragon take over, none of this would’ve been a problem.

“Is it there?” rasped the one holding me. “Is it there?”

“Have I looked yet?” the other replied, forced even now, it seemed, to answer in question form.

He tore open my pocket and tugged the card free. There was nothing human left in the grin he wore as he showed the card to my other captor.

We are free . . . the dragon suddenly declared in my head.

I now understood what had depressed our ability: some part of the force that was the card. So long as we’d carried the card on us, it’d affected us.

But now they’d removed that impediment.

“Thanks,” I said to the one in front of me.

I let the sword drop, aware that in this close proximity to me it would join my garments in fading away into that secret space until needed again. Our transformation after that was nearly instantaneous. In the process, we broke the grip of our one captor and with our wings sent him flying back. Seizing control of our body again, I made a grab for the one holding the card, but he popped out again.

Despite my concerns for the card, I used the dragon to chase after Fetch. He was now just over the water and descending fast.

I had to be faster.

Flame would be best. . .

I saw what he meant. Aiming, I exhaled.

The plume struck the tentacle just above the water. An ominous rumbling erupted from the water.

The tentacle flung Fetch into the air.

Pushing hard, I caught him just as he started to descend. We pushed skyward—

And came to a halt as two more tentacles seized us by a leg and the tail.

I was ready for it this time. Borrowing a maneuver from the dragon, I spun in a sharp circle. The appendages twisted together. The one holding the leg came loose, enabling me to concentrate everything on pulling the tail free.

The continued spinning finally forced the tentacle to let go. We shot up high in the air, well out of reach. The icy mist that the Triple Man had stirred up kept us from the sight of anyone still in the vicinity. Unfortunately, it also made details on the pier difficult to make out, even with the dragon’s vision.

I soared back to where I estimated Claryce to be. I should’ve gone after the card, but I had to make sure she was all right.

My—our—gut churned.

The world shifted. I had a glimpse of the lights of Chicago altering slightly, some vanishing and others appearing. I knew they hadn’t just happened to switch on and off and vice versa at that particular moment. I hoped I hadn’t just made a grave mistake.

I spotted Claryce. She sat on the pier and looked as if she’d just woken up. Diocles hovered over her like a concerned parent. Louise Crying Wolf also stood there, her focus further back the way we’d just come. She had the obsidian dagger ready.

Setting a coughing Fetch down, I became human again. Her Lady’s gift materialized in my grip.

Claryce saw me first and pushed herself to her feet. Diocles sighed in relief, forgetting, as he often did, that he didn’t breathe.

“Where are they?” I asked. I didn’t see any sign of the Triple Man and remained well aware that I’d ended up giving them what they wanted.

“The other two came for the one I stabbed,” Louise Crying Wolf said. “Just a moment ago. They headed back toward the end of the pier.”

I should’ve figured that. “All of you stay here. Someone see to waking up Fetch. I’ll be back when I can.”

“Nick! You can’t go after them by yourself! They have the card! You know what it can do to you! We should come with—”

Ignoring Claryce’s concerned call, I turned and rushed into the mist. As the murkiness surrounded me, I summoned the dragon’s gaze again. It helped a little, at least allowing me to see some shapes and forms.

And—to my surprise—the Triple Man.

The three aspects stood entranced by the card, the one Louise Crying Wolf had injured completely ignoring his wound.

Three sets of unblinking eyes looked my way. I’d paused the moment I’d seen them, and although I’d moved silently they’d somehow still noticed me.

They looked unperturbed by my presence, not at all a good sign. I couldn’t sense anything from the card, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t affecting things.

“Should we do it?” asked one.

“What other choice is there?” questioned another.

The third gingerly touched the cup symbols on the card. “This is the choice.”

I didn’t feel any different. The dragon kept urging me to attack, but something told me to hold back.

“Has it decided?”

“Must we do it?”

The third nodded. “We must.”

As one, they extended the card to me.

And as they did, the card glowed. The Triple Man—all of him— moaned as if in pain.

The trio melted into the card. The card itself continued to hover where it’d been even as the three figures lost all definition. They became a fading mass that the card fed upon. Yes, fed on.

And then the card stopped glowing. Of the Triple Man, there remained nothing.

The card dropped onto the pier.

I only hesitated for a moment. Then, afraid something else would happen, I ran to the card. It did nothing as I picked it up. Despite how it’d prevented us from transforming, I stuck it in another pocket.

From behind me came the sound of running footsteps. I looked over my shoulder to see Claryce leading Fetch and Louise Crying Wolf toward me.

“I told her not to follow, but you know her, Georgius.”

I wasn’t even surprised by his appearance next to me. “It’s fine. It’s over . . . for now.”

“You have the card. I can tell. When they had it, I felt myself slowly growing fainter.”

I hadn’t realized that. “Thanks for helping.”

He beamed like a child, which only served to make me feel guilty.

I eyed Louise Crying Wolf as she neared. “You were to stay out of this. I thought I told Laertes to make that point to you as well.”

“He did, but then I saw that strange paper.”

“By that, you mean you read it when you weren’t supposed to.”

“I have done a lot of things I was not supposed to do,” she said with undisguised pride. Then, more seriously, she added, “I couldn’t just ignore what it said.”

“She did help, Nick.”

“Don’t encourage her.” I thought for a moment. “I need you to return to Laertes and help him check something for me. I need you two to see if there’s any report of people having confusion over things they seem to be remembering wrong. Example: Say the Tribune Tower used to be an entirely different design. That sort of thing.”

Louise Crying Wolf looked startled. “My dreams . . .”

“What about your dreams?” I had a nasty suspicion I knew the answer.

“It used to happen on a rare occasion . . . even as a child. I would be certain something had changed and insist on it. The teachers and the nuns thought there was something wrong with my head, but a few of the older girls believed I’d inherited a gift.”

I wasn’t so sure being sensitive to the alterations the cards did to reality could be considered a gift. “Has it gotten worse?”

“Yes. The past couple of months.”

That made perfect sense. “Will you do what I said?”

“Yes, Saint George.”

I didn’t bother to correct her. In fact, she’d reminded me of something I needed to do. I dug into another pocket. “Wait. Before you go. I have something of yours.”

I handed her the medallion. She smiled. “It’s brought me luck. I’d hoped that for you it would do the same. I thought you might need it.”

“As opposed to you, who was throwing yourself into danger.”

She shrugged. “I wasn’t concerned about myself. You and she have been kind to me.”

“Well, it’s yours again.”

“And now it is truly blessed,” Louise Crying Wolf remarked with another smile.

I refrained from answering. She hugged me, then Claryce. Fetch earned a scratch on the head, which he certainly enjoyed.

She even bowed to Diocles.

“Wait. You can see him, too?”

“He is not the first. I will tell Laertes what you want. Farewell.”

We watched her move off. Without the Triple Man to control it, the weather had started to return to normal.

“What now?” Claryce asked. “We return the card to Holy Name Cathedral, I suppose.”

“Maybe, maybe not. I need to find a telephone. Diocles, go back to St. Michael’s. Keep an eye out for any less than savory pilgrims.”

“Ah! I understand.” And just like that, he vanished.

Claryce stared at the spot where he’d stood. “How can he do that? I thought he could only materialize on hallowed ground, especially churches.”

I explained about the card, finishing, “So long as I carry it, my tie to him allows it to affect him beyond those places.”

“And if you return it to its hiding place? Will he become as before?”

“Very likely.”

“Does he know that?”

I hesitated. “Maybe. I doubt it.”

She gave me a reproving look.

Moving on, we located a telephone. I gave the operator the number and waited. And waited.

Finally, “This is Kravayik. Is all well with Mistress Claryce and Fetch?”

“All’s well. They’re safe with me. Did something happen? Why so long to answer?”

“Forgive me. I was deep in prayer and did not hear the telephone.”

I decided not to touch that. If it helped after what he’d done for Fetch, so much the better. “Do me a favor and carefully check outside the cathedral. Maybe watch out in the nave as well.”

“One moment.” I heard him set the receiver down. I patiently waited, my thoughts on what I’d probably have to do next.

At last, I heard the receiver being moved.

“The cathedral is being observed. Two automobiles. What I can see of the occupants would make me believe they are associated with one of the gangs.”

“More than likely stooges serving Galerius. That means they probably have more than just guns. This was part of Galerius’s own game. He knew I’d make certain the card would be inaccessible, so he let others force me to bring it out in the open.” Galerius had played not only me but the Triple Man, too. “I won’t risk bringing it back yet. Besides, I think I might need it.”

For the first time in the call, his voice took on an edge. “Consider carefully, Master Nicholas. The cards have a strong, seductive power to them. They often end up the masters.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve seen the results of that. Not something I want to repeat.”

“Just . . . be cautious.”

“I will. Keep an eye out. There’s always the chance they might think I snuck in. You could have visitors.”

“Then I shall expel them.”

I hung up. “It’s just like I thought,” I told Claryce and Fetch. “Gale-rius has men watching Holy Name. I’ll wager he has someone doing the same at St. Michael’s.” I looked at the empty air next to me. “Diocles!”

He immediately materialized. His eyes were wide with wonder. “I am not used to this yet!”

I should’ve told him then what would happen once the card was hidden away again, but didn’t. “Holy Name is being watched by Galerius’s men. What about St. Michael’s?”

“There was a disreputable looking Celt who was sitting in the pews when I arrived. He left almost immediately after, but I’ll wager he was one of Galerius’s curs.”

“Nick, Father Jonathan’s an innocent in all of this! We have to do something for him.”

We couldn’t very well go there ourselves. “I could call him and warn him about gangsters, but he’s more likely to try to save their souls than quietly leave. Diocles . . . did you feel at all like you had any substance when you returned to St. Michael’s?”

His brow wrinkled. “I felt something. . . and I do not generally feel anything, as you know.”

“We’ll have to hope for the best. Watch over him as much as you can.”

“I am very fond of the young priest. A good man. Would that I would’ve made a choice more like him for my daughter than a choice like Galerius.”

“Welcome to the empire,” I muttered. “Go, Diocles.”

He disappeared.

Claryce looked perturbed. “If we can’t go to Holy Name, what do we do, Nick? I—”

She suddenly swayed. I caught her just before she would’ve fallen.

“Are you all right?” I held her tight. “Is it from what the Triple Man did to you?”

“No . . . no . . . I just . . . I had another flash of memory. I thought they’d settled down . . . but this one was strong.” She looked up at me. “I remember . . . it was at the end of the struggle between you and the dragon. It was while I . . . she . . . we. . . held you. He cast a shadow over me. I was scared. I thought the dragon had survived.”

I held her tighter. “No. I remember that. He was dead. Very dead.”

Not so dead. . . the dragon argued.

I paid him no mind. “Go on.”

Thankfully, her voice calmed. “He smiled at me and offered a hand. He said he’d been nearby when he saw the struggle. When it quieted, he dared see if anyone needed help. I was so grateful. No one else dared approach for more than an hour.”

I had a funny feeling I knew where this was going. “Who was he?”

“I don’t . . . I really can’t remember him saying his name. I think . . . he was tall . . . seemed like he’d been a soldier or something.”

“A Nubian?” I finally blurted.

“Nubian? Oh! Yes . . . yes . . . he was dark-skinned, now that you mention it.”

I didn’t believe in coincidence.

But I did believe in a meddling archangel.

“That’s it, then.” I stared past her at Chicago. “We’ve got to go find that damned Michael.”

CHAPTER 23

I wasn’t sure exactly where to start. I knew where to find a lot things I’d put on the other end of the scale, but finding Michael in Chicago at first glance looked more than monumental.

Then it occurred to me that I was taking the hard approach to this. I’d never searched for Michael before. I’d just always come across him.

So we climbed into the Wills St. Claire and drove. I considered what direction to go. Keeping near the lake made the most sense but also offered more threat. I decided to head to South Michigan Avenue toward the Art Institute, one of the places I’d come across Michael in the past. Then, he’d posed as an old shoeshine man.

Claryce rested next to me while Fetch kept moving back and forth between the two passenger windows. He seemed to have recovered faster than her. Too fast, in fact. The back and forth got to be distracting pretty damned quickly. I could feel and hear each step.

“Fetch! Sit!” I winced at what I’d just said, but he had been acting more like the hound he so resembled. I was still convinced that on occasion he forgot what exactly he was.

He froze. Just as I started to relax, he shouted, “Master Nicholas! It’s that big six who stopped by Mistress Claryce’s! That bimbo from the war!”

I continued to try to translate Fetch’s latest slang even as I glanced where he was looking. Then it all made sense. The burly figure leaning forward as he walked down the street was none other than Tony “Quiet” Ford.

I immediately pulled the Wills over to the curb on the opposite side of the street. Jumping out, I ordered the others to stay inside.

Crossing the street, I headed after the figure. He kept a steady pace and with a stride longer than mine forced me to go much farther from the car than I’d planned.

I finally caught up to him as he turned a corner. Placing a hand on his shoulder, I muttered, “Slow down, Quiet. We need to talk.”

He stopped and turned to me . . . only he wasn’t Quiet.

“Always glad to talk, if I’ve got the time. There’s not much time left these days.”

“Damn you, Michael! I’m tired of your stunts!”

“Weariness is an all too common thing these days,” he replied quietly. “I’m pretty tired myself.”

“Spare me that. You aren’t the one carrying around the means to turn the world upside down.”

“I’ve done my share of that. The Clothos Deck is only one way of disrupting the order of things. Sometimes, it just takes a hesitation. I know.”

I poked him in the chest. “I’m not going to get caught up in your endless vagaries. I need to deal with Galerius, but I can’t carry the card on me. If he gets his hands on it—”

Michael raised a hand to silence me. “Say no more. I can do that. I can see that the card goes where it belongs. Will that do?”

I hadn’t expected it to be that easy. “You’ll take it from me?”

“You’ll not have to concern yourself with its burden. I promise you.”

I slipped the card free, then handed it to him. He studied it briefly before putting it into a coat pocket.

“Wait a minute,” I growled. “You know that’s not actually your pocket.”

“It is while I’m here,” he replied, adding a brief sad grin. Then, more soberly, “I’ve got to return to the sidelines, Nick. I’ve overstepped too often. I only got to do what I did to make up for the terrible mistake I made so long ago.”

“Yeah? What mistake? Something to do with me?”

He met my gaze. “You know it was.”

“I may know it was, but I don’t know what it was! I thought you were going to be straightforward from now on.”

“This is straightforward. As much as I’m permitted.” He sighed. “All right. This will really get me in trouble. You weren’t supposed to become the Gatekeeper, Nick. That was meant for another.”

I admit I shivered. I could even sense the dragon’s tremendous confusion. “But I won. I survived.”

“Yes. You weren’t supposed to do that either.”

I couldn’t help myself. A fury swept over me. I grabbed him by the collar and pulled him close. “Then, what was I supposed to do? Lose?” I quickly thought that through. “Die?”

He didn’t answer. I shook him hard.

Only, I wasn’t shaking Michael anymore. I was shaking Quiet. He looked none too pleased, either.

He brought a hammer blow Jack Dempsey would’ve approved of to my gut. Resilient as I was, it still made me double over.

Fists still ready, Quiet backed a couple of steps away from me. Recovering, I put out a hand out to signal a pause.

“Hold on,” I muttered. “I just took you for someone else!”

He hesitated. “Some other mug?”

“Definitely. We’ve actually been looking for you,” I lied. “First. Did anyone slip something into that pocket at any point today?”

He glanced at the pocket in question, the one where Michael had put the card. One eye still on me, he checked the pocket.

“It’s empty,” he replied.

I exhaled a sigh of relief. Michael had kept true to his word on that, at least. I’d get after him about the rest of our conversation after I figured out what to do about Galerius. “Good. They didn’t get a chance. You were going to be set up. Some stolen jewelry. All to get you out of the way.”

He didn’t look like he entirely believed me, but he finally nodded. In a town as corrupt as Chicago, the excuse sounded plausible enough.

“Why?” Quiet reasonably asked.

“We’re all getting close to something. What have you found out lately that would have them following you like this?”

He mulled that over. I hoped for a reason that would have me searching for an archangel and instead finding a surly vet. “Lots of funny construction work. Spots all over the city. Maybe nothing . . . but I got two mouths who say the supplies came in on the Frank O’Connor.”

A burnt, sunken ship apparently doing runs. Yeah. That was a good enough reason. “They swore to this?”

He shrugged. “They got encouraged a little.”

I’d felt his punch. I could see that encouragement loosening mouths. “Where were you heading?”

Another shrug. “Find a place to sleep. They said it wouldn’t show up again until tomorrow midnight. Wanted to be ready.”

“It all doesn’t sound crazy to you?”

“Seen crazier.”

I believed him. I believed everything he’d told me. “I’ve got a place for you to sleep. Tomorrow night, we’ll both go see about this sunken ship that isn’t.”

He glared at me. “You left me with my tires ruined.”

“Never mind that. Listen. There’s something in the water, all right, and you won’t be able to handle it on your own. I know why you want to see if the Frank O’Connor is actually sailing again. You want to find out if your brother is alive and on board. If the ship can rise from the dead, why not him, after all? Well, you’ll have your best chance with me.”

Quiet rubbed his chin in thought. “She going to be part of this? If she gives the okay, I’m game.”

“You mean Claryce? Quiet, I—”

“I trust her.”

I nodded. “All right. I’ll take you to her.”

We headed back to the Wills. Quiet slid in the back beside Fetch, who eyed him suspiciously.

“He’s got some info you wouldn’t believe,” I told her. “Go ahead, Quiet. Tell her.”

He did, adding, “Both a couple of bents, but I’m no bumpkin. I can tell what’s real and what’s not.”

“I’m sure you can,” Claryce responded.

“He needs a place to sleep,” I added. “The safe house is closer. I can drop him off there and then bring you back to your apartment. It should be safe with the Triple Man gone.”

She gave me that look. “Oh, you’re mistaken, Nick. I’m in this to the end. You know why. I owe him several times over. I owe Galerius as much as you.”

Quiet picked up on the name. “‘Galerius’? Some dago?”

I remembered Galerius as emperor. “Not what he’d like to be called. He’s more likely to link up with the North Side.”

He grunted. “Funny you should mention them. Now I think of it, I also picked up that Hymie the Pole was out looking for someone that reminded me of you. Think you had a run in with a buddy of his.”

“Buddy.” I didn’t think I’d ever heard Oberon described like that. It looked like Weiss was taking William Delke’s disappearance harder than Moran or Drucci. I wasn’t so concerned about me, but I knew if Weiss eventually found out who I was, he’d also find out about Claryce.

Unfortunately, that was a problem I had to leave for now. “All right. We all camp at the safe house. Tomorrow night, we make use of Michael’s boat.”

I received no arguments to the contrary. Pity.

Claryce got the bedroom, as usual. I tried not to think about the last time that’d been the case. Quiet settled himself into a chair once he and Fetch had raided the Kelvinator. Claryce had made what she called “proper coffee” and brought a cup for both of us before retiring. I found it a little watery for my tastes, but he seemed to like it just fine.

A look Claryce gave me was apparently a signal to offer him the couch. When I didn’t pick up on it, she made the suggestion herself.

