Winter (The Manhattan Exiles) (21 page)

His scowl matched hers.
“Winter told me to keep the rubies safe. I promised. And I ain’t an oath breaker.”

She bit her lip.
“Fine. Give me the sword. I’ll disguise it.”

“
The Grey Lady wanted it, bad. I had to bite her to make her let go.” He had to remind himself not to spit in church. “She tasted like mud.”

“
Katherine.” Summer took the rapier in two hands, pinching it gingerly between her fingertips. “I think I hate her. I’ve never hated anyone before.”

Lolo watched, fascinated.
“You’ve changed your tune.”

“
She betrayed my family. I’m glad you bit her. I wish you’d shot
her
, too.”

The rapier seemed to shift and waver in the
fay girl’s grip, like bus exhaust over hot asphalt.

“
Didn’t notice her falling over on the sidewalk when Sorrow came near. Is she ‘different’, too?”

“
Shouldn’t be.” Over the sword’s shifting form, Summer frowned. “Which means she came prepared. She knew.”

Summer brought her
hands together, compressing and twisting.
Buairt
shrunk, flexible in her grip, shedding the pale white light Lolo had learned to associate with fairy magic.

The tang of metal coated his tongue
. He coughed.

Summer’s hands came together with a soft clap and a flash.

“There,” she said quietly.

For a second, Lolo panicked.
“Where’d it go?”

The
fay spread her fingers. A silver chain laced through them. A simple shining cross hung on the chain, a tiny version of the much larger symbol in the mosaic above their heads.

“
Holy frijoles.” Lolo couldn’t help but be impressed. “That’s a really handy trick. Can you make anything into something else?”

“
No. There are rules.” Summer wouldn’t meet his stare. He figured that meant she wasn’t sure exactly what the rules were.

“
Okay. Smart, a cross. Now give it to me.”

“
No.” She slipped the necklace over her head, patting the cross defiantly. “You’ve got the rubies and Win’s knife. Sorrow’s my responsibility. I’m taking it to Mama.”

Lolo eyed Winter’s sister. She was whiter even than usual. She chewed a quivering lip. He
r long black hair had managed to tangle around itself, and there was a rip in the knee of her Gucci tights.

Barker’s blood had dried on her cheeks and on her knuckles.

For the first time he noticed the ring she wore on her thumb, a gold band set with the same sort of amber jewel Winter wore in his ears.

She sniffed, then sneezed, and he felt sorry for her.

He also thought she’d probably deck him if he tried to take Sorrow from around her neck, and he wasn’t completely sure he could make himself hit her back.

“
Okay,” he said again. “But we go together.”

She considered, then nodded slowly.

“Together,” Summer agreed. “Mama can decide what to do next.”

Lolo
wouldn't question her confidence in Siobahn.

“
Let’s clean up,” he said. “Before someone decides to have lunch with the Virgin and finds us dirtying the sanctuary.”

But Summer was looking over the pews.

“Too late,” she said in a whisper. “Look: I think that’s a friar.”

The friar walked Lolo and Summer down a narrow hallway behind the sanctuary, into a small room that looked like a cross between an office and a library. There were no windows. A large oil paining of another friar hung on one wall between crooked bookshelves.

“
Sit,” the friar said. He pointed at two overstuffed chairs. “I am Brother Daniel.”

Daniel wore brown robes. His head was shaved, his face
smooth. Lolo noted the gang tattoo on the man’s hand and met his mild stare defiantly.

Summer gripped the cross around her neck and looked down at her bare feet.

Brother Daniel reached across a cluttered desk sitting beneath the oil painting. He freed a box of Wet Wipes from atop a stack of dusty books.

“
What are you doing in my church?” he asked, tossing the Wet Wipes into Lolo’s lap.

Lolo yanked a handful of wipes from the plastic box. He passed them to Summer, then freed several more.

“It’s God’s church,” Lolo argued, because Mass had taught him that much. He scrubbed dried blood from between his fingers.

The friar’s brows rose t
o what would have been his hairline, had he left any to grow.

“
True,” he allowed. “Still, I am not accustomed to finding children bleeding at the Virgin’s feet.”

