Naming Day (Jake Underwood Book 1) (3 page)

“ Mr. Underwood, I have come to you with a most delicate problem. Can I rely on your complete discretion in this matter?” He raised those bony ridges of his again asking the question. In all the years that I have been a private investigator, this is the one of those questions that I have never understood. It was almost as bad as asking me; ‘Can I be honest with you?’  No, hell, lie like a cheap rug . I love it when clients lie to me. By all means DON’T be honest with me. If I was discrete I would answer yes and if I wasn’t, I would still answer yes so I’d have something to be indiscrete about.

“Of course I’ll be discrete. As long what you have to say doesn’t involve prison time or a declaration of being Unclean, whatever you say will be between us.” Let him suck on that.

“Yes...Very well. Where to begin?” He paused and seemed to be considering exactly how much to tell me. He was going to lie to me. But that’s okay. I’m used to my clients keeping a little of the truth, hell, sometime almost all the truth from me. It’s an occupational hazard.

“Why don’t you tell me a little about yourself and what you do? You could start with your name.” That almost always relaxes a client. It’s familiar and comforting, like taking the same path across the lawn to the mailbox, you know the way and you are less likely to get tangled up.

“Of course. I am Jeryn Callasandra, Keeper of the Fourth Seal of the Daemons, and I serve in Fourth Circle of the Court of High Lord Evenstride.” He announced it as someone who had long used the name as a shield and banner, protection from some and announcing his importance to others.

“Fourth Circle huh? Impressive.” It was actually. I was a member of the Tenth circle of the Court of Dawn. That wasn’t a big deal. Anybody with any Fey blood at all or even allies of the Crown were Tenth Circle. In fact, favored guests of the Court often ranked at least Ninth or Eight Circle. Membership in Fourth Circle meant somebody who actually did something. Jeryn Callasandra was probably an underling of an important advisor or an Undercourt Lord who had active roles in some ceremonial spells and whose name might actually be used in some specific incantations to invoke the power of his office. I was a lot more fuzzy on the workings of Court of Twilight than the Dawn, but they were reflections of each other in many ways.

He beamed at my praise. “Thank You. Coming from one like you that is high praise indeed for one so lowly as me. Your praise really should be to my Lord. Lord Cabor Klaris is in charge of Night Blooms and Outre Geometry.”

“Outre Geometry?” The Night Blooms I could see as an important job, The Fey have odd concepts of beauty, but few could resist flowers so I wasn’t shocked to discover someone who was actually in charge of Night Blooming flowers. Outre Geometry was a new one, however.

“I don’t completely understand it myself, but from what I gather, Lord Klaris is consulted whenever the shape of a garden or building must extend into dimensions that cannot be measured by compass or rule.”

“You lost me.”

“Well, say that this room existed in more than the three dimensions you can see. Technically, it does of course, but for purposes of explanation, let’s suppose that you want to make sure the shape is right in four or five dimensions in addition to the ones you can experience.”

“There’s enough call for that kind of thing that you have an Undercourt Lord in charge of it?” The disbelief was dripping from my voice.

“Oh Yes, Unlike the Court of Dawn, The Court of Twilight has many members who can sense things well beyond the normal range of the spectrum and some have sight into nth dimensional space.” He paused to see if I was following him. I nodded. “Aesthetics are very important to us. There even some sculptures that exist almost totally in higher dimensional space and would be invisible to most of us.”

“Fascinating.” I tried to keep the condescension out of my voice and probably failed. Jeryn seemed unfazed, he probably had explained this many times before. It had the tone of prepared and often delivered speech. “Suppose you tell me why you arranged this appointment.”

He blinked. “I didn’t say yet? I suppose I didn’t at that.” He smiled with those damn teeth of his. “Well, I suppose I should say first that this isn’t really about me, but about Lord Klaris, or perhaps I should say Lord Klaris’ daughter, Lady Dalia Klaris. He’s frightfully worried or would be if he knew. Frightfully!”