“I’m good here,” Quiet answered . . . and evidently he was, because as soon as he’d finished his coffee, he was out.

Claryce left after giving me a brief kiss and Fetch a scratch on the head. Again acting too damned doglike, he turned in a circle on the rug in front of the couch, then settled down to sleep.

I stretched on the couch and immediately fell asleep. I wish I could say I didn’t dream, but I always dream. Over the past couple of days, I’d been able push the dreams to the back of my mind, but now they came full blown again.

There I was, once more charging across the landscape with my spear poised and ready to take on the dragon. This time, I didn’t have a horse, but rather a massive, snarling wolf several times the size of a normal one. I kept my head down as we raced toward our foe.

A fog rose in front of us. It swirled about and took on the outline of a massive, winged creature. The dragon formed, but instead of huge limbs ending in claws, he had hundreds of tentacles. The tentacles darted toward me and, as they did, their tips became swords.

I immediately began fending off the sharp blades. My mount bit in two any that got near his jaws.

“Mind the shivs!” he roared between bites.

The dragon laughed. More tentacles formed. This time, several held victims. I saw Cortez and his Maria, their son and several faceless children I assumed were also theirs. There was Barnaby and Joseph, the latter smiling innocently. The others included Laertes—who seemed offended to be there—and Louise Crying Wolf.

And, of course, there was Claryce. But not just Claryce. Wrapped in another appendage was Clarissa and next to her Claudette. Beyond them was Cleolinda herself, followed by more than a score of very similar faces . . . every incarnation I knew of and more.

“You’re the wrong one to save them!” the dragon mocked in a voice strikingly akin to Galerius’s. “You’re just here to die!”

The dragon roared, then lunged—

“Nick! Wake up!”

I shook. I was once more on the couch. My hands were still shaped for wielding the spear.

Across from me, Quiet silently watched as Claryce offered me a coffee. “Your favorite tar,” she said, trying to sound lighthearted. “Perfect for burning away dreams.”

“Thanks.” Sitting up, I took a deep swallow and savored the searing heat and thick taste.

As I set the cup down, I saw we were well into the day. “How long did I sleep?”

“It’s past four in the afternoon.”

I frowned. I generally slept very little, even going days at a time. Lately, though, that’d been harder to do.

Eye did try to wake you . . . do you think Eye care for those dreams any more than you?

“There’s food when you want it. Eggs and bacon, a repeat of the meals you slept through. Not much left in the Kelvinator or the cabinets except that and canned beans.”

My stomach rumbled. “That sounds fine with me. Thanks for making it again.”

“Don’t thank me. Thank Quiet. He knows a trick or two with eggs and seasoning.”

“Picked it up in France,” he responded.

“Sorry your previous efforts went to waste.”

Claryce laughed. “With Fetch around?”

I looked at Fetch. He had a satisfied look in his eyes.

Claryce brought the food. Digging into it, I saw that Quiet had learned some good lessons in France. I nodded my approval, which earned a nod in turn.

Claryce leaned on the couch. “I wanted to wait until you were awake. Is it safe to use the telephone downstairs? Will it even work?”

“For us, it will. What do you want it for?”

“Just tying up some loose ends. I won’t be long.”

As she left us, Quiet watched her go. He must’ve sensed me watching him in turn, because he suddenly met my gaze with a steady one of his own.

“Don’t mean anything. Sorry if it looked like it.”

“I appreciate that. I also know that if you get on her wrong side, I won’t be your worst problem. She will be.”

He digested that comment, then nodded. “I don’t doubt that.”

Deciding to change the subject, I asked, “Do you remember much about Mike?”

Quiet shut his eyes for a moment, then, “Just that he was really good to me. Pulled me out of the line of fire more than once. Been a few years. All starting to fade.”

That sounded like Michael. “Did he know about your brother?”

“Sometimes it seemed like it. They never met.” Quiet pulled out a scarred pocket watch and checked the time.

“Old piece.”

“Civil War. Grandpa’s. Gave it to me for luck. Said I needed more luck than most. Guess he was right.” He shrugged. “I wasn’t on the Frank O’Connor, though.”

Something occurred to me. “You’re hoping he’s on the ship. Your brother . . .”

“If the Frank O’Connor can come back, why not?”

“Think what you’re saying.”

He stared at me. “I am.”

Claryce returned. “When do we get started?”

Rising, I replied, “Actually, after I make a couple of calls.”

I headed down to the old millinery. I’d never mentioned it to Claryce, but I’d been familiar with the place when it’d opened up after the Great Fire. The owner had known Clarissa well, and the two of them had once spoken of running such a business. That made me think of Claryce’s own future, assuming she had one with me around. She would have to return to some semblance of normal life soon. I didn’t dare let my existence consume hers.

Pushing back such thoughts for the time being, I called Barnaby and filled him in. Despite my hopes, he’d learned nothing new. I cut the first call off soon after and made the second.

I was fortunate. He answered instead of her. “Cortez. I might have something for you.”

“Yeah? Not a ghost, I assume. So, what have you ‘stumbled’ into this time?”

“There may be a big hooch run from Canada arriving by ship late tonight. They’ve falsified the ship name, though. Going under the paperwork for the Frank O’Connor.”

“I know that name. Why do I know that name, Nick Medea?” After I quickly reminded him of the real ship’s fate, the detective chuckled. “Guess you’re ghost hunting after all!”

“Listen. I’ve got the time. Just after midnight. The place is still a question mark. You’ll need to standby. Is that possible?”

“This the real deal, Bo?”

“The real deal.”

The line was silent for nearly a minute. Then, “Well, it’ll probably ruin the wonderful standing I have with City Hall, but I’ll see things are ready. You won’t let me down?”

“No, but be prepared. There could be more than a dozen.”

“We’ll find them some nice cots in jail. I promise. Or maybe in the morgue if they decide to be nasty.”

“Yeah, okay. Just be careful. I don’t want to have to answer to Maria.”

“You and me both, Bo. You and me both. Don’t think getting bumped off would save me from her wrath!”

We left the conversation at that. I hung up . . . and immediately sensed that something was not right. I wasn’t alone.

I didn’t even bother to ask for the dragon’s vision. “Come out, Lon.”

The Feir’hr Sein formed out of the deepest shadows. I paid special attention to his hands. It wouldn’t take him more than the blink of any eye to shape his scythe.

He left his long, bony hands where I could see them, a clear sign that he’d come here with a purpose other than battle. I had feeling I wouldn’t like that purpose any better.

Gatekeepers . . .

“What does she want, Lon? I don’t have time for her games.”

He scowled. The darkness that was part of him spread wide. As it did, he faded within the darkness . . . and a shadowy path opened up.

I’d seen this trick before and never cared for it. The Feir’hr Sein was acting as a conduit of sorts between here and Feirie. It wasn’t a true path to the other side of the Gate, but it was a damned good imitation. I could smell the forest and see the mighty trees. I knew that if I stepped inside, it’d feel exactly as if I was actually there.

“No thanks. I’m not doing that.”

She commands . . .

“Maybe you. Not me.”

“It is all right, our loyal servant. There is no need for anger.”

Damn. She’d made me jump. I’d forgotten that she could send a projection of herself into the mortal world through the same spell. The distance she could do that was very limited, but in this case more than sufficient. Her Lady looked very real. I knew that if I extended a hand, I’d touch what felt like actual flesh . . . and I’d also be doing exactly what she wanted me to do.

She started to circle around me, a crooked smile playing on her lush lips. I wasn’t entirely immune to her deathly beauty, but I knew her for what she was. Besides, she wasn’t Claryce.

Even as I thought that, there were subtle adjustments in her face. Right away I saw that she was mimicking Claryce’s appearance. No doubt to soften me up.

Now I knew why she’d made this “visitation.” “Forget it. I don’t even have the card with me. I’ve asked someone to hold it for me and you won’t be able to retrieve it from them.”

“Our darling Gatekeeper, there is more we would want from you than a mere card. So much more we could offer you in turn.” Her resemblance to Claryce became more pronounced. “We have mutual goals, mutual hopes . . . and mutual enemies. A card would give us strength; the Deck would give us everything.”

I was careful to not listen too closely to her voice. Even the tone, the lilt, worked to insinuate itself into one’s mind.

“In case you’ve forgotten, I only have one card.” I refrained from adding something about neither of us playing with a full deck.

She chuckled. “Ah, our darling Gatekeeper, where there was one, now there are two. And the two shall become one. The Deck yearns to be whole once again. It never wished to be scattered. That was done by those who feared its majesty. But you and we . . . as two become one . . . need not fear it. For us . . . it would be welcoming.”

“Sorry. Not interested or even flattered.”

Her Lady didn’t flinch despite my insult to an offer many would’ve gladly taken. “We could even suggest some things the card could provide for your heart. Turn back time and redeem yourself. Save one or many of those of her who came before. Perhaps deal a harsh punishment on he who took their brief existences from them . . .”

She’d gone from trying to seduce me with her body to trying to seduce me with revenge. I suspected the two were pretty similar in her mind. “Again, you’re forgetting I don’t have the one card. It’s in a safe, secure, and faraway place.”

“We know better, do we not?” Before I could realize it was happening, she stroked my cheek. I suddenly felt as if we’d just shared something I should feel extremely guilty about. Something Claryce would’ve never forgiven me for.

“We could teach you so much . . . about the card—”

A savage growl echoed through the old millinery. I sensed Lon shift defensively.

A huge, four-legged shape plunged through Her Lady, making the all too realistic vision ripple and fade away. The shape landed directly in front of the Feir’hr Sein. Lon’s hands came together to form the scythe.

“Beat it!” Fetch snarled at the menacing figure. “Ye are a crasher here! Away with ye!”

Lon didn’t look like he planned on taking Fetch’s suggestion. The scythe rose.

“No, Lon!” I stepped toward. “Get rid of that thing right now! You hear me, Lon?”

With extreme reluctance the Feir’hr Sein finally separated his hands again. He glared at me . . . then whirled about and vanished into the shadows from which he’d emerged.

“He’s gone from here, Master Nicholas! Gone from the entire building!”

“Yeah, but what’re you doing here?”

Ears flattened, he replied, “When ye didn’t return after what seemed a more than reasonable time, Mistress Claryce got concerned. I volunteered to go check . . . just in case.”

“It wasn’t that long!”

“Master Nicholas, ye been down here nearly an hour.”

I grimaced. Time passed differently in Feirie. Either nothing abnormal took place or days, weeks, and even years could pass in the real world and you wouldn’t know until you returned to find everything changed.

Still, while I appreciated what Fetch had done, he’d taken a great risk not only by confronting Lon, but also by leaping into Her Lady’s illusion. Had she been prepared, Fetch might’ve been flayed alive. “Listen, I appreciate what you did—”

“I’d do it again if I just had a chance for her real throat.”

“She’d kill you with a glance.”

“Aye, but if I could get one good bite in, she’d never forget me. Ever.”

I stared at him. “Fetch, what’s this all about?”

He stared back. “Why didn’t ye tell me, Master Nicholas? Why? How long have ye had his tooth?”

The tooth. Because of circumstances, I’d never gotten around to revealing it to him. “It wasn’t on purpose. How’d you find out?”

“Been smelling traces of his scent. Couldn’t figure out why. Finally noticed it coming from your pocket. Nosed the area a bit and realized what it was, may she be damned.”

I retrieved the tooth and showed it to him. He bared his own teeth, but not at me, I knew. At her.

“Who is he?”

“He’s the pack elder, the one to teach us our ways. He’s been so since before ye became Gatekeeper.” Fetch nosed the tooth. A brief whine escaped him. “He’s my grandsire . . . and now he’s dead.”

“Is that what this means?” There’d been times—many times— when I’d wanted to throttle the queen of Feirie. This was one of them. It was made worse by the fact that she’d purposely chosen me to be her messenger. This was her means of not only punishing Fetch for failing her and then joining me, but also for refusing her offer to come back to serve her.

This purge had to end. I just wish I knew how.

“What should I do with this?” I finally added.

Fetch didn’t hesitate. “I’d appreciate it—should we have the chance—that you ask Kravayik to give it whatever his faith allows. I’ll not sully it with any Feirie ritual. That would only honor her.”

Nodding, I pocketed the tooth. “I’ll leave it upstairs and let Kra-vayik know. It’ll be done.” I considered our own near future. “And maybe I’ll ask him to say a prayer for us, as well.”

It would’ve helped my unease if just then Fetch had made even the slightest argument against my thought.

CHAPTER 24

With eyes already watching Holy Name and St. Michael’s, I had no doubt that Claryce’s apartment and likely the Queen Anne were being observed, too. That meant no chance of retrieving the Packard. While the Wills had served us well, where we had to go it would be too noticeable.

That left us the old Model T Quiet had obtained. With him driving, we headed down to the lake. However, as we neared, the one argument we hadn’t been able to settle finally demanded an accounting. Quiet wanted to go charging in the moment the ship arrived. I had other plans, though, which meant it was time to do what I’d suspected I’d have to do all along.

I gave Quiet a hard uppercut, enhanced a bit by the dragon to lay the man low.

“Now he’s truly quiet,” Fetch remarked.

“Stick to the slang,” I warned him, already feeling guilty enough about what I’d done.

“Was that absolutely necessary?” Claryce whispered as we set him in the driver’s seat. “It seemed so damned unfair.”

“I’m probably saving his life. His plan amounted to suicide on his part.”

“And ours?”

I looked directly at her. “You know I’d prefer you stay here.”

“You’ll have to punch me a lot harder than you did him, Nick Medea! Even then, I’ll find a way to follow you.”

I nodded. “I know that, too. I don’t do this lightly. I’ve got this funny feeling I have to bring you with me, Claryce. It stirred up just before we parked.”

“Do you think it might be Michael?”

“Wouldn’t put it past him.”

She gently adjusted Quiet’s cap, which made me feel even more guilty. “It’s funny, though. I have the same sensation. Enough so I would’ve given you one hell of an argument if you’d really tried to dissuade me.”

I got another tingle that I knew had nothing to do with our conversation. Glancing over my shoulder, I noticed the sky over Lake Michigan start to seethe.

“I think the Frank O’Connor has arrived.”

We slipped away from the car and headed toward the surging water. I eyed Claryce a couple of times as we neared where I thought our target would reveal itself. My gaze then fell upon a dock supervisor’s office. The door was slightly ajar, which I took as a sign I’d made the right decision after all.

“Claryce. Cortez needs to know where we are so that he can round up these goons working for Galerius. While I keep an eye out, you go call him. That office door is open and there should be a telephone inside a place like that.” I gave her his card. “The number on the back. By the time he arrives with help, the ship should be gone, with us on it.”

Nodding, she made her way to the office. I studied the lake for a few seconds more, then said to Fetch, “Keep an eye peeled. I’ll right back.”

“Aye, Master Nicholas.”

I headed to the office and peeked through the window. Claryce was just picking up the telephone. Satisfied, I checked the door. It’d been open because someone had jimmied the lock.

Eye can fix that. . .

I quietly pulled the door tight, then leaned close to the lock.

A single brief breath using the dragon’s power seared the entire lock, sealing Claryce inside.

Mysterious feelings be damned. I didn’t care if Michael came down with every other angel in tow and told me Claryce had to go with me. I wasn’t about to take her on a ghost ship to meet with Galerius.

I returned to face a wary Fetch. He bared his teeth at me.

“And am I to be next, Master Nicholas? Think ye that I’ll be willing to be cast aside?”

I sighed. “No . . . no, Fetch. Sadly, I need you with me. I really do. It’s you and me.”

He relaxed . . . slightly. “And himself. Never forget that. There’s always himself.”

How sweet of him to think of me . . .

I refrained from commenting on his sarcastic remark. It wasn’t as if he had a real choice. Still, I suspected he had no love for Galerius, who in some ways was more responsible for our fate than even Diocles.

Fetch and I slipped toward the dock area. I wasn’t surprised the place was empty tonight. Someone no doubt had greased palms to keep the place available whenever necessary. The kaiser could’ve sent a fleet of imperial German U-boats through the Great Lakes and down to Chicago’s harbor and officials would’ve found some excuse to have not paid attention at the time. Of course, the worsening weather conditions were enough to give cover for anything tonight . . . which was exactly what they were supposed to do.

The water frothed. I counted half a dozen hoods waiting near the pier. They looked like dime a dozen goons, there just to keep guard and maybe move material.

Then, something I wasn’t expecting broke the surface. Two familiar looking tentacles. I’d assumed I wouldn’t be seeing those after the Triple Man had faded into the card. The goons didn’t seem startled at all, which meant that they were either already well used to such fantastic things or they’d been mesmerized.

But if I thought I’d seen everything, what followed proved to be one of the most unsettling sights I’d come across.

The Frank O’Connor burst into sight.

It thrust out of the water much the way the tentacles had, its bow jutting high into the air before coming down with crash on the surface. The entire ruined vessel settled atop the water, pausing just yards from land. Water dripped off of every part of the resurrected ship, and with the dragon’s vision I could see each section the fire had damaged as well. The Frank O’Connor sat there, a monstrous ghost ship.

I remembered what Barnaby had said about something moving beneath the lake. I’d assumed at the time it’d been the beast. Now I saw that it was more than that. It’d been the ship.

I still wasn’t certain what’d happened with the beast. It appeared to serve Galerius now, and the way it protected the ship I could believe it’d been serving Galerius for a long time. Yet the Triple Man had clearly controlled it.

We continued to wend our way toward the ghost ship. There was only a lone, dim light aboard the vessel, and I couldn’t help but think that maybe that light had something to do with Galerius.

Fetch let out a slight growl. I looked where his nose pointed and saw a couple of hoods with guns patrolling the vicinity. They didn’t move as if hypnotized. There were always those someone like Galerius could find willing to serve the devil himself, Oberon, or any other monster in return for gold or its counterpart.

With the dragon’s vision, I could see that they were likely Irish. While Galerius had been emperor of Rome, he’d in many ways despised the realm he ruled, even threatening more than once to rename it the Dacian Empire and reversing the situation he felt his homeland suffered under imperial rule. That meant that, like Oberon, he apparently preferred dealing with the Irish and the Poles and not the likes of Capone.

Fetch and I waited behind a storage building while the two guards continued passing. That gave me the opportunity to take another glimpse at the Frank O’Connor. That single light remained. I squinted, but even then I couldn’t make out more.

“Master Nicholas . . .”

I instinctively took his warning tone to have something to do with the sentries. Sure enough, they’d made a turn back and were heading toward us.

I signaled for Fetch to back up. Neither of us were worried about dealing with two guards. We just didn’t want to alert anyone else in the process.

Eye can deal with both of them very quietly . . . let me do it. . .

Silence. I knew what he meant and I wasn’t ready to go that far. If we could just knock them out, that’d be fine. I hoped Fetch remembered that too.

The first guard stepped around. I hoped he’d not pay attention until his partner was close enough to reach.

Naturally, that didn’t happen.

He spotted me as soon as I came into range. I grabbed him and pulled him to me. At the same time, I made a barely audible hissing sound.