Lolo carefully said nothing. The Wet Wipes
worked pretty well. Summer had managed to clean her face. She’d started wiping at her clothes, still refusing to meet the friar’s curious regard.

“
Are either of you hurt?” Daniel asked.

“
The blood’s not ours,” replied Lolo. “Are you going to call the cops?”

“
How do you know I haven’t already?”

Summer paused in her industrious scrubbing. Lolo wadded
a wipe in his hand. The friar’s eyes were faded, colorless, and gave nothing away.

“
We claim sanctuary,” Summer said. “If we claim sanctuary, you can’t give us to the police.”

Brother Daniel’s lips curled slightly. Lolo caught the gli
nt of gold in the man’s gum.

“
Maybe if this was the fourteenth century,” he said. “And England.”

“
No reason for cops.” There was a trash can on the floor next to the desk. Lolo fisted his Wet Wipes into a ball and scored a perfect two pointer. “Some dick-head ran over me and my brother’s dog, that’s all. It’s all dog’s blood.”

“
How awful.” Daniel sat behind the desk. He folded his tattooed hands. “Where is the dog now? And your . . . brother?”

“
Sal’s in a cab with Tintin, on their way to a vet. We came in to light a candle and say a prayer. So maybe God won’t make Tintin die.” Lolo liked dogs, so it wasn’t difficult to summon crocodile tears, especially when he remembered Barker lying on the sidewalk. “We’re allowed to do that, aren’t we? Say a prayer?”

“
Yes.” The friar looked across clutter at Summer’s bare feet.

“
They got blood all over them,” the girl replied quickly. “My shoes. So I left them in the street. Blood makes me sick to my stomach.”

Lolo did think Summer looked like she was about ready to hurl. He supposed maybe she was going into shock, because that’s what people in the movies did whenever they’d been through a trauma.

“You can’t walk barefoot through Manhattan. I’ve extra clothes in the donations closet.” Brother Daniel stood. “Let me see what I can find.”

Summer didn’t say anything. Lolo nodded vigorously, hoping he looked properly grateful.

“Stay here,” the friar ordered, half-smile glinting gold.

“
Sure,” said Lolo.

Brother Daniel closed the library door at his back, shutting them in. Lolo was sure he heard the snick of a bolt sliding to.

“Crap on a popsicle stick!” Lolo stuck his fingers in his hair, tugging beads. “He’s calling the cops. I knew it.  Never trust a priest. They're creepy.”

Summer began to shiver. Lolo realized she’d been forcibly holding herself still.

“Shit.” He jumped up. “Are you cold?”

He thought the room felt stuffy. In all the clutter he couldn’t see even an abandoned brown robe to warm her with.

“I’m not cold.” Her teeth chattered, but she glared. “I’m scared. I need to get home! Test the door, did he really lock it?”

Lolo tried the knob.

“Yeah, shit.” He rattled the door in its frame. “But it’s pretty old. I could probably kick it in.”

Summer looked doubtful.

“I wish Gabriel were here.”

Lolo suppressed a shudder. He’d seen the mouse’s blank eyes as she’d run over his shoe, and he was pretty sure there was nothing of Gabby left inside that rodent skull.

“Give me a minute. Let me think.” Lolo pulled on his beads again. “The priest’s not going to kill us. He’s not a madman with a sword. He’ll just hold us here till the cops show up.”

“
Unless he knows I’m fay.” Summer drew her knees to her chest, then wrapped her arms tight about her legs. “The Archbishop of New York once tried to drown Papa off the wharf.”

“
Really?” Lolo paused. “Cool.”

He waved a hand.
“But not gonna happen. The guy’s got no clue about nothing. He’s just a normal ex-gang banger turned soft with two troubled street kids on his hands, that’s all. When the cops get here, we’ll run.”

“
We can’t wait for the police.” Summer rose from her chair, loose-limbed and graceful in a way that made Lolo almost wish he were fay.

She leaned over the desk,
and chose a heavy looking bronze statue of a lamb curled against a standing lion. She extended it to Lolo.

