The Fairyland Murders (9 page)

I
shot the detective my best smile, the one brimming with sincerity and innocence. Her raised eyebrow told me she wasn't buying it for a minute. “Lucky guess,” I said when she repeated her question, this time with more force.

“Fair enough,” she began. “Mr. Reynolds, you are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent—”

Izzy pushed her slight body in front of me. “Wait. Blue isn't a killer. He couldn't have done it. We've been together all day and most of last night.”

I smiled, enjoying Izzy's shriek of denial on my behalf. While I appreciated the sentiment, neither detective seemed to care about her assessment, nor about my alibi. I put a gloved hand on Izzy's shoulder. “It's okay. The detectives know I didn't kill anyone.”

“Do we now?” Detective Locks asked, her head tilting to the side, a move that probably prompted a confession from a good percentage of the criminals she interviewed. But I was made of tougher stuff. Not to mention being completely innocent for a change.

“From the amount of rigor,” I began, “it's obvious Barry was killed much earlier today, probably six or seven this morning. Add in the fact that Barry is far from the first victim . . .”

“What?” Izzy spun, nearly knocking me over in the process. I grabbed her shoulders in my gloved hands to steady us both. “What do you mean Barry's not the first victim?” she yelled. “I didn't see any other bodies.” She looked so disgruntled by the fact I had to smile.

“No, you didn't,” Detective Rabit said.

Her eyes searched my face. “I don't understand. Are you saying Barry was murdered by some spree killer?”

I winced. “Not quite.”

Comprehension suddenly flashed across her face. Her hand flew to her mouth. “No. It can't be.”

I nodded.

“But he wasn't a fairy!”

“Semantics, sweetheart. Semantics.”

 

The fairy serial murderer, Jack the Tooth Ripper, had struck again. The detectives admitted as much a few minutes later. They'd been on the serial killer case for just under a year, ever since the first victim was found. Rabit reluctantly admitted that the MO was the same in all seven, now eight, cases, with the exception of Barry's lack of wings. All the victims had been strung up with dental floss after receiving a hefty enough dose of fairy dust to knock them unconscious. Prior to their deaths, the sadistic killer had removed each and every one of the victims' teeth, one by one. Now the question was why? Why had the killer suddenly changed victims? And how was Barry connected to the murders?

It seemed like a stretch, but the piece of wing was the only clue that connected the twins to Barry.

That and Izzy.

After all, she'd purchased the nun's habit from Barry.

“Blue, I don't like this,” the fairy in question said a few minutes after the detectives let us go with the standard warning not to leave town. Like I had anywhere else to go. “The twins are missing,” Izzy said, “and now Barry is dead, killed by the same person responsible for the deaths of seven Tooth Fairies. That can't be a coincidence.”

I grabbed her hand in my gloved one. “Remember what I said last night?”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course I do, but—”

“No buts, Isabella.” I gave her my most confident of smiles, all gleaming slightly tarnished teeth. “I'll figure this out. Don't worry your—”

She yanked her arm away. “If you say pretty little head, I will kill you in your sleep.”

Before I could comment my cell phone rang. I pulled it out and checked the caller ID. The screen flashed U
NKNOWN
C
ALLER.
“Reynolds,” I answered with hesitancy. Nothing I hated more than getting stuck on the phone for ten minutes with a guy trying to sell me lightning rods.

“To find the truth,” the speaker paused, “two past the midnight hour.”

Definitely not a lightning-rod salesman. “What?”

The speaker's sigh echoed through the phone. “If you want to know the truth about your new girlfriend, meet me under the Forty-Fifth Street Bridge at midnight tonight.”

I rolled my eyes. “Why not just say that in the first place?” Sometimes I hated my job. Everyone had something to hide, some angle to cover, which left me to weed through cryptic messages and layers of bullshit. My gaze inadvertently slid to Izzy, who stood next to me impatiently tapping her foot.

What was her angle? Was she really an innocent victim or was there more to her tale?

A
fter spending the rest of the afternoon and evening investigating Princess Penelopee's missing sex tape case without any luck, I stepped from my apartment and into the hallway, pulling the front door closed behind me.

It was a little before midnight and my day was far from over. I still had to meet with the troll who called earlier to learn whatever truths he intended to impart about a certain pink-winged fairy.

But Izzy's faults were the least of my concerns at the moment. Full-on eviction topped the list.

From the other side of my front door Izzy cursed like a drunken reality TV star from the Fairsey Shore. Her vocabulary ranged from minor insults about my mental health to a blush-raising commentary on my manly parts. None of which were true, I told the crowd of my neighbors gathered along the corridor.

“PMS.” I shrugged. The men grinned, giving me knowing, sympathetic looks while the women rolled their eyes, as if to say, “We let you think that, sucker.”

“Damn it, Blue,” Izzy screeched from behind the door, “I won't be held prisoner, especially by a . . .” I winced as she provided a list of adjectives followed by hurtful nouns, most of which did little to endear me or my manly parts to my neighbors.

When Izzy paused in her tirade I pulled off my gloves and grabbed the doorknob, willing an electrical current through my body. Blue flickers sparked off my fingertips. Heat rose within me, growing hotter and hotter. Finally, the doorknob turned a bright hue of molten red and my fingers seared under the heat. The doorknob sparkled with blue flames, much like an electrified fence.