Fetch knew the signal well. He darted past me as I covered the first guard’s mouth, preventing the hood from emitting more than a muffled grunt of surprise. I heard a thud and another low grunt.

Let me deal with him . . . one little breath . . .

Shut up! I slammed the guard against the wall, then hit him the way I’d done with Quiet. He dropped like a rock.

I immediately rushed to Fetch. He had the other guard on his back. Fetch couldn’t punch him, so instead he had his jaws wrapped tightly around the hood’s throat.

The guard stared up at me with pleading eyes, rightfully fearful Fetch would rip out his throat.

I leaned down and hit him hard.

Fetch pulled his jaws from the incapacitated thug. “Not even a drop of blood, Master Nicholas.”

“You did good, Fetch, I—”

An icy hand grabbed the back of my neck. Every nerve in my body grew numb from the cold. I tried to turn, but my legs didn’t work anymore.

Even as I fell, I heard Fetch snarl. That was followed by a scuffle of sorts . . . and then Fetch’s pained yowl.

Everything went still. My body remained frozen despite my best attempts to summon the dragon’s power.

A hand gripped my shoulder and shoved me onto my back. The hand’s very touch sent a renewed chill through my body.

A figure in slouch hat and coat leaned down close to me.

Of course, he had no face . . . but damned if he wasn’t laughing at me.

He straightened again. This time, lacking a piece of wood, he satisfied himself with kicking me in the head until I passed out.

The violent rocking stirred me initially, but it was the burning agony that truly woke me the instant after. I immediately screamed, which in no way mitigated the searing pain.

Someone threw cold water in my face. It made my suffering almost bearable. I struggled to open my eyes.

Four thugs stood around me, one with a bucket. They wore expressions ranging from darkly amused to perplexed. The latter expression I understood. Those two were probably wondering what I found so painful. After all, I was only bound head to toe in wire. While extremely uncomfortable, it shouldn’t have caused me any trouble.

Of course, they lacked any touch of magic which meant that, unlike me, they wouldn’t have been affected adversely by being secured in more black silver than I could recall coming across in my entire existence. Even the fact that, other than my overcoat—which Galerius had apparently made sure they removed—I was still dressed, didn’t dull the mystical metal’s insidious properties in the least.

The agony resurged. It must’ve shown on my face because the hood with the bucket set aside the empty one and grabbed a second. I shook my head, but he threw the contents in my face, anyway.

Eye. . . am . . . helping. . . trying. . . came the dragon’s weary voice.

The pain subsided a little bit. I could think better. I could make better sense of my surroundings.

I was on the Frank O’Connor. Rust covered the metal walls around me. I wasn’t familiar with the Frank O’Connor, but as bad as this room looked, I doubted it’d been part of the original design. Someone had armored the interior and added more compartments. Someone who was obviously Galerius.

The goon nearest the door slipped out. The remaining trio stared at me as if I was an exhibition at the Lincoln Park Zoo. I kept a scowl on my face and continued to watch the door while I worked on some sort of escape plan. I admit I’d never considered this much black silver in my equation, but I wasn’t going to let that stop me.

A muffled whine tore my attention from the door. Behind me and to my right lay Fetch. Like me, he was bound with black silver, although not nearly as much. Still, without my magical protections to help him, he was suffering badly.

I’d done everything possible to shield our presence from Galerius, but somehow it hadn’t been enough. I was more glad than ever that I’d prevented Claryce from coming with us.

The door opened again. The hood who’d left the room returned.

And then the golem entered.

He still wore the hat and coat, but he wasn’t the least bit damp. Four easy steps brought him to where they’d hung me.

Suddenly, we were joined by another figure, this one forming out of thin air near the golem.

Galerius. He was only an illusion, but the strength of the projection meant the true Galerius wasn’t far away.

I found it oddly satisfying that he didn’t look very pleased.

“Where is it, Nick? Where is the card?”

I’d been struggling against the black silver all the while, but without success, so all I could do was grin despite my still-intense pain, and answer, “Far from you, Galerius. Far from you.”

The golem instantly crossed the remaining distance between us and tugged on the black silver. I screamed.

As he pulled back, I saw that the one hand now smoked. The smoking didn’t last, though. The hand healed up nicely, in great part, I knew, because of the intense cold the golem radiated.

I remembered how the one Triple Man who’d caught Fetch had also made use of extreme cold. I wondered if they’d been well aware of Galerius’s use of the foul stuff.

“Let us try again, Nick.” Every time he said the name, I could hear Galerius’s mockery. Knowing as he did its origins, it probably amused him that I’d chosen it. “The card. Where did you put it?”

“Where you can never get to it, Galerius,” I managed without a moan of pain. “Sorry to disappoint you again.”

“‘Again’? Oh, do you mean the little swim I provided you? That was a test for both you and them. They were called the Triple Man, isn’t that amusing? You know how the cards can alter perception and reality? He carried it with him so long, dwelled in its power so long, that sometimes . . . when things changed . . . parts of him from before that change stuck around.”

I’d pretty much figured that out. What worried me even more was what else had changed.

Galerius chose that moment to laugh. I didn’t like the sound of that laugh at all. It was as if he was laughing at a huge joke of which I was the center.

“All right, Nick. I can be magnanimous and give you a little more time. I’ve waited sixteen hundred years for this. I can wait a few hours more.”

“Going to have to wait a lot longer than that.”

“I doubt it. A few hours is all she’s got left. Unlike you, I don’t believe she can hold her breath more than a few minutes.”

My first thought was to try to rip his throat out—an idea the dragon enthusiastically agreed with—but then something managed to get through my pain and anger. I was happy to see Galerius frown at the sudden shift in emotions.

“You’ve got even less time, don’t you?” I asked. “All the work . . . it’s not for anything long term. I was told this ship’s been carrying supplies for construction. Not this time, though, right?” The more I warmed to the subject, the more I was able to tolerate the black silver. Oh, it burned badly, but my satisfaction helped me. “The trick you pulled on Joseph Sperling and his crew with the Wingfoot Express didn’t go completely your way, did it? You only managed a partial victory. The power they sought, you got, but not enough. It kept you going, at least until now.”

“You have a vivid imagination, Nick. You always did.”

“My imagination didn’t build complex patterns on top of various structures since after the Wingfoot disaster and make certain that they all line up just perfectly. I’ve seen Joseph’s original calculations. Those—” There was a surge of agony. I swallowed hard, fought it down, then continued. “—those were based on the need for everything to fall into place that very day. Lines of power tied to the Gate, to Feirie, and to elements in the mortal world. It had to happen that day. Otherwise, things would have to be recalculated and there might be a wait for decades, centuries even.”

At this point, I wasn’t just talking for his benefit. The dragon had gained from my strength and now he was working to give us the power that might help free us. I didn’t know just what he had in mind, but I knew he wanted to be free as much as me. That made us safe allies for a while.

“But you’ve had a piece of luck . . . luck like a double-edged sword. What was his name? Sebastian Tremaine. He convinced Joseph to do some more calculations . . . just in case. Calculations you really needed, because while you were confident you had it all planned right, you needed to have something in case the work went wrong.”

“Bits and pieces, Georgius. Nothing more.”

“Then why’ve you stopped calling me ‘Nick’?”

A metallic groaning sound echoed through the ship, as if some tremendous force was trying to twist the Frank O’Connor in two. Gale-rius’s goons looked concerned, but he seemed intrigued.

“Ah . . . the tides of power are shifting. The realities are correcting.” The illusion grinned again. “If I need to, one card must suffice. I have you. That’ll make all the difference.”

“What’s your plan then?” I asked, trying to keep his attention. “Make yourself a Dacian Empire like you always threatened?”

I didn’t expect the laugh that followed. Even the golem radiated mirth. I tried to figure out why what I’d said would be so humorous. I knew it didn’t bode well, whatever the reason.

“Sixteen hundred years ago, something so mundane would’ve been my utmost desire, Nick. Now, that hardly seems worth all the trouble, all the distraction.”

I had to admit it, he had me curious. I’d be damned if I was going to ask, but I really wanted to know.

The ship groaned again. I knew then that we were on the move. At the same time, I began to feel energies gathering . . . some very familiar energies.

The Gate . . . the dragon blurted. Eye feel its pull. . . Eye feel it as Eye have not. . . since we became one . . . since we died. . . and became one . . .

I wasn’t as certain about that as the dragon was, but it did feel awfully familiar.

“You should really be thanking me. After all, I’m just correcting history to what it used to be and freeing you from all those burdens the Gate thrust upon you by mistake!”

“You’re not making any sense now, Galerius.”

“Do you want sense?” The golem stepped up and spun me around a few times. When he finally did stop me, it was to show me an old coin. “I’d hoped that she’d remember and so really turn your existence upside down, but I’m more than happy to break the truth to you. It’s an interesting coin, isn’t it, Nick? A striking image of me, isn’t it?”

“Looks more like Caligula or Nero. I’d say Caligula. Suits you better.” I was still going through a lot of pain but damned if I’d show him.

“I had this on me when the shift happened,” he added unhelpfully, as the golem continued to thrust it in my face. “Maybe because I also had the card by then, it stayed unchanged.”

The faceless creature flipped the coin around so that I could get a close view of the other side. At first, the struggle I’d had against the black silver even despite the dragon’s aid only enabled me to make out a blurry shape on a horse. The horse was rearing over something.

I blinked. The image coalesced. A dragon struggled beneath the horse, struggled because it also had to deal with a spear wielded by the rider piercing its chest. I was very familiar with the image. I’d seen variations of this display of my exploit on coins, medallions, and more.

Only . . . this time it wasn’t me on the horse. It was a figure clad in flowing garments. A woman.

One woman in particular.

Some of what Michael had last told me came back. I tried to deny it all, but Galerius, of course, was having none of that.

“You died that day, Nick. In Silene. You died wounding the dragon. She took up your spear and through sheer perseverance managed to put an end to the struggle. She, not you . . . that is, before my use of the card for my own sake twisted history and made you the bloody saint!”

I didn’t doubt his words one bit. They made what Michael uttered very clear. I’d perished fighting. I’d never become Saint George and I’d never then been made the guardian of the pathway between our world and Feirie, the Gatekeeper.

That last mantle had been thrust on another. The original choice.

Cleolinda.

CHAPTER 25

“Saint Cleolinda and the Dragon. It has an interesting ring to it, doesn’t it? The ring of truth.”

I looked away from the coin.

“That was my ultimate goal with her,” Galerius murmured almost thoughtfully. “Stir the truth. See if she could remember everything she did to become keeper, so that I could emulate it as necessary.”

I only partly heard him, my mind still struggling to accept what he’d revealed.

Both the illusion and the golem abruptly straightened. The illusion glanced over its shoulder . . . then faded away. Immediately after, the golem turned and abandoned the chamber. After a moment, two of the guards followed suit. We were left with two uneasy hoods who fidgeted at the slightest noise.

I continued to try to digest all Galerius had revealed to me while at the same time trying to find an escape from the black silver. I could barely sense the dragon’s presence and had no idea what he was doing, if anything.

I must’ve flinched a little, because one of the thugs walked up to me and promptly put an automatic to my head.

“You’re supposed to keep still,” he warned.

“Sorry. I’m itchy. Mind scratching my back?”

He snorted. “You got both hands back there. Use ‘em.”

The two goons shared a laugh. I smiled.

And Fetch suddenly leaped on the one holding the gun on me. The thug easily went down, his head slamming against the floor.

The other hood fiddled with his automatic. I realized he’d left the safety on. He was too stunned to yell for help, but I knew that piece of luck wouldn’t last long.

So did Fetch, thankfully. No sooner had the first guard’s head hit, then Fetch threw himself at the second. He brought down the gunman by slamming him against the wall behind. The two dropped together.

Fetch seized the guard’s wrist in his jaws. He shook the gun free . . . and then did what I’d warned him never to do again.

He tore the goon’s throat out.

It happened in barely a second. Fetch lunged and bit. It was over like that.

With flattened ears and a guilty look, Fetch headed toward me. He silently circled behind.

I tried to see how he’d managed to free himself. The strands of black silver lay scattered around where Fetch had lain, which told me only that he hadn’t bitten through them.

“Easy, Master Nicholas,” Fetch whispered. “Almost there.” He didn’t speak after that, his mouth and mind at work on my bonds.

A couple of minutes later, he had me free. I dropped to my knees and gasped for air, only then understanding just how much pain I’d been going through.

Fetch came around front. He still looked guilty as hell.

“Forget it, Fetch. I know you had no choice. Thanks for freeing me, too. How’d you manage that trick with your own bonds?”

He looked uncomfortable . . . which made me feel uncomfortable. “Master Nicholas, surely ye know that it was himself that did it?”

“Him?”

You are so very welcome . . . he commented snidely . . . but also weakly.

Yeah. Definitely thanks.

He didn’t respond to my honest gratitude. He’d surprised me. Unable to deal with our more complex and stronger black silver bonds, he’d worked on the lesser ones used on Fetch. Even then, it had to have been a Herculean task.

I assumed there’d be guards outside the room as well, but a cau tious listen at the door revealed no sound. I’d thought we’d just been fortunate that they hadn’t heard the struggle, but it turned out that Galerius had only left two to watch me. That wasn’t entirely a surprise; black silver generally worked well in such situations.

That brought up the matter of just how Galerius had gotten his hands on so much of the stuff, since it originated in Feirie, but I shoved those thoughts aside with the hope I’d have a future in which to contemplate them. All that mattered was finding a way to prevent Galerius from doing whatever he planned. It still wasn’t very clear, but I gathered he wanted to use the card to adjust reality to his preference. I knew the cards could do that to an extent, especially if all were together, but he seemed to think he could do it with just one.

Which brought up the question of why the card he already had hadn’t proven sufficient.

The ship continued to rock as if moving. I wondered why I didn’t hear an engine and then came close to slapping myself on the head. Apparently Galerius had more than one use for the monster. It had to literally be carrying the Frank O’Connor to wherever Galerius needed it.

Again, a powerful resource he could only have attained from Feirie.

I heard voices from somewhere above deck. Part of Galerius’s human crew. I was curious as to whether or not they understood that he was likely to sacrifice them in the process.

Fetch and I continued along the corridor. We passed several old sections Galerius had seen no reason to repair. Most of the Frank O’Connor was rust and rot. In the deep cold waters of Lake Michigan, it would’ve stayed more intact. He had clearly moved it several times as he’d tried to adjust for all the needed calculations.

More and more I could sense the essence of the Gate. Galerius was nearing the location he needed to be at in order to achieve the culmination of his plans. I cursed Joseph for all he was responsible for, then suffered a wave of guilt for my condemnation of Barnaby’s son. Barnaby had helped me a lot since we’d met. I’d known few men like him.

Of course, I’d also known few men like the Joseph Sperling of old, thankfully.

A guard had the misfortune to come out of a side compartment just then. I grabbed him, covered his mouth . . . and, with no other quick and quiet choice, snapped his neck.

Peeking into the compartment, I didn’t spot any more trouble. With Fetch behind me, I dragged the body into the room and set it in a corner where it wouldn’t immediately be seen.

I was just about to leave when we both heard a sound in the corridor. Signaling Fetch to back away, I cautiously took a glimpse outside.

At first, I saw nothing. Then, I noticed a crumpled pile on one side of the passage.

It looked like cloth. In fact, it looked like a coat.

It looked like my coat.

The cheese is set. . . the dragon commented. Are you now the mouse?

There was no good reason under the sun for my coat to be there. Everything screamed trap, just as the dragon suggested.

But that was also the reason why I hesitated to leave it behind. It was too obvious a trap. I doubted even Galerius thought I was that naive.

So what was going on?

I was saved from the decision by Fetch, who darted out and raced to the coat. Snagging it in his mouth, he proceeded to drag it back to me.

I kept watch, but nothing happened. Fetch pulled it into the room, where I immediately took hold of it.

It was mine. Someone, presumably Galerius, had clearly rifled through the pockets. They must’ve been disappointed not to find the card. Now it was my turn. I didn’t know if Galerius could breach the sword’s hiding place, but if anyone could, it’d be him.

A tremendous sense of relief filled me as my hand gripped the hilt. I drew Her Lady’s gift just to make certain everything was okay, then replaced the sword.

“Thanks again,” I told Fetch.

“Everything okay with it?”

“Seems to be. You smell anything out there?”

He shook his head. “Nothing but old faint traces of men and fish. And mostly fish.”

He wasn’t kidding about the last. It made even the best noses pretty useless at anything more than immediate surroundings. We would have to proceed blindly.

But at least I had the sword.

I got a bit more of a glimpse into the original fate of the Frank O’Connor. There was no way that Quiet’s brother, let alone anyone else, could’ve survived if they’d been in here. The fire had torched everything. I felt bad for him and no longer regretted leaving him behind. This wasn’t his battle anymore.

We finally came to a stairway leading up. I was encouraged about one thing—Galerius didn’t have a huge gang aboard. Judging by the condition of the wreck, that was likely due to stability as much as anything. Still, none of that mattered if he figured out what to do with his lone card.

I crept upstairs, Fetch right behind. The stench of fish and rot grew stronger. Something else now bothered me. The weather on the lake had been worsening, but since I’d woken up it’d been oddly calm other than the ship’s movement. I didn’t like that. It meant Galerius was already able to draw some of the forces he needed.

I carefully stuck my head above deck . . . and found no one. No matter what direction I looked, there was no sign of a single guard.

But what I did see was the ghost ship crashing through high waves as the monstrous strength of the aquatic beast carried it deeper onto Lake Michigan. I couldn’t see the tentacles, but I knew they had to have the Frank O’Connor held tightly to keep it from capsizing.

The fact that the ship had arrived at Chicago from under the waves raised more questions, especially as it seemed that Galerius had every desire now for it to sit atop the surface, not below. If he hadn’t minded it below before, then that meant that the vessel had to stay above in order for his plans to come to fruition.

I climbed out. As Fetch joined me, we got a better look around. In the process, we saw the reason for the calm sea and sky. A hazy shell of magical energy encompassed the Frank O’Connor, utterly protecting it from the elements. More work from the Clothos card. I shuddered to think what repercussions that might have on the mortal plane.

It occurred to me that we’d yet to come in sight of the spot where I’d seen the lone light. I had to assume that it was where I’d find everything, including Galerius and the card.

My attention focused upward, I didn’t notice my foot kick something until the object slid to the rail and collided with it.

A hand. A meaty hand. Something had not only severed it from its owner’s wrist but also cauterized it.

I’d had a really bad feeling before. It was a whole lot worse now.

I ran toward where I’d seen that light. Inside my head, the dragon started roaring at me to let him take over. I knew what his plan would be. He’d fly up over the ship and set it ablaze. Of course, that assumed we evaded both the power of Galerius’s card and the beast at the same time, something I found highly doubtful.

A shot rang out.

It couldn’t be. I cursed Michael and every other saint I could think of at that moment. She couldn’t be on board.

My stomach turned upside down. I braced myself.

Things shifted. The Frank O’Connor stretched, and the area toward which I’d been running flattened a bit.

And suddenly, I was inside. With Claryce. Claryce who should’ve been locked up safely on shore. Claryce who’d somehow managed to get on the ship, despite my efforts.

