When the Stars Threw Down Their Spears: The Goblin Wars, Book Three (3 page)

Her little brother, Aiden, wouldn’t have needed to hear what was going on; he wouldn’t have had to try to figure it out. To Aiden, the world had a sound track; he heard not only the
cantus firmus
—the Song of Creation—but also the songs of everyone around him.

She wasn’t like Aiden, though.
Give me the courage to live what I am
. Not a Highborn, no matter what Fear Doirich and Mab might call her. Not a goblin, no matter what anyone might think.

She was a tyger. Her father had seen it when she’d found him in Mag Mell, even before Kyle’s retrovirus had burned all of her DNA from his side away. Dehydrated and half out of his mind, he’d looked into her and quoted Blake’s poem.
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
. . .

Fierceness coiled tight inside her, a
need
to put an end to what Fear Doirich and Mab were doing. To protect her family.

She leaned her head against the seat in front of her. The only problem was, she was still Teagan, tyger or not. Wanting to stop them wouldn’t get it done any more than wanting to throw the knife had made it fly straight and true.

Isabeau had been right. She had absolutely no idea what to do next.

She huddled in the car for at least half an hour, while more officers poured into the school and more reporters arrived. They were kept out of the school, but busied themselves interviewing students in the parking lot. Finally, the Gagliano boys were led out, put in cars, and driven away, cameras flashing the entire time. The officer and his partner finally got into the car with Teagan.

“Buckle up,” he instructed, and watched until she did.

Leo was not quite right. She wasn’t photographed or fingerprinted when they reached the station. She was simply led down a long, quiet hall with stained dingy carpeting to a room that had nothing in it but a table and three chairs. She looked around the room for a two-way mirror—she was sure she had seen that on TV—but there wasn’t a mirror of any kind. Only a window, which looked out on an alley full of weeds.

It was a shabby, cold room. Teagan ignored the chill and went to the window, pressing her face against the glass and trying to see the smoke in the distance. Raynor and Joe had stopped the demons. If they hadn’t, it wouldn’t be smoke pouring out of the park. It would be something much worse. Chicago was simply not ready to meet the creatures of Mag Mell.

She was going to have to get Gil back there as quickly as possible. Even if phookas didn’t have disgusting habits, her house was already too full of refugees from Mag Mell. There was Lucy, the sprite that had built her nest in Aiden’s hair; their aunt Roisin; and Grendal, Roisin’s
cat-sídhe
friend . . .

A big black bird landed on the ledge outside the window and peered in.

. . . and Thomas, the
lhiannon-sídhe
shape shifter who changed into a raven.

The bird tipped its head, peering up at Teagan with a beady eye.

“Is Dad all right?” Teagan asked.

The raven’s beak gaped, but she couldn’t hear the caw through the glass. Teagan looked around the room for a piece of paper, anything she could write on to communicate, but there was nothing.

She started to sign in ASL, then shook her head. Thomas wasn’t Aiden. He wouldn’t understand ASL.

“Dad,” she said loudly, pressing her hand against the glass. “Is Dad all right? What happened at the park?”

“Are you . . . talking to that bird?”

Teagan whirled around. A man and a woman were standing in the open doorway watching her.

Two

“I’
M
Detective Deneux.” The woman’s voice was almost monotone. “This is Detective Gilkyson.”

Deneux bore an uncanny resemblance to an aging bloodhound. Her lower eyelids drooped, her cheeks sagged, and the corners of her mouth fought against the weight of wattles beneath her chin.

Detective Gilkyson was at least forty but trying to look younger, like the narcotics officers who sometimes came to school dressed like students. His blond hair stood straight up, and his blue eyes were open so wide it looked as if he were in a constant state of shock. He was carrying two Styrofoam cups.

“Were you talking to that bird?” Detective Deneux asked again.

The raven gave Teagan one last look, lifted its wings, and flew away.

“I’m worried about my dad,” Teagan said honestly. “He works at the library, and I heard there was a fire.”

“So you were talking to yourself?” Detective Gilkyson suggested. “Lots of people talk to themselves. It’s okay. That’s perfectly normal.” He held out a cup of liquid the color of the carpet stains. “Coffee? It’s black. Budget cuts.”

“Thank you.” Teagan took the cup and wrapped her hands around it, hoping some of the warmth would seep into her.

“Have a seat, Miss Wylltson,” Detective Deneux commanded. “We’d like to ask you a few questions. We’ll start with why you were at school in your pajamas. Isn’t there a dress code?”

