The Fairyland Murders (20 page)

I
lay in my hospital bed while a nurse wearing rubber gloves took my vitals. My mind raced with questions as trepidation filled me. Those winged devils didn't care about the kidnapping or murders of their Tooth Fairies—hell, they had plenty of others on standby—their only concern was keeping the magic pea out of Damien's hazy hands.

I was Izzy's only hope.

Which didn't bode well for either of us at the moment.

“Mr. Reynolds,” the nurse said, “if you don't calm down, we will have to sedate you.” She stomped her foot down on a smoldering piece of floor tile. “Last thing this hospital needs is another electrical fire.”

I grunted, not paying her much attention.

“. . . the one thirty years ago burned the maternity ward to the ground. . . .”

Thirty years? The same number of years since I was born, at the same hospital. Could it be a coincidence? I reached for the nurse's arm but stopped in time. “Fire? Do you know when it happened? What the date was?”

Her shoulders lifted in a shrug. “How would I know? I was barely out of diapers thirty years ago.” She shoved a thermometer in my open mouth. “Nurse Connors was the only one on duty that night. No one even knows if she's still alive. Rumor has it that she started the fire, which is why she vanished without a trace a few months later.”

A buzz of excitement rushed through me, sending another bolt of electricity from my fingers to the already scorched ground. “Sorry,” I quickly said. “Won't happen again. I promise,” I lied, my face the picture of an earnest, blue-haired invalid.

“See that it doesn't.” She snatched the thermometer from my lips, taking a good portion of skin with it, and then left the room. I watched her go with mixed feelings; not at Nurse Ratchet's absence but at what possible clues to my identity an electrical fire over thirty years ago, at this very hospital, might hold.

The mysterious origins of Blue Reynolds vanished from my mind when my phone rang. I glanced at the caller ID, seeing a number I didn't recognize, which could've been from the concussion. Who knew how many brain cells I'd lost? I answered on the second ring. “Re . . . olds . . .” I choked out, my voice rusty. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Reynolds.”

“Good to hear you're no worse for wear,” Douchey Damien declared with a girlish giggle. “We—Isabella, really—were worried about you. I, on the other hand, am much more apathetic.”

I gripped the phone, the plastic coating melting beneath my fingers. “If you hurt one feather on her, I'll rip your heart out.”

He laughed again. “You are not in any shape or position to be making threats, Mr. Reynolds. I will kill your precious fairy if you don't bring me what I want.”

“The pea.”

“Ah,” he said, “so you
do
know. Isabella swore you didn't, but who can trust a fairy?”

I took a deep breath, trying to calm the rage inside me at the thought of Izzy at his mercy. “If you hurt her, I'll tear you limb from limb.”

“Temper, temper,” he said. “Bring me the pea tonight, by midnight, and no one gets hurt . . . at least no one you care about.” He ended his threat by hanging up the phone, leaving me listening to dead air.

I glanced at the clock hanging from the white wall. It was a little past ten. I had two hours to come up with a plan that didn't include destroying the entire fairy race. Not that I cared one way or the other about the winged devils. My only concern was one winged one. A pink-winged one. And Damien knew it. Hell, he was counting on it.

I grabbed the IV in my arm, tugging on it until the needle pulled free and blood started to spurt from the wound. Taking my finger, I generated a pulse of electrical heat, pressing the tip to the hole and cauterizing the wound instantly.

From there it was a relatively easy escape, if one ignored the last fifty feet, where I crawled the entire way down the hospital corridor.

S
urprisingly, I made it to my apartment in forty minutes, my head pounding like the Little Drummer Boy on meth. The pain was so intense I couldn't decide between throwing up or passing out. Lucky for me, but not so much for Gizelle, I picked the first option, tossing my gingerbread cookies all over the hallway in front of her door.

Thankfully, after ridding my body of a half-day's worth of hospital food, I felt a little better, which was good considering I had less than an hour and twenty minutes to save the Tooth Fairy. The very thought brought another round of bile up my esophagus.

Unlocking my apartment door, I was surprised to find Penelopee inside. She sat on my couch, her clothing freshly pressed and expensive, her long legs crossed at the ankles. “Blue?” She glanced up. “What are you doing here?”