And then even that shock fell to the wayside as I stared at the thing across from her . . . a thing I belatedly realized was Galerius.

He sat propped in a metallic chair, one arm dangling uselessly. His legs were twisted beneath him. The left half of his face was covered with a sickly green scaling, making it look as if he was transforming into a dragon of sorts. A long brown robe like a friar might’ve worn attempted to cover what I figured out had to be a body long wracked by disease. I couldn’t even see how he could survive in such a condition.

No. It all made sense. The reason he’d been able to survive whatever afflicted him was plain and simple. His card.

Claryce stood with her gun drawn. She looked confused.

“Nick! No. You’re another illusion. I warned him. He shouldn’t have tried—” Her gaze briefly shifted to her other side where, sure enough, Quiet Ford stood, held by the same two goons who’d left after the golem. I wanted to punch Quiet again for dragging Claryce back into this. He, meanwhile, seemed unperturbed by either what he’d done by bringing her here or by their current precarious circumstances.

The golem stood between Claryce and Galerius. There was a hole in the emptiness where the face should’ve been that must’ve resulted from her gunshot. Even as I stood there, the hole slowly sealed up.

The head turned toward me.

“Ah. Nick. Nick Medea. Nicomedia. I still find that so amusing,” Galerius rasped. He grinned, a pretty disgusting sight considering rot had taken away one side of his mouth. I marveled that he could talk at all, even while I tried to think how I might be able to kill him. “Perhaps I should be honored . . . keep your hand from your coat, Nick.“

Another goon stepped out from behind Galerius’s tall chair. He had a tommy aimed at Claryce.

“They’ve been informed that you’re hard to take down, but that your friends aren’t. They know their targets.”

“Let them—”

“Let them go? You’re seriously going to say that?” He chuckled . . . or at least made a grunting sound that, for him, seemed to pass as such. “The ape means little to me other than as a hostage, but she. . . she must be here if this is to succeed.” He made another ghastly smile. “In fact, with her present, it all comes together.”

“Are you sure you can survive it? You look a little . . . green.”

His smile turned into a scowl. “Soon, this will never have happened. The blasted potion the doctor created from the bit of dragon I’d obtained seemed at first to work, but then I discovered that it hadn’t saved me; it’d merely put my disease on a slower pace. I had to do something more, but my condition became so . . . obvious . . . that I could no longer keep my rivals at bay. I had to abandon my throne and begin my search anew.”

“All the while like that?”

The golem shrugged for him. “It hadn’t spread so much then. That took another hundred years and more. The one other dubious gift your damned dragon gave me was enabling me to live much longer. Didn’t realize how much longer until Rome fell. Of course, by then I’d shifted my search closer to Constantinople. And there is where I came across the card and learned the truth about everything.”

Fetch growled and took a step toward Galerius. With a slight wave of my hand, I stopped him from getting any closer. At the same time, my eyes darted toward Quiet, who was acting much too calm. As if sensing me, he raised his head just enough so that I could see his eyes under his cap.

At that point, I understood. I didn’t like it, but I understood. I knew what I had to do.

I talked.

“Is that where you also ran across them . . . him, I should say?”

“The Triple Man? By then, I’d discovered about Feirie and the Gate . . . but not yet that you, of all damned people, had become it’s guardian. I found him two days from Constantinople. In a small, abandoned monastery, if you can believe it. He was just sitting there, staring at the card! He’d set it in a place of honor, as if the monastery had been built just for it! The waste!”

I could see that Galerius had wanted to tell this story for a long time. I was willing to let him now that I knew better what was going on with the fourth member of our party. “Who was he?”

“Never found out. Some practitioner of the arts who stumbled on the card and didn’t have the resistance to its seductive power. It became his master, his existence, to the extent that when it on occasion stirred to life—altering things around it in the process—sometimes he didn’t quite keep in synchrony with the new variation. Hence his literal three selves.” Galerius managed to lean forward. “Weak! Not like you or me! We are masters of the card . . . although you certainly wasted your time with it. You could’ve changed it all, Nick. You could’ve saved her in any life. Any. Instead, you let them stay dead. Another reason I wanted her to remember. So she can see how true you really are. You could’ve saved whichever incarnation you truly loved. Have you told the princess that?”

“Nick . . . what’s he mean, you could’ve saved them? One of the others, like Clarissa?”

The golem clapped.

“As astute as ever, princess—”

“Stop calling me that!” she ordered, aiming past the golem to the true Galerius.

“As you wish . . . Claryce. Yes, our saint here could have used the card to adjust what had been to what he wanted. His favorite variation of you—Cleolinda, I mean—could have been returned to him whenever he desired . . . unless apparently his true love wasn’t so true after all!”

“Is that right, Nick? You could’ve brought Clarissa back. Loved and comforted her?”

“Forever . . .” Galerius added unhelpfully.

It was true. I’d known almost from the beginning that the card offered such a path, that I could even bring Cleolinda herself back if I so dreamed.

That, though, would’ve sent me spiraling down the same path as the Triple Man. Even if it hadn’t, I’d have worried about the repercussions, something not at all a concern to Galerius.

Claryce shook. “Oh, my God!” The revolver slipped from her grip. She didn’t even notice, her face now buried in her hands. “Dear God! No!”

“Ah! She finally remembers!” Galerius roared with almost mad glee, the golem applauding for him. Small drops of pus splattered on the floor below him. “Wonderful! Tell him about real true love, Cle-olinda! Real true love!”

Even though Claryce had dropped her weapon, Galerius gave no signal for his men to close in. No, he simply watched.

I finally rushed to her, Fetch covering me. Claryce looked up at me . . . and her expression grew more horrified.

“It’s all me, Nick! It’s all me!”

“What’re you talking about? Don’t let him—”

Claryce vehemently shook her head. “No! I did this, don’t you see? All of this!”

“You’re not making sense!”

Galerius laughed hard. “Oh yes, she is. Perfect sense! Tell him!”

Swallowing, Claryce gestured at our surroundings. “This! Everything outside. Maybe everything we’ve lived. All my fault!” She shivered. “Nick . . . I did finish the dragon. I was honored as a saint. You . . . you died in the struggle and I could never accept that. So when the chance came, I took it!”

I thought I knew where this was leading, but I refused to believe it “Claryce, you didn’t do any—”

“Nick . . . I used the card to bring you back to life. . .”

CHAPTER 26

“You don’t know what you’re saying. Don’t let him play games with your mind!”

She shook her head again. “No, Nick! I know it’s the truth. I really remember. I remember everything!”

I didn’t like the way Galerius was taking this all in, as if he’d had more than torture in mind when he awakened her memories. It also bothered me to think that we’d done exactly what he’d wanted by stimulating the recovery of her memories.

Claryce continued to stare into the past. “Clementina. I was using the name Clementina because it was too painful to use Cleolinda—my true name—after losing you, Georgius.”

I tried not to show any dismay at what she was hinting at. “Only a couple hundred years after the . . . incident,” Galerius offered. “She lived in the heart of the Eastern empire. Near Constantinople. In my research to find a way to cure myself, I discovered her continued existence and realized why she still lived. It became clear to me that my fate was bound to yours and hers. Naturally, I journeyed to Constantinople immediately.”

Each time Galerius mentioned Constantinople, there was a tinge of hatred. It had been his archrival Constantine who’d finally wrested control of the empire from him. Galerius had never been a man to forget grudges, even when that enemy was long dead.

“He came looking for me,” she went on. “I didn’t know him in this . . . version of reality. Cloaked to disguise his sickness, but spinning tales of a love stretching through time—God! I drank up his story! He was your old friend, cursed to walk the earth until he could bring us together again!”

“You should’ve seen me, Nick. A truly impressive display of acting.” He made the golem sweep off its hat and do a grandiose bow.

It had taken place shortly after he’d stolen the card from the Triple Man. Galerius had thought he’d learned from the other’s mistake. Each time the card was used, it affected the wielder in different ways. Therefore, he’d decided to let “Clementina” be his pawn.

He’d crafted a story of love, loss, and sacrifice that had played on her passions so much she’d willingly agreed to use the card as he’d directed. Of course, Galerius had only cared about one thing. In his tale, he’d been the strong healthy friend of ours. When she adjusted reality, he fully expected to be restored to that. And by staying with her, he also believed he would be able to reclaim the card. After all, in his version, I could only be brought back if she sacrificed herself in my place.

She’d done as he said. She’d imagined the reality he’d suggested.

Unfortunately for Galerius, the same flames he’d sparked in her to trick her into acting as his pawn had colored her perception of what he wanted. Her mind had instinctively altered things before the fact.

And in the process, Cleolinda—acting as Clementina—had lost track of Galerius’s supposed role. He’d been subconsciously relegated to just being there. Unaware of his monstrous affliction, she’d assumed he would be restored to what he’d been before.

“I remember feeling sick for a moment, as if I’d been struck with— vertigo, I guess. Then, when I recovered . . . I wasn’t me, anymore. Not Cleolinda or even Clementina. I am . . . was . . . Cleopatra of Chalcedon . . . and I do not . . . did not . . . understand this card in my possession. What was I doing with it?”

I remembered Cleopatra of Chalcedon. I guided Claryce’s chin so that she looked at me. “I recall her. I recall you.”

“Nikolaos,” Claryce murmured, looking into my eyes. “I thought I lost you.”

“No,” interjected Galerius in a tone that no longer sounded amused. “You lost yourself and you lost me. Your guise of Clemen tina ceased to exist, erased from history by the powers of the card as it, like all the other cards in the deck, restructured reality as it apparently saw fit. She remained a fragmented memory for you only because you’d been the one to use the card.” His chuckle took on an edge of madness. “It was Cleopatra of Chalcedon who now lived, Cleopatra of Chalcedon who had once been the princess Cleolinda, but no longer Saint Cleolinda. If it’d been Saint Cleolinda, there would’ve been no more incarnations, just her living on and on and you nicely dead, Nick. Instead, the tribune Georgius had survived the struggle, and the legend of his victory over the dragon had begun, bringing things to what they are this day.”

The golem went to his side. Galerius guided it to help him stand . . . at least as much as he was able. The once-mighty emperor was a bent abomination who should’ve been dead.

“The gods must’ve laughed!” he rasped. “I changed, too . . . for the worse! Because of you! The two of you! Even more frustrating, because she now feared the card, she cast it away . . . and the damned elf found it first.”

I didn’t have to ask which elf. Oberon, of course. Fortunately, he’d lost it, too. Maybe to the Triple Man, maybe to someone else. I knew there’d been other wielders through the centuries. I’d even encountered them on occasion.

“Always just out of my grasp. I could sense it, draw from it, but not enough to achieve what I needed. Not enough to end this . . . and so, to bide my time, I began my little game with you, Nick. A twofold game with her lives as the prize. On the one hand, because I hoped to turn you to hunting for the card yourself. On the other . . . because it just pleased me to take her from you.”

“You—”

The ship lurched. While the rest of us fought to regain our balance, Galerius just stood there, looking very satisfied. It wasn’t a comforting notion.

“We are there at last!” he declared loudly. “After so long, to be mere moments from correcting this travesty!”

I studied Quiet. He remained exactly as he’d been throughout my time here. That also disturbed me greatly.

I fought to stall a little longer, hoping something would change matters so that I wouldn’t have to rely on the last of last resorts.

“Can you feel it, Nick? The essence of the Gate?”

I could. I suddenly felt both stronger and yet somehow fragmented. It was disconcerting, but I didn’t exactly want it to go away, either.

“You made this all possible, you know. Until the Gate became fixed in place, I couldn’t have hoped to achieve this. But now, over the past fifty years and more, the energies binding it to Chicago have built up. Someone had to know where they would come together.”

And again I cursed Joseph.

I couldn’t wait any longer. My hand inched toward Her Lady’s gift while at the same time I calculated how quickly I could down the tommy gunner and reach Galerius.

“This is the place, then?” Claryce asked, sounding odd. “Then, you’ll want this.”

She pulled away from me and reached into the inside of her coat in a motion that looked almost as if she was going to draw the sword.

Only it was something far more dangerous than Her Lady’s gift.

The Clothos card.

I went from cursing Joseph to cursing Michael. I didn’t know what mad scheme he’d had in mind, but he’d tricked me when he’d sworn to take care of the card.

I moved, but Claryce moved faster. She held out the card toward Galerius, who looked more curious about what was happening than concerned.

And then he gave that awful smile once more. “Thank you. I could sense it was near . . . and yet not near. Now I understand.”

He reached out his hand.

The card flew from her grip to his fingers.

Claryce seemed to wake out of whatever trance she’d just fallen into. She stared at her fingers as if seeing them for the first time.

She looked at me. “What just happened?”

“You just gave him the card.”

“The card? I had the card?”

“You don’t remember?”

Claryce vehemently shook her head. I wanted to know what Michael was up to. I also wanted to throttle him.

“Everything aligns,” Galerius announced, clutching the card as if it was his beloved child. “I knew you’d try to use the card against me; I gave you no choice. First against the Triple Man, then against me. Using its powers becomes quite convenient, doesn’t it? That’s the danger of it. It seduces you, slowly becoming your master, not your servant.”

“Think about what you’re saying, Galerius, and think again about doing anything with it. You of all people know its dangers.” I kept doing calculations as to what attacks I might be able to use. There was always the last choice of letting the dragon out, but I knew that was one thing he’d be prepared for. “You’re not acting as its master; you’ve been seduced by it as much as the Triple Man.”

The ship groaned again. I felt a sense of displacement that had nothing to do with the card and everything to do with the Gate. For the first time in sixteen centuries, I felt as if part of my bond to it had faded.

Galerius hadn’t yet used the card, which made me wonder how he could be controlling everything. I could feel forces shifting around us. Around me.

My legs started to buckle.

“Did I forget to mention one thing, Georgius?” I heard Galerius say as if from a long, deep tunnel. “The spell will devour the Gate and all it is in the process! Think of it! You’re being freed from your task at long last! Of course, I’m afraid it means that the centuries are about to catch up with you, but at least you’ll finally be free!”

Claryce grabbed me before I could fall.

In my head, the dragon also grew fainter. Eye am . . . being . . .pulled away . . . Eye am . . .

He went silent after that.

I reached for Her Lady’s gift.

But Lon beat me to it.

Quiet Ford jerked, then gasped. He slumped in his guards’ grip.

And out of him burst the Feir’hr Sein.

I’d seen that look in Quiet’s eyes and recognized it immediately. I’d had my suspicions when I’d seen the severed hand on the deck.

Lon swooped down toward Galerius with a speed I couldn’t possibly have matched at that moment. His hands came together and shaped the scythe, which he raised even as he neared his quarry.

I could see Her Lady’s hand in this. She wanted that card. Both cards, if possible, and she’d used Claryce and I to get to it.

The tommy gunner made the mistake of stepping up to fire. The Feir’hr Sein slashed through him, leaving the top half to stand horrified before falling off. By then, Lon had closed on Galerius. The scythe came down—

And with a howl, the Feir’hr Sein abruptly twisted and contorted horribly for a moment before simply ceasing to be.

My insides felt as if I’d just gone through what Lon had, but I pushed forward, Her Lady’s gift finally drawn. Even though only a few yards separated us, it seemed miles.

I didn’t like the fact that Galerius seemed to be having less trouble standing. Again, he appeared to be doing everything without the card, which made me wonder why he needed it at all.

Just when I thought I was going to reach him, another obstacle rose before me. I couldn’t tell if the golem was still just a physical body for Galerius’s thoughts or if it now had some autonomy of its own, but it lunged in and grabbed my sword arm at the wrist. I’d known it’d had tremendous strength, but, combined with its cold touch, the force with which it shoved back my arm was enough to stop me in my tracks.

“‘Ware, Master Nicholas!” Fetch was suddenly there in the struggle. He clamped his jaws on the golem’s other arm just as the faceless figure was seeking to plunge a second toothy dagger into my side. Fetch used his full weight to keep the arm down while he worried it, in the obvious hope of shaking the foul weapon loose.

But out of the corner of my eye I spotted a new concern. Claryce was moving slowly but methodically toward Galerius. She walked as if pushing through water. Her eyes were focused but unblinking.

I was prepared to shout a warning when my throat literally froze tight. Using my brief distraction, the golem had switched his grip to my throat in barely a heartbeat. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t breathe. I could barely maintain my grip on the sword.

Gritting my teeth, I turned the hilt toward the golem’s head and shoved as hard as I could.

Its hat went flying off. The hilt struck the side of the thing’s head, cracking the latter open as if it was made of clay. The damage didn’t seem to have any effect on the golem, who continued to both freeze and crush my throat.

Then, I forgot all about my suffering as what I dreaded most happened. With a smile I had to call malevolent, Galerius stared at Claryce.

She slowed. Her hand shook.

She became transparent.

“You are history again, Saint Cleolinda,” he said to her. “History, legend . . . and lost to both.”

I tried to scream. It came out a raw gasp.

Just like Lon before her, Claryce simply ceased to be.

I expected to fade away immediately after. After all, I was no longer Saint George. I was a former tribune whose life had been saved by a woman willing to sacrifice herself to save others.

But I didn’t vanish and neither did Fetch, whose history had to have altered since he’d now never met me. It occurred to me then that this close to the nexus of Galerius’s work, we were in some sort of timeless point. Unless Galerius specifically focused on us, we still had a semblance of existence left.

But that wouldn’t last much longer, especially if I couldn’t stop the golem. Steeling myself, I twisted my hand at as best an angle I could and cut downward.

The impossibly sharp edge of Her Lady’s gift sliced through the golem’s arm as easily as butter . . . or even stone. The forearm and the hand clutching my throat dropped cleanly to the floor. The golem continued to move the stump about as if still trying to strangle me.

I twisted toward the arm Fetch held in check. A clean slice left the lower half, including the dagger, dangling in Fetch’s jaws. He shook his prize a few times, then tossed it aside.

“Master Nicholas!” he whined. “Mistress Claryce!”

“I know!” I pointed at the two other guards by Quiet’s body. “Deal with them!”

His expression turned determined. “Oh, aye, Master Nicholas!”

I shoved back the golem, who was trying to grapple with me despite having nothing with which to grapple. A broad swing severed the shattered head from the body. As the head flew to the side, the body finally collapsed.

My stomach churned more. By now, I knew that meant that the card was feeding the Gate in order to make Galerius’s “corrections” stronger and greater. There was no telling how much he’d altered reality already. I had to hope I could somehow guide it back to what it’d been. It still shocked me that some part of Claryce had decided to give it to him.

I closed on Galerius. He stood straight. The signs of his awful disease had faded to a few patches visible on his cheek. He calmly glanced my way, then returned his attention to what he was doing.

I didn’t like the fact that he appeared unperturbed, but I nevertheless followed through with my attack, thrusting Her Lady’s gift through his chest and praying for the best.

That is, I tried to thrust it through his chest. Just before it would’ve pierced his flesh, the tip shifted, rising to a higher point on Galerius’s chest. It did so not just despite my struggles, but I sensed against the sword’s desires as well.

The blade cut through the material there, then seemed to strike something that it couldn’t penetrate. Worse, Her Lady’s gift let out a metallic screeching and went dead in my hands. All the power, all the magic with which it’d been imbued had drained out of it in an instant.

