A man in black stepped into the street ahead, a ski mask hiding his face and a weak body shield shimmering on him. He fired a jagged burst of essence at me. My sword hummed and leaped to the side, deflecting the bolt of its own accord, dissipating it into the air. Things like that would have been nice to know, but Briallen didn’t see it that way.
Unharmed, I came up from a crouch, preparing for his next move. I stepped from the wall and marched toward the figure in black. He fired again, but I shunted the essence away with the blade. He wasn’t that powerful, yet he seemed surprised that I had more than a shield to protect myself. He wasn’t going to like it when I reached him.
The sword pulled in my hand, like a ship yawing with the wind. I followed my instinct and let it be, spinning in the direction of the stroke. The blade knocked down another essence strike—my second attacker was still in play. I had twenty or so seconds before the next strike. I pivoted back to the man in black, then froze. He had pulled a gun—a druid with a gun—aiming down the sight even as I registered the situation. He fired.
The bullet struck my shield as streaks of green fire lanced over my head. I ignored a scream behind me, focusing on the bullet sizzling into my shield. The shield dimpled as the bullet funneled through the hardened essence. I twisted, torquing the bullet’s path, my own shield acting against me as it pulled the bullet in. More green fire flashed above as I forced myself to the pavement, trying to bend the bullet’s trajectory away. The disintegrating edge of the shield prickled against my cheek. Flat on my back, I twisted my neck as I watched the relentless approach of the bullet. It seared across my scalp. I flinched as it hit the pavement next to my face, shards of asphalt digging into my skin.
Someone leaped over me firing elf-shot, the source of the green essence flashes. An elf, red-uniformed, landed at my feet. He thrust his arms apart, pointing to either end of the alley and fired simultaneously from both hands. Silence settled over the alley. The elf relaxed his stance and turned. Rand leaned a concerned face over mine. “Are you hit?”
I pulled myself up with his outstretched hand. “Grazed. I’m okay. Nice timing.”
His hands glimmered as he scanned the windows behind me. “You were fortunate I was nearby.”
The black-clad figure lay still near the entrance to the alley. Beyond him, people peered from the far side of the street. Most pretended not to see anything and continued on their way. I held my sword and dagger at the ready as Rand and I approached the body. He gestured me back as he squatted by the still form, keeping a handful of essence charge at the ready in case of an ambush. Rand relaxed his hand, the line of tension across his shoulders easing. He pulled off the ski mask. “He’s dead.”
Stunned, I dropped my arms to my sides. “Shit.” I turned and walked away, then stopped. “Shit. This isn’t happening.” I turned again and walked back to Rand. “Danu’s blood, Rand. Tell me this didn’t happen.”
The dead man was Gerry Murdock.
30
I leaned my head back against a brick wall. A block away, police lights flashed up the alley from dozens of cars parked far enough away to avoid the mechanical dead zone of the Tangle. About twenty feet away, a wrinkled sheet covered Gerry Murdock, the stillness of his body a stark counterpoint to the activity around him. A stalled paramedic van had been pushed down the alley. Uniformed police officers and administrative police staff crowded near the crime scene. Whenever an officer was killed, the brotherhood turned out. It was understandable. They put their lives on the line every day. Until the dust settled, it didn’t matter whether the cop was doing the right thing or the wrong thing. Respect was paid.
Rand stood guard over me, and I kept my body shield hardened. My presence brought an added knee-jerk reaction to the situation. A number of people remained suspicious of my involvement in Commissioner Scott Murdock’s death. That investigation remained stalled until—if—Manus ap Eagan recovered. Now I was involved in another cop’s death and another Murdock—one who was convinced I was to blame for his father’s death. I wasn’t going to get any objectivity while Gerry’s blood was on the ground.
Leo stared at his brother’s body. Grief etched his face, a confused shock of denial and anger. When he had arrived on the scene, he hadn’t come near me. I didn’t approach him either. A ring of police officers surrounded me and Rand, and I was getting enough angry glares without giving someone an excuse to pull a weapon.
Meryl stood next to Leo, her arm around his waist. I had asked Rand to do a sending to her, and she had been among the first to arrive. Leo wasn’t reacting to her presence, but she talked to him, shutting out the scene around her and focusing her words on him alone. They were too far away for me to hear.
“I need you to tell me there was no other choice,” I said.
Rand watched the officers, his face intent and alert. “There was. He could have not fired his gun.”
I grunted but did not laugh. The last thing I needed was to be seen smiling. I knew where he was coming from. Regardless of what the public preferred, policing authorities did not shoot to incapacitate. The risk of missing far outweighed the risk of getting killed by the bad guys. Gerry pulled his weapon. Gerry fired his weapon. Gerry paid the price for his decision.
I bowed my head, staring into the space between my feet, shifting my gaze between one boot and the other. The sword had resumed its dagger size when Gerry died. I had returned both daggers to their sheaths before the authorities arrived. The first responder had demanded I turn them over, but I had refused. I had a right to carry them, especially in that end of town, and hadn’t used them for anything other than defense. Rand took my side, asking the officer if he would like Rand’s hands, since those had been used to kill Gerry.
Rand had made no attempt to hide the fact that he had fired the elf-shot that killed Gerry. In the same breath, he asserted his diplomatic immunity. Despite the break with the Consortium, Donor had not revoked the status of Eorla and her people as envoys of the court. Doing so would have validated her own court, and that wasn’t something Donor wanted to give a hint of legitimacy. Of course, diplomatic immunity was also the reason Manus ap Eagan wasn’t in a prison hospital. Two police officers, a father and son yet, were dead by known assailants who could not be arrested for their crimes. The excuse did not sit well with present company.
The faith stone was feeding my body shield, but I was reaching the point of exhaustion holding it together anyway. Despite my more resilient constitution, using essence took effort. Maintaining a body shield was a constant drain. I was at my breaking point.
“What are you going to do?” I asked.
Rand monitored everything and everyone around us, scanning, assessing. I realized that this was how Eorla saw him, his back always to her, facing her only when they were alone and in direct conversation. I had never had a full-time bodyguard and never thought about how much trust existed between protector and protected who didn’t look each other in the eye.
“I will answer their questions until they start to repeat, then I will excuse myself and return to Eorla,” he said.
Eorla. Not Her Majesty. I wondered if that was because she wasn’t present or if she allowed him to use her personal name in private. “Well, give me a heads-up because I’m not comfortable staying here without you.”
“Ceridwen’s people have set a perimeter for you. Once you leave this alley, they will not allow anyone with guns to enter the Tangle,” he said.
I didn’t need another debt to Ceridwen. She was going to hold me to my promise to help her get revenge against Maeve. I didn’t mind that so much. It was her subtle manipulations that bound me tighter every time we interacted that worried me. Promises made had a tendency to look very different from promises fulfilled.
I stood but remained near the wall. People nearby cast looks at me that ranged from anxious to angry. Janey Likesmith had arrived, but she didn’t tend to the body. She hugged Leo and remained with her arms around him. Meryl stepped back, still talking. Leo nodded over Janey’s shoulder.
Someone from the OCME—a human, I noticed—was breaking out crime-scene equipment. Clearly, no fey was going to touch this case. I wondered if news had gotten out in the force about the Murdocks, if people knew they were, in fact, fey folk. I wondered if it would matter now.
The officers out on the sidewalk shifted, shuffling to make room for someone. As a gap opened among them, Kevin Murdock strode through. His hair was disheveled from a hat, and red colored his cheeks. He stopped beside Gerry, his jaw set, hands clenched. Leo reached out a hand and said something, but Kevin shrugged him off. He
