Chapter 13

Ch. 13: Julian

Questions carpet-bomb my brain as Halloran's words sink in, short-circuiting my ability to speak and leaving my mind blank with shock. Before I can recover, footsteps echo down the tunnel behind Dane, and Ingrid appears at his back.

"Holy shit! What just happened?" she asks, blinding us all with her phone's flash. "Was that a gunshot? Is everyone okay? Oh my God, is that blood?"

Her eyes fix on Halloran's shirt, the front of which Dane grasps in a fist.

Ignoring her, he gives the man a shake.

"Alright, you son of a bitch," he growls in his face. "You got thirty seconds to explain."

"I'm afraid... it will take a bit longer than that... to do the tale justice," Halloran gasps, slumping against the bricks at his back and leaving Dane holding a good portion of his weight. His face is pale in the flashlight's wan beam, and his brow shines with a sheen of sweat. "In the meantime, do you think we might move to a more... comfortable location?"

I see the gears working in Dane's head as he calculates a quick cost-benefit analysis, weighing different factors in his mind. Coming to a decision, he releases his hold on Halloran's shirt and slips his arm around the man's back instead, lending him support.

"Fine," he says. "Ingrid, take the flashlight. Julian, get the gun. Let's get out of here."

Ingrid leads the way out of the tunnels, and Dane follows with Halloran. I bring up the rear, feeling a little jealous and left behind. Sure, I'm not hurt as badly as Halloran, but my wrist is broken, and I just learned I have a great uncle and my grandmother might be a murderer. I could use a hug, at least.

I shove the unhelpful feelings aside as we climb the steps and emerge into the light of Lagrange's shop once more, blinking against the glare of the afternoon sun. Somewhat to my satisfaction, Dane releases Halloran and leaves him to stand or fall on his own while he inspects the gaping hole in the floor.

"How long have you known this was here?" he asks, his voice taking on a 'trained interrogator' tone.

"Not until this afternoon," Halloran replies, leaning on the sales counter for support with one hand pressed to his shoulder. "It's Julian that found the thing."

Dane's amber gaze turns my way, and I flinch. "Funny the cops missed it," he remarks.

Ingrid, who's been busy brushing dust from her clothes and hair, rolls her eyes at him. "Really, Dane? Did you check for trapdoors in every room when you were a cop? It was wide open, and you wouldn't even have found it if not for me."

"You know my senses aren't as sharp as yours in human form," he says, "and yours aren't as sharp as mine as a Wolf." Stripping off his outer shirt, he tosses it to Halloran. "Keep pressure on that shoulder. We should get you to a hospital. Both of you," he adds, glancing at me with a softer — and guiltier — look.

"Ah, no," Halloran protests with a grimace. "I'd rather avoid the paperwork. It's not as bad as it looks, and I can patch meself up well enough."

"So, what? We're not calling this in?" Dane challenges.

Halloran hesitates, then shakes his head. "It's your call. Personally, I'd prefer more time to investigate the place properly, before it's trampled over and boarded up."

Dane keeps his expression neutral, but I can guess his feelings well enough. Naturally, he'll want to investigate the tunnels more thoroughly as well, and that will be more difficult if the authorities have locked them down, not to mention the evidence they might destroy inadvertently. He and Halloran want the same thing; so either they both win, or they both lose. Yielding the decision leaves Dane in control, but really there's only one choice.

"We'll leave it for now," he says, closing the trapdoor and replacing the rubber mat over top of it once more. "At least until you've explained yourself. In the meantime..."

He looks at me and rubs a hand over his jaw, and again I can guess his thoughts. Hospitals are expensive.

"Let's avoid the ER for now," I say. "It's just a sprain, anyway. We'll have Chloe take a look and—"

"Chloe's not a doctor," he interrupts, "and your wrist is broken, not sprained."

I frown. "You're not a doctor, either, so how do you know?"

"Because..." He takes a breath and continues more softly. "Because I know how to break a wrist."

I blink, taken aback, and then shake my head. "It was an accident," I say. "But how did you not know it was me? I thought you could smell your Mate a mile off."

"Not a mile, but..." Dane's brows pinch and it's clear the question is troubling him as well.

"The dust," Halloran murmurs, staring at me. "There's probably lime in it."

I turn to the windows, catch my reflection, and nearly laugh at the absurdity of what I see. I look like I've been through a war zone. My hair is a mess, Halloran's blood streaks my arm and stains my shirt, and I'm covered in a powdery gray dust.

"Lime?" Ingrid asks. "Like someone spilled a cocktail, or something?"

"Limestone," Halloran says. "They use it in mortar, between the bricks. When we unblocked the passageway, the dust got everywhere."

Dane frowns. "What the fuck does—"

"Oh! I remember now!" Ingrid exclaims, clapping her hands and cutting him off. "Lime is like, calcium carbonate, or something. It destroys odors — especially organic ones. See!" She whacks Dane's arm. "I did pay attention in school."

The corner of Dane's lip lifts a little, and I get the feeling if he were in Wolf form he might snap at her, like an older pack member irritated by a puppy. Instead, he ignores her and keeps his attention on me, appearing unconvinced by the explanation.

Meanwhile, I don't want to show up at the hospital looking like I barely survived a bomb blast, and I'd like to get the rest of the story out of Halloran.

"Let's just go home for now, Dane — or to Chloe's at least, if she'll see us. She may not be a doctor, but she knows her shit. If she says I need x-rays, I'll go tomorrow, and she can treat Halloran, too. Please."