Yet, that wasn’t the end of things. Galerius’s torn garment at last revealed not only why he’d been able to do so much without the card, but how he had been able to manipulate so many things throughout the centuries.

The second card was sealed so tightly against his skin that, at first, I’d taken it for a tattoo. It was an actual card, though, the deuce of the same suit for that matter. The skin around its borders had been seared black by whatever force Galerius had used. From beyond the blackened areas, vicious streaks resembling veins of volcanic fury scattered about his torso. They pulsated with each breath Galerius took.

“It won’t come off,” he explained with a hint of wistfulness, of all things. “A worthy attempt, though, Georgius . . . but not so worthy as your astounding ability to remain intact despite the fact that you should be dust blowing away in the winds of time! How is it the corrections haven’t caught up to you yet? That shouldn’t be possible!”

“I don’t know and I don’t care. Bring her back, Galerius!”

“I’m afraid there seems to be no room for her in the history I’m correcting, just as there should be none for you! It’s time you were a dead saint, just like all the rest of them!”

My stomach kept turning. I had flashes of memory that made no sense because they were of the world as Galerius was making it. Wars I knew hadn’t happened before. The Eastern Empire falling not with the recent war, but to Ottoman Turks back in the fifteenth century. Two American brothers, Orville and Wilbur Wright, being honored for the first true powered air flight instead of Gustave Whitehead, who I’d known.

Most unsettling of all, Kaiser Wilhelm II had abdicated at the end of the war, rather than hold onto power. The Germany that existed now was a republic, and while that should’ve comforted me instead of the previous version where the Kaiser still ruled, somehow I couldn’t trust this new Germany’s ability not to eventually descend into something worse.

These and other memories flashed through my mind in an instant, but their sum total change from what I’d known the world to be shook me to the core. Most of what had altered had done so only as peripheral to what Galerius wanted. I couldn’t even fathom what the final results would be if I didn’t stop him.

“It’s Saint Cleolinda, that’s the key to finally removing you,” he growled as he grasped the sword blade without any apparent fear of slicing his hand. “That’s it! You must die and she must once again finish the battle so that she can be proclaimed and you just rot away!”

By this time, I could barely sense the Gate or feel any link to it. If the dragon was still with me, I couldn’t tell. “Think what you’re doing. The card is a treacherous tool. The more you use it, the more it twists what you want. Eventually, it’ll consume you one way or another! Look what happened to the Triple Man!”

“I’m much smarter than that, Georgius! The forces behind the Gate are the only thing capable of countering the dangers of the cards. That’s why I needed to trick Joseph Sperling into doing those cal culations. I had to know where everything would balance out. This is the safest location in all the world. Once I have true mastery over the Gate, nothing the cards do can affect me anymore!” He held the one card before me. “It’s been like old times, Georgius—pardon me, Nick!—and so let’s end it just like then . . . with you dead.”

The twisting in my gut got so bad, I wanted to fall down and curl up in a ball. Nevertheless, I fought to keep standing. In fact, the more I fought, the less the twisting bothered me. It was almost as if—

I’m here . . . I’m with you . . . together, we’re strong . . .

The voice in my head didn’t belong to the dragon . . . it belonged to Claryce.

Eye. . . am. . . here. . . he interjected. There was a stress in his tone I’d never heard before, as if he literally sought to balance the world on his shoulders.

No . . . he added with more force. Just the weight of two saints this time . . .

For a second, I thought he referred to Michael and me, but then I understood it was Claryce he meant. The dragon was linked to both of us.

You are in this protected place . . . it allowed me to exist in both possibilities with both of those who slew me . . .

He didn’t sound angry about that. Instead, he sounded determined. He was maintaining an existence between the two realities, the one where he and I became one and the second where Claryce and he mixed blood instead.

He was doing it willingly, too. Willingly, rather than let Galerius achieve his desire.

Eye am the Gatekeeper . . .

He joined us together in a way that couldn’t have been possible without what Galerius was attempting.

Joined us together . . . and then, as one, we attacked.

CHAPTER 27

I was the weapon, the only true physical force in the pocket reality surrounding Galerius. I lunged at Galerius and was pleased to find that I moved normally. I left him grasping Her Lady’s gift, its only use now as a distraction, and seized hold of the card from Holy Name.

Galerius held tight to it. The two of us battled for control of the card. If I’d thought I could shred it, I’d have done so. Unfortunately, I was likely to shred sooner than the card. It’d been created to withstand the ravages of both time and its own monstrous power.

Worse, Galerius still had the second card. It stirred more as we fought. The scorched area surrounding it spread, and the volcanic veins crackled. My stomach started to twist again.

We are here . . . the dragon reminded me.

We can strengthen you, Nick . . . added Claryce soothingly.

I fought back the churning and took a chance.

I became the dragon.

As I swelled, I took advantage of Galerius’s surprise to use the dragon’s strength to rip the card from his grasp. Committed to my choice, I braced myself as my burgeoning wings and widening shoulders pressed against the ceiling . . . and then broke through.

I entered the deathly calm created by the forces Galerius had gathered. Beyond, I saw a raging winter storm tearing Lake Michigan asunder.

Below, I saw the gaping hole I created. The hole and four huge tentacles shooting up to me.

I offered to let the dragon take over. He knew his body and how best to use it in combat, but to my surprise, he refused.

Eye must maintain the ties between the three of us or we will truly cease to be . . . the battle must be yours . . .

I wasn’t thrilled by that answer, but I had no choice but to do as he said. Clutching the tiny card in one paw, I looked down and exhaled as hard as I could.

The plume of fire spilled over two of the appendages. One recoiled as the dragon’s flames set it ablaze. The other waved wildly due to the scorched flesh.

Unfortunately, a third snagged our tail and the fourth a lower paw. The struggle quickly became a tug of war.

I could still feel Galerius at work, but I knew that I’d at least slowed what he was attempting to do. The problem was that I needed to stop him completely and quickly.

I used the dragon’s strong jaws to bite deep into the limb holding the paw. The beast tasted like every bad piece of seafood I’d ever eaten combined, but I forced our jaws tight and then pulled.

I spat out the chunk of wet flesh the moment it came loose. The mangled tentacle thrashed about, then plunged into the water. I hoped I could do the same to the remaining appendage and free myself.

Of course, I wasn’t expecting the six tentacles that shot up to replace the others.

With a roar of frustration worthy of the dragon himself, I pushed as hard as I could toward the heavens. I knew that if I succeeded I’d be heading up into the storm Galerius had created, but that was a better choice than waiting.

I managed to evade two of the new limbs, but the other four snared my lower legs and tail. My momentum slowed, then stopped. I started to descend despite my push upward.

Summoning all the strength our combined wills provided, I flapped harder. Once more, I drove higher.

A moment later, a horrific gurgling arose from below. I’d been determined to focus on just continuing up, but I finally had to see what was making that noise.

It was the damned ugliest—and largest—squid I’d ever seen. White like a corpse, with pockmarked flesh and a huge hood longer than the Frank O’Connor. Instead of two massive saucer eyes, I counted four of the blasted things. Worst of all was the very sharp, gargantuan beak at the base of its body, a beak easily capable crushing dragon scale and thick bones. I wondered what the hell it’d been surviving on in Lake Michigan, then decided I really didn’t want to know.

The beak snapped open and closed, accompanied by a rush of water that was the source of the gurgling. Surrounding it were twelve tentacles, a couple of which were damaged from this and the previous encountered we’d had with it. I didn’t take any heart in the fact that it’d suffered some damage; from what I could see it wasn’t suffering much. It was just angry.

Kraken. . . the dragon uttered in my head. Kraken . . .

I’d heard legends of the creatures, but since I’d never seen one, I’d assumed they were either myth or something only found in Feirie. The latter probably had once been true, but someone at some point had brought one through the Gate. I hoped it hadn’t been done during my time as Gatekeeper. It’d been bad enough that Oberon had managed to slip a kelpie through. Of course, compared to the kraken, the kelpie might as well have been a goldfish.

The tentacles kept coming. All I could think to do was try to spin like I had before and start exhaling at whatever was coming at me first. I created a circle of fire that initially held the other limbs at bay and even made one loosen.

Then, four of the limbs retreated into the water. Just as I feared, they returned a moment later, carrying with them a wave of water so intense that it not only doused the ring I was creating, but also struck me like Bears tackle Ed Healey earning his All-Pro in spades.

I tried to orient myself, but before I could, two more of the ten tacles had hold of me. If not for my constant flapping of my wings, I’d have been underwater already. As it was, I was losing altitude quickly. That beak was getting a lot closer and a lot bigger. I struggled harder, wanting to get away more than ever.

Then I felt Claryce and the dragon beside me, continuing to add their strength as they could. Claryce was the stronger, the dragon still also maintaining the bond between our alternate realities.

The kraken continued to pull me toward its gaping beak. There’d been a variety of ways I’d imagined my end, but this hadn’t been one of them.

The beak opened as wide as it could. I stared down into a gruesome pit.

And then I cursed myself for thinking like a human. I supposed the dragon hadn’t been able to focus or otherwise he would’ve arrogantly reminded me just what he was.

I slowed the wings. My plunge accelerated.

The kraken eagerly awaited its meal.

I rewarded it with a hot appetizer down its gullet.

The burst of flame shot straight down into the kraken’s throat. The monster might’ve had some resistance on his outer flesh, but the inside was nice and soft and quite easy to burn.

It let out a sound like a thunderstorm underwater. The tentacles released me as they flailed in reflection of the kraken’s awful pain. It didn’t matter how moist the kraken’s gullet was; the dragon’s flame was more than hot enough.

The beast dropped back into the lake. It immediately descended below the surface, vanishing in a flurry of bubbling waves.

Next to the last traces of the kraken’s departure, the Frank O’Connor rocked violently. Water washed over the deck. She looked precariously close to sinking, but somehow she kept afloat.

Keeping a wary eye out for any possible return of the kraken, I dove down toward the ship. I felt guilty at having abandoned Fetch, but he’d known I’d had no choice. I just hope he hadn’t tried to take on Galerius himself.

I could’ve just tried to sink the ship by dropping on it, but I knew that wouldn’t be enough to stop Galerius. I had to strip him of the other card. I just didn’t know how yet.

As I alighted on the deck, I transformed. Once more myself, I thrust the card in a secure pocket and headed down.

I no longer had Her Lady’s gift to rely on. That was fine. I’d gone through my mortal life without it.

My gut churned again, but either our combined resistance lessened its effect or I’d simply gotten used to it. I hoped it’d stay inconsequential long enough for me to deal with Galerius.

The ship continued to rock violently. Water poured over the deck.

I heard Fetch howl. I quickly leaped down the hole I’d created when I’d transformed.

A splash accompanied my landing. The interior of the resurrected wreck was half filled with water, the only dry spot around where Gale-rius in all his recreated glory stood. Me, I had water up to my waist. Galerius looked exactly as he had when he’d been the rising power in the empire.

A growl rose from the water to my side. I whirled, only to find a soggy Fetch pushing his head above water.

His mouth still spitting out the lake, he had to use his eyes and taut ears to warn me I’d definitely spun in the wrong direction.

I brought my arm around as something tall, dripping wet, and looking like a nightmarish mix of hound and reptile rose out of the water and tried to take a bite out of me. My reaction was an upward blow to its jaw, slamming its toothy mouth shut.

The ragged bits of clothes it wore verified what I’d thought had happened. Galerius had made over his two guards into something more useful to him, not to mention as symbols of his ego. He’d created Dacian Dracos, dragon wolves. I could see where Fetch had had some trouble.

I wasn’t sure if he’d dispatched the other or if I’d just been lucky enough to interrupt the battle at the right moment. All I knew was that I had no time to waste on this thing. I reached into me for the dragon and brought a little of him into play by summoning his claws. A slash across the chest made the creature quickly pull back.

Fetch let out a muffled sound. I glanced his way just long enough to see that he’d retrieved Her Lady’s gift from wherever Galerius had decided to toss it.

I hadn’t planned on the sword for anything, but I grabbed it with a once-again human hand, hefted it, and then drove it into the monstrosity. Unlike Galerius, his transformed guard lacked any magical protections. The creature’s corpse fell backward, finally disappearing into the rising water.

I continued toward Galerius. The other card pulsated on his chest. He might’ve finally rid himself of his hideous deformation, but the card manipulated him far more than he believed. Of course, none of that mattered if he succeeded with everything else.

I adjusted my grip on the sword . . . then put it back into its pocket world. Her Lady’s gift couldn’t help me here. I could think of only one thing to do, and it’d mean getting really, really close.

Claryce and the dragon remained with me even as I approached. It should’ve been Cleolinda’s incarnation present, she after all being the one who’d replaced me as slayer of the Gate’s guardian. The fact that she was Claryce was entirely the dragon’s doing. In this bubble of reality fashioned by Galerius, the dragon had been able to manipulate several factors of reality himself. He had managed to salvage Claryce from the shifting histories, I could only assume because he knew that her particular presence would strengthen me in a way no other could.

I’d underestimated his understanding of humans.

Nick . . .

Just hearing her helped push me to Galerius. He gave me a contemptuous look, rightly wondering what I thought I could possibly do. No weapon could separate him from the card and with the card he had secured control over the various forces both radiating from and feeding the Gate.

Which is why, when I reached into my pocket to draw what he supposed was the sword, he didn’t even flinch. That was fine. I needed every little advantage I had.

I pulled out the card and held it before me. I knew the affinity the cards supposedly had for one another. Sure enough, I met with no resistance.

The next second, I had my card above the other one. Aware of the durability of the deck, I dug into Galerius’s flesh right at the upper edge of his card.

His skin tore . . . and the other card came loose.

Galerius shrieked. Once, I’d have savored his scream, but all I could think about was trying to stop him so that I could hopefully return things to a reality where Claryce was safe. I didn’t give a damn about what ultimately happened to me. I just wanted Claryce back in a stable world.

Galerius naturally resisted. He grabbed my wrists and tried to pull my hands away. In fact, he started to succeed. I didn’t bother to ask for any more help from Claryce or the dragon. They were already providing everything they could under the circumstances.

And yet . . . without warning, I felt as if other hands also lent their strength. I had an image of a face overlapping another face overlapping a third. Three identical faces belonging not to siblings but the same man.

The Triple Man.

If there was any chance I’d been imagining things, that ended when Galerius stared at me . . . and beyond me.

The second card tore free.

A torrent of energy erupted from Galerius’s ruined torso. As I pulled back, his face and body twisted and distorted. Sixteen hundred years of disease wracked him. He continued shrieking even as he grabbed for the bloody card.

The Frank O’Connor listed. The storm that’d been held in check now ran unhindered over the wreck.

Galerius saw none of this. Instead, he planted his gnarled hands over the gaping wound and seemed to be trying fruitlessly to stem the tide.

Finally, he glared at me with more venom than I’d seen in anyone I’d ever encountered. “This isn’t—the end between us!” Galerius rasped. “Not—by far!”

And then, with an odd sigh, his head collapsed in on itself. Sixteen hundred years caught up with him. Galerius became a sack of rapidly deteriorating skin and bones that finally spilled into the rising water.

At that moment, Fetch shouted, “Master Nicholas! This one’s alive!”

I looked to see him by Quiet. I’d not known of any of Lon’s hosts to survive possession, but the turbulent actions of the cards had changed a lot of things. “Keep with him!”

I stuck the card from Holy Name in my pocket but kept the other in my grip. I’d need it to try to finish righting matters. I couldn’t meticulously recreate what’d once been, but I hoped I’d get close.

Summoning the dragon’s body, I moved over and snatched up Fetch and Quiet even as a huge wave tried to drown them. The ship let out another groan as it started to slip beneath the waves.

Flapping as hard as I could, I took us aloft. A glance down verified that the Frank O’Connor was returning to a watery grave.

The increasing strength of the storm told me I was fast losing my chance to make use of the energies of the Gate to return as much as possible to the way it had been. I had to work now.

Concentrating on the card, I began thinking of things as they had been. I also silently cursed whoever had actually created the blasted Clothos Deck. Bad enough I’d had to deal with one card; I couldn’t risk storing two in the cathedral.

A sharp pain in my back nearly made me drop Fetch, Quiet, and the card. A second agonizing pain left me fighting to keep aloft. Finally reminded that I still wore the dragon’s form, I craned my neck around to see the cause.

Head still battered, but the rest of him pretty much back together, the golem stabbed relentlessly at my back with the tooth blade. Blood already dripped from the wounds.

I didn’t know if somehow all or part of Galerius’s consciousness had managed to escape to the golem and recreate it, or whether the thing had some sort of primitive mind of its own. I only knew that it was causing me real harm. I tried shaking it off, but to no avail. I swiped with my tail, but the golem evaded it, then stabbed me again.

And of course, things got worse.

I heard the rush of water and the gurgling even over the storm. The tentacles shot up a breath later. I doubted that the kraken was still under anyone’s control. At this point, I was pretty sure it just wanted to kill the thing that’d hurt it.

Me.

This time, though, it was smarter. It kept its beak just below the surface as an added protection against the flames. All its tentacles reached up to snare me. It wanted me bad.

I was ready to give it as much fire as I could. Then I thought about how I was now thinking like a dragon instead of a man. I watched for which tentacles were nearest to reaching me and spun away from them at the last moment.

One missed, but the other one grazed my back, just as I’d calculated.

Off went the golem—and maybe the last of Galerius, in my mind—and the tooth, both plummeting into the wide open beak. The beak started to reflexively close even as the tentacles continued their pursuit of me.

That was my chance. I raised the card high—and a searing pain in my chest made me pause. As that happened, the card flared a bright gold.

I didn’t know what new trick the Clothos Deck was trying to pull, so I threw the card before anything worse could happen. Still blazing gold, it dropped toward the kraken’s beak, which had just begun to open again.

The card’s glow magnified as it neared the beak.

The area surrounding the kraken rippled. What seemed a vast dark hole opened up underneath the beast.

Even as the card performed my last command, the kraken swallowed it.

The hole then swallowed the kraken, tentacles and all.

And then both were swallowed by the Clothos card’s power and ceased to be a part of our reality.

Exhaustion finally got the best of me. Still holding Fetch and Quiet, I spiraled to the choppy waters. A part of me thought that at least the storm finally appeared to be fading, but another part that sounded an awful lot like the dragon asked how much that would matter once we drowned.

Just before we hit, I felt myself change. I found no consolation in discovering I was about to die as a man. I only hoped that somehow I’d done something to safely bring back Claryce to this reality.

CHAPTER 28

I don’t know how long I had been in the water when I heard the motorboat. Not long, I supposed, since otherwise I wouldn’t have heard it. I’d have been dead. The last time I’d been in the lake, the dragon’s power had kept me alive despite me being deep underwater, but I couldn’t even feel his presence. For all I knew, he’d been ripped apart by all those forces that he’d struggled to hold together.

A babble of voices filled my ears once the motor quieted. I heard a cultured voice I should’ve recognized give commands.

“Make certain you have them all, including the hound. That’s four, yes?”