“I was going to ask you the same question.” I staggered into the living room, grabbed the closest bottle of whiskey, and drank deeply until the pain in my head receded even more. When I'd swallowed a third of the bottle, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and then motioned around the room. “This is my apartment, right?”

Her mouth tightened with concern. “Of course it is, Blue. Don't you remember?”

While I'd lost some brain cells to the smack on my head, that wasn't the reason I'd asked. My query had much more to do with the shiny white walls, the clean, fresh-smelling carpets, and the lack of general dirt and chaos I'd come to call home. The only thing that looked the same was poor fishy Felix, who swam disapproving laps in his now prettily decorated tank.

I didn't have the time for the “It's me, not your crazy ass” talk right now. Taking one last look around the freshly cleaned room, I headed to my bedroom for a change of clothes and my not-as-really-big-but-still-big-enough-to-blow-a-hole-in-Damien's-hazy-ass gun.

I dug through my bedroom drawers for a clean sweatshirt. After all, even a blue-haired guy didn't want to go storming into the lair of his enemy wearing a hospital gown that opened in the back. Hard to win over the damsel in distress that way.

I spotted a clean shirt and a pair of jeans toward the back of the drawer, pulled them out, and put both on. Then I returned to the living room and froze.

My eyes were unable to comprehend what I was seeing.

Or rather what I wasn't seeing.

The jewelry box was gone.

And with it went any hope of bringing Izzy home.

“H
ow's your head?” Penelopee asked from behind me.

I spun around, never so glad to see anyone in my entire life. But only because of what she held in her hands. The wooden jewelry box with the magic pea looked freshly dusted and polished, thanks to the princess with an apparent cleaning fetish. “Good,” I said, reaching out to take the box carefully from her.

She held on to it for a few seconds, her eyes searching my face. For what I didn't know, but something warned me I'd better let her down easy and quickly before she ended up boiling my goldfish. I vowed to do so as soon as I got back from rescuing Izzy. But first I needed her help.

“Penelopee,” I said, “can you do me a big favor?”

“Name it,” she said with a smile.

And I did. She listened intently, her lips curling with disgust as I outlined my less than brilliant plan to save Izzy.

“Are you sure?” she asked when I finished.

I nodded. “It's the only way.”

“I don't like this,” she said, tears filling her eyes.

I shot her a quick grin. “Trust me, Princess; you're not the only one.” With those final words, I picked up the jewelry box and headed out of my apartment for what would probably be the last time.

A
t five minutes until midnight I stood outside the Shadows' fortress, the wooden pea box in my sweaty hands. I took a deep breath and sent a prayer to my maker. The next hour of my life was going to be bloody. I knew it. And honestly, I didn't care. My only thoughts were of Izzy, of what would happen if my half-assed plan didn't work. For one thing, the entire fairy race would pay a hefty price.

I guess the prophesy was true after all, I thought as I glared down at the jewelry box. I was about to betray the fairies to save a half-human one.

With one last prayer, I rang the doorbell.

Twenty seconds later the same butler from before opened the door. He looked surprised to see me standing there, if the slight widening of his eyes was any indication. “Sir,” he said, “Mr. Damien is expecting you. If you'll follow me . . .”

I wiped my feet on the welcome mat a few times, generating more electricity, and did as he asked, following him into the fortress and what very likely would be my death.

He motioned into the library, where a crackling fire filled the fireplace. “May I take your . . .” he nodded to the jewelry box, “. . . box?”

I slowly stepped inside the room, shaking my head. “No thanks. I think I'll hold on to it for now.”

“As you wish, sir,” he said, closing the door behind me.

My gaze quickly searched the room for any shadowy signs of life. In the corner at the back of the room stood a familiar Shadow. The Shadow from the bar, the one who'd licked Izzy's neck. I started forward, but the library doors opened again before I could confront him.

I spun to face the latest threat, not too surprised to see Damien standing in the doorway, looking as douchey as ever. He wore a turtleneck sweater even though with the fire in the fireplace the temperature hovered around eighty degrees.

“You have the pea?” he asked, nodding to the box in my hands.

“I want to see Izzy first,” I demanded. “Once she's safe I'll give it to you.”

He laughed. “Nice try, Mr. Reynolds. But I'm the one in . . .” he shot me a slimy smile, “in charge, if you will.”

