Winter (The Manhattan Exiles) (7 page)

“
She’s not,” said Winter. He swallowed more tea.

Aine couldn’t help herself. She hissed.

“She is! Do you deny your blood?”

“
Of course not.” His lips curled. “But I do deny your queen.”

“
Leathcheann
! Idiot!” She dropped the blanket, turning away. “Gun or no gun, I’m going. I won’t stay here, underground, in this place. I’ll find the way out even if I have to step upon your iron road to do so.”

He set his empty cup on the floor.
“No need for threats, princess. I’ll show you the way out.”

Aine hesitated, suspicious.
“You will?”

Winter nodded.
“Did you suppose I was wasting time because I like watching you sleep? We’ve an appointment. Rather, I do and you’re coming with.”

He reached behind the clock, and pulled forth a pair of brightly colored ankle boots.
“I brought you these. They’re the closest we have to your fit. Lolo’s like a puppy, his feet are three sizes too big for his body.”

“
They’re pink.”

“
They belonged to my sister. She left them behind after a visit.”

“
Your sister?”

“
Obviously. They’re pink, as you pointed out. And even Richard wouldn’t be caught dead in a pair of pastel combat boots. She was almost as delicate as you are. When she was six. Put them on.”

“
I’d rather go barefoot.”

“
You’ll put them on,” he said, suddenly cold, “or I
will
leave you behind in iron chains.”

3
. Bran

The afternoon lunch crowd inside Washington Street Coffee was cold and grumpy. Most of the costumers looked at Bran’s badge sideways. One man shuffled his feet, and buried his face in the morning newspaper. A little boy with a candy cane in his mouth smiled and drooled.

The barista lifted a weary hand.
“Usual poison, Healy?

Bran glanced around the crowded room, reconsidering.

“I’ll come back later.”

Fall slapped him in the face when he ducked back onto the sidewalk, but he was glad of it. The changing seasons made his blood run quick. He’d never been one for stagnation.

He sat on a bench outside the coffee shop. He stretched out his long legs, crossing his ankles, and waited. A courier on roller blades zipped past. When he saw Bran he tossed him a sharp one-fingered salute.

“
Funny,” Bran called, but the courier was already gone.

Lately the boys on
wheels were stirring up trouble: not enough to earn themselves a fine, just enough to get noticed. Bran hadn’t yet bothered to put a rookie into the mix, but he was considering it. They didn’t need another union riot on their hands, not this year.

He shifted on the bench. Mature maple trees lined the street. The trees were mostly skeletons, their yellow leaves drifting in the gutters.

Bran picked out Winter as soon as the boy turned onto Washington. The kid walked with a roll to his step, like a sailor who’d been too long at sea. Bran, who’d met his fair share of the
sidhe
and knew them to be a graceful group, rather thought Winter adopted that walk in an attempt to look more human.

It didn’t quite fly. But he gave the boy kudos for trying.

Winter wasn’t alone, which was unusual. As a rule the kid seemed to prefer to work by himself. But today he had another at his side: a petite girl in a green fisherman’s sweater and baggy sweats. Her hair, a startling gold-blonde that would have cost most women a fortune in a swanky salon, rose in a halo of short curls around a pixie face.

She held Winter’s hand in a death grip, slipping a little on the damp leaves beneath her pink combat boots.

“Morning,” Winter said when they reached Bran’s bench.

The kid was without the iPod usually plugged into his head. He’d added a colorful ski cap to his habitual monochromic ensemble.

“Morning,” Bran returned, even though by his watch it was past noon. Then he took a second look. “What happened to you?”

The right side of the boy’s face looked as though it had been crisped in a toaster oven. The skin was black in places, cracking over red fissures, and covered with either an ugly ooze or some sort of thick ointment.

“Nasty surprise,” Winter said. He looked over Bran’s shoulder at the coffee shop, quirking his damaged brows. “No donuts?”

“
Too crowded,” Bran said, ignoring the jibe. “Who’s your friend?”

The girl lifted her chin. She s
tudied Bran with a fierce, half-wild expression. Pretty as she was, she didn’t look quite right. The set of her shoulders, the chewed on lip, and the clench of her fingers around Winter’s wrist were as easy for Bran to read as the Sunday comics.

