Publish and Perish Read online

  “Another little detail you neglected to mention?”

  “I just forgot, okay?”

  Lucius frowned. “Okay, this is starting to sound dangerous.”

  “You hadn’t gotten that before now?”

  “I’m starting to.”

  I gave him the office number and Ray and Gregory’s home phone number. “Now, let’s talk about something other than weird and scary shit. Tell me more about yourself,” I said.

  * * *

  When the phone rang at my office the next day I had hoped it would be Lucius with the info about the phone, but it was John. “Dinner. The folks. Tonight. Come to my apartment, we’ll go by the Dakota and get Parlan and head down.”

  “We could take the train to Philadelphia.”

  “If I have a car I can escape Philadelphia.”

  “It’s not going to be that bad.”

  “Famous last words,” he muttered and hung up.

  The phone rang again, but it again wasn’t Lucius, it was the legal department at NYU. I’d sent them an email and followed up with a phone call only yesterday informing them that I was now counsel for Dr. Kenneth Zhèng. I hadn’t requested a meeting. I didn’t want to look too eager, but now I had the assistant to their chief counsel telling me they wanted to discuss a “settlement” and could my client and I come in tomorrow? I agreed, and called Ken.

  “This is good, right? It means they know they were wrong, right?”

  I untangled the garbled sentence. “I don’t know, Ken. Let’s see what they’re going to offer. Try not to stress tonight, okay?”

  “Okay, I’ll try. I still think this is good.”

  I hung up and finished off the adoption form I was preparing for a new client, packed up the computer, said goodbye to Syd and Belinda, and made my way to the Village. John was waiting and I barely had time to pet Gadzooks before he hustled me back out the door. A quick walk and we were at the garage where he kept his car. I was surprised to see the Toyota Camry had been replaced by a big black Buick Lacrosse.

  “New car.”

  “Yep.”

  “Guess you did get a good settlement from the firm.”

  “Yep.”

  “And so you buy a staid daddy car? You’re a hot Álfar private detective living in New York City. You didn’t think a sports car might be in order?”

  “I like this car. Reminds me of my police cruiser back in Philly, and I like to feel there’s a lot of metal between me and bad guys.”

  “It still seems kind of boring,” I muttered as I snapped the seatbelt shut.

  We headed uptown to the Dakota. Just before we reached the building I asked, “Do you need me to grab hold of you?”

  “No, I got a lot better at making the transition while I was living in Fey.”

  And sure enough, the world shimmered, the traffic jam around us vanished, and we slipped into that alternate reality where Central Park was a whole lot bigger and there were fewer cars and more carriages and people mounted on horses. We turned through the gates into the courtyard of the Dakota.

  Parlan was waiting for us, and he was wearing modern human attire: khaki slacks, a sweater, sports jacket. It was a wise choice. Big Red took a very dubious view of Álfar finery. Ladlaw opened the door for Parlan and bowed him into the backseat.

  “Are you sure you wish to dispense with your guard, sir?” Ladlaw asked.

  “Trust me, it’s better this way,” Parlan drawled.

  I quickly seconded that, and Ladlaw shut the door. Parlan leaned over the seat and gave me a hug. “Linnet, how’s the shoulder?” he asked.

  I rotated it. “Pretty good. How’s my principality?” I quipped.

  “Getting sorted out,” Parlan answered.

  John gave a snort. “Can’t believe you actually want to be here.”

  They matched looks, bucks measuring their racks, and I gave an eye roll.

  “Fasten your seat belt,” John ordered.

  Parlan leaned back and John took us through the gates and back into our world.

  “You know there’s a lot less traffic in Fey. We could get there faster if we stayed out of—”

  “I’m not spending any more time in Fey then I have to,” John shot back.

  “Fine. Have it your way.” Parlan sounded sulky.

  “Think about it. We’re probably both on Mommy Dearest’s fecal roster,” John said impatiently.

  “I said all right!”

  I rested my head in my hand. “I guess it doesn’t matter that you’re different species and raised apart, you are like the poster children for sibling rivalry.”