“Dalia Klaris?” I had heard that name somewhere, but couldn’t quite place where it had been.

“Lady Dalia Klaris is a somewhat unusual girl child. She’s been given great freedom, but she abuses it terribly. She has been nothing but grief to her poor father.” I got the impression that Jeryn Callasandra didn’t like Lady Dalia Klaris very much at all and that she might have stepped on the toes of Jeryn Callasandra on occasion.

“The ungrateful wretch has chosen this particular moment to just vanish. Vanish! Disappear with out trace! Criminal! She should be switched or imprisoned in an oubliette for a few decades to teach her to respect her betters and her place!” His agitation was clearly increasing and I as watched he gnashed the dagger sharp teeth and I could hear the click of the sharp fangs as they slid closed. I gripped the Glock the tighter and waited for the clouds to pass his face.

“What does her mother say? A mother often knows things about a daughter that a father can only guess.” I asked hopefully. I didn’t like runaway cases. There were too many dead ends and worse conclusions. I would be just as happy to take a pass on this one, especially involving an Undercourt Lord of the Court of Twilight as it did.

“Her mother!” He seemed more agitated than ever, I swear I could see red flecks among the gold in his eyes. “Her mother is undoubtedly the source of this foolishness! But her mother knows nothing and is nothing. She’s long dead and buried, cursed hag!”

“Her mother is a Hag?” I gasped. Hags were powerful creatures that most feared and rightly so. Nominally members of the Court of Twilight, they lived on their own in some benighted realm and had little to do with any but the most foolish. Their reputation was fearsome and wholly deserved. Few of the Fey could face them and fewer still could or would lie with them.

“Don’t be dense.” He snapped.” Of course she was not a Hag! I meant that figuratively. She wasn’t one of the Night Mistresses, Lord Evenstride protect us! I meant that this defiance is obviously the result of her mother’s blood. Her mother was some bitch whelp of the Court of Dawn.” He looked up and realized that he was actually talking to someone who might care and smiled. “No offense meant.”

“None taken. Where was the wedding held?” While not as rare, or as scandalous as a coupling with a Hag would be, a cross court marriage is a fairly rare thing in its own right and I am sure I would have some memory of it with a few hints.

“There was no marriage, at least none recognized by either side, it was a wrong side of the blanket kind of tryst. He met her while serving with the ambassador to the Court of Dawn. Her mother…died in childbirth and her father claimed her under the Compact and raised her as his heir. It was quite the scandal back in the day. There are still those who feel that she should be banished because of her birth.” I was willing to bet that Jeryn Callisandra was a member of that camp.  His agitation lessened and he smiled back at me.

              “So why bring this to me? I am sure that you have many ‘discrete’ resources available to such a high ranking lord. Wouldn’t it be better to keep this all within the purview of the Court?”  I wasn’t sure that I wanted anything to do with this case. I don’t like coincidences, hell I’m not sure I actually believe they exist.

              ‘Normally, I would agree, but there are extenuating circumstances” I nodded for him to continue.

              “Firstly, this is a personal matter and to use Court resources might draw undue attention to the problem. A low profile is clearly called for to avoid embarrassment to Lord Klaris.”

              “Second, Lord Klaris is not available at this time. He’s…ah...on a mission to the… a far Realm, and beyond my reach to communicate with at this time. I am sure that he could call in a favor or two and get results. The truth is, he doesn’t even know she’s missing and I don’t want to distract him while he’s on such a critical mission.”

              “Thirdly, he asked me to take personal charge of his house for the duration of this mission and to lose his daughter, however useless she may be, will be a personal failure not only of deed, but of loyalty as well, to the Lord. I can’t afford to ask for help.” His voice actually shook as he said this. I raised my opinion of Jeryn Callisandra a little. Loyalty goes a long way with me. I can respect that.

              “That’s a tough break. Still, I could refer you to some good operatives who can be trusted and work the Court of Twilight. They are in a much better position to track a runaway on the Nightside then I am. I have an associate who knows more about the Court of Twilight asleep than I do awake.”

