Blood and Mistletoe Page 2

  I stood, on the pretense of fetching a glass of water, and peered around the bulk of my oversized client.

  Damn. Forneus was standing in our office doorway and Jinx was brandishing a sharpened cross like she was a rockabilly incarnation of Buffy the vampire slayer. As I watched in horror, Jinx lifted the edge of her dress and slid a second cross from a sheath on her thigh. My office assistant got bonus points for style and preparedness, but I really didn’t think killing our clients was good for business—especially with a bugbear sitting, oblivious, at my desk. Any second now my satisfied client was going to turn around and reconsider the agency she hired, and our payment.

  No way was I losing that fee. Tracking down that cub took me over a week. And bugbear wrangling is no treat. I worked hard for every penny and I wasn’t letting Jinx and Forneus’ flirtatious fighting scare off my client.

  Plus, I needed that money to pay for coffee. There was no way I was beginning another day drinking the stuff Olly gifted us. Not after Jinx’s comment. I’d picture a fuzzy, blue monster singing “C is for coffee” while peeing into my cup.

  That settled it. I needed to take control of the situation, quickly.

  “Let me just get the invoice from my assistant and we’ll be done here,” I said, smiling at the bugbear.

  I tried not to show my teeth. Flash too much tooth and some predators will think you are issuing a challenge. I did not need to add a bugbear pissing contest to an already bad situation. I don’t think our office would survive that level of chaos. I know that I’m not up for that fight. Have you seen the size of their claws?

  I walked casually past the bugbear who was eyeing my dish of honey candies. I discovered while hanging out with my friends Marvin and Hob, a bridge troll and a brownie, that pureblood fae have a weakness for sweets, especially honey. I kept the dish of candies on hand for situations like these.

  Now that my clientele has changed, I may not be able to keep the office warded and filled with anti-fae charms, but I still kept a few tricks up my sleeve. It never hurt to be prepared.

  “What do you two think you’re doing?” I hissed. I turned my full wrath on Jinx. She didn’t even flinch. Guess I can’t be scary when a person’s seen me in my snowman pajamas. “What happened?”

  “That damn demon is here again,” Jinx said, never taking her eyes off Forneus. “That’s what happened.”

  “That’s all?” I asked. “He came through the door and you tried to stake him with a cross?”

  “I can assure you that I have done nothing untoward,” Forneus said. His sulphuric breath made me gag. “I merely offered this lovely lady a compliment.”

  “What did he call you this time?” I asked.

  “He called me his pet,” she said through clenched teeth. “I warned him last time that if he addressed me that way again, I’d kill him.”

  “She did warn you,” I said, turning to the demon. I took a step forward to stand between them. “But, as much as I’d like to see her cut you with that cross, I have a client waiting—a paying client.”

  That last bit of info was for Jinx. She immediately lowered her weapons and slid them neatly into her hair and up the skirt of her halter dress.

  “I’ll get the paperwork,” Jinx said. She hurried to her desk and pointed at the chairs arranged beside it. “You take a seat, demon. And don’t even think about leaving one of your business cards in my waiting room.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said.

  The demon folded himself primly into one of our mismatched chairs—mismatched because we had to douse a chair with holy water and trash it after one of Forneus’ earlier visits. Just for the record, burning brimstone is Hell on upholstery. He was lucky we let him walk through our doors at all.

  I walked back to mother bugbear, who was miraculously still sitting facing my desk. A glance at my empty candy dish showed why. I’d have to restock my supply soon.

  I saw a trip to the candy store in my future.

  I may not like to shop, but going to the candy store with Marvin was a treat. I didn’t have to touch anything, since the kid was happy to put everything in the basket for me. With no worries about psychic visions, I could kick back and watch Marvin’s smile grow.

  Marvin’s smile was worth the effort. His mouth was healing from his previous injuries and the kid was looking better by the day. Not that anyone in the candy shop could see his true face. Marvin was one of the fae, a teenage bridge troll, and wore his glamour whenever we hit the streets.