  Parlan gave a sniff and leaned back with his arms folded across his chest. John gave a snort and snapped on the radio, indicating that conversation would not be occurring during the drive. I sighed. It was going to be a long two hours.

  * * *

  “Come in! Come in!” Big Red’s voice boomed out, excited and maybe just a little bit forced.

  We stepped into the entry hall. The house smelled of roasting meat and freshly baked bread. Meg emerged from the kitchen. She gazed at John, then a sob burst out and she ran to him and hugged him tightly. He stood stiffly, looked to me. I mimed hugging, but he didn’t take the hint. It was awkward and Meg released him and stepped back. She looked hurt.

  I hustled my way to her side, slipped an arm around her waist, and said in a too-bright tone, “Can I help? What needs to get done?” I started moving her toward the kitchen.

  “Let’s go in the living room and have a drink before dinner,” Red suggested to the two younger men.

  As Meg and I went into the kitchen I reflected that we were like a cliché on a 1950s TV sitcom. The men were all off talking manly stuff while the women were in the kitchen. It brought home to me that the O’Sheas had a very traditional marriage. Had it affected John’s attitudes? What did he really think about career women? Meg had stayed home and raised the kids. Would he expect the same from his wife? Not that John and I could have kids. Humans and Álfar couldn’t crossbreed.

  I decided I was being silly. First, even thinking about marriage right now and assuming that kids were always going to repeat the pattern set by their parents. My parents had the exact same marriage, and it hadn’t stopped me from picking a different path. It had probably been a heavier lift for the O’Sheas to keep Meg at home on Big Red’s policeman’s paycheck than it had been for my upper-middle-class family, but it had clearly been worth the sacrifice. She’d raised five great kids. I wondered for a moment how my family would measure up. In some ways I didn’t count, I hadn’t actually been raised by my real parents. My mother was a bit of a horror, so maybe it would have been better for Charlie if she hadn’t stayed home, though he seemed to have survived and had come out okay. I found myself wondering how the Álfar queen had been as a mother. I’d have to ask Parlan, but maybe not tonight.

  Meg snatched a Kleenex out of a box on the counter and gave her nose a defiant blow. “Sorry. I knew what to expect. You’d warned me, but I still wasn’t prepared.” She busied herself turning the potato pancakes that were frying on the stove. “Does he hate us now?”

  “No, he doesn’t feel anything. He knows he used to, but he can’t remember the emotions so he gets even more frozen and rigid, which makes it worse.”

  “How are you coping? I know you two were…”

  “I wanted to free him. Beyond that … I don’t think or at least I hope I didn’t have any expectations.” I shook my head. “Maybe I shouldn’t have forced this visit. I just felt like—”

  “No, I wanted to see him. He’s my son. It’s going to be all right.”

  I had my doubts, but I kept those to myself. Meg and I made a small hors d’oeuvre plate with cheese and crackers and went into the living room. Silence greeted us. The brother’s held tumblers with splashes of whisky. Red was drinking a beer. The tension in the room had me writhing.

  “Okay,” I chirped. “Meg has made a feast. You guys are in for a treat.”

  Nothing from
John. Parlan proved he had been trained as a courtier. He stood, took the plate from Meg, and escorted her to the chair he’d just vacated.

  “You are a wonderful cook, Meg. I do hope you made those potato pancakes. I remember them fondly from my stay.” Of course he knew she had prepared them from the aroma filling the house, but it helped bridge the moment.

  “Drink, Lynnie?” Red asked.

  “Yes, please.”

  “We’ve got wine.” He cast a fond look at his wife. “Meg made me buy a bottle that didn’t come with a screw cap.”

  It fell flat because Parlan had no idea what that meant and John sat sphinxlike in his chair. I hurried into speech. “Hey, that doesn’t mean much anymore. Turns out screw caps actually preserve the wine better.” No one volleyed back the conversational ball so I plowed on. “And there’s been this fungus that’s affecting cork oaks. The fungus wrecks the wine. So everybody’s going to … screw … tops.”

  “I’ll go open the bottle,” Red said.

  “I’ll help bring glasses,” Meg added. They left the room.