“Funny,” I said in a tone indicating just what I thought of his attempt at humor. Considering Izzy's, my own, and the entire fairy population's lives were at stake, I found very little humor in the situation. “Where's Izzy?”

“She's quite a woman, isn't she?” Damien took a few steps into the room. Behind him, two more Shadows rolled a cart inside. It was covered with a tarp, which sent the blue hairs on the back of my neck dancing with electricity. I had a feeling I knew exactly what lay beneath it.

My jaw clenched. “If you've hurt her . . .”

Damien shook his head. “And why would I do that? Izzy and I go way back.” He paused, his gaze hard on my face. “We were engaged once. Did you know that?” His grin grew. “By the look on your face, I'm guessing she forgot to mention that little tidbit.”

N
o way in hell. Izzy would never fall for a Damien, let alone for a Shadow. Their hate for each other was written in her DNA. “You're lying,” I said, but a part of me knew that he spoke the truth. I thought of the first night I'd met Izzy. She'd said she'd kept her fairy side from her fiancé. Had he kept his shadowy side from her too? Or was this the work of the Fairy Council, an attempt at trying to mend the rift between the two factions by sacrificing Izzy? I wouldn't put it past the little buggers.

Damien laughed without humor. “I hate to admit it but Isabella broke off our engagement a little over a year ago.” He shrugged. “She claimed her father didn't approve of the match.”

Jack the Tooth Ripper had begun his murderous campaign, starting with Izzy's own father, around the same time. Had Izzy's breaking off the engagement twisted Damien enough that he'd exact revenge on anyone with a pair of wings? Or was his murderous floss spree less about revenge and more about greed? After all, Damien didn't strike me as the sentimental type of guy. I had no doubt he would kill Izzy, former lover or not, without the slightest hesitation unless I gave him what he wanted. “Life's a bitch,” I said. “Can we get on with this?”

One of his light-colored eyebrows rose. “Eagar to die, Mr. Reynolds?” When I didn't comment he smiled brighter. “As I was saying, Isabella means a lot to me.”

“I could tell by the way you held her at knifepoint. So much love.”

He chuckled. “My point is,” he paused, “I would've never hurt Isabella. I loved her. Took care of her. Kept her safe. Unlike yourself. . .” He gestured to the two Shadows behind him. They lifted the tarp off the rolling cart, exposing a glass bottle that stood about five feet tall and the color of pea pods. It was narrow at the top, with a wide base. Condensation obscured the object inside, but I knew what or rather
who
was inside.

I wanted to rush forward, to save Izzy from her glass confines, but I couldn't. Not yet. So I stood there watching as Damien tapped the bottle. “Are you still breathing, Isabella? Your new boyfriend wants to say hello.”

Izzy, who lay sprawled on the bottom of the bottle, lifted her head. Her eyes met mine, and what I saw there nearly undid me. It wasn't pain but cold, desolate acceptance of her fate. She was dying, and by the sheen of sweat on her face, would expire very soon. All the life and fight the pink-winged fairy once had was gone, stolen by a lack of dentin and a glass bottle.

“As you can see, Isabella is a bit under the weather,” Damien said with a chuckle. “I believe fairies call it dentin sick? A nasty business. But you know fairies. They are weak. Easily manipulated, like their boy toys.”

“Let her go.”

“No,” he said.

“Let her go. And I'll give you the pea.”

He laughed again, this time with greater emphasis. “You will give me the pea either way, Mr. Reynolds.”

The Shadow, who stood in the darkness behind me, the one from the bar, took a few steps closer to me. The hairs on the back of my neck swirled to life as my body began to hum.

“No,” Izzy said from her glass enclosure. “Don't give it to them, Blue. They'll kill you once they have it.”

I glanced at Izzy and her sweaty, pale face and then back to Damien. This was it. I opened the wooden box in my hands.

Damien smiled with satisfaction bordering on full-on gloating. “That's a good Blue boy.”

“No!” That one word exhausted her, for her head lolled back and she slumped farther down in the bottle.

Fear bubbled deeper inside me. Izzy needed dentin in the next few minutes or she would die. I ran my tongue over my teeth, considering.

I pulled the blackened pea from the box, holding it up to the light, as if inspecting it. “You want this?” I asked Damien.

His satisfied smile dropped a few notches.

“Come get it.” I opened my mouth wide, swallowing the magic pea in a single gulp.