I dreamed of my father, or tried to.
I tried to call him on the dream phone. I pictured him the way he looked at my high school graduation—my proud, happy father, his temples touched with gray, standing up and cheering, putting two fingers in his mouth to whistle. The vision was so clear I could feel the hot June sun beating down, could smell the roses he’d given me when I collected my diploma. I reached out to touch his arm, but there was some kind of invisible barrier between us. So I just pictured him. I visualized and visualized, but his colors, purple and green, didn’t appear. The connection remained closed.
I wasn’t surprised that the call failed. I’d sometimes tried to contact my father in the years since his death—every night, at first—and never succeeded. But I was still disappointed. I didn’t know whether the dead were simply beyond our reach, behind that invisible barrier, or whether Difethwr’s taunt was true. What if the Hellion had obliterated my father’s soul? It was a question whose answer I didn’t dare pursue.
The vision of my father faded, and I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. It felt like falling into despair.
THE JAG WOULDN’T START. WELL, I GUESS I KNEW WHERE the money from last night’s job was going. My poor baby needed a checkup.
I jogged to the edge of Deadtown, the bag with the dead Harpies banging against my knees, and flagged down a cab. All the way to the North End, the driver kept sniffing, but he didn’t ask what the smell was. He’d probably had worse-smelling things in his backseat.
I stepped onto Commodore Wharf just in time to see the sun rise over Boston Harbor. Streaks of red, purple, and gold stretched across the sky, reflected in the placid water. No wonder the norms associate this kind of glorious sky with new beginnings. The darkness is gone, the night creatures have fled back to their lairs, a new beauty tinges the earth. It was the perfect time to show Frank Lucado that his demons were a thing of the past.
But the Frank Lucado who answered the door did not look happy. He scowled violently, his scar bisecting his face, and jerked his head to indicate I should follow him inside. Since inside was where his checkbook was, I did. He closed the door behind me.
“What the hell did you do to Wendy?”
“Who?”
“My bodyguard. I woke up this morning, the guy was a puddle on the floor. He roused himself long enough to tell me he quit. Then he ran outa here like a kid making a break from the principal’s office.”
“Wait. Your bodyguard’s name is Wendy?” I couldn’t quite put that name together with the six-and-a-half-foot Man Mountain who’d welcomed me the night before.
“Wendy, yeah. Short for Wendell.” Somehow Wendell didn’t seem to fit either, but at least it didn’t sound like Peter Pan’s girlfriend. Wendy. Jeez. No wonder the guy had an attitude. “So what’d you do to him?” Lucado said. “I’ve never seen anyone so scared.”
“Nothing.” Nothing besides saving his life, but I wasn’t really eager to fill Lucado in on those details. I just wanted to get my money and get out. “Some people are just spooked by demons, I guess. How’d you sleep, by the way?”
He smiled, looking relaxed for the first time since I’d met him. “Like a newborn babe in his mother’s arms,” he said.
“Well, get used to it. Those three Harpies won’t be bothering you anymore.”
“You got all three?” he asked. I nodded. “Let’s see ’em.”
I opened the bag. Even though I’d packed the carcasses in lavender, mint, and pine boughs, the stench of dead Harpies blasted into the room. Nothing could cover up that smell. Lucado, who’d been leaning over the bag to look inside, covered his nose with both hands and took three steps backward.
“Jesus, those things stink,” he said. “One night without them, and already I’d forgotten how bad.”
“They’re worse when they’re dead. Here—” I pulled the menthol cream from my pocket. “Dab some of this under your nose. It’ll help.”
“Naw, that’s okay.” Pinching his nostrils shut, he looked into the open bag. Three dead Harpies stared back at him with open beaks, their snaky hair in limp tangles. “All right. Zip it up.” As I did, he went to a desk and pulled out his checkbook. I gave him my boilerplate affidavit to sign, affirming that I’d performed the service for which he’d hired me, and he signed it with a flourish. It would’ve been nice to have Wendy there as a witness, but this would do.
“What do you do with those things?” Lucado asked, nodding at the body bag.
“Burn them.”
He nodded his approval. “I thought of having one of the bastards stuffed, but I never want to see ’em again. Ever.”
“Taxidermy wouldn’t work, anyway. Nobody can see them except you and me.”
“No kidding? Can they smell them?”
“Sort of. When somebody passes through a place where Harpies have been recently, they sometimes get a whiff of that smell. They might wrinkle their noses or check the bottom of their shoes, but usually they don’t know what it is.”
He made a face. “Smells like somebody puked on a pile of dead rats.” Wow, the guy was a poet. But it was a pretty accurate description, actually.
Lucado opened a closet door and started putting on a wool coat and scarf. “You need a ride?” he asked. “My limo’s waiting downstairs.”
“Uh, yeah. Sure. Thanks.” Usually I don’t accept any favors from clients after the job is done and we’re all square. But I’d never been in a limo. And I’d decided to warn Lucado about Difethwr. Kane wouldn’t like that, but I owed the guy a warning. Neglecting to mention the Hellion’s visit didn’t seem like playing fair. See? I did have principles. They didn’t always line up with Kane’s, that’s all.
The limo was one of those stretch jobs, black with little lights around the windows. Inside it was even roomier than I’d expected. It had a curved bench seat made of supersoft leather. I could’ve stretched out full length on it. Not that I tried. I didn’t turn on the flat-screen TV, play with the electric windows, or rifle through the bar, either, even though I was tempted. There are occasions when a girl’s gotta show some class.
“Where you headed?” Lucado asked.
“Back to Deadtown.”
“Is my Milk Street site close enough?”
“Sure.” Not only did the limo have a TV, it had a video game console, a sound system, and a computer. I wondered if the computer had online access. Also, a mini fridge. Hell, I could live in there—it had all the comforts of home.
But I needed to talk to Lucado about Difethwr. I didn’t think he was in danger, but on the off chance Kane might be right, I didn’t want to leave him unprepared. “Mr. Lucado, about your bodyguard—”
“Frank.”
“I thought you said his name was Wendy—Wendell.”
“No, me. Call me Frank. Mr. Lucado’s my old man. Everybody calls me Frank or Frankie.”
“Frank. Okay. Well, Frank, I want to talk to you about what happened last night, while you were asleep. I know why Wendell quit.”
“Good man, Wendy. He’ll come back. He’s been with me for fifteen years. Doesn’t scare easy, but those damn demons must’ve scared the hell out of him. I don’t blame—” He stopped, then frowned. “I thought you said nobody else could see ’em.”
“That’s right. But those Harpies weren’t the only demons at your place last night.” I told him about Difethwr’s visit. I told him that I’d encountered the Hellion before. The only part I held back was about Dad. Some things are too painful to turn into stories.
As he listened, Lucado’s face moved from attentiveness to a scowl, the scar puckering his eyebrow, his dead eye looking at nothing.