Her admission didn’t surprise me. What had happened when she wasn’t observed was anyone’s guess. Eorla had made a deal with Nigel Martin. That much I knew. In exchange for her help at Forest Hills, she wanted the Guild director position that had been vacated by her husband’s death. Manus ap Eagan didn’t want it to happen, but after Forest Hills, Eorla was confirmed. I didn’t know if anything else happened that she didn’t report.
“What do you want to know?” I asked.
“If we share information, we may be able to resolve the issue of the Taint to everyone’s advantage.”
“And your credit,” Meryl said.
Eorla shrugged. “I have no issue sharing credit for it. In fact, you can have it all if you wish. It’s more important that the Taint be eliminated.”
I smiled. “You’re afraid the Guild will figure it out and use it as a weapon.”
Eorla shook her head. “Not afraid. I know that is their intention. Isn’t fear of Consortium dominance what the fiasco on Samhain was about? The only thing that keeps war from breaking out between the Seelie Court and the Elven King is parity. If I have anything to do with it, both sides will know the answer or neither will.”
“Sounds to me like you’ll end up committing espionage against the Guild and treason against the Elven King at the same time. Even I make better friends than that,” said Meryl.
“Barely,” I said out of the corner of my mouth.
The Guild had interrogated Meryl for weeks about the purging spell she used on the Taint. Meryl insisted she didn’t know the mechanics of the spell because a powerful fey called a drys actually performed it through her. It wasn’t quite possession, more like having a supercharged battery boosting her already considerable ability, with the drys providing direction. I had more than enough experience with forgetting what happened during extreme essence events, but even I suspected Meryl knew a little more than she was telling.
Eorla steepled her fingers. “I’ll let history judge that. I’ve been out of favor before. I will find favor again. That’s not the issue. The Taint is.”
“Why should we trust you?” Meryl asked.
A slow smile teased at the corners of Eorla’s mouth. “By that question, you confirm my belief that you know something.”
Meryl frowned a smile. “Maybe it was a rhetorical question. I didn’t just fall out of an oak tree, Eorla.”
I suppressed a smirk. Meryl might not have fallen out of an oak tree, but at Forest Hills, I watched her fall into one. Literally. One moment, the bark of the tree formed the face of the drys; the next, Meryl jumped into the trunk.
Eorla pulled a small pad of paper toward herself and sketched a series of runes. Sometimes the act of scribing can activate a spell. Eorla was a pro, though, and broke them into unlikely combinations. For added measure, she smeared essence on the first few to make them resonate differently. She slid the pad across the desk. “Perhaps an exchange of information would make you more amenable. Those are the runes I saw and remember”—she shot me a significant glance—“all of them this time. I believe, Connor, you held back a few as well.”
I picked up a pen and drew three more runes. I didn’t look at Meryl, but sensed her caution through her stillness. Eorla studied the pad. “It’s ancient. It doesn’t have the nuance of the spells we use today. It’s much more blunt force.” She handed me the pad. “Do you see the rhythm of an elven chant in that?”
I saw what she meant. “I don’t follow all of it, but, yeah, I see it.”
Meryl took the pad from me with a mixture of reluctance and curiosity. She scanned the page, then closed her eyes, nodding as if listening to music. She opened her eyes and filled in a few blank spaces. “I think those belong. The syntax looks similar to Old Elvish with maybe an eastern influence.”
Impressed, Eorla nodded as she reviewed the additions. “The runes were bonded to an oak staff. That changed the nature of the spell by combining Seelie and Teutonic modes.”
“That was the point,” said Meryl, “to control essence the way the two groups use it.”
“Why didn’t it affect us?” Eorla asked.
“That part’s easy,” said Meryl. “We didn’t drink the Kool-Aid.”
Eorla tapped the edge of her desk in thought. “The drugged ceremonial mead never made it to me for the final toast. That doesn’t explain Nigel Martin’s ability to fight off the spell.”
“He was sidelined at the Guildhouse and wasn’t at the funeral. He didn’t arrive until after the spell catalyzed,” I said.
Eorla considered for a moment before bringing her attention back to Meryl. “The drys used you to execute a counterspell, and the control spell collapsed.”
“But it didn’t collapse,” I said. “That’s what the Taint is. Damaged essence.”
Eorla leaned back in her chair again. “You broke the Seelie aspect of the spell, Meryl. If that knowledge falls to the Elven King, he may be able to reconstruct the control spell, and we may not be able to stop it again. The Celtic fey would be at his mercy.”
No one spoke.
“You have nothing to add?” Eorla said to Meryl.
She shook her head. “I don’t remember. It wasn’t my doing. The drys used me as a conduit.”
Eorla arched an eyebrow. “A conduit. I hadn’t considered that.”
“If you reconstruct the spell, won’t that cause the same problem all over again?” I asked.
She titled her head. “I’m not re-creating the spell. I’m reconstructing it in order to understand how to undo it. You saw how much essence was involved—controlling all that essence is impossible for one person. I have no interest in dying.”
A knock sounded at the door. I stood for appearances sake. Another elven guard entered at Eorla’s response. “Your meeting is beginning shortly, Your Highness.”
Eorla gathered up some papers on her desk, slipped them in an envelope, and handed it to me. “Deliver this by the end of the day, will you?”
I bowed and left the room. Meryl met me at the elevator a few moments later. We didn’t speak until the doors closed. “I still don’t trust her,” she said.
“I know. I do. When you do, let me know,” I said.
She cocked her head at me. “That’s it? No trying to persuade me?”
I smiled. “I’ve learned my lesson on that score.”
She nodded. “Good.”
I wiggled my elven ears at her. “Have you ever had crazy elf sex?”
She watched the lit numbers on the panel as they counted down. She punched the stop button. “Not in an elevator.”
18
After a day of political intrigue, it made perfect sense, at least in my life, to shift gears and attend a good, old-fashioned neighborhood meeting. Murdock seemed to think it might be interesting, but I doubted it. Neighborhood meetings were usually dog-and-pony shows, a sop to whoever had a problem, where the powers that be got to pretend they cared and were doing something about it. A neighborhood meeting in the Weird was unusual. The people who lived there didn’t have the time—or clout—to demand community service or political attention. Not when they were dodging elf-shot and bullets. But enough people had complained that one was arranged, and Murdock felt the need to attend.
Like most of the old buildings in the Weird, the building on Summer Street being used for the meeting was a manufacturing plant for something when it was built. Plate-glass windows lined the street level now, covered with metal mesh. By the sign above the door, someone had tried to turn it into a lighting showroom, “tried” being the operative word. The sign was long faded.
Snow fell thickly as Murdock parked the car opposite the entrance to the old warehouse. The weather forecast hadn’t called for anything more than overcast skies, but the clouds had a different idea. Light leaked through the mesh grate from inside, casting striated shadows onto the solitaries who gathered on the sidewalk. Bark-skinned men with tangled hair in mats of dark green or brown stamped their feet in the snow and bunched their hands in pockets. A few ash-colored women huddled together, their coal black hair trailing to their waists. At the next corner, police officers in riot gear leaned against cars and motorcycles. Suspicious and angry eyes from both contingents watched each other in the sallow light thrown by the lone streetlight.