              “Surely you do yourself no justice in this claim, considering your record. But it is largely irrelevant. She’s gone beyond my power or anyone who works solely on the Nightside. She’s nowhere in the Court of Twilight or any of its sub-realms. She’s fled to Mortal world. She is wandering around the realm of Adam somewhere or worse, The Court of Dawn. Traitorous bitch.”

Jeryn gave me a bunch of details about Dalia Klaris, not the least of which was a nice little bit of craft work that showed me what she looked like, life size. He gave me her vital statistics and it didn’t take long for me to see that she was really just a kid by Court standards. She was only forty two after all. I doubted that she was the personal servant of the Adversary that Jeryn made her out to be.

After collecting a purse of moonstruck silver and seeing Jeryn Callisandra on his way with a dismissal and a promise to be in touch with news as soon as I had any, I sat back and wondered about the conversation I had just had. I had done my best not to betray the confusion I had felt as Jeryn had conjured the image of the prodigal daughter, a earnest looking young woman with a slightly familiar look about her face, before I performed the dismissal and closing ritual.

It was damn peculiar, that was sure. These incidents or events that Callisandra had spoken of meant nothing but trouble for momma Underwood’s little boy. This incident along with the Naming Day ceremony told me that something was stirring. Whenever the Court of Twilight or the Court of Dawn reached out to the mortal realm there was generally trouble. When they both did, it usually meant apocalyptic trouble. Any other time, I would find some good reason to put myself in some distant land that held no interest for the Fey, but since I had been named and directly contacted,  I didn’t think that would work.

I needed to talk to Kevin. Now. I couldn’t wait for him to call me. I unscrewed the silencer from the Glock and dropped it into the bottom drawer of my desk. I checked the semi-automatic and slid it into my holster and dropped a few extra clips into my jacket pocket. I made sure that at least one clip was loaded with what I liked to call my Fey Specials.

The sound of a drawer being opened and shuffling told me that Adriana was back from her early lunch. Any moment she would poke her hopeful head into the office and ask me if I wanted any of her coffee. Whenever she smiled at me I was constantly amazed that she had any teeth considering that she drank that stuff herself. I decided that discretion was the better part of valor.

I opened the door and stalked past her on my way to the street. She looked up and opened her mouth.

“Sorry, Adriana, no time for coffee now, I have to talk to ...uh...an informant.” I paused at the doorframe and considered. “Look, if I’m not back by three make my apologies to Marty and give him the packet and tell him that I’ll set up something later in the day to brief him further if he needs it. Also, send Dave out at 2:30 to the courthouse. Tell him we need to get some copies of the case files for the Hutchinson case and to take the rest of the day to get it if he needs to.”

“Boss, isn’t he going to need a case number or something?” Adrian peered up at me. “It’ll take him hours to kind out anything if he doesn’t have that.”

“I hope so. He may have screwed up the embezzlement case, but he certainly doesn’t need Marty razzing him about it. He’ll be afraid to do make a move of any kind. Just get him out of the office until after Marty has gone, huh?”

“Sure thing, Boss!” Adriana smiled and gave me a wink. She may have been where bad coffee goes to get worse, but she was loyal and essential. She could take a hint and had a sweet and warm nature that let her deal with fractious clients and manage difficult staff with an adroitness that would not have been lost on a good staff sergeant. I am sure the office would run without her, it just would run badly. She did a large number of things that I would rather avoid entirely and did them very well indeed.

***

The taxis in Houston are a mixed lot. They weren’t like New York or Boston, where you could find a cab cruising, looking for a fare within a short while. In Houston, cabs tended to cluster at hotels and airports, hoping for a fare or being dispatched by the cab company to a guaranteed fare. I think this is because so many people in Houston drive themselves and wouldn’t think of using a cab unless their automobile was in the shop awaiting a high priced mechanic’s shotgun approach to auto repair. Houston is a sprawling city that is basically flat. The parking lots are huge and so plentiful that parallel parking is a rarity. It takes about 45 minutes to drive from one side to the other at a mile a minute.