“I will take care of her,” a young female voice murmured. “See to—”

She was interrupted by shouts and an oath in another tongue from the male. Immediately after, he shouted, “He is not yours today, Feir’hr Sein! I was told that! In his voice I reveal your name! Lon! In his voice I command you to go, Lon! Go!”

I felt a discomforting wind, but only briefly.

“Well. That worked. He actually did give that thing a true name! It must obey him!”

“And you through that?” the woman asked skeptically.

“I am amazed as you it worked. Mind you, he looked out of sorts.”

“How could you tell?”

“Because he didn’t kill me at first sight. I would be at the top of her list.” There was a moment of silence, then, “We’ll have to trust that this is all of them. The call said four and here are four. We head back, but to the northern docks. The police may still be rounding up his men.”

I tried to keep listening, but it became a strain to stay awake. Still, I managed to keep conscious just long enough to hear something that gave me hope.

A single word. From a different female voice.

“Nick?”

I had a brief moment of wakefulness after that. I was in a room I didn’t recognize, a lamp on a table illuminating it for me. A very nice room.

I wasn’t alone. Hovering over me was Kravayik. He looked as if he had just finished praying. When he noticed me looking at him, he nodded.

“I came as soon as I was informed,” he said quietly. One hand held out my coat to me. “If you could . . . I know you must have it here.”

He didn’t have to tell me what he wanted. My hand shook a little, but I reached inside the coat. As I did, I felt the sword stir. It had evidently recovered from what had happened to it on the ship. Pushing that revelation aside, I pulled the Clothos card from the magical space.

Only, it wasn’t the same one. It was the deuce.

Kravayik and I shared a look. I recalled the brief burning sensation. I also remembered how it seemed the Triple Man had earlier reached out to help rip this very card from Galerius. I had a suspicion that the Triple Man had wanted to make certain that no one would ever take his—their—precious card away ever again.

“We will discuss this when you are well,” Kravayik remarked as he put away the new card. “Rest now. I will pray for you, and the others, of course.”

I nodded . . . and then nodded off.

When I awoke again, it was to no surprise to discover that the place we were in was actually another suite owned by Ladykiller Leighton. This time, it was a pretty nice setup in some hotel in downtown Chicago near the Loop. I’d generally not gotten to live so nice no matter what the century.

There were no guards visible, but I was certain Laertes had a few “working” at the hotel. The suite had two bedrooms, each as large as the safe house apartment, I thought, and an even vaster living space in between. Laertes wasn’t just doing this out of benevolence, though. I was certain that somewhere along the way, he’d ask for something in return. At that moment, I didn’t care. All I knew was that Claryce was here. Claryce and Fetch.

And Quiet, too, at least for a moment. He had no memory of Lon’s possession—definitely a good thing—but was obviously a little resentful that he hadn’t been able to take part as he would’ve seen fit. He also wasn’t all that happy that his brother hadn’t been aboard the ghost ship, but he appeared to be relieved at the same time. Considering all that’d taken place there, that made a lot of good sense.

He’d taken his leave after thanking Claryce and checking in on me. He wasn’t done with his searching—I had a feeling he was looking for a lot more than just his brother—and was more than eager to move on. With Quiet’s acceptance of his experience with Feirie, Laertes had offered him a job in his organization, but Quiet had turned him down. He didn’t strike me as someone comfortable anywhere but on his own.

It’d of course been Laertes I’d heard on the boat, the same boat Michael had left behind. That’d been no coincidence. Laertes had received a call from an informant who’d alerted him to our being out in the lake. The informant had given him very precise information I knew only could’ve come from Michael. I thanked Laertes for following through and silently cursed Michael in general.

Louise Crying Wolf came with him to check on us. When she’d caught wind of what Laertes had learned from the informant, she’d insisted on coming along. It’d been her sharp eye that’d first spotted us.

“It was a little tight getting to you,” Laertes commented as he sipped a cup of the coffee one of his men had brought to my bedroom. “That detective, Cortez, had a horde of men scouring over the area. They’d gathered quite a few servants of Galerius, I later heard. The detective’s surely in line for a promotion from the catch.”

“I doubt it,” I returned. “Cortez is on nobody’s promotion list.”

The elf’s brow arched. “He that bad?”

“No. He’s that good.”

“Ah.” Laertes took another sip. “You are welcome to stay here as long as you like. I’ve ordered food available for you, Miss Claryce, and Fetch. The hotel doesn’t normally welcome pets, but they make exceptions for penthouse suite occupants, especially those who have perpetual reservations like Mr. Lawrence Faust.”

“So, am I supposed to be Mr. Faust?”

“No, just a dear friend. I trust we are friends, Nick Medea.”

I took a sip of coffee. It was good. Not like the stuff I usually drank, but good. “I’ve no complaints about you.”

“That’ll do for now, I suppose.” He hesitated, then added, “I would really be interested in finding out what happened out there sometime. I sensed . . . something disturbing. Very disturbing.”

“Maybe sometime.”

“Hmm.” Laertes nodded. Setting his cup down on an elegant stand, the elf gestured to Louise Crying Wolf. “It is time to leave them alone.”

She bowed her head to me. “Saint George.”

I wanted to remind her not to call me that, but decided better of it for now.

Laertes paused at the door. “Oh. That cross you were clutching when we found you? It’s on the nightstand next to you. I couldn’t touch it, but she could, so we made sure to bring it with us. I gather it is something of value?”

I couldn’t remember pulling out the cross while I was in the water. Of course not. Nothing involving Michael was ever straightforward. “Yeah. It is. Thanks.”

“Not at all.”

The moment they were gone, I had two more visitors. While I certainly was pleased about seeing Fetch fit, I hardly paid any attention to him now that Claryce was here.

She came over and kissed me. Fetch kindly decided to focus on lapping out the rest of Laertes’s coffee while we finished.

“I thought—” she began. “Nick. Did everything I imagined happening actually happen?”

“Probably more. What matters is we’re all here. Try not to think about it. It’ll only give you nightmares.”

“But . . . he’s gone, right? Galerius?”

“Like he never existed.” I looked deep into her eyes. “What about . . . the past?”

“Memories are still coming randomly, but they’re from my perspective, as if from long ago from my own life. There’s only me in here.” Claryce frowned. “I hope it stays that way.”

“Claryce—”

“Nick. I also remember fragments of other things. I remember . . . let’s just say I really pray for you.”

“Yeah. I know.” Something occurred me. Something very important. I pushed myself to a sitting position and found it didn’t hurt . . . too much. “Listen. We’ll come back and enjoy a little of Laertes’s good life, but there’s one thing I need to do. One place I need to go.”

“Are you well enough?”

I ached more than usual, in great part because the dragon appeared to be dormant, or something. I was having to rely on whatever I’d done for myself by using the Clothos card. I hoped it would be enough.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll leave you to dressing, then.” She started to turn, then looked back. “Oh, one more thing.”

“What?”

“Don’t you ever dare lock me up anywhere again. You understand? I won’t be left behind.”

I did the safe thing and just nodded.

As I dressed, I let the elaborate Radiola Grand set next to the bed play the WGN news broadcast. I didn’t catch anything to yet verify if the new memories I had were now set or if things had reverted to what they’d been before Galerius’s work. I was about to turn it off, when the news ran a brief story about a program President Coolidge was pushing.

Coolidge. There was no more Davis. Apparently Coolidge had now won his reelection.

I didn’t say anything to Claryce. There was no point at the moment. Besides, I really needed to get to St. Michael’s.

“Diocles?”

It was late, so I expected Father Jonathan to be sleeping. Aware of what I planned, Claryce had chosen to stay out in the car we’d borrowed using Lawrence Faust’s good name. After St. Michael’s, Claryce and I would go retrieve her Wills.

He formed out of the shadows near the altar. “Nick . . . I am relieved that you are all right. Miss Claryce, too?”

“Yeah. We’re all right. I see you are, too . . . so to speak.”

He nodded. His expression darkened. “And Galerius?”

“He’s not so good. We don’t have to worry about him.”

“Praise be. Does Miss Claryce still have the ability to see me? I would like to tell her how relieved I am for her.”

I cleared my throat. “I’ll tell her. Listen, I appreciate what you’ve done of late. I really do.”

“I did not do much. I wish it had been more.”

I decided not to drag it out. “It was more than enough. Diocles. I’m sorry for torturing you all these centuries. I know you’re truly sorry for what happened long ago and you’ve done everything you could to make amends for it. What I’m saying is, I’ve forgiven you. I’ve no hold on you, anymore, Diocles. You can go to your rest at last.”

He stared at me open-mouthed. “Nick—”

“Georgius, if you want.”

“No. You prefer Nick. Thank you! I cannot thank you enough! Your forgiveness means so much to me.”

I frowned. “Then go. You can go now. I mean it.”

We stood there, waiting. After more than an uncomfortable minute, we were still waiting.

“I’m not holding you here,” I said.

“I . . . know. This is curious. I expected to fade away and find myself appearing in Heaven.” The former emperor looked at the image of Michael. “I’m sure you were heard.”

We waited another minute. Still nothing.

“I am sorry, Nick. I take your forgiveness very seriously. However, it seems that something else is keeping me here.”

“Yeah. I figured that out, too.” I heard a slight snicker in my head.

All things are not what they seem, it seems . . .

Diocles sighed. “Regardless of how this turned out, I thank you for what you did.”

There was nothing more to be said. “I’ll be back with Claryce at another time. I’m still a little weak. You can talk with her then.”

“I look forward to it.” He vanished.

I headed out of the church toward Claryce and Fetch. As I did, the dragon chuckled.

“What’s so funny?” I muttered.

That you constantly make assumptions that fail to be true . . . you excel, in fact. . .

“Yeah, like what?”

His tone abruptly shifted to something so dark that I stopped in my tracks.

That there is truce between us . . . our common enemy is no more . . . and thus, so is our truce . . .

“What do you mean?” I growled under my breath.

Eye will escape you, Saint George . . . Eye will escape you no matter what it takes . . . and then things will burn . . .

Claryce had evidently noticed me suddenly pausing. She stepped out of the car, Fetch right behind her. “Nick! What is it? What’s wrong?”

Tell her, Saint George . . . tell her. . .

Not now. . . we’ll talk again, maybe after you’ve failed for another sixteen hundred years . . .

That got him. I felt him recede into the darkest corner of my mind. What he’d apparently not realized was that I’d never actually thought he was becoming more trustworthy. After all, I’d also had sixteen hundred years of dealing with his duplicities.

“No, nothing important . . . Well, it seems that even though Diocles and I have made amends, he’ll be sticking around for a while.”

She smiled. “Actually, if he’s not sad about that, I’m kind of happy. I like him.”

“Terrific.” We headed back to the car. With the Diocles situation handled as best as it could be and the dragon setting the boundaries he had, my mind went on to other subjects. Her Lady’s purge. The refugees from Feirie. This sudden interest Hymie Weiss had in me. Possible favors Laertes might ask. Cortez and his Maria.

Michael and his secrets. Especially his secrets. I still didn’t know the reason for the flask, for instance, since I hadn’t needed it for Galerius.

I had a feeling our period of relaxation was going to be a short one.

BLACK CITY SHADOWS

A NICK MEDEA SHORT STORY

“Haunted” churches made me uneasy, not because I actually thought most were haunted, but for the actual reasons behind people thinking they were. Ghosts were rare, Wyld were not. If there was indeed something lurking within the walls of St. Patrick’s Church—the oldest church in Chicago—it was more likely to be an escapee from Feirie.

Not a very good Gatekeeper of late, are we? his voice mocked in my head. I didn’t reply, but he had a point. I’d dealt with three Wyld in the last month, far more than average. They shouldn’t have been slipping through the Gate so easily and I doubted they were all remnants of Oberon’s following who’d been stranded here for the past fifty years. After the Great Fire—or the Night the Dragon Breathed as those who knew the truth called it—I’d done my best to make sure that none of the late king of Feirie’s minions had managed to keep hidden in the city from me. Sure, I could imagine one or two having kept out of sight all this time, but not so many as I’d come across of late.

I’d borrowed Barnaby’s Whiting Runabout to get to the address on West Adams. After saving his worthless son Joseph from both his own dark ambitions and the Wingfoot Air Express dirigible disaster he’d in great part caused three years ago, I could’ve had any number of autos from Barnaby’s service garage without any of his clients ever knowing. However, the Whiting was the vehicle I’d first learned to drive when I’d finally come to grips with the fact that horses would no longer be the normal method of transportation, not just in 1922 Chicago but everywhere.

“Do ye want me to enter with ye?” my companion in the front passenger seat asked as he pulled his head in from the window. “Or would ye prefer me to head around to the back of the building and see if I can enter?”

“Better take the back way, Fetch. Father William wasn’t happy about calling me in the first place. He might change his mind about letting me in if he sees you.”

“Not jake with dogs is he?” Fetch jested, tongue lolling. An onlooker would see a beast they might think half-wolfhound, half something out of the Brothers Grimm, which wouldn’t have been that far from the truth. Fetch was a thing of Feirie, although now an exile, having failed to slay me for his queen. He hadn’t for lack of trying, but once I’d spared his life he’d sworn himself to me. Truth be told, I found him invaluable at times.

“Just be careful no one sees you,” I reminded him.

“I was one of her Lady’s prime assassins, Master Nicholas! Stealth is as much a part of me as breathing!”

“Yeah.”

We pulled up in sight of the church, but not near enough that someone might think we had business there. Father William had emphasized the need for delicacy in regards to the situation, apparently thinking he was the first person to suggest such to me.

“Keen pictures,” Fetch commented, staring at the stained glass windows. “Very keen . . .”

“‘Keen’?” Since becoming an exile, Fetch had taken up the habit of trying to speak like the locals. Unfortunately, his idea of which locals to mimic had not included the radio newscasters or senior orators, but rather the bootleggers and hoods. That meant a barrage of new slang that at times made him harder to understand than if he’d been speaking the Feirie tongue.

Fetch perked up. “Ab-so-lute-ly! Very keen! Very different! Very, very different!”

They were different all right, and fairly new. I’d read about them back in ‘12, when St. Patrick’s had first commissioned them. Thomas O’Shaughnessy, who’d personally designed, made, and installed the fifteen windows, had been heavily influenced by a Celtic art display at the Columbian Exposition in 1893. Of course, O’Shaughnessy had had no idea just how much those works had been influenced by Feirie. I almost patted Fetch on the head—which might’ve earned me a snap—when I realized that this might be the first clue as to how a place as holy as St. Patrick’s could have allowed a Wyld to enter it. O’Shaughnessy’s addition had pretty much given any creature of Feirie a doorway into what was otherwise holy ground.

Fetch leapt out of the Whiting and trotted toward the rear of the church. I adjusted my coat—slightly warm for the spring weather— and headed to the entrance.

Father William answered at my first knock. We sized up each other for a moment, he seeing a clean-shaven man in his late thirties with short flaxen hair and features hinting of a Mediterranean heritage. I saw a short but fit man with thinning red hair and a square face with ruddy features. We could have just as easily been a part of Papa Johnny Torrio’s gang and the North Siders, respectively.

“No one else knows you’re here, Mr. Medea,” he murmured at last. “No one knows I’ve called.”

He’d already told me on the telephone how it was going to be, but I nodded anyway. After a moment of hesitation, he let me enter. This late in the evening, everyone, especially his superiors, would be either gone or indisposed.

An image of St. Patrick welcomed me. I’d never met this church’s patron saint, but I felt a bit of kinship with him. He’d once been a man, a mortal, and not an angel—forgive me, archangel—like Michael. Even though I spent most of my prayer time in St. Michael’s in Old

Town, I did so mainly because we’d shared a calling. Both the archangel and I were creatures of war, of battle. Of course, he’d started with a Heavenly advantage. I’d had to die to become a saint.

Not as Nick Medea, of course, a name I’d chosen to remind myself of the land where I’d been both betrayed and executed by the man I’d so faithfully served. Back then, I’d been Georgius, a simple Roman tribune who would become famous—or infamous—for nothing less than slaying a damned dragon. From there, things had only gotten worse.

Was not by Eye’s choice that you came and spilled my blood! snarled the voice in my head.

Quiet! I didn’t need him distracting me at a crucial moment. He’d be more than willing to trip me up like that if it might mean gaining control of our body. Even after sixteen hundred years, he chafed at being slave to my will, a once-frightening beast now reduced to little more than a foul memory.

Eye will wait. You will need me . . .

The dragon had had no name. After some years with me, it had chosen to start referring to itself as it did because it was its eyes I generally demanded most of all. I’d not argued with the choice. Anything to keep some peace between us.

Midway down the center aisle, I paused among the pews and turned in a circle. There was no hint of Wyld. Still, I kept my hand near the opening of my long coat. No Wyld could stand against Her Lady’s gift.

“Where is it exactly?” I finally muttered. Father William frowned. “Can’t you tell?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I could.”

He pointed toward the confessionals. I nodded and pretended I didn’t see the translucent robed figure now standing to the left of the confessionals. He wasn’t part of the problem here; he was part of my troubles. As far as the priest was concerned, we were alone.

I didn’t want to wait any longer.

“You can leave now, Father.”

“Are you certain?”

He seemed oddly deferential at that moment, as if I was someone of high stature. Then, as if realizing how he’d acted, nodded to me, and left.

I glared at the ethereal form. “Go back to St. Michaels, Diocles. I don’t need you distracting me.”

“You know I cannot always control where I stand, Georgius. Whenever you initially enter a place of worship, the curse will cast me there to be seen by you. We both know why and we both know it will not change.”

My curse had several particularly nasty tendencies, including constantly binding me to the ghost of the man who’d had me executed. The man whom I’d served faithfully until he’d demanded I swear off the one thing that meant more to me than my oath: my faith.

A slight creaking sound escaped the confessional far on the left. I squinted there, but still saw nothing.

Eye can help you see, the voice in my head whispered.

I knew what he really wanted. Each time he suggested any assistance, there lay behind that offer the hope on his part that my will would weaken enough and that he would have the chance to take over the body we shared. I didn’t have to wonder what that would entail. Only once since the Gate had come to Chicago had he attained a moment of utter mastery. The people of Feirie called it the Night the Dragon Breathed.

Humans—most of them unaware of the truth—had simply called it the Great Fire.

Granted, we’d needed his strength and flames in order to stop Oberon, but it’d taken all I could do to bring him back under control. I knew I couldn’t entirely blame him; his spirit had been trapped in me ever since I’d slain him in Silene and our blood had mixed. At that time, I hadn’t understood about his true task as guardian of the Gate between our world and Feirie nor that I’d have to take on that role because of what I’d done.

Still, there was no way I could locate any Wyld—my very presence here meaning that whatever disturbed the priest had to be one of them—without a touch of the dragon’s power to help.

With Diocles dourly watching, I allowed the dragon to grant me his vision. I didn’t need the pursing of the ghost’s lips to know that my eyes had suddenly shifted from human to reptilian. The entire scene turned an emerald green, and the shadows shrank as his unique vision burned away the darkness. And there it was.