Teagan sat down without answering. Detective Deneux pulled up a chair across from her, and Detective Gilkyson set the other coffee in front of Deneux and started pacing.

“Tell me what happened,” the female detective said.

“I’m not sure I should talk without—”

“A lawyer?” Detective Deneux shook her wattles. “You don’t need a lawyer unless you’ve done something wrong. You haven’t, have you?”

“No.” Teagan turned her cup, wishing she’d watched more crime dramas. “I’m a minor. Are you supposed to be talking to me without a parent present?”

This time it was Deneux who didn’t answer. She just opened a folder. “All of your friends talked to us. They said that Isabeau and Mr. Bullen exploded.”

“Yes.” Teagan was sure they had. Leo had told Fiorella that much. Gilkyson stopped pacing and turned his wide eyes on her.

“Where’s the chunks?” he asked.

“Chunks?”

“You surf YouTube, don’t you?”

“Not much.”

“So, you never watched the video of the whale exploding? In Florence, Oregon.”

“No,” Teagan admitted.

“They had a dead whale on the beach. It was stinking up the neighborhood, so the highway department decided to get rid of it by blowing it up. They loaded it up with dynamite, and kaboom! Chunks of rotten whale raining down everywhere. Destroyed a new car over half a mile away.”

“Seriously?” Deneux fixed Gilkyson with a droopy stare. “People would be so dumb as to think that when you blow something up it just disappears?”

“The video’s on YouTube,” Gilkyson assured her.

“So, Miss Wylltson.” Deneux turned back to her. “We know you’re not stupid.
What happened to Mr. Bullen and Isabeau?
”

A uniformed officer poked his head through the door. “Excuse me, Detective?”

“I said I didn’t want to be disturbed,” Detective Deneux barked.

Teagan looked at Detective Gilkyson. “I want to make a phone call.” If she could call home, at least she could find out if her dad was okay.

Gilkyson’s cheeks pinked and his eyes slid away from hers. He shook his head.

“Shut the door!” Detective Deneux snapped.

“Sorry, Detective,” the officer said, as the door opened further.

“Did I hear Miss Wylltson asking to make a phone call?” A man stepped through the door, and the police officer shrank away from him. Teagan could see why. Abby had implied for years that her family had Mob connections. If Leo shoving a blade into Kyle’s back hadn’t convinced her it was true, this man would have. He wasn’t otherworldly evil like Kyle or Isabeau. He exuded pure
human
evil.

Detective Gilkyson gawped. “This kid can afford Krueger and Kline?”

Teagan was sure her family couldn’t afford the suit Mr. Krueger or Mr. Kline, whoever she was looking at, was wearing. Surely this wasn’t the person Mamieo would send.

“Of course she can’t,” Detective Deneux said. “He’s the Gaglianos’ lapdog. He makes inconvenient things disappear. Don’t you, Krueger? You have as much blood on your hands as any of them.”

The lawyer lifted a hand and examined his nails, as if checking for traces of dried blood.

“I’m too well acquainted with the law to break it,” he said when he’d finished admiring his manicure.

“To get caught, you mean,” Deneux corrected.

“When you catch me, Detective, we’ll discuss it. Until then, you can hold the door for us on our way out. That is if you accept my representation, Miss Wylltson?”

“She doesn’t.”

They all turned this time.

“Good lord,” Detective Deneux said.

“Cripes,” Detective Gilkyson said. “Will somebody shut the door? And lock it?”

“Don’t bother,” the newcomer said. “Ms. Wylltson is going right back out through it. The name’s McGillahee, Seamus McGillahee. I’m her lawyer.”

Teagan blinked. Seamus McGillahee’s boyish face made Detective Gilkyson look positively ancient. And she’d never seen a plaid jacket before, not outside of a commercial for a used car lot.

“Mamieo called you?” Teagan asked.

“Technically,” Seamus McGillahee said, “she called my partner, Mr. Kelly. He has a work-related headache this afternoon—”

“A hangover,” Detective Deneux clarified.

“I see you know Mr. Kelly. He was working all night and asked me to come down and sort things out.” He held out a card, and Mr. Krueger took it.

“Doyle Kelly and Company?” Krueger’s brow creased. “I assume you are the company?”

“No,” Seamus McGillahee said. “I’ve only recently joined Mr. Kelly’s practice. My understanding is that he considers the Almighty to be senior partner in the firm.”

“The Almighty? As in God?” Detective Gilkyson asked.