  John bolted to his feet. “This won’t work. I’m leaving.”

  “Sit down!” Parlan snapped. “I lived in this house long enough to know they raised you to be better than this.”

  “This isn’t helping them. This … me … I’m hurting them,” John said. “I don’t need emotions to know that.”

  “Then tell them that,” I said. “We’re all trying to pretend things are normal, that nothing’s changed, but it has. We all need to face that.”

  And me most of all, I thought as I remembered on that horrible conversation with my dad. Hiding from it was the wrong way to handle things. I needed to face him. Find out why my presence at IMG had been so important to him. Find out what he feared.

  For a moment it hung in the balance, then John sat down and tossed back the rest of his whisky. The O’Sheas came back into the room and looked from one uncomfortable face to the next.

  “You three got it hashed out?” Red asked.

  John stood. “I’ll start.” He looked at Meg. “Yes, I’m blind in this eye.” He rested a forefinger beneath that milk-white orb. “Can it be fixed?” John shrugged and looked to Parlan, who shook his head and said,

  “My guess is no. There is a cost to magic. My mother … Our mother … your mother,” the human changeling stuttered. “Exacted it from you rather than paying the price herself.”

  “Typical,” John said.

  Parlan shrugged. “She has always been practical that way.”

  “Is that ice sliver still embedded in his eye?” I asked.

  Parlan pulled his long ponytail over his shoulder and tugged at the hair. “I don’t know. Has it melted and spread the spell through his entire body? An interesting question.”

  “If it is still in there could it be detected with an MRI or something?” Meg asked.

  Parlan looked confused. “It’s a medical test,” I explained. “And it’s worth trying. If it’s still in there maybe it can be grabbed and removed.”

  “Touching Álfar magic with something from this world might have dangerous consequences,” Parlan warned. “I think it would be safer to use our methods.”

  “And you got any ideas about those methods?” Red asked.

  “Not as yet. But I will search for an answer now that I have access to books and magicians again.”

  Meg looked at Parlan. “Are you coming home?”

  “Linnet has given me suzerainty over the principality.”

  “Is that a fancy way of saying she put you in charge?” Red asked. Parlan nodded.

  Meg turned to John. “Are you going to come home?”

  “I have a job in New York. And neither one of us are kids who need to come home to Mom and Dad.”

  “Maybe Mom and Dad need that,” Meg said with a touch of her old spirit.

  “And that’s why I can’t do it. Your need is like … well it’s like you’re bludgeoning me.”

  Meg took the verbal blow better than I expected. Red however, not so much. His face now matched his hair. Meg laid a calming hand against her husband’s chest, holding him back. “He can’t help it,” she said.

  “He, by God, better help it!” Red said.

  “I’m going,” John announced and he walked out of the living room.

  “He’s your ride, isn’t he?” Meg asked.

  Parlan and I exchanged glances. “We can take the train,” I said.

  “Yes,” Parlan agreed. “We’ll stay.”

  “This is tearing the family apart,” Red said.

  “Only if we let it,” Parlan said. “And we won’t.”

  The maturity and wisdom in his response put me to shame. I had done the same thing as John. Walked away, made no effort to understand or help. I’d get past the meeting with the university and then I was going to go to Rhode Island and confront my father.

  11

  I had considered walking from the boys’ apartment up to my meeting at NYU. At least for the day, spring had arrived and there was a softness in the air. Regretfully, I decided against it because I needed to be in Legal Chic and I didn’t love walking in high heels. I had bagged the rolling computer bag and instead carried a smart leather flip case. It made me look less like a geek and more like a high-powered attorney. That was the theory, at least.

  I emerged from the subway at Eighth Street. Washington Square Park, where I was to meet Ken, beckoned. The limbs of the trees waved in a gentle breeze, green banners against a blue sky. It was warm enough that the fountains in the big central pool were running again, adding their silver glint to the riot of colors so welcome after a long, gray winter. The sound of the water falling into the pool struggled to make itself known against the roar of traffic, the blare of horns, the frenetic sirens, and the deep bone-shaking rumble of the subways far below.