  I’d check in with Marvin later. I had an errand to run at Madam Kaye’s Magic Emporium, and Hob was still allowing Marvin to sleep on the floor of the spell kitchen, out behind the shop. The place may be owned by Kaye O’Shaye, the most powerful witch in Harborsmouth, but Hob, the resident hearth brownie, was in charge of the kitchen. I could visit Marvin, get the items I needed from The Emporium, and be back before dark…if Forneus didn’t hold me up.

  “Here you are,” Jinx said, setting a folder on my desk. Jinx beamed at the bugbear as she pointed to the folder. “Just read and sign the last page. And make checks payable to Private Eye. We’re also happy to accept cash and all major credit cards.”

  The mother bugbear lifted a leather pouch onto the desk with a thud. Gold coins spilled from the bag as she scratched her mark onto the page, with her claws.

  “Ivy?” Jinx asked.

  I knew what Jinx was asking. In addition to psychometry, I also have the gift of second sight. My second sight allows me to see through the glamour that most fae wear to the monstrous visage that lies beneath. This was another gift that could feel like a curse, but it was a talent that came in handy when accepting payment from faeries.

  Fae, both Seelie and Unseelie, have an aversion to paying humans real money. Since humans usually can’t see through magical glamour, faeries often pay with illusionary money that reverts to its original worthless form after they have safely gone. It wouldn’t be the first time that a faerie tried to pay with leaves and twigs. But this gold was real.

  And I wasn’t human.

  I nodded to Jinx.

  “We also accept gold,” Jinx said, smiling.

  Jinx led the bugbear out the door and I strode over to where Forneus sat in his expensive suit. I crossed my arms and tapped my foot.

  “Okay, demon, why are you here?” I asked.

  Forneus spread his hands and opened his eyes wide in mock surprise.

  “Can’t a friend drop in without a reason?” he asked. “’Tis the season after all. Perhaps I’m here to spread holiday cheer.”

  “Or an STD,” Jinx muttered.

  Jinx closed the door behind our bugbear client and came to sit on the edge of her desk. She sucked air through her teeth and winced. The reason became clear when she pulled a thumb tack from her generous derriere. Jinx really was the most unlucky person on the planet. Which made taunting a demon a ridiculously bad idea.

  “I will have you know that…” Forneus said.

  “No,” I said, holding up a gloved hand. “No way. I do not want to hear about your sexual exploits. I don’t care where your pitchfork has been, Forneus, just keep it in your pants.”

  “Amen,” Jinx said.

  Forneus grimaced at the holy word, but continued to leer at Jinx. She was adjusting the bust of her fifties-style halter dress in a not so subtle attempt to drive Forneus crazy. Watching the demon lust over my best friend made my stomach heave. It was time to change the subject.

  “So what’s the job?” I asked, rubbing my brow. Forneus had only been here a few minutes and already I had a headache. “And don’t tell me that this is just a social call.”

  “Well, I do have information you may find valuable,” Forneus said. “For a price.”

  Forneus’ eyes glowed red and his face shifted as the muscles writhed beneath the skin. It was a reminder that our guest wasn’t human. Forneus may wear a handsome face while doing business, but his preferred form while topside was a leviathan-like beast the size of our entire city block
. I didn’t know what form the demon attorney took when residing in Hell, but the glowing red eyes were a clue.

  I stifled a shudder and met those eyes determined not to let Forneus get the upper hand.

  “No deals with the devil, Forneus,” I said. “If your information is useful, we can work something out, but no souls, or dates with my partner, as payment. And if what you have to say isn’t of use to us, then we owe you nothing.”

  Forneus steepled his fingers and frowned, deep in thought. After three minutes, I was beginning to wonder if he’d fallen asleep. Do demons sleep? I’d have to ask Father Michael the next time I went to visit Galliel at St. Mary’s church.

  “If this becomes a significant case, I want full credit for bringing this information to you,” he said.

  Demons were always fighting to advance within their social hierarchy and Forneus was no different. He had received a promotion for his role in bringing me the kelpie case, and the resulting battle that case had caused. Now I couldn’t get rid of the ambitious fiend.