He stayed sitting, because he knew he was less ferocious on his butt, but what he really wanted to do was stand up and ask the little slip of a thing what had scared the shit out of her, and whether he could knock its teeth out.

“Nasty surprise took a bite out of your fingers, too, huh?” He tipped his head at Winter but smiled at the girl. “Ought to get those looked at, kid.”

“
I already have, thanks.”

The girl moved, just a twitch. Winter slung one arm around her
hunched shoulders. Bran climbed slowly to his feet.

“
You okay, honey?”

Winter gathered the girl in against his side.
“She’s fine. Just adjusting to the cold and the time change. Aine hasn’t been in the city long.”

“
Oh, yeah?” He’d known Winter a good ten years, and he’d never had any reason to doubt him. Except for the most obvious. “You do have a nice tan there, Aine. Fly in from somewhere tropical? What, Hawaii? Arizona?”

She stared at Bran for a long minute. Then she said something to Winter in the Gaelic, too fast for Bran to follow.

Winter essayed a stiff grin, shaking his head.

“
Let’s walk,” he said. “She’s cold.”

Bran let Winter lead the way. From behind he could see that Aine’s hair had been hacked short with something
sharp, a knife or a pair of scissors. She wiggled out from underneath the boy’s arm, but kept his wrist locked in one hand.

She didn’t trust the kid, Bran interpreted. But he wasn’t the source of her terror.

Which was a very good thing, because Bran wasn’t sure what he’d say to Siobahn if he had to knock her son into the street and put him in cuffs.

“
Aine’s a good solid Irish name,” he said as they wound their way along the sidewalk, dodging tourists. The girl seemed ready to flinch at the merest brush of a stranger’s coat or arm. “I had an Auntie Aine, back in the old country.”

The girl paid Bran no mind. She seemed to be concentrating on her feet. Bran wondered if the startling pink boots pinched. She walked like each step hurt.

Winter lead them into a paved alley between two brick buildings.

“
Really?” Bran said, “There’s a nice park not more than a block east.”

“
No wind here,” the boy returned. He gently pried the girl’s fingers from his arm. “And less chance of being interrupted. So, what have you got?”

Bran slipped his phone from its holster on his belt.
“An interesting little video. You’re lucky I have good friends in the T.A. or it would already be a YouTube sensation.”

“
For a day,” said Winter. “Maybe two. And then we’d be back to puppies singing Christmas carols. Pass it over.”

Bran hesitated. The girl crossed her skinny arms over her chest. She watched him with wide blue eyes. Every time a car drove past the mouth of the alley she jerked. She was a tiny thing. The top of her head barely topped Winter’s shoulder, and the New York
sidhe
were not known for their height.

“
Pretty shoes, honey. But they look like they’re uncomfortable. Too big, huh? What do you usually wear, size five? Four?”

The girl stared. Winter growled. He shifted a little, letting Bran see the bronze fairy knife he wore on his hip beneath his coat. A reminder that if he wanted to, it was likely Winter could kill the older man with a flick of his wrist.

Likely, but not a sure thing.

“
It’s not that I don’t trust you, kid,” Bran murmured. “You’ve had my back more times than I want to count. But your friend here looks like she’s seen a ghost. And you look like you fell into one. Which would be a rookie mistake. You’re no rookie. What’s going on?”

“
We’re fine,” Winter said. “Hand it over.”

“
I work for Siobahn. And so do you. She know you’ve been touched by Cold Fire?”

Winter looked away.
“I don’t want her involved. Not yet.”

“
The
sluagh
is destroyed,” Aine said, quite clearly. She spoke English without any accent, although more slowly than she had the Gaelic. “By guns.”

Winter visibly winced.

“Guns, huh?” Bran drawled.

“
It was an old one. Strong. And it shouldn’t have been able to break our perimeter. I was taken off guard. That’s all.”

“
And the girl?”

“
She’s just a friend. I told you, from out of town. Not used to big cities.”

“
Or cars?”

Aine smiled a little, as though embarrassed.
“At home we prefer bicycles.”