It's cheap, but I sprinkle a hint of 'just take care of me' in my tone, and it works.

He glowers at Halloran, but nods as he pulls out his phone, and dials as he speaks. "Alright, here's the deal. If Chloe's up for playing doctor, we'll go with that. If not, we visit the Urgent Care over by that animal clinic on River Street. They know not to ask too many questions there, and—"

He cuts off as Chloe picks up, and after a quick conversation, ends the call.

"She'll help," he says, somewhat unhappily. "Guess she's been taking some classes in first-aid."

"Handy," I remark drily, "with friends like us."

***

After a brief argument over who will drive what, Halloran and I ride with Dane while Ingrid insists she can handle my beetle. It's only about a ten-mile drive to Chloe's house, but a 1968 VW is not the car I'd pick for my first time driving manual, and all I can do is I pray my transmission gets home in one piece.

No one says much on the way. Halloran sits in the back seat with his eyes closed, and I'm too focused on the pain in my arm to make conversation. Dane keeps glancing at me, probably ready to turn around and speed for the hospital at the first sign of distress, so I keep my mouth shut, not trusting myself to speak.

Chloe and Grace greet us when we arrive, and Chloe insists on assessing our injuries before we're even out of the car.

"You don't happen to have kept the knife, did you?" she asks, examining Halloran's wound.

He produces it from his pocket, and she inspects it carefully. It's about six inches long, including the hilt, and has a slight curve to it. Intricate, vine-like engravings cover the handle and trail down the blade.

"Appears to be solid silver," she says admiringly. "Blade is roughly... ten centimeters. How deep did it go?"

"To the hilt, I think," Halloran says, biting back a sound of pain as she presses lightly on the skin surrounding the wound.

"It's nearly stopped bleeding," she says, "and you've got a good layer of muscle. Still, it's nothing to take lightly. I can disinfect the wound and close it up, but you should see a doctor as well."

"You're likely right," Halloran says, smiling grimly, "though I've had worse and cared for it less."

Chloe moves on to me and gently examines my wrist.

"Everything's where it should be, at least," she says, "but you've probably got at least one hairline fracture. Probably not serious, but you should get an x-ray to be sure. For the moment, I can immobilize it and give you something for the pain and swelling. Come on inside and let's get you both cleaned up."

In short order, we're situation in her living room. Ingrid helps Grace prepare some coffee and light sandwiches, while Chloe washes her hands and lays out what she'll need. She starts with Halloran, helping him to remove his shirt and cleansing the area around the wound. Then, with deft and practiced motions, she disinfects and sutures the wound shut before taping a bandage over the site.

"You're sure you're not a doctor?" Halloran asks, admiring the neat work.

Chloe smiles. "No. I'm more interested in alternative healing, really, but practical skills come in useful from time to time."

"I can imagine," he says, glancing my way.

At my side, Dane stiffens, and I reach over to grasp his hand with my uninjured one, sensing the guilt already setting to work in him. Accident or not, he'll be blaming himself for hurting me, nonetheless.

Finished with Halloran, Chloe moves on to me, and as she gently cleans and immobilizes my wrist with a brace, I study the other man more carefully. From the way Ingrid and Dane have been staring since they caught up to us, I get the sense that his 'glamour' has slipped, and they now see him as I do — or near enough that there's no denying the resemblance. He looks a lot like my father, in fact, except his eyes are blue instead of amethyst like mine, which makes sense except...

"How old are you?" I ask, wincing as Chloe carefully manipulates my arm and places an ice pack under my wrist.

Halloran gives me a crooked smile and swipes sweat-dampened hair away from his brow with a slightly shaking hand. "It's difficult to say, really, with the time variance between realms. I'm what we call a 'world walker' — one who spends about equal time in this world as I do in Faerie. When I'm here, I call Ireland home, and I earn my living as a detective there. Everything I told you about myself and why I'm here is true."

"You just forgot to mention we're related," I say drily.

Grace and Ingrid join us then, carrying trays with coffee and sandwiches, expressions of intense interest lighting their faces.

Halloran sighs. "I'd have gotten around to it, but I'm sorry it came out the way it did. It must be a shock."

"I thought my grandmother was dead," I say, shaking my head. "If she's alive, where has she been? What was she doing creeping around in those tunnels, and why did she throw a knife at you?"

Halloran turns the silver blade over in his hands, studying it thoughtfully. "To understand that, you'll have to understand the history as well. How much do you know of Faerie?"

"Not much," I admit.

He nods. "I'll start at the beginning, then. 'Faerie' is what your more philosophical physicists might call a parallel dimension. It exists alongside this world, occupying more or less the same space and time. All around the globe, there are special places — thin places — where, if one knows how, one may pass between the two."

"You said something about an 'underworld' in the cave,' I say. "Is that part of Faerie, too?"

"No. It's a third space — yet another 'dimension,' if you will. We call it the 'underworld' or the 'shadowlands.' On earth and in Faerie, thin places are stable; once you know where they are, you can find them again. In the underworld, they come and go, disappearing and reappearing randomly. It's easy enough to enter, but quite difficult to leave. Traditionally, it's served as a useful place to banish people who need to be punished with something other, and possibly worse, than death. For example, roque wolf-slayers who happen to be the niece of the Summer Queen."

"Rhiannon," Dane mutters, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze. "What did she do?"

"Well, that," Halloran says with another sigh, "is a long, sad story, indeed."