Case studies showed mental and physical defects whenever two different fey species interbred. The more unlike the species, the greater the chance that progeny wouldn’t survive. “They don’t most of the time,” I said.
“Moira had seven children. We’re all fine,” he said.
I used my recall to review the case studies I had read back then. Druids looked human. We blended in without any problems, which was one of the ways Moira fooled her husband. “None of the cross-species cases we saw were druid/ human. Maybe that has something to do with it,” I said.
Briallen tilted her head back in thought as if searching the ceiling for an answer. “Gillen Yor was researching cross-species children.”
I glanced at Murdock. “I know. That’s where I got my original data from.”
“You never told me that,” he said.
I nodded. “I didn’t exactly ask him, and I know how you get about stuff like that. Does it matter now?”
He shook his head in exasperation. “I guess it doesn’t. It still doesn’t get us any answers.”
Briallen gazed into the fire. “Sometimes we look for answers when we should be looking for questions.”
“Like what?” I asked.
“Like why Scott Murdock? Of all the men Moira could have picked, why him?” Briallen asked.
“Are you saying it wasn’t accidental they met?” I asked.
“I’m saying she married a man whose death is causing an international incident. I’m saying one of her sons has helped you stop some catastrophic events. And I have to wonder why?” Briallen asked.
“She knew something. Maybe she had a vision of the future,” I said.
“Why would she want a future where my father ends up dead? Or herself? That doesn’t make sense,” Murdock said.
A thin, bitter smile creased Briallen’s face. “Welcome to the fey world, Leonard. Even our own lives mean little in achieving our goals.”
She stared at the fire in a way that made me wonder if she was warning Murdock or lamenting her own fate. Briallen had lived through a lot, and no matter how much she danced around it, I believed she was an Old One. She knew pain and sorrow in Faerie and hoped to see an end of it here.
I didn’t think that was going to happen for any of us soon.
10
After dinner, I left Briallen’s house and found a quiet place down near the Reserve Channel, a small dive, long and narrow. Timeworn wooden stools lined the bar, old Colonialstyle chairs surrounded pitted tables and a three-piece band crammed into the corner next to the bathroom. The patrons slunk in and out, not furtive, but tired and dejected, the type of clientele for which drinking was a necessity, not an entertainment. It was the kind of place people went when something rocked their world and not in a good way.
A fairy from one of the lesser Celtic clans stood at the microphone, singing a song of loss and more loss while the band played melancholy flute and drum. She must have had a decent voice once, broken now by drink and who knew what else. Fairies, especially Dananns, had a weakness for alcohol that turned into a problem with no effort. The rasp in her voice worked for the room. Scattered applause broke the silence whenever she finished a song.
I sat on a stool in a dark corner. I didn’t recognize anyone, but that didn’t mean no one would recognize me. Between those who remembered me from my publicity-rich Guild days and those who had more recent grudges, I had too many people to avoid. Staying home was easier—and safer—but sometimes wallowing alone in a room with other wallowing people fit the bill.
Learning that Murdock was okay was a good thing. For months, I had hoped that the answer to what had happened to him might provide a clue to a cure for me. If he could develop abilities, maybe a way existed for me to get mine back. I didn’t get the answer I had hoped for. Murdock was fey. There was no work-around. The dark mass was in my head and would be in my head until I figured out what it was or I died. With any luck, the two things wouldn’t happen at the same time.
Something rustled in the garbage can near me in the corner. I slid away from it, not wanting a rat jumping out at me. The Weird lay hard by the harbor, and rats were more common than dockworkers. During the day, you might catch a furtive movement in the shadows, but at night the little furries ventured about with little fear. An always-dark bar was like a home away from home.
A thumping sound came from the barrel, and I moved off my stool. I wasn’t afraid of rats. I was afraid of what a startled rat might do. They avoided people, but they had tiny brains and didn’t know the difference between someone trying to avoid them and a big scary mammal looming over them.
A crumpled ball of paper popped out, then an empty beer can. The barrel wobbled as something inside shrieked. I backed away as it fell over with a loud crash, newspapers and more cans scattering onto the ground. Heads turned at all the noise as a bright pink ball of essence shot across the floor and hit the wall.
“I’m trying to be inconspicuous here, Joe,” I said.
He rubbed his head. “There’s a big brown rat in there with the longest tail I’ve ever seen.”
I picked up a brown-paper shopping bag, rolled up and dangling its broken rope handle. “This rat?”
Joe made a show of dusting himself off. “It was dark.”
I tossed at him. “What the hell were you doing in there anyway?”
He straightened with dignity. “Looking for you.”
“In a trash barrel? What would make you think . . . never mind.” It took me a second, but I saw the setup.
Joe fluttered to the stool and sat down. “What are you doing here?”
“Pondering the meaning of life and the Wheel of the World,” I said.
He peered off at the dark bar. “Really? The beer’s that cheap here?”
“Yeah,” I said.
Joe banged his fists against his forehead. “Can’t you get drunk like a normal crazy person?”
I righted the barrel and glanced around. After the initial noise, the bar patrons had gone back to staring into space. “I don’t think I’d fit in this barrel.”
Joe pouted, letting his eyes grow wide with sadness. “I wish I could ponder life, too, but my hands are empty.”
“Would you like a beer, Joe?”
He grinned. “Why, yes, I would love to discuss philosophy with you, kind sir.”
A strange vibe swept the room, an air of tension that prompted people to look toward the exit. Drinkers at the bar shifted in their seats, leaning toward each other to whisper. Joe flinched and squeezed his eyes shut. “Ow! People need to tone down their sendings.”
“I’m not getting anything,” I said. I couldn’t do sendings anymore, but I could receive them. Whatever was happening, no one thought I’d be interested.
Joe shook his head. “Another fire. Big one over on the haul road.”
Ever since a quarter of the neighborhood had burned down the night of the riots, people had been jumpy. The bar was on the edge of the burn zone, and while some might argue not much was left to burn, that wasn’t a joke to people who lived and worked nearby.
“Is the fire department responding?” I asked.
“Lots. It’s a big one. Do they have nuts here?” Joe asked.
“Just one. Let’s go check out the fire,” I said.
Joe gave me a horrified look. “But the beer is here.” “We’ll get some later. Promise,” I said.
Outside, a muddy orange light smeared across the night sky, never a good sign when it came to fires. I hurried down the sidewalk, dodging puddles and broken cement and made it to the haul road in two short blocks. Thick smoke plumed off the top of a warehouse. From the number of units on the scene, the fire had gone to at least six alarms. On the corner, an elf in a green uniform stopped us. “This is a secure area. You need to move on.”
“I’m here on business for Eorla Elvendottir,” I said. It wasn’t quite true, but he didn’t need to know that.