“
Here. Bash the door in.
Then
we run.”

The mouse finally ran out of strength and stopped wiggling. She hung from the scruff of her neck, limp, pinched mercilessly between two of the Grey Lady’s long red fingernails.

The sausage dog had found the mouse in the
trees and shook her nearly to death. Now the hound sat quietly on the pavement beneath the Grey Lady’s skirt.

Liadan hissed to herself. Her head was tilted, and she sniffed audibly as she regarded the building across the busy street.

The mouse knew what she smelled: unwashed human, stale food, and animal piss. Also frankincense, and myrrh, and the faint iron-and-cinnamon perfume of mortal faith.

“
A church,” the Grey Lady mused. “Sanctified ground.”

She shook the mouse once, irritated. The sausage dog whined.

“The animals on this island I can manage, whether they walk on four legs or on two.” She regarded the church with malevolence. “Their peasant god requires more finesse. The human boy is smarter than he appears.”

The mouse didn’t care. She only wanted freedom, and a dark, warm place to hide, far away from dog and mistress.

“Well.” The Grey Lady flipped her wrist, rolling the mouse onto her palm. With her other hand she unzipped the leather satchel she wore over her shoulder.

The world dropped away beneath the mouse. She fell, breathless, and landed on her back in the depths of the satchel.

“You used to counsel patience, Gabriel, far too often for my liking. But this time, I think you’d be right.” She yanked the zipper closed. “We’ll wait. It’s a church. Even Siobahn’s unnatural children can’t stay in a church forever.”

The mouse curled into a tight ball, shivering, a
nd tried to think only of safety and warmth.

Winter

Aine thought I hadn’t noticed the buck knife she’d stolen from the Flying J’s gift section, and for the moment I decided that was just fine. A gas station knife wasn’t exactly Excalibur, and if the dull blade made her feel better, we could all live with it.

Besides, I was interested in the ease with which she’d made the snatch. Not a single human in the store had noticed when she’d slipped the knife under her shirt, and it wasn’t as if they weren’t on alert.

The old guy behind the counter practically quivered with indignation when I scooped up my bag of Doritos. He was pretty damn sure I was going to make a dash for it, and maybe grab a Slim Jim from the counter on my way out.

I guess I looked fairly suspect in my stripy cap, sporting burnt eyebrows, but he wasn’t even mollified when I paid for an extra large coffee, then thanked him all nice-like.

“
Cream and sugar’s by the door.”

His thoughts were stringy and worried, and bitter as the cheap coffee. I left him a tip anyway.

I was on pins and needles waiting to see what Bran would do about the new bulge at Aine’s side. The man’s entertaining when provoked, and he’s no fool. He’s got a cop’s sense for trouble, plus he’s spent far
too much time with Katherine Grey.

Siobahn says a bit of
fay will rub off on unsuspecting mortals. If Bran wasn’t born with the Sight, he’s certainly picked up a fair amount of sixth sense along the way.

My
people tend to lift mortals to unnatural heights before we chew them up and spit them out, and drop them again, less than they were at the beginning.

Bran noticed the knife alright. He didn’t say a word about it, which made me almost twitch with anticipation. I knew him well enough to guess he wouldn’t let it go.

“What?” I asked, when he met my stare in the rear view.

“
Nothing.”

Someone had taught Bran the trick of counting by twos in his head to keep his thoughts and feelings muted. It’s harder than you might
guess, counting and thinking at the same time, few people can manage it.

It was a new development. I wondered who’d been practicing with him, Katherine or my mother.

“Ready to go?”

“
More than.”

I popped open the Doritos, digging in. I love Doritos. Like Spaghetti-Os, they’re full of unhealthy goodness. They’re a special treat, because if Lolo knew I buy them, he’d flip his lid and start raving about broccoli and farts.

It’s difficult, trying to raise a human kid right.

I munched until we were back on the freeway, then offered Aine the dregs of the bag.

“Want one, princess?”

She was irritated by the nickname, and still f
eeling some guilt over the knife, but she was curious enough to take the bag.

