Chapter 9

Ch. 9: Julian

A little after three o'clock, I park some ways up the street from Lagrange's shop, giving myself time to think.

Usually, the area would be swarming with tourists, but today it's almost deserted. Most of the businesses are closed for the day out of respect for Lagrange, and there are only a few other cars besides my own. Halloran stands near one of these, leaning against the hood of a small dark sedan with his arms crossed. He glances up and down the sidewalk and checks his watch, clearly waiting for me.

As I observe him, I ask myself for the hundredth if this is a good idea. My gut tells me it's not, and that my lies of omission have hefty price tags attached; but a stubborn—and currently dominant—part of my mind doesn't care.

I've been to Faerie—the Fae realm—only once. From my perspective, mere days had passed, and having been unconscious for most of it, I don't remember much. For Dane, six months went by between the moment I disappeared through the gateway at the standing stones, injured and near death, and the moment I reappeared, whole and healed once more.

My absence had scarred him, in a way. He'd spent half a year not knowing if I was alive or dead, or how long he'd have to wait to find out. He'd been prepared to wait for the rest of his life, sustained by nothing but hope.

In the months after my return, he'd barely let me out of his sight. Something like this—letting me investigate on my own, especially after what happened with the rune—is a sign of healing and trust.

Trust I've already betrayed by failing to tell him everything.

And yet I can't deny how deeply curious I am, or how strong my desire is to learn more about my father's people, and by extension, myself: curiosity and desire awakened by this case, and by Rian Halloran, who may hold the key to more mysteries than one.

Popping the door of my car, I get out. It falls shut with a solid thunk, and Halloran turns and spots me. He waves, and I find myself staring again.

From his height to his proportions and the fit of his clothes; from his black hair and flashing blue eyes, to his flawless skin and bright smile, his perfection is almost uncanny—like an image so overly idealized it becomes oddly unsettling.

It makes me wonder if that's what people see when they look at me, and why Dane and I seemed to see different things when we look at Halloran.

Shaking free of my tangled thoughts, I cross the road and join him in front of Lagrange's shop.

"Julian; you came after all."

"Rian," I reply, as it seems we're on first names now.

"You're alone?" He lifts a perfectly arched brow.

I hesitate as the question summons a fresh unease. He sees it and smiles disarmingly.

"You have questions," he says. "Ask away; then you can decide if you'd like to proceed or not."

I consider, and decide to start with the basics, as Dane would.

"Is Rian Halloran really your name?"

He smiles. "It is, indeed—as far as this world is concerned."

"Are you really a police officer from Ireland?"

"More or less. My paperwork's in order, and I carry out my duties as assigned. But I have another set of duties as well. The human authorities are ill-equipped to handle the sort of criminals I pursue; your Wolf and I have that much in common."

"Then why not bring Dane in on this, too?"

He lifts one shoulder in an elegant shrug. "Policy. I've got to keep those who know of me to an absolute minimum. I'm only bringing you in because you saw right through my glamour, and there was little point denying it. From what I've heard, you've got a keen sense of second sight, so I suppose it shouldn't surprise me. That's another reason I invited you: you've got exactly the skill I need."

I frown. "You don't have... 'second sight' as well?"

Both his brows lift this time, and he rocks back on his heels a little. "No. My skill is in perception and persuasion—the glamour, for example. All our kind are gifted to varying degrees, but yours is a rare gift, indeed."

I digest this a moment as I inspect the front of Lagrange's shop. The crime-scene tape and other signs of police presence are gone, and it appears almost normal, but a feeling lingers—the forbidding silence of something not to be disturbed, like a grave.

"Is the thief Fae, too?" I ask.

"I suspect so, yes," Halloran says. "But 'vigilante' is more accurate than 'thief.' He takes 'justice' into his own hands, 'cleansing' the land of those deemed 'unworthy' of existence. Like Mr. Lagrange."

"What did Lagrange do?"

Halloran gives me a look as he pulls a set of keys from his pocket and unlocks the bike-shop's door.

"That's what we're here to discover. If I'm right, then Lagrange was the thief's target all along. He'd tracked his quarry to this row of buildings—to the shop owners on this block—but, for some reason, he didn't know precisely which one he was after. The break-ins were his way of finding out. So, shall we?"

