sports bag, slung the strap over his other shoulder, and opened the door easily with one hand. He glanced back, winked at me, and shut the door behind him.
I stared at the closed door for a minute. Car doors opened and closed. Wheels crunched as the cab drove away, and my apartment suddenly seemed a couple of sizes too large. Mouse let out a long sigh and came over to me to nudge his head underneath my hand. I scratched his ears for a minute and said, Hell be all right. Dont worry about him.
Mouse sighed again.
Ill miss him too, I told the dog. Then I shook myself and told Mouse, Dont get comfortable. Were going to go visit Mac. You can meet the Summer Knight.
I went around getting everything I needed for a formal meeting with the Summer Knight, called another cab, and sat in my too-quiet apartment wondering what it was my brother was hiding from me.
* * *
Chapter Nineteen
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McAnallys pub is on the bottom floor of a building not too far from my office. Chicago being what it isessentially a giant swamp with a city sinking into itthe building had settled over the years, and to enter the pub you had to come in the door and take a couple of steps down. Its a low-ceilinged room, or at least its always felt that way to me, and it offers the added attraction of several whirling ceiling fans at my eye level, just as I come in the door, and after stepping down into the room theyre still uncomfortably close to my head.
Theres a sign Macs got hanging up at the door that reads ACCORDED NEUTRAL GROUND. It means that the place was supposed to be a no-combat zone, under the terms laid out in the Unseelie Accords, the most recent and influential set of principles agreed upon by most of the various nations of the supernatural maybe ten or twelve years ago. By the terms of the Accords, theres no fighting allowed between members of opposing nations in the bar, and were not supposed to attempt to provoke anybody, either. If things do get hostile, the Accords say you have to take it outside or risk censure by the signatory nations.
More importantly, at least to me, Mac was a friend. When I came to his place to eat, I considered myself a guest, and he my host. Id abide by his declared neutrality out of simple respect, but it was good to know that the Accords were there in the background. Not every member of the supernatural community is as polite and neighborly as me.
Macs place is one big room. There are a bakers dozen of thick wooden support pillars spread through the room, each of them carved with figures from Old World nursery tales. Theres a bar with thirteen stools, thirteen tables spread irregularly throughout the room, and the whole place has an informal, comfortable, asymmetrical sort of feel to it.
I came through the door armed for bear and projecting an attitude to match. I bore my staff in my left hand, and Id slipped my new blasting rod, a shaft of wood two feet long and as thick as my two thumbs together, through my belt. My shield bracelet hung on my left hand, my force ring was on my right, and Mouse walked on my right side on his lead, looking huge and sober and alert.
A couple of people inside looked at my face and immediately tried to look like they had no interest in me. I wasnt in a bad mood, but I wanted to look that way. Since the war with the Red Court had gotten rolling, I had learned the hard way that predators, human and otherwise, sense fear and look for weakness. So I walked into the place like I was hoping to kick someone in the neck, because it was a hell of a lot easier to discourage potential predators ahead of time than it was to slug it out with them when they followed me out afterward.
I crossed the room to the bar, and Mac nodded at me. Mac was a lean man somewhere between thirty and fifty. He wore his usual dark clothes and spotless white apron while simultaneously managing all the bartending and a big wood-burning grill where he cooked various dishes for the customers. The summer heat was fairly well blunted by the shade and the fans and the partially subterranean nature