  “Deal,” I said.

  The demon reached a hand out to shake on our agreement, and I danced out of reach.

  “You know the rules,” I said, voice hardening.

  “Ah, yes,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “No touching.”

  “So we have a deal?” I asked.

  “Deal,” he said.

  A grin spread over his face and I began to doubt my decision to agree so quickly.

  “What did you find out?” I asked.

  “Someone is killing fae, right here in Harborsmouth,” he said.

  I really was going to regret this. Forneus wasn’t bringing me a typical lost and found case, he was talking about murder.

  “How many dead?” I asked.

  “Five that I know of, all fae,” he said. “And before you ask, they are not all Seelie or Unseelie. Both courts have received victims.”

  Oh, Oberon’s eyes. If the victims had all been from one court, then I’d know where to begin looking for their killer. But this wasn’t an overzealous faerie trying to curry favor with their Lord by assassinating members of the opposing court. This was something else entirely.

  There was a serial killer in Harborsmouth with a penchant for murdering faeries. Happy freaking holidays.

  Chapter 3

  According to Forneus, five fae had been murdered on the streets of Harborsmouth. But what did a peri, a hamadryad, a merry dancer, a pixie, and old Fear Dearg have in common?

  The only clue to tie these deaths together was a piece of mistletoe left at each scene. Well, that and the fact that shortly after each victim was discovered, their body disappeared.

  Since mistletoe was our one clue, Christmas was the obvious connection. Maybe someone had a thing against Santa’s elves and was killing the next best thing.

  I shook my head. No, that was just silly. Santa didn’t exist and the elves had left our shores long ago.

  But why kill these particular fae?

  I stared at the list I’d hastily penciled onto a notepad, trying to make sense of these murders. If I couldn’t ferret out the truth on my own, I’d have to ask Kaye for help. And if I couldn’t find answers at The Emporium, I’d have to visit each of the crime scenes. Touching a person’s wedding ring to see if they’ve been cheating on their spouse is one thing, but handling items at a murder scene is quite another. I shuddered and returned my focus to the notepad on my desk.

  Peris are small, winged men often mistaken for angels. Their diminutive size makes them vulnerable to their natural enemy, the daeva, who enjoy locking them in iron cages at the tops of trees. Had our killer wanted a sick tree topper for his Christmas tree?

  I shook my head, trying to shake away the image. I was just letting the holidays, and my own dark mood, get to me, right? Maybe the other victims would reveal a pattern.

  A hamadryad was the second faerie on the list. Hamadryads are tree nymphs who are peaceful unless their tree is threatened. Hamadryads are very protective of their chosen tree and have been known to keep a tree alive for hundreds of years. But if a hamadryad dies, the tree they are bound to dies with it. Forneus indicated that this hamadryad had come from a fir tree, which was peculiar for a city dryad. There aren’t many trees in Harborsmouth and even fewer evergreens. I wonder which city park or old tree lined street was mourning the loss of its fir tree. Or had the killer cut it down as a gruesome souvenir?

  This case was beginning to leave a bad taste in my mouth worse than this morning’s coffee.

  I didn’t know a lot about my cousins the merry dancers. While researching my wisp heritage, I’d found mention of them, but most sources just referenced the beautiful, colorful lights they produced when they danced through the air. Do merry dancers continue to glow after death? Had the merry dancer been killed to light the hamadryad’s tree?

  I glared at the list of victims, gripping my pencil so hard the edges bit through my thick gloves. A tree, an angel, and lights? Mab’s bloody bones, holidays were Hell.

  I wasn’t surprised to see a pixie on the list of victims. Even I’d been tempted to kill a few of the pests over the years. Pixies are the fae equivalent of wasps. They may have beautiful, iridescent wings, but don’t let that fool you. The evil little creatures are armed with a stinger the size of a hypodermic needle. One sting will paralyze a grown human, but pixies are rarely solitary. As soon as one of the bastards has you down, the entire hive is likely to use your body as a salt lick. Pixies survive on salt, too bad their saliva is an allergen that itches like the devil. Take it from me; being pixed sucks.

