Irregulars: Stories by Nicole Kimberling, Josh Lanyon, Ginn Hale and Astrid Amara (26 page)

Gaki’s massive head dipped and green blood spurted. Had he bitten Rake’s throat? Archer couldn’t tell. In terror he leaped onto Gaki’s wide back and whipped the strands of beads around his thick throat, yanking them tight.

Tighter.

He used all his strength until he could feel the breath strangling in his own lungs.

Gaki threw him off as though he were no more than a gnat. Archer went sailing and crashed through the remaining section of wall and into darkness.

Miles and miles later, he heard a voice he thought he knew.

“Archer. Can you hear me? Sweeting...” Rake’s voice called to him from down a long, smoky tunnel.

Archer tried to answer, but he could never make himself heard across all that distance. He closed his eyes.

Chapter Nine

“Any way you look at it, that was pretty stupid,” Sergeant Orly said, folding her hands on the file in front of her. Implication being that this case was open and shut.  

Archer shrugged. She was right, and in any case, he didn’t have energy for more. The bump on his head had been taped and the hospital had released him back into police custody. In handcuffs and shackles. He’d never been in handcuffs before. Let alone shackles. These were made of special cold iron. They didn’t look like much, but they pressed on Archer as though some giant force was crushing him. He could barely walk; running was out of the question—as was escape. But he already knew that.

They were sitting in the interrogation room at Irregulars HQ. Just him and the dour Sergeant Orly. No sign of Rake, but that was a relief, really. Every time he remembered his foolish, impulsive behavior at George Gaki’s estate he burned with humiliation. And he was not thinking of his ill-advised attempt to recover the beads.

“Trespassing, breaking and entering, assault, attempted theft of a culturally significant other-realm artifact, trafficking in and abuse of items deemed to pose a malignant threat to humanity.” Her eyes held his. “Which is a capital offense.”

Yes, even in a country where there was no death penalty, endangering the safety of the entire human realm carried a death penalty.

“That sounds serious. Can I talk to my lawyer now?”

“I wouldn’t advise it.”

Archer raised his eyebrows.

“I’ve been authorized to offer you a deal. Confess to the three lesser charges and agree to cooperate in our investigation into the SRRIM and we’ll reduce the last charge to trafficking in culturally significant other-realm artifacts. It carries a thirty-year prison sentence, which you’ll serve out at the mixed population maximum security facility in Toronto.”

“Toronto? That really is cruel and unusual punishment.”

She was, unsurprisingly, unamused. “I think, Mr. Green, you’ll agree it’s to your vast advantage to avoid incarceration in one of the regular high security facilities for the criminally sorcerous.”

“I’ll wait for my lawyer.”

“This deal is good for exactly five minutes. Or until your lawyer arrives. Whichever happens first.”

“Even so.”

Orly looked at him with real dislike. “You’re not getting out of this, Green. We’ve got you fair and square. We’ve got a mountain of evidence. Even if your lawyer talks you out of the death penalty, you’ll spend the rest of your life behind bars in the extra-human special handling unit in the Northwest Territories. You know what that means. You’ll be locked up for the next couple of centuries with everything from Japanese kappa to anthropophagi.”

Archer smiled. “The idea of those extra-humans frightens you?”

Orly smiled right back. “They frighten you. I can read that much of your thoughts. And no wonder. A pretty little faerie isn’t going to survive long in that hellhole. Especially a half-human faerie. Twenty-four-hour CCTV or not.” She looked at her watch. “Time’s ticking.”

“Where’s Commander Rake?”

Orly’s face tightened. “He had an a.m. meeting with the mayor.”

“Such a busy man.”

 “Very.”

Archer sighed. “Seduced and abandoned. It should be the motto on my family crest.”

Orly’s face turned red. “Commander Rake is a highly respected officer with an irreproachable record—”

“He’s a demon. He ate his first wife. Bet you didn’t know about that.”

“—and a brilliant future. I don’t know what you imagine you can gain by trying to smear him, but you won’t get anywhere.”

“Whose idea was this deal? Rake’s?”

“Correct. This deal was Commander Rake’s idea. He felt some consideration should be made, given your service at the museum yesterday. That, and your faerie age.”

Archer said bitterly, “And the fact that he believes I can be of help in tracking down and destroying SRRIM?”

“Correct.”

Archer sat back in his chair. Between his aching head and the oppressive weight of the iron shackles, he was beginning to feel very unwell. It was tempting to tell Orly whatever she wanted to hear so that he could go lie down. He said wearily, “I keep trying to tell you the SRRIM no longer exists.”

“
Last chance
, Mr. Green.”

“All right. SRRIM might still exist. I don’t know for sure, but I haven’t been a member for years. I wouldn’t be any use to you. I swear it. I swear it on the green glass beads.” He couldn’t help asking, “Where are they, by the way?”

Orly slapped the file down on the table. “Last chance. Take the deal or take your chances with the courts.”

“All right. The truth is, George Gaki lured me to his estate last night on the pretext of trying to sell me black market artifacts. I felt it was my duty as curator of the MoSSA to examine these items in case they were legitimate. When I arrived at Gaki’s estate he began raving about adding me to his ‘collection.’”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’m perfectly serious. The person you should have in custody is Mr. Gaki, not me. Has my lawyer arrived yet?”

Orly’s chair scraped back. She rose. “You had your chance. We’ll see if you’re still so cocky after a few hours in mixed population.”

The door to the interview room popped open.

“Not now, please!” Orly snapped.

The uniformed officer looked apologetic but beckoned to her. Orly exhaled a long, exasperated breath and went outside. Archer tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling, listening.

