“And I’m not. It’s different this time.”
“Do you remember something?” Briallen asked.
“Do you?” Meryl responded.
A long pause followed. The longer it lasted, the more likely one of them would sense me, so I entered the kitchen. “Remember what?”
Meryl shifted on her stool. “What?”
“I thought I heard Briallen ask you if you remembered something,” I said.
She waved her hand and picked up her wineglass. “Oh, it’s nothing. Briallen and I refuse to tell each other how much we remember of Faerie.”
I covered my curiosity by opening the fridge. “I thought you didn’t remember any of it.”
The fey—the Old Ones—who lived in Faerie before Convergence over a hundred years ago remembered a world far different than the modern one. People like Maeve and Donor wanted to get back to it at all costs. The here-born like me, born after Convergence and never knew the place, were sometimes ambivalent about it. I wasn’t, though. I didn’t care at all.
Meryl chuckled. “Nice try, Grey.”
I faced her with two Guinnesses. “Can’t blame me for trying.”
Meryl won’t tell me if she’s an Old One or not. When the fey came through to this reality, their memories were damaged. Some didn’t remember who they were. Others didn’t remember anyone else. No one remembered what caused Convergence. If Meryl was an Old One, I was having sex with a centenarian. When I thought about it, I waffled between whether that was cool or creepy.
“And Briallen keeps trying, too,” Meryl said. “Until she tells me what she knows, I ain’t tellin’ what I know—
Briallen leaned back against the sink and shook her head. “I know more than she wants to believe.”
Meryl smirked. “Back at ya, Bree. For instance, what’s the little game you’re playing with Murdock?”
Briallen looked at me. “I told you that you shouldn’t have invited her.”
I shrugged. “He would have been suspicious otherwise.”
Meryl waved her hands above her head. “Okay, I’m still here and still want to know what’s going on. You weren’t very subtle about it, Briallen. That last bit with the hands on his shoulders lit him up like a candle.”
“He won’t go to AvMem or New England Medical, so I asked Briallen to check him out,” I said.
Meryl arched an eyebrow. “And?”
Briallen smiled. “He’s in perfect health. Extraordinary health for a human.”
I put my arm around Meryl. “I’ll be your best friend if you keep this to yourself.”
She slipped out from under my arm. “Oh, happy me. Just so you know, Grey, I have my own gynecologist, so don’t go doing me any favors.”
She walked out, shaking her head.
Briallen pursed her lips. “Are you going to tell him?”
“Not tonight. Eventually.”
“And what about you? When was the last time you went to see Gillen?”
“He can’t do anything, Briallen. If he had any new ideas, he would have called. He hasn’t,” I said.
She stared at her foot as she scuffed at the floor. “Within the Wheel are many paths, but only you can find the one you need.”
I wanted to tell her about the
She caressed my cheek. “It’s nice to know you listened occasionally.”
I kissed her on the forehead. “Don’t worry so much. Things work out eventually. Let’s get upstairs before Meryl convinces Murdock to plant whoopee cushions for us.”
24
After-dinner drinks wound into the early-morning hours. For a brief time—too brief—the events of the world outside Briallen’s second-floor parlor faded behind the softly falling snow. The four of us sat before the blue-flamed fire, laughing and at ease with each other as we talked into the night. Beer and wine and liqueurs flowed, loosening tongues and relaxing muscles. To be trite, it was nice. Nice in the way nostalgia colored our memories or the way a day felt hung in suspension when all the chores and errands were done and there was nothing left to do but curl up and do nothing of consequence. It had been a long time since I’d had the feeling, had it and appreciated it.
But all such times end, time and energy taking its toll, nudging us back to activity and to life. We made our good-byes with smiles and reluctance and ventured into the night. Meryl drove off alone, determined to get some sleep before an early morning at the Guildhouse. Murdock and I, though, decided to make a short pit stop before he dropped me off. A good meal, good drink, and good conversations were great ways to spend an evening, but after a while, memories of murder and unanswered, lingering questions crept back into our minds. It was a good time to visit the Dead.
Murdock pulled up near the old Helmet. The side street off Old Northern was far enough out from the Tangle that the nasty stew of essence down there didn’t muck with my head. Panels of cheap plywood painted black hid the original facade of the building, and hundreds of silver or rusted staples littered the surface, the remains of long-gone posters. Weathered advertisements for band dates, club contests, and local services lingered long past their relevant dates. The pitted metal sign above the door bore the ghost image of the last three letters someone had removed from the old bar’s name.
We attracted significant looks and stares when we entered. In TirNaNog, if one of the Dead killed a living person, they absorbed the living body essence—the basic life spark—and escaped back into the world. A sort of Get Out of Jail Free card for the afterlife. On this side of the veil, the rules had changed. When the Dead killed someone living here, they didn’t return to life. Their essence didn’t change. The victim, though, ended up very much dead.