“
Interesting,” Bran repeated. He studied the girl’s face. Her smile didn’t waver.

Bran shrugged, then relinquished his phone.
“It’s clipped and queued.”

He studied Winter as the boy watched the video. The kid was good, Bran had to admit. He didn’t even blush over his lies.

“I’m glad you found her some clothes,” Bran remarked. “If she’s cold now she must have been freezing in the nude. A shame about her hair. It was nice long.”

“
Téigh trasna ort féin
,” Winter replied pleasantly. He queued the video again, watching it a second time.

“
He’s very rude,” Aine apologized. She stood on the toes of her boots to better see around Winter’s elbow.

Bran heard her startled inhale.

“I don’t remember that.”

“
Probably a good thing,” Bran said. “I’m assuming that’s not your ghost with the sword.”

“
No,” Winter said, running the video a third time. “He’s as human as you are.”

“
Which means he’s mine.”

“
Maybe,” muttered Winter. “She’s there and then she’s gone. In and out. Summoning went bad. I was right about that much. Have you ID’d the blood sacrifice?”

“
Victim,” Bran corrected. “Darlene Francis, age 42. She was abducted from her garden five days ago. From her garden in Yorktown, Virginia.”

“
That’s a bit of a way.”

Bran said,
“Funeral’s Friday. I’d like to have some answers before then.” He looked pointedly at Aine.

“
I don’t remember,” she repeated. Her lips had gone white, but she held her head high. “I don’t remember anything until I woke up in the wall. I thought I’d died.”

“
You’re lucky you didn’t. The head case had a sword longer than you are tall and at least one previous murder under his belt.”

A haunted expression chased across the girl’s face, then disappeared.

“Lucky,” she agreed quietly. “It appears that way, does it not?”

A delivery truck rattled past the mouth of the alley. This time Aine didn’t jump.

Bran decided maybe she wasn’t quite as delicate as she seemed.

“Who is he?” Winter asked. He handed the phone back.

“
Smith. Michael Smith, 56. His fingerprints are on file. One DUI, two B&Es, liquor stores, both. Seems Michael and Jose Cuervo were good friends for a couple of decades. So much so he couldn’t hold down a job, and took to panhandling.”

“
The man in that video isn’t a drunk.”

“
No,” agreed Bran. “He’s nine months sober, according to his sponsor at Alcoholics Anonymous. Dropped in on a meeting one morning and stuck with it.”

“
Good for him,” Winter said, dry. “Personally I prefer a drunk to a murderer.”

Bran holstered his phone, and glanced at his watch.
“Michael picked up a job at a local grocery. Day manager said he was a good employee. Always on time, never asked for personal days, never called in sick.”

Winter grunted.
“Sounds like Michael is a star. Where’s he flopping?”

“
Shares an apartment with some fresh-faced Capitol interns. All four say they haven’t seen him in at least two weeks. Which isn’t unusual. They only return home to sleep.”

“
And?”

“
Room’s been cleaned out. I don’t imagine he’s coming back any time soon.”

“
Where’s it located?”

Bran squashed a pinch of irritation.
“I’ve got men on it, kid. Let me do my job.”

“
You do yours, I’ll do mine.” Winter stared up at the sky between the two buildings. “If there’s blood magic involved, I need to make sure he hasn’t left anything behind.”

“
Meaning another nasty surprise?”

“
So to speak.”

“
Don’t fall in it this time.” Bran dug out his wallet. “Potomac and Penn S.E., block down from the station. Right across from the Harris Teeter Smith worked at.” He passed Winter the twenty he’d meant to use for dinner.

“
What’s this?”

“
Call it a loan. Take your girl down to Goodwill and buy her some clothes that fit. A jacket and normal shoes, for Christ’s sake. She stands out like sore thumb in those rags and you’ll want to be avoiding notice.”

Aine considered Bran with her wide blue eyes. Winter only nodded.

“You think he’s still around.”

“
I’m not one who can see the future. But something tells me Michael isn’t the sort who leaves unfinished business behind.”

Bran had lunch at his desk, then went back out onto the streets, a still of Michael Smith’s sword in his pocket.