Teagan frowned. Mr. Kelly did sound like someone Mamieo would know. Hangover and all.

“I’m not responsible for the eccentricities of my employer.” Seamus shrugged. “If there is an Almighty, he’s a silent partner. I’m the one taking care of Mr. Kelly’s clients.”

“You’re a joke.” Mr. Krueger flipped the card toward the trash can, but Seamus snatched it out of the air and tucked it back into his breast pocket.

“How old are you?” Mr. Krueger demanded.

“Old enough to pass the bar.”

“He’s legit,” the uniformed officer said. “We checked before we let the Mac Cumhaill kid out.”

“Finn’s out?” Teagan asked.

“Your cousin is waiting in the lobby with Mamieo and your father,” Seamus said. Teagan stood up, but Mr. Krueger moved smoothly between her and the door.

“Not so fast. My clients and very good friends requested I take this case.” He looked Seamus up and down. “I assume you sell cars when you’re not practicing law?”

“I have a minivan I could part with if you’re in the market.”

“An Irish Traveler,” Mr. Krueger said in disgust. “Is thieving, embezzling, and cheating up your alley as well as selling cars?”

“I’ll admit to being half Irish,” Seamus said. “But there’s no law against that in the city of Chicago, and no rule against it in the Bar Association. As to the rest . . . I’ve never, ever been caught doing anything of the kind.”

Detective Deneux’s laugh was an unhappy marriage of bloodhound’s bay and terminal cough.

“He’s apparently acquainted with the law as well, Krueger,” she said when she’d recovered. “You are two of a kind.”

Seamus turned to Teagan and smiled. “Are you ready to go, Tea? You don’t mind if I call you Tea, do you?”

“I can leave?” Teagan looked at Detective Deneux, who didn’t answer.

“You’re not under arrest,” Seamus said. “You could have walked out of here at any time. The cops didn’t tell you that, did they?”

No. And Krueger hadn’t told her that, either. Teagan looked at Detective Deneux, and the woman shrugged apologetically. Mr. Krueger was examining his nails again. Maybe Abby was right. She should watch more TV. She had no idea what was going on here.

“No, she can’t,” Detective Gilkyson said. “She was asking what happened at the park. That changes everything. We’ve got Homeland Security issues.”

“Homeland Security?” Teagan gripped the edge of the table.
“What happened at the park?”

“Just a little fire,” Seamus assured her. “No buildings involved. No injuries.”

“And how do you know that, Mr. McGillahee?” Detective Gilkyson asked.

“I drove past it on my way over,” Seamus said. “Aren’t you overreacting, Detective? She’s a high school student. Unless you have grounds for arrest, she’s walking out of here.”

“Miss Wylltson.” Detective Gilkyson was practically gritting his teeth. “Do you know this man?”

“I’ve never met him before.”

“Then I
respectfully
request that you wait here while I make a call or two to verify who Wonder Boy here is. I honestly am concerned for your safety.”

“Fine. Why not give him a few minutes?” Seamus said agreeably. “We don’t want him to worry about you.”

“Why don’t you walk out the door with me right now, Miss Wylltson?” Mr. Krueger offered. “You know my clients very well, I understand. They will vouch for me.”

Teagan shook her head. “Please thank the Gaglianos for me, Mr. Krueger. I appreciate the offer, but my family sent Mr. McGillahee. I can wait a few minutes, Detective Gilkyson.”

Krueger nodded and left, the uniformed officer going out after him.

“‘Thank the Gaglianos for me’?”
Seamus repeated, as the door closed behind them. “You might as well appreciate being circled by sharks. The Gaglianos are not people you want to get involved with.”

“My best friend is a Gagliano,” Teagan said.

“Do tell,” Detective Deneux said. “Isn’t that interesting.”

Seamus McGillahee sighed. “You don’t need to tease them with such information, Ms. Wylltson. They are already interested enough. Gilkyson seems like a very thorough fellow.”

“He is,” Detective Deneux agreed.

“Which means we’re going to be here for a little while.” Seamus took off his checkered coat and settled it over Teagan’s shoulders.

“Thank you. I was freezing.”

He nodded, then turned to study Detective Deneux, so focused he seemed to be reading her wrinkles like tea leaves. She stared back out of hound-dog eyes.

“You’re one of the good guys, Deneux,” Seamus said. “But you
see
things, don’t you? Things you don’t dare tell anyone about. Cats that walk upright—caught from the corner of your eye, and when you turn they’re gone.”