Hel didn’t look different from when it was Helmet. Lighting in the wide, square dive ran to blue spots and a flashing dance floor, the better to distract people from seeing much. When the bar was Helmet, the faint odor of damp bodies in cramped spaces permeated an atmosphere of heady sex and drugs. It was amusing to watch who went home with whom at last call.
The change of clientele didn’t change the look. Hel even played the same loud dance music, but the new patrons had that sharper edge of menace the Weird was too well-known for. Nobody danced, probably because they had no idea what to make of modern music. Being Dead made it tough to keep up with the latest dance trends.
The most visible change was that everyone was Dead. It was inevitable they’d find a place to gather. That’s what bars were for, to bring together the like and like-minded, people who wanted to hang out with others with a shared sensibility, drink, or get laid. Being Dead didn’t change any of that. In fact, the Dead had a higher appetite for everything. They all seemed to know each other, definitely drank more than average, and I wouldn’t want to compare notes on dating with them. Take away the risk of dying, and everyone was willing to try anything and more of it. Of course, they still got killed, but what was a mortal wound if you woke up fine the next day?
Murdock and I grew up in a city that had embraced the fey to an extent. I didn’t think twice when the people around me had wings or pointed ears. The scary solitaries gave everyone pause, but that was the point. Individually, solitaries were odd-looking, misshapen, and unattractive by mainstream standards, but the rest of the fey didn’t raise an eyebrow. Until I saw these solitaries who were Dead clustered in a dark bar wearing outdated clothes bordering on costumes, sporting jewelry that went out of fashion centuries ago, and displaying a penchant for physicality not much admired in our more enlightened times.
“Is this job ever going to get easier?” Murdock asked.
“Now what would be the fun in that?” I said.
We eased our way through the crowd. I ordered beer for me and water for Murdock. In bottles. From the end of the bar, we had a clear view of the goings-on. The novelty of our presence wore off among those who had noticed us, and they returned their attention to whatever they were doing before we arrived. For all their strangeness, the Dead acted like anyone else in a bar— laughing, glowering, cruising, drinking, and arguing. Except dancing. Still no dancing.
A woman, a Teutonic norn, leaned over and ordered a drink at the bar. A Dead norn. When druids and dwarves read the future through scrying and dreams, they see patterns and events on a grand scale. A norn’s ability sensed what was and what was to be on a more individual level. Our eyes met, then she indifferently watched the front of the bar. The bartender set a plastic cup by her hand. She sipped through the stirrer, staring at us. Her wide brown eyes slid from me to Murdock. “You don’t belong here.”
Murdock cracked a smile. “Said the Dead girl.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, looked at me. “I remember you.”
Not the first time I’ve heard that in a bar. By her dated clothing, the odds that Murdock or I had known her in life were slim. I decided to be polite. “Then you have me at an advantage.”
“I saw you in Niflheim.”
Niflheim was the Teutonic perception of TirNaNog. I searched my memory, trying to place her, but came up empty. I had spent my time in TirNaNog running away from the Dead and trying not to get Dead myself. Not a lot of time to socialize. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember you. I was kinda busy.”
Her eyes visibly dilated as she stared. “You’re like me. You touch the Wheel.”
Murdock and I exchanged glances. He knew what the Wheel of the World was. He got that it was about faith and destiny, but he couldn’t bring himself to remove his Catholicism from the concept. Where the fey see a world that Is, Murdock sees the hand of God, especially after the previous night.
“We all touch the Wheel,” I said.
She feathered essence over me, and my body shields activated. They were too damaged to protect me from anything, but the norn wasn’t attacking. She was curious. I winced as the dark mass clenched. Its rejection of the seers apparently wasn’t limited to scrying.
She paled and backed away. “I see no path for you, druid.”
“I’m trying to find one,” I said.
“Everyone has a path, even if they cannot see it. A norn sees what others can’t. If you have no path, druid, that bodes ill for you and everything you touch.”
I sipped my beer. “Thanks. I’ll update my will.”
“What was that all about?” Murdock asked.
“Norns see personal futures. She basically told me I had none.”
The crowd shifted, and Jark’s vibrant red-orange signature registered nearby. I spotted him sitting in a dark corner. I nudged Murdock. “Let’s try not to provoke him any more than we have to. Keep a weapon accessible, though.”
Murdock unbuttoned his coat. “Most definitely in here.”
Jark held court at a crowded table. He pretended not to notice us, though with all the sendings fluttering around, someone had to have warned him the law was there. The conversation stopped as we sat. The onlookers watched curiously, their eyes shifting from us to Jark and back again. Jark’s smile rippled the scars on the side of his face. He lifted a pint of beer and drank half in a gulp,