“We just got the word from upstairs,” the uniformed officer said. “You have to cut him loose.”

“What?” Archer didn’t need faerie hearing to catch Orly’s outraged response. They probably could hear it all the way in the holding cells. “What the hell are you saying?”

“He’s been sprung. Bail has been posted.”

“We’re not even finished booking him!”

“The director of MoSSA showed up with a high-powered lawyer.”

“
Littlechurch
is bailing him out?”

“Looks like it.”

“That doesn’t make any sense!”

“I couldn’t say, ma’am. He must have called in about a dozen favors to do it.”

“We have to stall Green’s release. A couple of hours in mixed population and he’ll take any deal we throw at him.”

“We can’t stall. His lawyer is already accusing us of stalling. She’s downstairs right now screaming that his civil rights as a protected being have been violated.”

“
Protected being
? Since when are faeries an endangered species?”

“It’s to do with something called the Sussex emerald moth. Apparently Romney Marsh is one of the last places in the world where you can find them and the moths are somehow connected to Green’s family tree and the Greenwood clan.”

“I don’t
believe
this. Captain!”

A third voice entered the discussion. “Sorry, Sergeant. It’s not my call. Now, don’t look at me like that. I don’t like it either, but we’ve got to cut him loose. The sooner the better.”

Orly began to swear.

“Don’t worry. It’s a temporary setback, that’s all. We’ve got enough on Green to put him away for good this time.”

Archer closed his eyes. He saw Rake bending over him, his face fluctuating between mortal and immortal, his eyes black with pain not his own. Archer blinked rapidly. As tired as he was, he didn’t dare let down his guard.

Orly came back into the room. Her smile was closer to a twitch. “Change of plan, Mr. Green.”  

“Oh yes?” No point reminding people that he had certain advantages, not including a close and personal relationship with the Sussex emerald moth.

“You’ve made bail.” Orly nodded curtly to the uniformed officer who had followed her into the room.

Archer rose, waiting as the cuffs and shackles were removed. Relief at the removal of the cold iron was instantaneous.

He was led out to into the hall and then down to a small room where his personal possessions were restored to him. Through the glass window he could see Barry and a tall, stately black woman with features as sharply aristocratic as a Zulu princess waiting. Barry was pacing up and down the lobby, but he stopped, his face brightening with relief at the sight of Archer walking through the door.

Ms. Sibanyoni explained their legal game plan as Barry ushered Archer out of the lobby and into the elevators leading down to the visitors parking level in the underground garage. Archer listened politely and nodded during the pauses. He had no idea what she was talking about, although he gathered his situation was grim. The leg shackles had been his first clue.

Ms. Sibanyoni finished telling Archer how serious his position was, bade him not to worry, and drove away in her silver Porsche.

“This way,” Barry said gruffly, resting his hand briefly on Archer’s shoulder.

Archer followed Barry to his car, waited for him to unlock the passenger side door, and climbed in. He let his head fall back.

Barry started the engine.

“Was it bad?” he asked tersely, pulling out of the narrow parking space.

Archer shook his head. All at once he was too tired to move, too tired even for words. Tears smarted in his eyes. He blinked them away.

“I…”

“Yes.” Barry’s voice was bleak. “You did.”

“Sorry,” Archer whispered.

Barry shook his head. No apology necessary. “How close did you come to finding them?”

Archer said wearily, “I had them in my hands. For a few minutes.”

“Hopefully it was worth it.”

Archer’s eyes flew open. “How can you say that?”

Barry shook his head. “They arrested Gaki when they arrested you. That’s something.”

“Good.”

“Of course, he’s got the money to pay for the best lawyers. Not that Ms Sibanyoni wouldn’t put up a gallant fight for you.” Barry seemed to be picking and choosing his words. “The badges confiscated the beads as well.”

Archer watched him closely. “So?”

“So…you were right. Gaki hadn’t purchased any antique water beads. They’re the real thing. Carved beads of an unidentified material that’s as translucent as glass but harder than jade or emeralds or any known stone.”

“Did you think I would be mistaken about something like that?”

Barry said nothing.

The real source of his unease dawned on Archer. “Where are they, Barry? What are they planning?”

“Archer.” Barry looked away from the wheel. “You know where the beads are and you know exactly what’s going to happen to them.”

His heart seemed to drop out of his chest like a bird shot out of the sky. “They can’t! They can’t neutralize them.”

“Of course they can. Of course they will.” Barry threw him another of those grimly pitying looks.

“There’s got to be something we can do to stop them. Get some injunction against them. Something.”

“It’s done. Let it go.”

“I can’t let it go.”

“You don’t have a choice. And, to be blunt, you’ve got bigger problems now.”

That was the bitter truth. If he’d waited, controlled his impulsiveness, his rebelliousness, his need to possess the beads and all they represented
immediately
, it might all be different now. It would certainly be different now. The beads would still be with Gaki, yes, but they would be safe. Waiting for Archer. Waiting for him to find the right moment for their liberation.

He was not good at waiting for right moments. He never had been. He could blame that on his faerie bloodline. The fae were not an accommodating race.

Archer stared out the window at the buildings and cars flying past as Barry wove in and out of traffic, driving with set face and somber purpose. Not like his normal meandering style of travel at all. It occurred to Archer that they were not on their way to Gastown or the museum. “Where are we going?”

“Stanley Park. I pulled some strings—a cat’s cradle worth of strings—and there’s a port-o-let there waiting to take you where you need to go.”

“But I thought…” Well, no. He hadn’t thought. That was the whole trouble, wasn’t it?