“Is there anything else in here you have to worry about?”
Belgor shook his head. “As I’ve always told you, Mr. Grey, I am a legitimate business owner.”
I sighed. “Take it out of the box and mask it with a dampening glamour. Make it strong enough to last at least until tomorrow morning.”
He didn’t smile or gloat but got down to business. He flipped the box lid onto the love seat and gathered the torc in its tissue wrapping. As he muttered under his breath, little flashes of green slid off his fingers and wrapped themselves around the packaging. I opened my essence-sensing ability but could no longer feel the torc. A fey who could sense essence-and, more importantly, Dylan-would pick up nothing but the ambient essence of the Weird. Belgor handed me the package, and I slipped it inside my jacket.
I flexed a thin smile. “Let’s invite them in, shall we?”
CHAPTER 9
Murdock had arrived while I was inside with Belgor. He and Dylan eyed each other in front of the store with wary professional courtesy. The Guild and the Boston P.D. didn’t have the greatest rapport in the best of times. With the Guild alternating between ignoring minor essence fights in the Weird and coming down hard on major ones, and consulting the police or the city on neither, these were decidedly not the best of times. They both looked relieved when I stepped into the street. “I see you’ve met each other.”
Dylan extended his hand to Murdock. “I didn’t realize you were that Murdock. I’ve read interesting things about you.”
Murdock didn’t smile back, but he did shake. Dylan didn’t let it faze him. “You’re in homicide, aren’t you? What brings you down here?”
Murdock shrugged. “I work the Weird. I heard the words ‘Belgor’ and ‘Guild’ and figured something interesting might be up.”
Dylan glanced at the Boston patrol officer who stood to the side. “I couldn’t guess where you might have heard the words.”
If there’s one thing policing organizations hate, it’s jurisdictional disputes. If there’s one thing policing organizations love, it’s irritating each other over jurisdictional disputes. The Boston patrol officer had probably called Murdock a fraction of a second after arriving on the scene and seeing Guild operatives. Murdock looked at the missing window. “Belgor bite off more than he could chew this time?”
I leaned against the building opposite the shop. “Hard to tell. He claims a nutcase attacked him.”
Dylan frowned. You were in there a long time.
I gestured to the store. “We can go in. He’s just shy.”
Dylan and Murdock exchanged glances. The problem with working with partners is they knew how you operated. They knew the kinds of corners you liked to cut. They knew what your sarcasm meant. And they knew when you were up to something. The look they exchanged said as much. It also said neither was sure how much the other understood me.
Murdock, I knew, would cut me some slack. He wouldn’t push it in front of Dylan without knowing who he was and where things stood between the two of us. Dylan would be thinking the same thing. He would wonder how far Murdock had gone to cover my back, as he himself had covered for me in New York. Those were things I knew because I’d been partners with both of them and knew them just as well.
Dylan strode into Belgor’s shop with an air of command. He kept a professional detachment that reminded me of someone observing a museum exhibit, Late-Twentieth-Century Commercial Pigsty, with Elf.
Murdock and I stayed out of the way by the counter. I had no official capacity to help, and Belgor wasn’t dead enough to motivate Murdock to flash his badge.
While he examined the scorched aisle, Dylan let his underlings run the routine questions by Belgor. He scanned the space with an investigator’s eye, stopping here and there to examine merchandise as if he were shopping. About three-quarters of the way down the aisle, he crouched. “Mr. Belgor, could you join me, please?”
Hearing that, I realized I had no idea if Belgor was his first name or last or only. Belgor moved up behind Dylan, blocking my view, so Murdock and I walked up the main aisle to the front and came around the other way.
Dylan pointed. “Is this yours?”
Belgor stretched his fleshy neck to see the item in question. In the kick space below a bottom shelf lay an old gold dagger with a black hilt. Dylan’s question was moot. The dagger had elf blood on the tip and, given its freshness, Dylan and I had no problem sensing the blood was Belgor’s.
Belgor’s hand fluttered to his chest in mock-surprise. “Most assuredly not. You flatter a humble shopkeeper, Guildsman, to imply I could afford such a thing.” He liked to pour it on thick.
Dylan gazed at me from under his brow. Despite the interference I had run for Belgor on occasion, the Guild had a hefty file on his history. Dylan wasn’t naïve enough to think Belgor was anywhere near that humble. I didn’t need to look at Murdock to know what he was thinking.
Dylan spread his fingers above the dagger. It rocked a bit, then left the floor. As Dylan stood, the dagger rose higher until it hovered above his hand. The light in the room gave it a soft glisten except near the tip, where Belgor’s blood dulled the shine.
“Breton,” Dylan and I said at the same time. We shared a comradely smile.
“I’ve seen its mate in the Guildhouse storerooms,” I said.
Dylan let the dagger drop lower. “Can you sense the druid essence?”
I suppressed a small flutter of annoyance. I couldn’t tell if he was asking out of curiosity or condescension. “It’s druidess, if you want to be precise.”
He let the dagger settle back to the floor. “You’re ability is more fine-tuned than mine. I’ve never been able to sense gender.”
I smirked. “No comment.”
He met my eyes, and we both grinned like schoolkids. He turned to Belgor. “I’m sorry, Mr. Belgor, but we’ll need to search your shop.”
Belgor backed toward the counter. “Sincerely, Guildsman, there is no need. She was a troubled soul to be sure. I have no desire to press charges.”
Dylan slid his hands into his coat pockets. “Very kind of you. Unfortunately, we have to follow procedure. If you do not wish to cooperate with the investigation, you can discuss that later with an advocate. In the meantime, we should collect evidence in case you change your mind.”
Belgor rubbed his lips and looked at me. “As you wish, Guildsman. I want no trouble.”
Dylan smiled. “Good. Please let me know if you have any questions.”
I didn’t look at Belgor as we left the shop. Dylan stared at the slice of night sky above the small lane and tugged his collar up. “Getting nippy. Do either of you want to go for dinner?”
“I’m on duty for another hour, thanks,” Murdock said.
I hesitated. “Sure.”
Dylan extended his hand to Murdock. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”
“Same here. I’ll catch up with you later, Connor.” Murdock shook and walked back to his car without another word. He’s not big on the hello and good-bye. Dylan watched him leave without comment, not amused so much as curious.
A black car with Guild diplomatic plates pulled into the lane. Dylan opened the back door and slid inside, while I got in on the opposite side. A brownie in plain Guild security uniform manned the driver’s seat. Dylan leaned his head back against the seat. “I’m starving. Do you like No. 9 Park?”
I snorted. No. 9 Park Street was one of the best restaurants in the city. Not liking the place was like not liking air. “Who doesn’t?”
“You heard the man, Loddie. No. 9 Park.”
The brownie pulled away from Belgor’s shop.
“Interesting guy, that Murdock. Have you worked with him long?” Dylan asked.
I gave him a knowing smile. “Like you haven’t read the files to know.”