I’d noshed my way almost to the bottom, so she had to dig deep, and her fingers came back coated with fake nacho seasoning. She studied a triang
ular chip suspiciously, met my challenging stare over the back of the car seat, then took a delicate bite.

Her eyes widened. They’re blue
: a normal, faded denim sort of blue, and soft when she’s not trying to be brave.

“
These are good,”
she said, surprised. Those blue eyes went limpid with appreciation.

I turned quickly away, reminding myself that I prefer to avoid attachments. And that it was rude to listen in on other people’s pleasures.

“They’re coated in spices
,” said Aine. “
They make my throat burn, but I like them.”

Bran grunted.
“
You’ll be dying for a drink in ten seconds. Too bad Winter here wasn’t kind enough to bring us each a Coke.”

I sunk lower in my seat.
“You could have gone in and got your own.”

I would'
ve had to stop him, of course. I needed to keep a few secrets locked up my sleeve, and I wasn’t ready for Aine to meet a Big Gulp.

The girl in question continued to munch.

“What?” I asked after a minute of sharing her greedy enjoyment. “There’s nothing like Doritos on the other side?”

“
No,”
she said simply. Then: “
Can we get more next time we drive past a market?”

Bran laughed. I wasn’t as amused.

Maybe Richard’s right in his own complicated way. Maybe it’s not just madness killing off the exiled fay, maybe it’s an addiction to fast food.

Bran turned on the car radio and tuned it back and forth over AM. The little LCD numbers on the display rolled forward and backward. I wondered what he was looking for, whether he was a talk radio or classical music sort of guy.

When he settled low on the band, I figured talk radio. His hands moved restively on the transmission stick, not in time to any rhythm I could make out.

In the rear view mirror Aine was still licking her fingers clean.

I turned my head, watching the trees roll silently past. I’d only been down Interstate 95 one other time, and that in late spring. It’s a pretty straight freeway, endless trees marching on either side of the pavement.

In the spring the trees had been bright and lush, a thick wall of green broken only occasionally by a small field or crumbling barn. Even the off-ramps seemed to disappear into the forest. It made my skin crawl, that sameness. I couldn’t tell one tree from its neighbor.

Now the view was more reassuring. The trees had dropped their leaves, and I could see the forest wasn’t as thick as it seemed. There were buildings just off the highway
: strip malls and restaurants and gas stations, the reassurance of concrete and neon.

If I squinted just right, the spare tree trunks vanished like a flip book, and I saw only suburbia.

“This road contains a lot of cars
,” Aine said, interrupting my private silent movie with pricks of unease.

“
It’s not dangerous,” I reassured. “See, there’s plenty of room. Everyone stays in their place. Driving’s second nature for mortals. Right, Bran?”

“
Just keep your seat belt buckled,”
Bran replied.
“The Q-tip behind driving that Greyhound looks like he’s got one foot in the grave. I’d be surprised if he doesn’t pop a vessel and mash us before we make the coast.”

“
Mash us?”
Aine’s spike of panic made me wince. She’d entirely forgotten the pleasure of chemical cheese flavor.

“
Like a bug
.
”
Bran’s cough was meant to hide a laugh. He’d done it on purpose, not to needle her, but to poke at me, to see how it worked.

He’d also forgotten to keep up his mental arithmetic, which was a good thing, because if I thought he’d done it out of cruelty and not curiosity, I might have gotten angry.

“Chill, princess.” I smiled over the back of the seat. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. We’re perfectly safe.”

I saw her hand drift to the lump under her coat as she scowled out the window at the Greyhound.

Bran’s fingers drummed a silent staccato on the steering wheel.

It was my turn to swallow a laugh.

“Speaking of safe,”
he said, irritated.
“Siobahn know you’ve left D.C.? She’ll be plenty furious if she finds out you’ve given the
sluagh
free rein.”

“
Richard can handle it.”

“
Granted I’ve only met the kid once,”
Bran began.

He stepped on the gas, gunning past the drifting bus. I glanced sideways and upwards. The driver did look older than dinosaurs.

“But he dresses like he’s stepped out of a dull documentary on Victorian sitting rooms. What does he do, beat the ghouls to death with a book?”

