As we walked up to the bar, the ancient-looking man polishing the beer taps glanced up.
“Dec?” he said, tossing his rag down. “Dec McClintoc?”
“Hey there, Manny,” I said, leaning my elbows on the bar. “How’s the old man doing?”
“Do better if the damned Cubbies did something more than shitting the bed every game this year, but other than that, I’m fine. Ain’t seen you in a bit,” the old man said. “Heard you retired.”
“Something like that.” I glanced around, lowering my voice. “My friend and I need to get to the Streets. You good if we head downstairs?”
“Be my guest,” he said, waving a hand toward a set of double doors at the back.
Manny glanced at Veronica, and a crease formed between his eyes. His gaze flicked from her lensless glasses to her curly hair.
“Hey, Dec?” he said warily. “Your friend doesn’t happen to be?—”
“Thanks, Manny,” I said, patting the bar. “Let’s keep this between us, okay?”
“Gotcha,” he said, nodding slowly.
“Let’s go,” I said, taking Veronica’s hand and moving for the door.
“He recognized me,” Veronica whispered urgently.
“Yup,” I grunted. “Looks like they’ve spread the word on who they’re looking for. Most of the magical world probably has a description of you. Hang on.”
We stopped in the hallway beyond the double doors. Chicago Cubs posters, pictures, framed and signed bats and balls adorned the walls. On a rack by the bathrooms sat a bunch of vintage baseball hats. I snatched one off the shelf and handed it to her.
“Stuff your hair under that and take off those glasses. Tuck them away somewhere. It won’t be perfect, but it should help. Pull the hood of your sweatshirt over the hat.”
She did as I asked, tucking her pretty curls into a bun, then pulling the hat down to hide them, and finished it by pulling the hood up.
“Keep your head down while we’re down here. At least until we get to Ariella’s.”
“Ariella?” Veronica said.
“The fae we’re meeting,” I explained.
Down the hall beyond the bathrooms was a second doorway that opened to a set of stairs that appeared to go down to a dank and dusty basement. We went down two steps, and the familiar magic kicked in. A wave of nausea and fear shot through me as the spell tried to force us back. Any normal human would do exactly that. Instead, we continued on, until a slightpopsounded in my ears and the dusty cellar transformed into a dark, stone-lined set of steps and a landing. The air changed too. Instead of the sour-sweet smell of beer, and the greasy scent of fried appetizers from Manny’s kitchen, the air was filled with the smells of The Shadow Streets: the smell of impending rain, even though it never actually rained there, food from the restaurants, and the subtle ozone of a high-concentration of magic.
We crossed the landing and moved forward into the perpetual night of the hidden neighborhood. Street lamps glowed, casting the namesake shadows across the cobblestoned streets.
“How do you know that Manny guy?” Veronica asked as we stepped into the throng of people moving about.
“He was an informant back in the day. The guy’s a hybrid. His parents came over from the old world as immigrants. Mom was a Selkie, Dad a Kelpie. Kinda like a shifter but not really.”
“A Selkie?” she said. “You mean that guy can transform into a seal?”
“Sort of,” I said, scanning the crowd, checking to see if anyone was looking at us. “He has to put on a sealskin to transform, but he can also become a sort of horse from his dad’s side. Kinda weird to be honest. When it’s all said and done, he looks like a cross between a giant seahorse and a seal. Come on, this way.”
I led her to a side street that branched off to the right before the main intersection where most of the street performers and buskers were doing their thing. Passing a few shops, we came to a dead end. A single building with glowing light sat at the end of the street. A simple sign made of ancient carved and painted wood hung above the door and read:Ariella’s
I knocked. “This is the place.”
“How do you know this lady?” Veronica asked.
“An old friend. Haven’t spoken to her in almost ten years, though. Hopefully, she’s not too?—”
“Look atthisraggedy piece of shit,” a British woman’s voice said as the door swung open.