I usually took the bus or the trolley to get around downtown. The mass transit authority had recently added something called light rail that scurried up and down Main Street like a fast moving caterpillar. I’m not sure if it really helped with traffic or not, but I liked trains so it was fine by me.

I do own a car, two as a matter of fact, but I only use them when I need to get somewhere fast or somewhere distant. It’s not that I‘m a bad driver. I can actually drive quite well when I need to; it’s just that I don’t like to drive very much. I have a sneaky feeling that most of this is due to the fact that after 104 years of living, driving is just one of those things I can do without. If I was rich I suppose I would have a chauffeur, but I’m not, so I use mass transit and cabs in a pinch, whenever I can. I used my cell phone to call for a cab and decided to ride around and think about things before I hit the Silver Tree.

I gave the driver a destination that would take us through the 2
nd
worst intersection for traffic in the country, according to the NTSB, and thought through what I knew about the current state of the Court of Twilight and the Court of Dawn. It was damn little. I tried to avoid contact with them whenever possible. That was the trick though, whenever possible.

The last time I had dealt with them was a little over fifteen years ago. It went badly. It had been a domestic situation. A client came to me and told me that his wife had been cheating on him. He was sure of it. He just couldn’t seem to catch her at it. So he hired me. When I asked him why he was so sure he said that she had no interest in him anymore, sexually, and always seemed exhausted when he came home. He had tried to catch the Lothario but could never seem to time it right. Surprise returns to house always seemed to catch the wife napping. He wanted me to get evidence that she was cheating so he could divorce her and keep all the marital assets.

I’m going to let you in on the dirty little secret about being a PI. It’s mostly crap like this. Following cheating spouses and getting evidence that will allow the offended spouse an advantageous position in the divorce settlement or maybe trying to catch someone applying for disability doing something they shouldn’t be able to do if they actually were disabled. Often it was just trying to catch someone robbing his employer, euphemistically called “shrinkage”. I used to get a lot of legal work tracking down witnesses, and I still do occasionally from the few lawyers I would share a drink with, but mostly its tracking runaways and spouses. It’s almost never a serious crime like murder. The police have a very definite view about murder and other major felonies. It’s their business and PI’s can piss off.  The best thing you can do if you’re a PI and get caught up in a murder is to call the cops, dump whatever you’re holding and let them deal with it. In general, people feel more comfortable letting the police handle things like that and they should. Cops have access to resources that PI’s simply can’t afford.

With that in mind, I have to confess that I covered up a murder and managed to keep the police out of it. Sounds tough, huh? It was. I kept the Houston Police out of it totally, but I didn’t have much luck with the Black Watch. Hence the reason I got in dutch with the Court of Dawn.

It turned out that the guy’s wife was getting charmed by a minor noble of the Court. Usually, the Fey just smile through a glamour and most mortals are only too happy to offer up the carnal goods, so to speak. Hell, they’re damned good looking. Occasionally, some won’t. This was one of those weird cases. She rejected his advances and told him that she was married and very happy that way and no matter how attractive he was she wasn’t interested. For some stupid reason, that wasn’t good enough for him. He wanted her, so he took her. He used magic to fog her mind and to convince her that her afternoons were spent in some erotic dream with him as the star and director. I think he intended to keep it up until she gave into him without any magical coercion. It never got that far.

It didn’t take me long to twig to what was going on. Like I said before, glamours don’t always work on me and I could sniff a faint residue of magic about the wife. I made arrangements to be near the house and I awaited the arrival of the Fey lord. (You noticed that I’m not mentioning his name. There’s a reason for that. It was all part of nondisclosure agreement I made with the Court. It was made under the Compact and maybe torture would get it out of me, but I doubt it)

He showed up, all right. He was in the bedroom, using a sleep charm to set the stage when I got into the house. The wife was comatose on the bed, nude from the waist up. He was indignant and shocked that a half breed would interfere with his fun. He very cavalierly explained how her resistance just made the inevitable victory all the sweeter. In the meantime, she was an excellent diversion from the tedium of the Court. When I reminded him that what he was doing was a breech of the Compact and that he could be in big trouble with the Court if he didn’t get the fuck away and stay there, his eyes got all glinty and I suppose it would have been interesting to see what he might have tried, but it was about that time the husband came home, with a gun.