He gestures at the door.

"I didn't tell Dane about you," I say, hanging back. "But he knows I'm with you, and he knows where I am."

Halloran laughs. "And your lover will tear me limb from limb if you come to harm, presumably."

"Presumably," I agree.

"Duly noted."

A bell chimes as he pushes the door open and steps through into the darkened interior. After a final hesitation, I follow him.

Rows of fluorescent bars flicker to life overhead as Halloran finds a switch, bathing the shop in wan, artificial light.

Bare concrete floors and plain bricks walls define a utilitarian space, and the frigid air smells like grease and pungent rubber. Bicycles stand in long rows and hang from racks. Shelves and cases display accessories; a counter with a computer and register takes up one corner, and an open doorway leads into a back room that looks like a repair shop. There are no chairs or anything to sit on, and the only concession to comfort is a large rubber mat on the floor near the check-out counter, presumably to make standing in front of it for long periods more bearable.

"So, what does a Fae vigilante want with a guy who rents bicycles to tourists for a living?" I ask.

Halloran casts me a glance. "What is a Fae princeling doing living in a backwater town, passing himself off as human and consorting with Wolves? You, of all people, must know that appearances deceive, and that more lies beneath the surface than we know, or can even imagine."

There's so much to unpack in that, my mind jams. "P-Princeling?"

He smiles, appearing to take pity. "Rhiannon, your grandmother, is the daughter of Eirnín, sister of the Summer Queen. You're descended of royalty—quite a bit removed, and with a... complicated... bloodline, but royalty, nonetheless."

I shake my head. "How do you know so much about me? Who is this vigilante guy, and what is he doing in Spring Lakes?"

Halloran shrugs and begins a slow circuit of the shop, inspecting everything with care, from the seams of the display cases to the spokes of the bicycle wheels.

"I know about you because the Council—the ones who sent me here—know about you. As for my target... Well, what do you know of the Fae-Wolf Conflict?" he asks, turning the question back on me.

"Not much," I admit, following him down a row of hanging bicycles. "Just that it was a war between Wolves and Fae, over territory, or something."

"'Territory or something.'" Halloran chuckles. "I suppose that's one way to put it. There was blood spilled on both sides, and not always in direct combat. Fae 'hunters' were assassins of a sort, whose mission was to clear 'undesirables' from Fae lands—including Wolves. When the Conflict ended, the hunters were disbanded. But some weren't quite ready to give up the hunt; some stayed behind, went rogue. Agents like myself are tasked with ensuring such 'rogue hunters' are not a threat—to Faerie, to humans, or to anything in between. I tracked one here, to Spring Lakes. I don't know what's drawn him here, and I didn't catch on in time to save Lagrange, but my theory is he's our thief."

He pauses in front of a rack displaying an assortment of helmets, running his fingers over the domes of colorful plastic and regarding it like it's a work of art.

Meanwhile, I've been careful not to touch anything, and keep my hands tucked in the pockets of my jeans.

"Why, though?" I ask. "Why steal random shit and draw attention to himself before taking out Lagrange?"

Halloran turns to face me, blue eyes flashing in the dim light. "I've been thinking about that, and I have an idea. I believe the thief shares your ability, to some degree, and can pick up 'impressions' from inanimate objects through touch. The things he took were either connected to Lagrange, or perhaps to future targets."

"Future targets?" I raise my brows.

He nods. "The hunter made his kill, but he won't stop there. If I'm right, Lagrange was just the beginning. Hence, the imperative we find out all we can."

I take a breath, trying to digest what I've learned. "Okay, assuming everything you've told me is true for the moment; how can I help?"

He gestures at the space surrounding us, a questioning expression on his face.

"You want me to read the shop?" I ask. "Right now?"

"Can you?"

I hesitate. "Maybe. What am I looking for?"

"Anything out of the ordinary, really," he murmurs. "You'll know if you see it, I think."

The echo of my father's words from my dream rings in my ears, and I waver. On the one hand, this might be a terrible idea, and I know exactly what Dane would say. On the other hand, Dane isn't here, but if Halloran is right, he'll want all the information he can get.

"Alright; I guess I can try."

"Excellent. How can I help?"

I move to roughly the center of the shop and take a breath.

"Just... be quiet, and don't touch me," I say.