Now he did mean to make me mad. I wasn’t sure why, so I refused to rise to the bait.

“Richard’s banished more
sluagh
than the rest of us combined. He’s a crack shot.”

Bran didn’t look away from traffic, but I could practically see his cop senses jump to attention.

“Huh,”
he mused.
“This the same kid who spilled your coffee on my crime scene last year?”

“
It wasn’t a crime scene. It was a disorderly drunk who thought he was a sorcerer. And it was your fault. You startled Richard. He doesn’t like to be touched.”

“
Huh,”
the detective repeated. He was counting by twos in his head again.
“Where’d you find him, Winter?”

“
None of your business, detective.”

“
Winter shelters wounded people,”
Aine said from the backseat. “
Someone hurt Richard. Winter and I won’t let you hurt him again. Detective.”

When I turned around in surprise, she was sucking on the tip of her thumb, staring out the window at the leafless trees.

“Well,”
replied Bran, more amused than angry.
“That’s telling me, honey. I’ll keep it in mind.”

Just before we hit the Colonial Parkway Bran pulled into a rest stop because he insisted Aine needed to pee.

“
You’re bouncing around on the backseat like a two-year-old in training pants.”
He pointed at the squat brown building in the turnout.
“There. Toilet. Go use it. Next time, don’t drink so much Coke before a road trip.”

Aine curled her lip, but climbed obediently from the car and
hurried in the direction of the bathroom. Her yellow curls gleamed in the sunlight. She walked on the balls of her feet, not like the prissy dancers my sister admired, but like a prize fighter.

A prize fighter half expecting her next opponent to jump out of the bushes swinging a rapier.

I started to follow after her, but Bran shook his head.

“
There’s nobody here but us. Unless your guy’s into anticipating potty breaks and lurking in state-run outhouses.”

I thought about arguing, but guessed he was probably right. Even if Smith hadn’t lost the rubies, it was unlikely he could use a magic sword to teleport around the East Coast. 

My mangled eyebrows itched. I scratched, glad they were beginning to grow back, thinking that although Aine was small, Michael couldn’t have had an easy time taking her down, even with surprise on his side.

Bran popped open the driver’s side door. He stepped into the parking lot, did a few knee bends, and then looked back into the car.

“Another forty minutes, maybe, depending on traffic. You got a plan?”

“
Yeah.” Even though I was one hundred percent positive Smith wasn’t near, I kept my eye on Aine until she disappeared into the bathrooms. “And it doesn’t involve you. The family will be sick of cops asking questions by now.”

“
You’re assuming there’s family.”

“
There’s no point playing me, detective. Someone’s footing the funeral bill. It’s gotta be family.”

Bran gave up on stretching. He sighed.

“There’s a niece. And a brother.”

I rolled the flavor of his answer through my skull, and added my own unique knowledge to the stew.

“It’s the niece they’re after, my mother and Katherine Grey.”

“
Think so?”
Bran only shrugged.
“I’m after a murderer, myself. And I’ll thank you not to get in the way.”

Aine paused halfway back across the asphalt to examine her hands. I held my breath, stiff, until she moved on again.

Then I realized I was gnawing my own thumbnail, so I sat on my fists.

“
You’ll be asking for my help before sunset,” I told Bran, cool. “Maybe this time I’ll make you say ‘please’.”

We drove the next forty miles without speaking.

Bran was fuming. I was plotting. And Aine kept shifting in the back seat.

“What?” I demanded when I couldn’t stand wondering any longer. “Do we need to stop again?”

“
No,”
she replied.

It would have been easier to ignore her worry. Also more my style.

“What is it?” I twisted around, making Bran grunt and mutter about seat belts. “You’re giving me a headache.”

Aine frowned, but she didn’t look away.

“There was a mortal in the toilets,”
she answered.
“A woman. She said this road is haunted.”

Bran glanced in the rear view mirror.

“Don’t worry, honey. That’s an old wives’ tale. That, and the one about the Parkway serial killer.”

“
Great,” I snapped. “Scare her more, why don’t you.”