That didn’t seem to faze Lord Fey. He started to laugh and brag about how much better and loudly his wife came for him, far better than she ever had or would for him. Big mistake. Of course the husband shot him, not that it did much good. He was spelled against, lead and jacketed rounds. The kinetic impact knocked him back across the room though and into the fireplace and that was the fatal misstep.

Husband, still enraged, keeps shooting. Fey lord looses concentration on the wife and she wakes up and starts screaming. She’s terrified and confused, half nude with two strange men in her bedroom and her husband calling her a cheating slut. Husband throws his now empty revolver at her. It hits her in the face she tumbles from the bed, her head hitting the nightstand, hard. A tremor goes through her and she stops moving except for an occasional twitch. Meanwhile, Lord Fey is starting to pick himself up and husband is confused, but still pissed off. He crosses the room where Fey lord is floundering in the ashes and grabs the fireplace poker and starts bashing about Lord Fey’s head.

Lord Fey starts to sneer and then his look becomes one of blind panic and horror. It turned out the poker was part of an antique set he inherited from his grandmother who got it from hers. Pure iron brought over from the old country. Oops.

Lord Fey tries to bring his hands up to defend himself, but it wouldn’t have done any good even if he had been quicker. The iron in the poker burned his hands and turned the bones into so much kindling as they snapped under the assault. The point buried itself in his aristocratic forehead. Probably it was for the best. Death by blood poisoning would have been much more painful, although no less fatal. He died a lot quicker this way.

So here I am in the bedroom of a screaming, sobbing client who is brandishing a fireplace poker, dripping with sizzling blood like a rapier, a dead fey lord in the fireplace and a concussed, possibly dead, half nude wife lying on the bed. I probably should have panicked. In fact, panicking seemed like a good idea, except for one thing. The dead Fey Lord would have totally freaked out the coroner and if it got traced to me it would be a violation of the Compact. For the sake of my client and my own sake this needed to be taken care of by the authorities, just not the local ones.

I calmed down my client by pointing out that he had just committed murder and that if he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life being pumped in the ass by some charming prison companions he would kindly shut the fuck up and let me handle this problem. He promised me everything he owned and his left nut if I could fix it.

This time of day few people were home so I figured that the gunshots might not be heard by too many people. Plus, this was a pretty exclusive neighborhood with expensive, well insulated houses on nice big lots with lots of space between them. I checked his gun and discovered it was a little .22. It had sounded a lot bigger when it had been peppering the Fey Lord.

I grabbed the phone and dialed the number for a forwarding service that would contact the Black Watch.

It’s no secret that I don’t care for most of Fey society. I cared even less for Fey cops. But I would never make the mistake of thinking of them as stupid. True, a lot of them are hung up on the milord and milady schtick straight out of the middle ages, but many of them are very savvy about the modern world and what has been going on while they played the game of courts. The Black Watch was the roughly the equivalent of the CIA, FBI, Spec Ops and Street Cop all rolled into one.  A very tough bunch of Fey. They kept a few lines into the mortal world in case somebody yelped for help. They’d come if you called, but better not waste their time or they might get a mite testy and you might catch a slight case of dead.

The phone rang and some soft, melodious voice on the other asked me if I was living under the Compact and my rank at the Court and who my family was. Then they asked if this was a call made in dire need.

When I told them that I was looking at the dead body of a Fey Lord, the voice got a lot cooler. She asked be for my particulars and some other questions about exactly where I was and if there was a large enough space for a squad to appear. I mentioned that there was three-car garage and if she gave me five minutes, I could make sure it was empty.