Blood and Mistletoe (3 page)

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

A
ccording 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.

“I’d ask, but they’d probably send Jenna,” I said.

Jenna was a young, female Hunter I’d met during the
each uisge
invasion of Harborsmouth.  Jenna is petite, wears her flame red hair in a short, cute, pixie cut, and is always armed to the teeth.  When we first met she wore a sword at her hip, knives in a forearm sheath, a gun holster strapped around her thigh, and held a crossbow trained at my head.  I have that effect on people.

“I need some eye candy,” Jinx said waggling her eyebrows.  “Tell them to send Hans.”

Hans was a tall, Nordic drink of water who looked like a Norse God.  Fought like one too.  The guy was gorgeous enough to give Jinx a toothache, but Hans was also known for his berserker-like rages.  Angry rampaging on the battlefield was usually beneficial, especially when the desired outcome was a high body count, but it wasn’t a quality I wanted in someone dating my best friend.  Leave it to Jinx to always pick the bad boys.

“Sure, I’ll do that,” I said, rolling my eyes.  “While I’m at it, I’ll ask a leprechaun for his pot of gold.  I have about the same chances of him saying yes.”

The Hunter’s Guild didn’t owe me any favors.  In fact, their assistance in the recent battle against the
each uisge
army had helped to save my city.  I knew that the Hunters hadn’t fought for me, they were there to back up Kaye, a former hunter, and to defend the humans of Harborsmouth, but it felt like I owed them.  Of course, if they ever wanted to collect on that debt, they’d have to get in line. 

“Then bring me back a coffee,” she said, pouting.  “That demon gave me a headache.”

“That, I can do,” I said.

I pulled on my coat, tucking the notepad in one pocket and a fistful of charms into another.  Being half-fae had its perks.  Most anti-fae charms, such as rowanberry, stale bread, clothing turned inside out, four-leafed clovers, and cold iron, didn’t affect me. 

We may have put away most of our protection items in consideration for our new clientele, but that didn’t mean I went around unarmed.  I kept a stash of iron nails, sharpened stakes, holy water, and silver crosses in my desk drawer.  I was an equal opportunity kind of girl—you never know what might slink, slither, crawl, fly, or dance through your door.  It was best to be prepared for the worst.

If a faerie, a vampire, and a demon walk into a bar, you wait for the punch line.  At Private Eye, when a faerie, a vampire, and a demon walk through the door, it’s just another day at the office.

Chapter 4

I
f it wasn’t for the holidays, winter would be my favorite season.  A cold, arctic wind blew across the harbor to tug at my scarf and bite my nose.  I pulled my coat tighter and smiled. 

Winter is the one time of year when I feel normal.  I can walk the streets of Harborsmouth without strange looks, curious stares, and stolen glances.  Wearing gloves when it’s freezing cold outside is completely reasonable, but wear those same gloves in the melting heat of summer and passerby are likely to think you belong locked away with Aunt Edna’s fruitcake.

I ignored the wreath and garland bedecked lamp posts as I made my way through the Old Port toward Kaye’s shop.  Holiday decorations?—bah humbug.  I’d rather the city invest its money in putting sand on our sidewalks.

I trudged through the slush along the curb, avoiding the ice slick walkways.  The sidewalks in this part of town were made of dark red brick that matched the old buildings that lined the street.  During the day, water dripped down from icicles the size of yeti fangs to threaten those who walked beneath and dampen the ice below.  At night the puddles froze, turning this brick sidewalk into a narrow skating rink…at a forty-five degree pitch.  More than one drunk had stumbled out the door of an Old Port bar and ended up in the harbor.

I’d take my chances with the cobblestone street.

I turned up Wharf Street where Madame Kaye’s Magic Emporium perched at the top of the hill like a queen in a purple and midnight blue gown trimmed with gold.  Astrological symbols covered the wood and brick façade while overflowing cauldrons, tarot decks, Halloween costumes, and packets of herbs fought for space in the shop windows.