"Fair enough."

He keeps his distance, watching keenly, and I do my best to ignore him as I ground myself and shut my eyes.

Cautiously, little by little and breath by breath, I expand my awareness and let my senses awaken. When I open my eyes, it's as if an extra layer of color permeates the shop.

When I was a kid, I thought everyone saw things the way I did: that some objects glowed with colors, while others remained dull as unpolished stone; some were silent, and others spoke to me. Then my mom had started taking me to doctors, and I'd learned not to talk about it.

At the thought of my mother, my attention wavers, and the colors dim. I still haven't told her anything about my dad's true nature, or my own. What happened to my dad was in the past for her, but she'd loved him, and she deserved to know. I'd been putting it off, but maybe now, with Halloran's help, I'd have a more complete story to tell her.

Putting the thought aside, I refocus my attention and scan the shop. A few of the bicycles glow yellow or green with the remnants of happy excitement; there's a well-worn path of energy along the floor—the dull grayish blue of daily routine. It's Lagrange's, I guess, but it's more faded than it should be after only a few days.

Slowly, I wander the shop, picking up traces of energy here and there, until I get to the back room where it looks like Lagrange did bike repairs. It reeks of death, though I know it's only trace energy, and I cover my mouth with my hand.

"Is this where he was found?" I ask.

"Aye—in the back corner, there," Halloran points.

I scan the rest of the area but get nothing else. Returning to the larger space, I give it one more sweep, but nothing jumps out as unusual. Then, near the counter with the register, I pick up the whiff of death again. It's faint, but unmistakable, and much older than the traces in the repair room.

"Who died here?" I ask, pointing to the spot.

Halloran's brows lift.

"Nobody, so far as I know."

"Somebody did. There's a... stain." I gesture, though I know he can't sense it.

"A stain?" He bends to examine the ground and lifts the corner of the rubber mat.

"Not a literal stain. A—"

"I'll be thrice damned!" Halloran exclaims, lifting the mat higher and moving it aside. "Look at that!"

I shut up and stare.

Cut into the floor, about a meter square, is a trapdoor.

"How on earth did we miss this?" Halloran breathes, wiping a hand over his mouth. "Good work, Julian!"

I didn't really do much, and can't take credit for the fact no one looked under the mat, but stay silent as Halloran grasps the inset handle and lifts the door.

It opens to reveal a gaping hole and a flight of steep concrete steps leading down into the pitch dark.

"Alright, now," Halloran says, standing back and rubbing his chin as he stares into the square of blackness at our feet. "What in the nine circles of hell is this?"

"We need to call Dane," I say, peering over his shoulder. "I don't care what you tell him, or don't tell him, but this concerns him, too. This is his..." I bite my lip, unsure how much I can safely say.

"His territory?" Halloran guesses, looking at me over his shoulder. "Though as yet unclaimed, I think. Have you wondered, by chance, why there are no Wolves in Spring Lakes already?"

I frown at him. "What do you mean?"

He shakes his head. "Never mind for now. Go on and call your alpha, if you like. We'll have to report this, anyway, but not before I'm sure there's nothing down there human eyes shouldn't see."

He pulls out his phone and turns on the flashlight, aiming it into the dark opening. I see the bottom about ten steps down, and then Halloran blocks my view as he descends.

"There's a passageway," he says, his accent growing more pronounced in his excitement. "It's old—old as the original buildings, I'd guess. Mid-to-late nineteenth century. Oh, this is interesting..."

He reaches the bottom and ducks out of view, the glow of his flashlight receding into the dark.

"Halloran!" I hiss, leaning into the opening. "Hal—Rian, wait a minute; don't just wander off on your own!"

He reappears and looks up at me. "It's a bit cramped down here, but the tunnel seems to be in good condition. Someone's kept it up—there are signs of recent repairs. I'll just have a quick look and see where it goes."

Ducking back into the darkness, he disappears again.

"Rian!"

"Be right back!" he calls, his voice already growing faint.

I swear under my breath, pull out my phone, and call Dane. It goes to voicemail and I hang up and send him a text instead.

Found something at Lagrange's. Come ASAP.

Shutting my eyes, take a breath and re-erect the mental walls that protect my senses. Then, with more whispered curses, I switch on my flashlight and descend after Halloran.