Murdock opened the other file. “They get paid much for that?”
“Some do. Some don’t. It depends on how complicated the system is,” I said.
Janey opened a drawer and held out a small bag with a stone in it. “Guess what I found sewn into the lining of the Southie victim’s jacket?”
I held the bag toward the light. “Same rune marker on it, too.”
Murdock grunted in approval. “And two rap sheets that show they knew each other. Looks like we have some other associates here, but no known addresses.”
“And I know where to start looking,” I said.
13
Murdock pulled his car to the curb near the corner of Tide Street and Old Northern. “You sure you want to do this?”
I stared out the dusty windshield at the dark buildings leaning over the street. The Tangle was the worst of the worst of the Weird, a spidery network of dark alleys and dead ends. Essence fights, illegal potions, and strange trades filled the streets. A dark glamour hung over the area, casting shadows even during the day. Law enforcement had given up on it and stayed away. As long as the Tangle kept within its borders, it was allowed to exist.
I stayed out of the area as much as possible. Since the dark mass had appeared in my head, scrying caused me incredible pain. Whether someone was reading the future through fire or water, the black mass recoiled. The Tangle was filled with prognosticators of every stripe—druids and dwarves, the occasional nixie with a knack for weathercasting, and plenty of norns who could take one look at you and know when you were going to die. My head was hurting thinking about it. “That’s why we’re doing this together, Leo. Fire up the body shield, buddy, and let’s go.”
We left the car on Tide Street. Machines didn’t operate well in the Tangle. Many fey feared iron and steel because it warped essence and made it operate in unintended ways. In the Tangle, jamming spells stalled engines to keep them away, and good luck trying to get a tow truck to pull a car out without getting stuck itself.
The street narrowed, not an abrupt change from two lanes to one, but a sinuous compression that pulled in the buildings with it. The twilight sky darkened above as the sounds of Old Northern Avenue muted. Sharp points of pain prickled my brain, and I moved closer to Murdock. His body shield filtered out the brunt of the pain.
“This place gives me the creeps,” Murdock said.
“It’s supposed to,” I said.
As if a switch had been flipped, people appeared. The Tangle attracted humans and fey who liked things on the wild side. The people who lived in the Tangle obliged. The more esoteric the need, the higher the price. It was always a seller’s market. To enhance their image as talented practitioners of essence abilities, many fey wore traditional clothing out of Faerie. Nothing says genuine like a druid in a robe or a fairy in a diaphanous dress. What some lacked in skill and real ability, they made up for in appearance.
“What is that smell?” Murdock muttered.
Odors filled the air, the by-products of spells. “Herbs and incense. Spell stuff.”
“I’m getting a cold or something. My sinuses have been killing me for weeks,” he said.
He recoiled as a brownie brushed past him. I didn’t notice any particular scent coming off her. “Weeks? That’s not a cold, then. Maybe sinusitis.”
“Whatever. Something down here is making it worse,” he said.
The Tangle was the go-to spot for people looking for something essence-related they couldn’t get anywhere else. Drugs were one lure. The fey were adept at creating new highs that slipped past the FDA before the FDA had any idea what they were. Curses were popular, too. The biggest appeal of the Tangle was its secretiveness—no paper trails, no credit cards, and no evidence. If both parties were fey, sendings could be used instead of audible conversations that might get recorded. The main thing to worry about was blackmail, but you bought into that risk if you went to the Tangle in first place.
We turned a corner into an empty pedestrian tunnel lined with brick, wide enough for four people to walk abreast but too narrow for a vehicle. “I thought this was going to be a street,” said Murdock.
“It probably is to some people. The streetscape reacts to all kinds of things,” I said.
Illusions drifted through the neighborhood. Real buildings and real streets existed alongside glamours of places that weren’t there. Who made them and why were mysteries. Some people saw them, and others didn’t. They created an atmosphere of uncertainty and the surreal that was part of the unique signature of the place.
Harsh white light lit the end of the tunnel, as if daytime had returned on the next block. People passed back and forth across the archway. We exited the tunnel, and the light vanished. We were back in twilight, in the heart of the Tangle.
The street didn’t have a name, but when people talked about the Tangle, the road was what they meant. It stretched anywhere from two to ten blocks, depending on the time of day. The business of the Tangle happened amidst a chaotic group of stalls, booths, and tables. Burning incense, herbinfused potions, and the rank odor of bodies combined into a heady brew. More than a few hooded figures made their way through the crowd, buyers and sellers masking their identities. Murdock sneezed.
We roamed for a while, checking out the merchandise. Selling essence wasn’t illegal. Mainstream stores along Boylston offered essence-charged stones for everything from mood modification to high-level security systems. On the street in the Tangle, plenty of ward rechargers were scattered among the other vendors. If you were looking for a lot of essence, enough that would drain a dwarf to almost none, you weren’t looking to use it for something strictly legal. The select sellers knew that and kept as low a profile as the buyers. They had to work by sense and feel and learn not to spook a potential client.
After a couple of hours, a dwarf caught my eye. He held a coffee cup, lounging against a wall, watching the crowd in a neutral way that was too practiced to be casual. A sharpeyed customer—or Guild agent—would notice the difference. His gaze lingered on single people—buying essence for the wrong reason was not a group activity—skipping the obvious groups and fey who didn’t need his services.
An elf in the livery of Eorla’s house guard wandered over and stood next to him. They eyed one another but didn’t speak, at least not aloud. I gestured with my chin. “That’s interesting.”
Leo and I separated a few feet as we approached. The elf saw us first and lost himself in the crowd. Confused, the dwarf turned and spotted us. He dropped his coffee and made for another pedestrian tunnel. We let him get around the corner before Murdock rushed forward and grabbed his arm. The guy struggled until I flanked them, and Murdock let go. Dwarfs are strong, damned strong. I wouldn’t have been able to hang on to the guy for more than a few seconds before he shrugged me off like a gnat. Murdock’s strength level had become astounding even by druid standards.
“Leave me alone,” he said.
“We just want to talk,” I said.
Incredulous, he frowned at Murdock. “To a cop? You gotta be joking.”
“No joke. We need some info. It’s about the two dead dwarves,” I said.
His gaze shifted to either end of the enclosed alley. “I had nothing to do with that.”
“Not saying you did. We’re looking for information,” Murdock said.
The dwarf craned his neck to see over our shoulders. Rubberneckers were checking us out from the main drag. “You are killing my cred. You want to talk, then walk me outta here like I’m a badass and you’re badder,” he said.
Happy to oblige, Murdock grabbed his arm again. At the end of the alley, we pushed through the cluster of people that had gathered. The dwarf made a show of looking unhappy, which was fine. The crowd flowed around us, some shouting at us, and not encouragement. Law enforcement in the Tangle was not welcomed by many.