  All around the park were the buildings that constituted NYU. Ken was waiting on the far side of the fountain, the lenses of his glasses faintly misted by the spraying water. He jumped up when he saw me, rushed to my side, and fell into step with me.

  “So, what are you going to say?” he asked as he dried off his glasses on the tail of his shirt.

  “Depends on what they say, and I’m not going to say much. The best thing we can do is keep quiet, let them make their pitch, and not give them anything in return.”

  “Have you read my paper?” Ken asked.

  “Not yet. I was reading over your employment contract first. My guess is that’s going to be more relevant today.”

  “Oh, God, what if they fire me?”

  “Then we’ll sue them for wrongful termination.” I stopped walking and laid a hand on his upper arm. “Look, Ken, don’t go borrowing trouble. Let’s see what they’re offering. Remember, they asked for this meeting. We’re in the stronger position.”

  “I hope so.”

  The administrative offices were housed in a large red building that also held the Elmer Holmes Library. Ken and I left the park, crossed the street, and entered. There was a young man in a nice suit standing in the lobby. My lawyer sense tingled and I walked up to him and held out my hand.

  “I’m Linnet Ellery, with Dr. Zhèng.”

  “Marshall Grayson. Let me take you upstairs. They’re waiting.”

  I sensed a criticism and bristled a bit. “We’re actually early.”

  “Oh, I know. I think they had a meeting beforehand.” He led us to an elevator.

  The conference room was an aggressively modern space. Fancy electronic shades had been drawn across the windows, leaving the room in dimness and shadows. A tingling between my shoulder blades warned me, and sure enough we were in the presence of vampires. Two vampires I really hadn’t expected to see—one of the senior partners, Avery Gold, and David. David was seated in a chair against the wall, clearly the junior in this meeting. His eyes rested on me for one long moment, then he returned his attention to the legal pad balanced on his knee.

  Gold was at the head of an oval table w
ith a phalanx of humans, four to a side. It seemed like an overwhelming force to confront one assistant professor and his sole practitioner lawyer.

  What the hell was in that research paper? And I promised myself I would read it that night.

  Introductions were made. I allowed most of the names to slide right out of my head. Most of the men and the two women were just intimidating window dressing. Only Gold and Mr. Roger Figge, chief counsel for NYU, really mattered. Ken and I took the only two available seats at the foot of the table. I snapped open my case and pulled out a yellow legal pad and a pen. I left the employment contract safely hidden away. I didn’t even want to suggest that this was about Ken’s job. I then folded my hands on the pad and looked at them inquiringly but didn’t speak.

  The silence dragged on and on. The humans started to fidget. First a small cough there. Then a nervous handling of a pen from the woman on my right. A squeak as someone adjusted their position in a chair. Even Figge reached out and straightened the edge of his papers. He was armed with Ken’s employment contract. I kept looking at Gold. I hadn’t been fostered by vampires for nothing. I knew this game. Figge broke first.

  Clearing his throat, he said, “Well…” His voice trailed off as he caught Gold’s annoyed expression.

  Having made my point, I spoke up. “You requested this meeting. We’re here.” I went silent again. There was a small choking sound out of David. I knew him well enough to recognize the sound; it was a quickly suppressed laugh.

  Figge took over. “We understand Dr. Zhèng’s dismay over having his research blocked, but both the medical school and senior staff in the biology department feel the paper is poorly sourced and badly researched.”

  I wasn’t quick enough and Ken jumped out of his chair before I could grab his wrist and restrain him. “That’s just bullshit! My paper is solid. My research, impeccable.”

  “Ken!” I snapped. He clamped his mouth shut. I stood up and started repacking my case. “Then I guess we’ll see you in court.”

  A flicker of emotion crossed Gold’s face. “If I may, Mr. Figge. That was perhaps a bit baldly presented. Whatever the strictures on Dr. Zhèng’s paper might be, everyone in his department agrees he is a talented young man with great research skills and if properly guided and mentored will do great work. Therefore the university is prepared to offer him an associate professorship if he will drop this unproductive line of research and agree to never take it up at any other institution.”