Up above the last confessional, dangling from the ceiling, was a creature of nightmare with a head like a human skull, a torso akin to that of a black widow, and at least four visible limbs ending in human hands with dagger nails. The eyes were silver orbs without pupils and much too large for their sockets. Those eyes watched me with contempt, the Wyld not yet aware that I could see it.

Feirie folk are fluid of form and the Court was filled with elves willing to mate with anything in the realm. Wyld like this tend to have some elven blood in them, which made them all that more deadly. I needed to make this quick.

Its fleshless jaws opened.

The Wyld realized I’d seen it.

A stream of black tendrils shot out from its mouth.

I leapt aside just before the sharp tips of the tendrils would’ve pierced my flesh and dragged me back into its gaping maw to be devoured. I landed in a crouch, then shoved my hand deeper into my coat. I felt the cold hilt of Her Lady’s gift.

The spidery Wyld dropped to the floor. The tendrils swiftly drew back into its mouth. Behind the arms I’d noted earlier sprouted two more pairs.

Eye can help! Let me burn it!

“Along with the church and the rest of the block?” I could control his flames to a point, but I didn’t want to risk that just yet. Instead, I drew Her Lady’s gift and let the Wyld have a good look at the elven blade.

The sword was long, its blade a series of jagged edges capable of tearing through even the hardest Feirie hide. The entire blade glowed a faint but sinister crimson. The golden hilt and the moon-colored stones embedded in it radiated with power of their own, creating a spectacle that ensured the Wyld could not mistake the sword’s origins.

The hiss that escaped the monstrosity told me it sensed the maker’s touch. Her Lady—called that title by most for fear that if her true name were spoken she would notice the speakers—was queen of Feirie and the ultimate power since the downfall of Oberon. She had specifically designed the weapon centuries ago for use against her own kind, especially those who might serve her former mate and bitter rival, Oberon. The exiled king of Feirie was dead, though—dead since the dragon’s breath engulfed him in the Great Fire some fifty years ago—but Her Lady had not demanded the gift back. I didn’t ask why. All I cared was that only she as the creator and I as the one for whom she’d forged it could wield the weapon.

“That’s right,” I muttered with a smile I hoped worthy of the dragon. “You should’ve stayed in Feirie.”

It lunged.

A sleek furred figure darted at it from a side doorway. With a growl, Fetch ripped into one of the limbs with teeth I knew were very, very sharp. He tore off the limb with little effort, then spat it out on the floor.

The distraction was just what I needed. Leaping over a pew, I raised the sword high.

The Wyld noticed me and tried to turn to defend itself, but Fetch had another limb in his mouth and, despite the scrapes and bloody wounds caused by the Wyld’s other attacking legs, tugged back with his full weight.

With one stroke, I severed the head. A dark, inky substance spilled out from the gap.

Despite its lack of a head, the Wyld continued to move with conscious effort. That was another thing about Feirie folk: you never knew exactly where the actual mind was. I flipped the sword around so that I had the point toward the floor, then threw myself on top of its wriggling body.

Two clawed hands finally managed to tear Fetch free, though it cost another limb, and sent Fetch crashing into the confessionals.

The limbs now all focused on me. The Wyld appeared to have no limitations on how it could bend its limbs. Five hands grabbed my legs, arms, and throat. Another pair sprouted from the body and tried to seize the sword by the hilt, only to quickly pull back with burned fingers. Her Lady’d done a fine job preventing the weapon from being stolen by any Feirie folk.

Eye can burn it! the dragon roared. Let me burn it!

Quiet! Even as the creature tried to simultaneously rip my limbs off and throttle me, I managed to plunge the blade into its thorax.

The body convulsed. The hands lost their grips on me and flailed. They battered the confessionals and nearby pews.

Her Lady’s gift glowed brighter. It always did when it fed.

The Wyld’s body shriveled. I pushed the blade deep even as the corpse shrank to a small pile of burnt black flesh. Even then, I kept the tip touching. Within seconds, the last bit of the Wyld faded, its essence swallowed by the sword.

No, not the last bit. I thrust the sword point in the skull. A few more seconds, and even that trace was gone.

With an epithet worthy of any of Deanie O’Banion’s mob, Fetch rose to his feet. He eyed the sword. “Everything copacetic, Master Nicholas?”

“Yeah. All done. Good work, Fetch.”

“Applesauce! I was too slow to react at the end! Moved like an old jalopy!”

“It’s done. You did just fine.” I looked over my shoulder at the door through which Father William had gone. “Can you leave the same way you came?”

“Aye.” He didn’t waste another moment. We’d done this enough times.

“All right,” I quietly growled at the dragon. “Give me your strength and no games.”

Of course . . .

I ignored his condescending tone. Sliding Her Lady’s gift back into its magical sheath inside my jacket, I set the pews as right as I could, then went in search of Father William. Diocles, meanwhile, had the good sense to fade away. It would’ve been nice if this would be the last I saw of him, but I knew better. He’d be right back haunting me the next time I stopped in St. Michael’s on Old Town.

To my surprise, Father William met me right outside the door. I was perturbed, but not overly much. I’d had clients who tried to listen in to my work, unaware that no matter what happened inside, they’d not hear anything outside. Even more important, soon, it’d be as if I’d never even been here.

“Did you discover anything, Mr. Medea?”

“You might have a mouse or two. Nothing spiritual . . . other than what should be here, naturally.”

He looked at me as if wondering if I was making a joke about the church. Little did he know I’d be the last one to do that. Complain, maybe, in the hopes that someone up there was listening, but not make any joke.

“Thank you for checking. I suppose it must be my nerves.”

“Yeah. I’d go ahead and make a blessing, just to feel comfortable. Can you do that?”

Father William smiled briefly. “I think that’s possible. What about your bill?”

“I’ll be in contact with you about that in a couple of days. Since I didn’t find anything, the fee will be nominal, as I mentioned on the telephone.” Of course, what the good priest didn’t realize was that within minutes of my departure, he’d forget I was ever here. In fact, the only thing he’d remember was to either do the blessing or get someone else to do it.

I left only concerned about how the Wyld had first gained entrance. Fetch met me at the Whiting, his tail wagging.

“Time for some grub?”

“Yeah, you deserve it. Good job. The Golden Ox on North Clybourn will still be open.”

“Wiener Schnitzel?” Of late, Fetch had developed a taste for the German dish. The Golden Ox had only been open for about a year, but it now ranked right up there with Berghoff’s for Fetch.

“Yeah, but fresh. You can stay out of their trash for a day or two, can’t you?”

His tail wagged harder. Sometimes I wondered if he forgot he wasn’t actually a dog. Here in the mortal realm, he couldn’t even talk unless near me, much less shift to his original shape. Didn’t seem to bother him much, though, so I set the thought aside just as I’d done since he’d first switched allegiances.

I pulled the Whiting out onto Adams and left St. Patrick’s behind. I must’ve gotten caught up in my usual thoughts faster than I realized, because the next thing I knew Fetch was saying, “Cubs lost again, Master Nicholas.”

“Yeah.” Three games in a row to the Brooklyn Robins. Who lost three games in a row to the Robins?

I knew what Fetch was trying to do. He thought I was already thinking of the rest of the night to come. Every time we finished a case, the nightmares I got when I slept afterward were always more striking and more debilitating. Every night, I dreamed of fighting the dragon again and saving Cleolinda, the princess that had been foolishly offered to him by the locals. Every night, I won, only to lose in some other grotesque manner.

Every night, I watched her die again and again, just as she had in real life, one reincarnation after another. Just one more damned element of my curse. Cleolinda was reborn over and over, only to die violently despite my best efforts. The incarnations rarely knew their true past, but that hardly made losing them any easier. I’d tried to avoid them, but something always brought us together. It’d been five decades since the last time and the images still burned in my memory as if yesterday. I didn’t know what I’d done to deserve all this and couldn’t recall any saints who were supposed to be tortured after death, like I’d been. More to the point, I didn’t know what she had done to deserve her fate except to have fallen in love with me.

“Master Nicholas . . . your hands . . . take care now . . .”

I realized I’d again become lost in my memories, not the first time I’d done that. Unfortunately, I’d become so lost that I’d opened myself up to him.

The effect faded the moment I became aware of it, but I remained glad that it was night. During the day, anyone passing on the sidewalk next to us would’ve had a good view of twisted, scaled hands halfway to becoming the clawed feet of a reptilian-looking beast.

“Don’t do that again!” I snapped at the empty air.

Eye did nothing . . .

“You know what I mean.” He wasn’t exactly lying, but he wasn’t also exactly telling the truth. One of his tricks was to wait for my raw emotions to take command of me. Apparently that was some sort of loophole enabling him to influence my physical form. He’d used that to nearly take over more than once.

He receded into the back of my mind, but that didn’t fool me. He’d be waiting, as he always did, for some mistake, some error of judgment, that’d give him his opportunity. We were allies by necessity, enemies by nature.

I wondered if I should’ve let Father William bless me while he was at it.

I left Fetch behind the restaurant with a fresh Wiener Schnitzel, then continued on home. The house near Old Town was a simple Queen Anne that’d served me for the past few years. It sat in a quiet neighborhood where people went about their normal mortal lives. I’d chosen it perhaps in part out of defiance to my curse. I supposed I would’ve been better off in one of the safe houses spread around the city, but I refused that. Besides, I’d accumulated a few items over the centuries that I didn’t care to part with.

There were a couple of bedrooms upstairs, but I rarely used them. Instead, I sat down on the couch in the living room and, despite my best attempts to fight it, immediately fell asleep. I dreamed.

Once more, I sat atop my horse—this time as pure white as I’d once hoped my soul to become—racing with my spear ready over a sandy landscape. There should’ve been hills nearby, but the nightmares were never consistent about minor features.

I heard her scream. My horse needed no urging to pick up its pace.

The scream transformed into a titanic roar. The landscape rose before me, becoming a murky form with a tail. Try as I might, I couldn’t focus on the growing monster enough to recognize any details—

The telephone rang.

I jumped to a sitting position and stared into the hallway where the telephone sat on a small table. No one called me unless they needed me. Hell, no one could even locate the number to call me unless they were truly threatened, as St. Patrick’s had been.

I quickly took up the phone. “Hello?”

“Mr. Medea! I’m sorry to bother you again so soon.”

Father William. I looked to a clock hanging on the nearest wall. I’d only left the priest a little over two hours ago, which meant I’d slept all of maybe fifteen minutes. “What can I do for you, Father?”

“Mr. Medea . . . there definitely has to be something in the church. I swear I just saw some horror moving about out of the corner of my eye! You must have made a mistake.”

My mood took a distinctly darker turn. On a rare occasion, I have to go back to my clients for a second attempt. Generally that happens when the foul essence of the Wyld I’ve slain actually masks the presence of a second or even third.

Father William had seen the small advertisement in the Tribune two days earlier. He’d been the only one to see it. The simple announcement had called on anyone who thought there was something ghostly happening in their home, place of work, or even place of worship, to contact me by telephone. What it hadn’t said was that the advertisement would appear only to the person in need and no one else. The powers that bound me to the role of Gatekeeper also provided methods by which I could track any Wyld who’d managed to cross to the mortal world. It made my work a little easier.

Just a little.

Despite my desire to disagree with the priest, I knew that Father William couldn’t have remembered my name and number unless he still required my services. Clearly, I’d missed something after taking out the Wyld I’d discovered.

“When would you like me to return?”

“Could you—could you do so now? I really need your help!”

“I can be there in half an hour. Is that all right? Will you be alone?”

“Yes. No one will interrupt this.”

“Good. I’ll be there soon.” I hung up. I hadn’t bothered to take off my jacket so all I had to do was button it right and head out the door. I’d promised Barnaby I’d return the Whiting early in the morning, so the car was still parked outside.

It being well past midnight, I didn’t encounter much traffic. I’d have preferred to pick up Fetch, but I knew it’d take too long to locate him. Besides, I’d spent most of my sixteen hundred years without his help and survived.

‘Tis only us as it should be, the dragon mocked. As only it can be . . .

I detected a hint of bitterness at the end, bitterness I shared. “Yeah, well, let’s the two of us try to tidy this up quickly, what do you say?”

Eye was not the careless one . . .

We drove the rest of the way in silence. I parked in the same spot as before, then walked over to St. Patrick’s.

As before, Father William met me at the door. He looked pensive and kept glancing back over his shoulder. Whatever he’d caught sight of must’ve been one of Feirie’s darker denizens. I kept my hand near the jacket opening as he led me inside.

“The work you do, it must be God’s work,” he whispered. “I suppose.” This wasn’t a conversation I intended to prolong.

“Dealing with darkness, though, must leave you with the danger of corruption.”

“Can’t say I’ve noticed.”

He paused to look at me. We were near the altar now. I wondered where he planned to lead me. When he’d originally called, he’d indicated the problem had been solely in the vicinity of the nave. I’d also glanced at the sanctuary, noting nothing at the time. I didn’t sense anything even now, which meant that the Wyld still hiding here had to be very adept at magic.

“How much clearer your mission could be, how much more you could give the world, if only the beast in your soul was at last cast out.”

I didn’t care for how this was going. When he’d mentioned a beast, I’d felt the dragon tense as well. “Father William, just what—”

“May the Lord forgive me . . . and bless you,” he murmured, abruptly drawing a cross over my forehead.

If it’d been most people, I would’ve recognized the feint in time. Only because he was a priest did I fail to notice that there was something in his other hand, until it pricked mine.

The world spun. I’d had my share of poisons over the centuries, but I’d rarely found anything that worked this fast.

Not a poison! my unseen companion roared in my head. Potion! Feirie!

I didn’t have time to thank the dragon for the correction before the potion knocked us out.

I woke up in a room lit by a single candle in a holder set by my left shoulder. My arms and legs were spread wide and bound to the ends of a heavy oak bed frame by thin black metal wire that burned my flesh. I tried to pull myself free and when that proved impossible, I forewent good sense and silently asked the dragon to give me his strength.

We were both rewarded with a shock of agony that didn’t stop until the dragon receded again. I wasn’t terribly surprised at what’d happened even though I’d still hoped for better; I’d dealt with black silver before. A fond creation of the elves. I’d left a Wyld behind all right . . . and it seemed he’d made the priest his puppet.

I couldn’t see much farther than the dim light of the candle, but it looked like a basement. I didn’t think it was part of St. Patrick’s though. Somewhere near, no doubt, because I doubted the priest could’ve dragged me very far.

There was a creak and the flickering light of another candle entered the room. A moment later, Father William leaned over me.

“I’ve prayed for you to be able fight his accursed influence long enough to understand that your freedom is at hand, Your—Holiness.”

“I’m not the pope, Father. I’m just Nick Medea, remember? You can untie me now and we can forget all about this. I promise I won’t tell anyone . . .”

He shook his head. “You cannot fool me, dragon! I know you are now speaking with his mouth! Soon, though, you will be cast out and he will be freed!”

He had both our attention now.

He could separate us? Make us two again?

Yeah, me with a body, you with nothing. Remember?

The brief elation I’d sensed in him faded. Eye would be no more. Eye will not be no more!

I have to admit I was tempted. I owed him nothing. Still, I didn’t exactly trust Father William. Not only was I not certain he was sane, but, assuming he spoke the truth, what sort of spell would he know to cast the dragon out? I’d tried getting such help now and then over the centuries, and the damned thing was still with me.

Of course, all of this didn’t answer one important question: how did he know who I was? True, the priest hadn’t called me by name, but he’d mentioned the dragon as if perfectly aware he spoke with two, not one.

“He’s lying to you,” I suddenly declared loudly to him. “To be expected when dealing with one of the Feirie folk, of course!”

Father William looked as if I’d just turned into the devil himself. “Spare me your twisted truths, beast! The angel has warned me against your constant lies!”

Angel. There it was. Just as I’d expected. No doubt tall, beautiful, perfect . . . it wouldn’t be the first time I’d crossed paths with an elf passing themselves off as something holy. Of course, not being able to step on sacred ground generally put a quick end to those masquerades.

I saw an opening. “Have you seen your angel in the church, Father? Have you ever invited him in? He won’t be able to enter. You know what that means.”

“You won’t turn me with your lies, dragon!” Father William crossed himself. “I’ve seen her stride between the pews and kneel before the altar without the slightest trepidation. She wanted to prove herself to me so that your twisted words would have no power!”

The door creaked open again. Two figures with the unmistakable look of thugs entered. I couldn’t make out details too well, but they looked like Micks, maybe even members of O’Banion’s gang, although a bit pale even for the Irish. The bulges in their coats were clearly guns. The elf must have had a powerful hold on the priest if this pair didn’t raise his suspicions. That meant an elf of the royal Court.

That meant, here in the mortal world, a follower of Oberon. A tall, slim shadow in a flowing coat much too warm for the spring weather slipped through the doorway. It glided rather than walked. Without looking behind themselves, the two gunmen stepped apart to let it through.

The candlelight illuminated a narrow otherworldly face framed by flowing midnight black hair. I had to admit she looked the part of an angel. She was beautiful, strikingly beautiful, although much of the aura of seduction she radiated was lost on me. I’d faced Her Lady in the Feirie Court many times over the centuries. No elf compared to her deathly perfection. Even more important, I’d long ago given my soul to someone else. The elf could’ve been a thousand times more glorious than Her Lady and still not affected me.

I’d faced enough elves over the centuries to read their tiniest reactions. A very slight shift of her tapering, silver eyes was enough to tell me she wasn’t happy about my immunity to her charms.

“This is your angel, Father William?” I asked. “Have you taken a close look?”

“You did good, Father,” the elf crooned quietly, every word music. “You see how strong the beast’s hold on him is.”

“So tragic.” The priest actually looked sad for me. “So long a burden for so noble a saint. If I had not seen his eyes as he fought the demon, I would have never believed St. George could have been condemned so.”

I grunted. If he’d seen me like that, he’d done so with some elven help or I’d have noticed him.

“He took the burden for all men,” she replied smoothly. “But his suffering is finally to end, in great part thanks to you.”

“Should I begin now?”

A hint of a smile played on her lips. “Yes. Please get the holy water.”

With a dutiful nod, Father William withdrew. The elf watched for a moment, then smiled at me. It wasn’t a comforting sight.

“Now, we may speak honestly,” she said.

“‘Honestly’?” I glanced at her two bodyguards.

She waved off their presence. “Their souls have been mine for some time.”

I didn’t have much sympathy for them, only for Father William. “And how’d you snare the priest?”

The elf laughed. It was a musical sound that nonetheless chilled me. Elves didn’t have senses of humor like humans. When they laughed, it came from the darkness. “Oh, I’ve done nothing much to him! Well, except opened his eyes to who you are and your fate.”

I doubted that was all she’d done. The logic behind Father William’s actions looked to be built on lunacy. He clearly saw the world as she wanted him to, but I didn’t bother to argue. Maybe she thought she’d been gentle on him. Maybe. “And what did you tell him about me?”

“Why, merely your story, Gatekeeper! How you did the noble thing, fought the beast, thought you served your liege and your god . . . and then were betrayed by both of them! Executed by one and cursed by the other. Father William is a devout man who saw St. George as his patron ever since he chose to follow the path. How could he not want to save you from an unjust fate?”

“And none of this was accompanied by Court magic.”

