Unfallen Dead

I held her tightly against my chest as I stared down at Dylan’s dead body.

CHAPTER 37

I leaned against the door of the room high in an isolated tower of the Guildhouse. The domed chamber had a complex truss design reminiscent of Renaissance architecture applied with druidic sensibilities. Thick oak beams crisscrossed the ceiling and reached to the floor. A Palladian window filled an entire wall with an expansive view to the east. The stained glass along the frame of the window was done in multicolored geometric shapes, some clean, clear colors, some rich opalescents. The center pane had a stu

I rolled the sphere in my hands, admiring the craftsmanship. The knotwork of the outer shell patterned with meticulous fine lines to resemble a flat, braided rope. The interior orb moved freely with a faint sound as I spun it with my finger. The precise incisions of ogham script on the orb appeared and disappeared beneath the knots as it moved, the light catching the various aphorisms and poetic triads. I used to think the words were sentimental, in a derisive sense. It’s fu

Dylan’s body lay shrouded on the funeral bier draped in a ceremonial robe, the indigo and gold Celtic weave of its hem pooling on the floor. The brilliant white cloth was placed so that three vibrant yellow suns with flaming red borders rested on his chest. His face looked handsome in repose, no indication of what he might have felt when he died. Leaving a good-looking corpse fit his style.

I waited in the dim predawn silence. A small fluctuation of essence in my chest prompted me to look up from the sphere. The window brightened as dawn arrived, the sun’s essence seeping into the sky in feathery touches. In the clear space above the grove image, the sun appeared in full, perched on the horizon. Light bathed the room, Dylan’s shroud a sudden field of colors reflected from the stained glass.

“It would serve you right if I walked out the door right now,” I said.

I didn’t mean it. Not really. I moved to the bier and held the sphere over Dylan’s face. The sun warmed the sphere, and it awakened. I lowered it gently to his forehead as the i

The cocoon of light faded as Dylan’s body absorbed the phosphorescent glow. Shafts of sunlight crisscrossed the room, a hushed, reverent silence of light. The shroud moved, a subtle shift across the sun emblems.

Dylan gasped, lurching into a seated position. I wrapped my arm around his shoulders and lowered him back down. With his eyes focused on the ceiling, he took deep, ragged breaths, filling his body with air and essence. His breathing slowed, becoming controlled and normal. He closed his eyes.

I crossed my arms and waited. He opened his eyes again and smiled. As angry as I was, I couldn’t help smiling back. It’s something uncontrollable after you think someone is dead.

“You’re an asshole,” I said.

His smiled broadened. He started laughing, which led to coughing, and he sat up to clear his throat. Eyes tearing from the effort, he shook his head, still smiling. “That’s not the welcome back I was expecting,” he said.

I tossed him the sphere. “I am so angry with you right now. We thought you were dead. I thought you were dead. Then I get home and that thing is glowing in my study.”

He looked sheepish. “I was going to tell you, but things got complicated.”

I snorted. “Complicated? More complicated than ‘oh, by the way, hang on to my soul for me, I might need it?’ That’s crazy, Dylan. I could have thrown that thing out.”

He tilted his head down. “But you didn’t. I had faith you wouldn’t, or I would have come back for it.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “You’re lucky I called Briallen instead of using it for a night-light.”

He spun the orb and held it straight out so I could read an ogham script: Life is a series of trust moments.

“Danu’s blood, as you like to say, Dyl. That’s some freakin’ trust.”

“And not misplaced, obviously,” he said.

“You have a very angry Auntie Bree, by the way.”

He nodded, working the stiffness out of his jaw. “She’ll understand. She never stays mad at me for long.”

“Lucky you.”

He stretched and yawned. “Wow. Being dead really knots up the muscles.”

“You should get as much rest as you can. The Guild is in an uproar. They’re going to be all over you about what happened.”

He grimaced. “Actually, Con, I don’t want anyone to know I’m alive.”

That took me off guard. “Why not?”

He gave me a sly look. “Believe it or not, I was pla

Realization dawned. “The Black Ops job.”

“Yep. Dead’s always the perfect cover.”

“Please tell me I don’t have to keep that a secret from Briallen,” I said.

“Oh, no. She knew my plans. She’ll agree this is perfect. I mean, after she stops being mad at me for dying for real. Sort of,” he said.

I shook my head, laughing softly. “Gods, Dyl, we lead crazy-ass lives, you know that?”

He nodded, amused, too. “Yeah, we do. You should go before anyone else comes in. I don’t have much time to slip out of here.”

I held my hand out. “Good luck.” We shook. On impulse, I pulled him up and gave him a hug. “Don’t do that again.”

“I’ll try not to,” he said in my ear.

I left him sitting on his funeral bier, head tilted back to catch the warmth of the sun. Outside the room, Meryl waited on a bench in the corridor, empty except for two Dana

I wrapped her under my arm as we walked to the elevator. “I can’t believe what a jerk I used to be.”

“You could have just asked me,” she said.

“But I’ve gotten better, right?”

She rocked her head from side to side. “Well, let’s say things look promising.”

“But I’m much better, right?”

She looked at me from under a head of ice blue hair. “Buy me the lobster you owe me, and we’ll talk.”

I huddled in my jacket against the late-night cold. Winter was coming on strong. I burped lobster as I crossed the Old Northern Avenue bridge into the Weird. The lone police car at the checkpoint had turned into three. After what happened on the Common, the city dropped all pretense of calling it a safety measure for everyone. The entire neighborhood was closed off. Jersey barriers were thrown down everywhere to control traffic in and out, not just on the bridges. It wasn’t martial law, but it was only a matter of time before they figured out the legal niceties.

I turned onto Sleeper Street. The thing I liked about my street was that it wasn’t filled with late-night partiers unless something was going on in my own building. The thing I didn’t like was that it wasn’t filled with late-night partiers and was creepy and desolate late at night.

A flutter of essence washed over me, and my fragmented body shield kicked on. Someone casting a sensing spell. It wasn’t nasty or threatening. I stopped. If whoever had cast it didn’t know exactly where I lived, I didn’t need them to see me enter my building. I sca