  Was the pixie now hanging as a bloody ornament on the killer’s tree, iridescent wings reflecting a rainbow of color in the glow of the merry dancer’s light? The thought made bile rise in my throat. I may not like the little insects, but no one deserved to be strung on a tree. Not even a pixie.

  Fear Dearg was the one faerie on the list whom I had met. I had made the mistake of running errands during the holidays last year and got turned around. As the maze-like store became more crowded, a band of iron tightened around my chest. I needed to escape the press of shoppers before I hyperventilated and passed out. I did not want to be one of those holiday victims trampled to death by their fellow shoppers.

  I was ready to vault onto a display case and take my chances running along the tops of shopping carts and clothing racks when Fear Dearg had appeared. Dressed in a red coat and hat and long white beard, he looked like a stand-in for old Saint Nick. He had pointed to the exit, put a finger to his nose, and vanished. When I mentioned the encounter later, Kaye told me that Fear Dearg had once been a benevolent faerie who helped lost travelers on the moors. But the moors and peat bogs had been drained. Now Fear Dearg helped Allmart shoppers find their way to the housewares department, and lead panicky psychics to the exit. The modern world hadn’t been kind to some of the fae. And now someone had killed the poor man.

  “Are we really taking this case?” Jinx asked.

  I thought about old Fear Dearg’s rosy cheeked smile as he helped me find my way out of that store filled with holiday shoppers.

  “Yes,” I said. “I think this sicko is killing fae to create some kind of twisted Christmas diorama.”

  Jinx wrinkled her nose.

  “Sounds like a total nut job,” Jinx said. “Leave it to the holidays to bring out the crazies.”

  Jinx was right. The holidays are dangerous enough when the people going insane are human. Add faeries, demons, and the undead to the mix and you get a recipe for something truly nasty. Now we just had to figure out who was doing the killing.

  And who was stealing the bodies.

  I swallowed hard and reached for the cup of water I’d left sitting beside the dish of honey candies. We had our water cooler blessed by a local priest, but the holy water didn’t taste any different than regular spring water. Holy water doesn’t have any effect on faeries, but throw it on a demon and you had a weapon more corrosive than hydrochloric acid. Too bad we weren’
t dealing with a demon. That much seemed obvious.

  A demon wouldn’t have left sprigs of mistletoe floating in a pool of blood. Demons reap souls, preferring to play with their prey in Hell where they are at their most powerful. If our killer was a demon, he’d have left only a charred, soulless husk behind.

  “I don’t think our nut job is a demon,” I said.

  Jinx snorted. “Why not?” she asked.

  Jinx rested her hand on her skirt where I’d seen one of her sharpened crosses disappear. I was glad we weren’t looking for Hellspawn. I’d never keep Jinx safely in the office if we were gunning for a demon. Forneus had a habit of getting under her skin and today’s visit hadn’t helped her aversion toward demons.

  “Nothing was burned at the scene,” I said, tapping the notepad. “No charred remains.”

  “Okay, gag, that’s nasty,” she said. “But shouldn’t we check the crime scenes ourselves? I don’t trust Forneus. It would be just like that creep to leave out an important detail like faeries fried extra crispy or a lingering cloud of sulphur and brimstone.”

  Sadly, Jinx was right. I couldn’t trust Forneus. I’d have to see the crime scenes for myself.

  “I’ll check the scenes later,” I said. “But first I need to ask Kaye about the victims. She has more knowledge of the supernatural races than anyone else in the city. If there’s a connection I’m missing, she’ll know.”

  “Ask her to check with her Hunter friends too,” she said. “Maybe they’ve heard something about the murders. And, of course, if they want to lend one of their big, strong, Hunters to come protect our offices, I won’t complain.”

  Jinx batted her eyelashes and tried to look helpless. I knew better. She may look like a rockabilly damsel in distress, but Jinx could flay a person’s soul with a good tongue lashing. She could give a drill sergeant a run for his money. I should know. She spent most of her time keeping me in line.