Unperfect Souls by Mark Del Franco Read Free Book Online Page B

cursing spell. The horse skull at the top of the staff was long gone, but everyone assumed the curse still existed. Throwing bad vibes at each other was standard procedure for the Guild and the Consortium.
    Uniformed elves guarded the doors and sidewalk in front of the building. A month earlier, they had stood guard inside the lobby, but after the rioting on Boston Common on Samhain, everyone had beefed up their security. The Guild and the Consortium worried about the growingly antagonistic human population as much as they did each other.
    A guard challenged me by blocking the path to the doors.
    “Connor Grey to see the Marchgrafin Kruge,” I said.
    The Marchgrafin Eorla Kruge was without a doubt the most powerful elf in the city. Since the death of her husband, she had become a formidable presence on the board of the Guildhouse, irritating Manus ap Eagan in general and Ryan macGoren in particular. Her status as a highly connected elf within the Teutonic Consortium weakened her ability to make effective change in the Guild because they didn’t trust her, but she managed to sway a vote or two.
    I sensed a flutter in the air that indicated the guard had done a sending. “You are not on the appointment calendar,” he said.
    “Tell the Marchgrafin’s secretary that I am here. I have a feeling she will see me.”
    After another flutter in the air, he stepped aside. “Proceed.”
    The other guards watched with suspicion as I entered. Inside, four more guards surrounded me and escorted me to the elevator. No one spoke. Elven swordsmen were not the warm and cuddly type. On the third floor, they led me to a closed door. More flutters in the air, more sendings. The lead guard opened the door and stepped aside.
    I had been in the same receiving room once before. Last time, it was empty except for a few chairs. Now, a library table covered with documents sat in front of the lit fireplace. Eorla worked at the far end of the table. She glanced up as I entered, her dark almond-shaped eyes glittering with the power of a long-lived fey. She appeared to be in the prime of her life, though, with her dark green fitted jacket showing off a trim figure and her upswept ebony hair emphasizing the smooth line of her neck.
    An ancient elf in a black robe leaned on a staff, the quintessential pose of a Teutonic shaman. His long, pointed ears flexed back when he saw me. We had never met, but you couldn’t spend much time at the Guild without learning about Bastian Frye, the Elven King’s most trusted advisor. By his reaction, he knew who I was, too. Despite being kicked out of the Guild, I felt a measure of pride that I had caused him a headache or two over the years.
    By the fireplace, a dwarf wearing ornate court attire perched on a chair. He lowered a document and peered at me over the top of his reading glasses.
    I bowed. I wasn’t a fan of monarchial protocol, but in Eorla’s case, I didn’t mind. She didn’t demand it out of form. I gave it to her out of respect. “Marchgrafin Kruge, it is a pleasure as always.”
    She smiled. “Mr. Grey, the pleasure is mine. Since my husband’s death, I have reclaimed my original title, Grand Duchess as well as the Elvendottir family name. Do have a seat.”
    I passed the chair nearest me and took the one to Eorla’s left. Frye’s posture stiffened noticeably. “I had a dream about you,” I said.
    She nodded. “I apologize for the unorthodox method of contact, but I required the utmost security.”
    “Unorthodox” wasn’t the word I would have used. “No apology necessary. Dreaming of you was not a burden.”
    The dwarf clicked his tongue loudly as he whipped his glasses off. Eorla murmured a chuckle. “Let me introduce you to Brokke, my cousin’s dwarf.”
    Brokke replaced his glasses roughly on his nose and lifted the document he had been reading. “I am no one’s dwarf.”
    “And that is Bastian Frye, my cousin’s assassin,” she continued.
    Frye barely nodded. “I am the