She laughed briefly again. “Enough of that. Before the priest returns, I need you to understand that I do only what I must do. I mean you no harm. I promise.”

“Yeah, the flesh-searing black silver is like velvet against the skin.”

“The black silver is for him.” She didn’t specify who “him” was, but naturally she meant the dragon.

I conceded that point, although I still didn’t buy anything else she said. “You’re not the first elf to try to destroy us. Oberon himself found out just how hard that could be.”

“I have never served Oberon in that regard, if that is what you think. No, I have been in the mortal realm for much longer.”

As far as I could tell, she wasn’t lying just then. “How much longer?”

“Sixteen hundred years by your reckoning.”

I couldn’t help arching a brow at that. “That would mean pretty near—”

“Yes. In the brief period between when you slew the dragon and when your own death made you the Gate’s new keeper, the way opened and closed at random. During one of those unstable openings, I crossed over. It was painful with the Gate in such flux, but I did. I had to.”

Sixteen hundred years in the mortal realm. That couldn’t have been an easy survival at times. Iron would take its toll. I wondered how she’d succeeded so well. More important, I wondered what had driven her to cross in the first place. Then, I thought I had it. “You’re after the Clothos Deck.”

“I have no desire to wreak havoc on reality. Those cards can stay hidden wherever they are. Let others be twisted by their lust for them. No, St. George, I am here hiding from Her Lady.”

“And how did you get on her bad side? Sleep with Oberon before they had their civil war?”

She grimaced. “No. I dared to be his daughter.”

I forgot all the pain the black silver was causing me. It had never occurred to me that Oberon and Her Lady had had any children. “You chose to follow him over your mother. She can be unforgiving, but—”

“I am not her child. My mother sat beside my father before she did.”

That silenced me. I’d always assumed Oberon and Her Lady an eternal pairing until he’d been overthrown. “Your mother died?”

“Yes, a potion made with liquid black silver will tend to kill even the strongest elf.”

Of course. Typical of the Feirie Court. I didn’t ask the logical follow-up question. The potion had been made for the benefit of Her Lady’s future. She might have hated Oberon, but she loved the throne. “So you fled here? What about Oberon? Your father?”

She cocked her head as if surprised I’d brought him up. “Power often binds more than blood does among my kind, St. George, even as it often does among humans. If I could not defend myself against her, I was not worthy of him.”

“Yeah, that sounds like Oberon.”

As we’d talked, I’d been carefully testing the bonds. I thought the wire burning into my left wrist seemed a little looser. If I could buy a bit more time . . .

Unfortunately, at that moment the priest returned. In one hand he held his candle, in the other a small clay cup.

“I’m sorry to take so long,” he commented, his apology aimed at me of all present.

“She’s not an angel, Father. Pretty much the opposite.”

“Hush, beast,” Father William responded with a frown, my warning completely lost on him. “Shall I give it to him yet?” I still couldn’t see what role he had to play at this point. He’d done his part to bring me here, so what else could he do for the elf? The holy water, assuming that was what it was, couldn’t have any effect on me.

“Not yet, remember? One more thing.”

“Oh, of course.” Setting down his candle on an old table nearby, Father William extended his hand to the elf.

From the sleeve of her coat she pulled a long needle with a tiny white crystal at the head. She jabbed him expertly in the wrist. Father William flinched, but otherwise seemed unaffected.

She brought the bloody tip to the cup and dipped the point in the holy water. She then brought the needle to my throat. I tried, but couldn’t keep away from the point. It nicked my vein just enough to draw blood. The elf let the drops spill into the holy water.

Now I understood what the elf hoped to do. She’d had to wait until the very last moment in order to keep the vitality of the blood strongest. “So that’s how you’ve survived sixteen hundred years in such an iron-rich world. You’ve been working to make yourself as immune to it as possible by mixing human blood with your own. That explains your two friends here, also. Still, I’ve got to imagine it’s been painful.”

She stirred the water slightly, then removed the needle. Father William did not hear her bitter voice echoing in my head as she continued our conversation. Sixteen hundred years strengthening myself, keeping myself going. Waiting. Forced to live among cattle, to feed from them. I could do nothing while that whore sat next to my father. I had no support among the Court. . . not until he perished. Until the Night the Dragon Breathed. Only then did those who feared her turn to me through messages sent through the Gate. The fool you destroyed in the church, it originally came as a messenger and, with no other future after, served me as I saw fit. I ordered it to wait for you, to take the sword from you, well aware it would fail . . . oh, and think not to warn the priest about what I am telling you. I assume you realize that his life now depends on your cooperation.

I thought you meant no harm, I countered.

Which does not mean I will not resort to it. I will have the sword. I am the only one who can truly turn it against her.

I nodded. But as an elf, you couldn’t touch the sword. Only Her Lady and those she allowed to do so could. But you think you’ve gotten around that now, too.

Her silver eyes glittered dangerously. It took me the fifty years after you destroyed my father to bring all this about. Not so much time as measured in the Court, but much too much after already enduring all these centuries here. There is only one more thing . . .

“We are ready, Father,” she said out loud. “Time to exorcise the beast.”

Father William jolted as if he had dozed off. “Hmm? Yes. Time.”

I had no idea what she had planned for this moment. Feirie magic was not as strong in this world. She would’ve needed a direct link to the other realm to cast most major—

Sometimes. . . sometimes you are exceedingly slow, the dragon murmured.

You knew already? You could’ve said something!

To what point? I am merely a thought in your head. So inconsequential. You control us . . . remember?

Oberon’s daughter held the cup so that the priest could sip from it, then drank the rest herself. As she finished, she reached out her free hand to Father William. The priest in turn touched my shoulder and began muttering in Latin. I immediately realized from what he was saying that he was performing an actual exorcism. What he didn’t realize was that his muttering was just to keep him busy until she needed him to take the next, crucial step.

The elf handed the cup to one of her servants, then said, “Now, Father. We need it now.”

He took his other hand, reached into my jacket . . . and somehow, despite the magic hiding it, gripped the hilt of Her Lady’s gift. As I watched, helpless, he drew the sword out of its otherworldly hiding place the way a stage magician pulls a rabbit out of a hat. Father William marveled at what he held. The elf couldn’t suppress her pleasure, either. She’d done the impossible just to obtain Her Lady’s gift.

It was our blood. The dragon’s and mine. Mixed since his had spilled into my open wounds in that battle. Neither of us had known at the time that we would forever be bound to one another.

Blood relationships might not be of much value among the Feirie, but blood itself is a valuable commodity. A single drop of an elf’s blood can bind them to an enemy forever.

I’d had both elves and humans steal our blood in the past, but always for some grand spell or other. Oberon’s daughter appeared only to want it so that she could wield Her Lady’s gift . . . perhaps the grandest spell of all considering what she planned to do with it.

I had bones to pick with Her Lady, but considering the alternatives offered by Oberon’s followers, I preferred to keep Feirie as stable as it was right now. If Her Lady fell, I knew that the chaos afterward would engulf not just her realm, but the mortal world as well.

I grunted as the black silver strands continued to relentlessly burn into my flesh to the point where now I could even smell as well as feel it. I couldn’t break them. The drug she’d had Father William sting me with wreaked havoc on my concentration where the dragon was concerned. The elf had wanted to prevent me from summoning the dragon fully. If I tried now, the black silver would cut through my expanding limbs until it severed them.

“At last,” she whispered. “I will return to Feirie. I will reclaim Feirie.”

A clatter arose from a room above us. The elf looked annoyed, but not concerned. One of her guards turned to face the door, his hand near his gun.

“Tell me what you feel, Father,” she asked.

“I feel . . . I feel him . . . and the beast within. I feel as if I’m seeing through his eyes, as if I’m him.”

“Yes . . . I feel the same. It works then.”

“I feel . . . the dragon . . .” Father William added, eyes wide with confusion.

“Yes, the exorcism is nearly complete. Now, hold the sword over him.”

“I feel . . .” Father William finally shook his head as if to clear it, then obeyed her instructions. As he did, his eyes met mine. I wished I could let him see the truth, let him—

What a fool I can be sometimes.

Eye will not argue with that . . .

I let his jibe pass and demanded he let me see the world as he saw it. I let my urgency flood over him, so that he knew this was important for both of us, not just me. Oberon’s daughter could never let us live, despite her cooing words. I could still wield the sword, which meant I could still retrieve it from her.

Let me see! I demanded. And let him see the truth as well!

The dragon gave me his eyes . . . and I snared Father William’s gaze before he could look away.

“Know the truth, Father,” I whispered.

“Father—” she shrieked.

See your angel with these eyes, Father . . . and see the beast you wish to slay.

Father William looked from me to her and back again. He gaped as he not only saw the world as the dragon did, but knew now everything about us.

He let the tip of the sword drop. His handling was awkward and weak, but Her Lady’s gift didn’t need his strength, only its incredibly sharp edge.

The blade split the black silver strand at my left wrist.

The hood still facing me went for his gun. The elf moved quicker, taking the needle and thrusting it into Father William’s chest.

“St. George—” he managed before lowering the weapon and collapsing.

I paid no mind to Her Lady’s gift, instead letting my fingers burn as I tore at the strand holding my other hand. Inside, the dragon seethed. Use me! Eye can help!

I let him have his way. My hand changed as it had in the Whiting. His strength became mine. We shared the agony the black silver inflicted on us.

I tore the other hand free.

Behind me, I heard the scraping of metal on the wood floor.

Glancing over my shoulder, I saw Oberon’s daughter pick up the sword. Only then did I realize I’d stopped Father William too late. Through the spell’s blood ties, she could now at last touch Her Lady’s gift.

The door crashed open. The goon facing it drew his automatic and fired.

A familiar canine shape slammed into him and sent him and his companion to the floor. Fetch clamped his fearsome jaws on the shooter’s throat and ripped it open with a spray of blood and flesh.

“Mer’ithran!” the elf snapped at Fetch. I had no idea what it meant, but there was a tone of familiarity, as if she knew him. It was possible, he having once served the Court.

I had one leg free by now, the dragon’s natural swiftness making me faster than even an elf. Unfortunately, that still wasn’t fast enough to get me clear of her.

“You should be pleased. I will put her head on a pike!” she declared as she brought the point up to my chest. “You know she cannot be trusted.”

“And you can be?”

In answer, she lunged.

“Master Nicholas!” Fetch roared as he disemboweled the second hood with claws now half a foot long. “‘Ware!”

I tried to twist aside. I tried to deflect the blade. I tried what I could, but Oberon’s daughter clearly knew how to wield a sword.

She ran me through.

I’ll admit it. I waited in horror for what the sword would do. I’d certainly witnessed its power enough on others. A wave of fear from the dragon also engulfed me as our heart pounded wildly in expectation of our horrible destruction. It’d finally happened. We’d die together.

But we didn’t. I had a sword through me and all I felt was an uncomfortable warmth at the wound.

She screamed as the hilt flared. When she pulled her hand free, the palm was burnt black.

Fetch leapt at her, but despite her injury, she moved as quickly as a striking cobra. She raised her other palm toward him. He stopped in midair as if having collided with an invisible wall and crumpled to the floor.

The effort of casting the spell caused her to stumble back. I grabbed the hilt and managed to pull Her Lady’s gift from my chest. It pulsated as I’d never felt it and of its own volition whirled its blade at Oberon’s daughter.

“It knows you,” I muttered. “It wants you. It’s always waited for you . . .”

“Of course! It’s her, you fool! It’s a part of her!” Despite her bravado, her ruined hand trembled and she backed toward the door.

I couldn’t let her go. With my other leg free, I jumped up and threatened her with the point.

“I would have let you live,” she rasped. “You know she’s dangerous. We would have been allies . . . more.”

It was possible that in the beginning she’d actually meant to leave me alive, but she’d already proven that’d not been of tremendous concern to her. I touched my chest, where the dragon was already working hard to heal our wound.

“I didn’t ask to become the Gatekeeper. Neither did he,” I added, tapping my head to indicate the dragon. “But we weren’t given the choice . . . and we can’t let Feirie in. Neither world could survive that.”

She thrust into her coat and pulled out a tiny stick that immediately grew into a long, barbed pole. I’d seen such weapons among the elves before and knew it stored spells.

She was fast. I was faster. The sword was fastest of all three. It all but dragged my hand after as it cut the pole in half and thrust itself into her throat.

She managed a wheezing gasp. Despite the monstrous wound, she didn’t look ready to die.

Her Lady’s gift had other plans. It glowed as it had for the Wyld in the church. The elf’s eyes widened in fear as she tried to grab the blade and pull it out.

There was an awful screeching sound. Her head twisted as if some giant hand had taken hold of it and tried to tear it off. Her hands flailed. She moaned.

And then, the sword ate her. Just like the creature she’d set loose in St. Patrick’s, Oberon’s daughter melted. The sword eagerly drank in her liquefying form. She tried to scream, but only a rasping sound escaped her as she dwindled.

Just like that, she was gone. The sword’s glow faded. I’d been in situations involving Feirie too often to stand there and stare. I returned Her Lady’s gift to its hiding place, then went to Father William.

He should’ve been dead. The needle had pierced his heart. He should’ve been dead . . . but instead he looked to be slowly healing.

Swearing, I stepped back. There could be only one damned explanation for this “miracle.” Oberon’s daughter had magically combined elven, human, and dragon blood. What else she’d done in the process, I didn’t know, but the dragon blood was instinctively seeking to repair everything.

It wouldn’t stop there, though. I’d confronted a variation on this a couple of times over the centuries. Father William would never be the same. There’d be some tremendous benefits . . . but there’d also be some repercussions.

Neither I nor the mortal world could afford the latter. I steeled myself.

Eye will do it for you. . . let me bear the guilt. . . I will do that. . .

“Shut up!” He’d enjoy that, knowing I’d always have to think about having turned responsibility over to him.

Then, at the very least. . . let me give you the tools . . .

I felt my hands tingle. If I accepted, they’d become tools all right. Efficient killing tools.

“Keep your claws,” I muttered. Before he could make another tempting offer, I reached down, gripped Father William’s head . . . and twisted it. I felt some guilt that his apparent idolization of me as St. George had left him open to her manipulation, but there was nothing I could’ve done to change things.

The dragon’s blood hadn’t become enough a part of him to deal with a broken neck. This time, the priest died properly.

Signing the cross for whatever it was worth in regard to me, I looked to Fetch. “Where are we?”

“Just a block from St. Patrick’s! I smelled your scent and followed it here.”

“And how’d you know to come to this area at all?”

“The stained glass. Didn’t tell ye. Some symbols I saw were of Feirie. With them in there, ye’d need double the blessing to make this place holy. The Wyld we slew verified that and I thought it nothing more . . . until on a hunch I came back and smelled some elf scent the creature’s presence had covered. I ran back to tell ye . . . and ye were gone from the house. Had to follow your scent all the way back here again. I’m damned tired, I tell ye.”

Considering he’d still managed to find me soon enough to help, I forewent any reprimand. Besides, we had a sticky situation. It didn’t please me, but I did as I’d done so many times in the past. I adjusted the scene as needed to prevent anyone from getting too near the truth. Checking her goons, I saw that they’d been halfway dead anyway. She’d been devouring their lives much like a vampire would. Another two or three feedings and they’d have ended up just more corpses found in bloody Chicago.

“What is this place?” I’d seen nothing thus far but this room.

“Old business, Master Nicholas. Shut down, it looks like, but her scent’s everywhere. She used this for some time.”

“So, no one’ll be coming here soon.” It was tempting to leave the bodies, but I couldn’t even do that. Keeping the mortal plane ignorant of Feirie meant bending not only laws, but morals. For a saint, I’d bent morals quite a lot over the centuries. Out of necessity, of course.

“Step back, Fetch.”

He looked uneasy. “Master Nicholas—”

“Yeah, I know. Got to be done.”

Ears flat, he scurried out of the room. I hefted poor Father William over to the other bodies.

“Sorry you had to become a part of this, Father.” She’d planned everything for a long time. I was certain of that. She’d probably watched several priests, looking for weaknesses. His had just been an admiration for a hero with very clay feet.

Eye can help, the dragon whispered again.

“You already know I need you for this part,” I grumbled. “But we do it carefully. Not like fifty years ago.”

Of course. Eye promise . . .

I never trusted his promises. Still, I had no choice. I opened myself to him.

The world receded. It was as if I stood watching the scene from a theater seat and yet I knew I was still there, still the dominant part of us.

I opened my mouth. Our mouth.

I did what any good dragon did. I burned things.

It took only seconds for the three bodies to be reduced to ash. Nothing burns so completely as a dragon’s fire.

Father William would become just another missing person. I hated that, but there was no other option. His file would eventually be put with all the others.

There was just a slight hint of smoke by the time we left the abandoned building. I considered going to the Feirie Court and demanding to be told what else besides Oberon’s daughter Her Lady’d left out about her realm’s past, then decided against it. I’d just hear more Feirie lies.

Fetch stayed with me as I tracked down the Whiting. They hadn’t had time to move it, for which I was grateful. I felt as if I’d fought the dragon all over again. I looked forward to getting home and sleeping, regular nightmare and all.

There were few lights nearby, the Black City living up to its name tonight. When the organizers of the Columbia Exposition had set up everything back in 1893, their big displays had included covering nearby buildings in white facades to make them look more like classical structures. The White City. The hypocrisy considering what the real Chicago looked like had inspired some people to refer to the rest as the Black City. Over the decades, I’d found the latter title to be far more apt . . . especially tonight. It made my own place here even more understandable. What more appropriate protector of the Black City than a tainted saint? Tonight wasn’t the first time I’d had to do things that I wasn’t proud of and I knew it wouldn’t be the last. There’d be other Father Williams. Too many of them.

Fetch leaped into the passenger seat next to me, but kept quiet this time. He knew better. I started up the Whiting and we left the area of St. Patrick’s behind us, two more shadows adding to the darkness.

Two more shadows in the blackest of cities.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thanks to Tony DiMatteo and Ross Bishop for their contributions to this story.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Richard A. Knaak is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of The Legend of Huma, Kaz the Minotaur, World of Warcraft: Wolfheart, Legends of the Dragonrealm, Black City Saint, Black City Demon, Rex Draconis, and many more. In addition to his own works, he has contributed to a number of series, including Dragonlance, World of Warcraft, Diablo, Pathfinder, and Conan. He has also written manga, comics, and gaming-related material. His work has been published worldwide and in a number of languages.

His most recent publications include Lords of the Dragon Moon— second in his Rex Draconis epic fantasy series—the Permuted Press edition of his Turning War trilogy for the Dragonrealm, and Climate Changeling for The Flash.

Currently he is at work on more Rex Draconis, an online saga for the popular Pillars of Eternity, and other projects to be announced shortly.

And, of course, plotting the next in Nick’s saga.

More about the author can found at his website at http://www.richardallenknaak.com.

Please also Like his Facebook page at https://www.facebook.com/richardallenknaak/ and join him on Twitter at @RichardAKnaak.

Table of Contents

- Cover
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Dedication
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Chapter 22
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Chapter 25
- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27
- Chapter 28
- Black City Shadows
- Acknowledgments
- About The Author