I blew on my charred skin. That should hold her as well as keep the bad guys out. At least until I got home.

Tipping my invisible hat to my lady neighbors, I strolled down the hall feeling like I'd just won an important battle of wills. Izzy was safe and she'd learned a valuable lesson. When Blue Reynolds gave an order, like stay inside, he damn well expected immediate and complete compliance.

Or else.

I hit the street as a cold wind swept a chill through my heated body. I pulled my jacket collar up, lit a cigarette, and headed toward the Forty-Fifth Street Bridge. Toward whatever evil fate destiny and the troll had in store.

A few blocks up I stopped, quietly swearing as the hairs on my chin quivered. Something was hiding in the shadows. Something that sure as hell shouldn't be there. Anger instantly filled me, but I was late as it was so I started up the street, trying to control my rage.

As I passed block after block of Easter peep shows and abandoned row houses, I kept to the shadows, hoping to lose my figurative shadow.

The city came alive under the cover of darkness. Every degenerate prince and fairy-dust dealer crawled from his lair in search of a little dirty fun. On most nights I might've played along, but not tonight. Tonight I had more important things to accomplish, namely staying alive.

Anything after that was gravy.

At the corner of Forty-Fifth Street I pulled a pair of gloves out of my pocket, slipping them on before I climbed over the metal railing and into the depths of Troll Town.

Most trolls lived in a commune under the bridge. It smelled of goat, patchouli, and troll body odor, which, oddly, was more pleasant than most. Colorful tents filled the commune, as did rows of freshly grown vegetables. In the daylight the grounds filled with hipsters searching for the perfect gourd. The trolls were only too happy to share their veggie wealth for a price, as well as a long sermon on the joys of ignoring joy.

I approached Troll Town with great caution. Riled trolls spewed Zen quotes for hours, pausing only when their victims either begged for mercy or converted. I wasn't the begging type, and I didn't look too great bald, so conversion was out.

“Psst,” a small voice said from behind a large juniper bush about a hundred feet from the center of the commune. “Reynolds, over here.” The vague outline of a troll appeared from the darkness. He wore typical troll attire: a tie-dyed bathrobe, a shiny bald scalp, and flip-flops. He looked familiar, but for the death of me, I couldn't place him.

“The Buddha says, ‘A man's worth is determined by the company he keeps,' ” he said, his voice a mere whisper. His slight accent on the word “Buddha” sent a rush of electricity through me.

I knew this guy. Knew him well.

“You must believe,” he said.

“Oh yeah?” I gave an exaggerated eye roll. “What else does the jolly fat guy have to say?”

“The Buddha says . . .” He paused. “Ummm . . . the Buddha says . . .”

“Go on.” I gestured for him to continue.

“ ‘Care enough to send the very best'?”

“That's Hallmark.” I snatched the “troll” up and shook him until a pair of purplish wings burst from underneath his tie-dyed costume.

Fucking fairies.

“Henrick,” I addressed the fairy, keeping enough pressure on his windpipe that his face soon matched the color of his wings. “I should've known.”

Henrick Wingsglow was a pain in the ass. In my years in the PI business we'd crossed paths too many times for my liking. The last time had cost me six weeks in a fey jail and a tiny bite-mark scar on my kneecap. For a second I tightened my grip, imaging how much easier my life would be without this particular fairy spawn.

“Gaaaawwwaaaa,” he gurgled.

When his eyelids puckered I let go, and his fairy ass dropped to the dirt. “So what's this all about?” I took a menacing step toward him. “Why the subterfuge?”

From behind me, hidden behind a lush evergreen bush, a faint feminine snicker sounded. I sighed, addressing the laughing foliage who'd been following me since I left my apartment building. “I know a fifty-cent word or two. Get over it.”

Henrick looked puzzled, his small cherubic face narrowing as if I'd lost my mind. “Are you talking to me?”

“No. Now tell me why I'm here,” I glanced at my watch, “in Troll Town, at midnight, meeting
you
of all fairies.”

“Isabella is not the rightful Tooth Fairy. She is a fraud,” he said, his voice harsh. “And dangerous too.”

“She's not much for following orders either,” I said.

“This isn't a joke!” Henrick's face grew red. “Seven fairies are dead. Murdered. And I will be next. Do you not wonder why?”

“Not really.” I shrugged. “But I bet you're going to tell me anyway.” Sometimes it was best to beat information out of a fairy. At least it was far more satisfying. And then at other times, like this one, I learned more by sitting back and waiting for the snitch to spill his guts. Kind of like dating; appear too eager and you end up alone and stuck with the check.

Or a face full of mace.

“Her. They were murdered by her.”

I snorted. No way in hell was Jack the Tooth Ripper my five-foot, pink-winged half fairy. For one thing, she was with me when Barry was killed. “Right, and I was voted
PI
magazine's Sexiest Bachelor.”

The bush behind me shook with laughter.

Henrick puffed his tiny chest forward, kind of hard to do when wearing a bathrobe and purple wings, but he managed somehow and then stomped his foot. “I am the rightful Tooth Fairy, damn it. She will never rule! Not as long as there is fairy dust in my body. . . .”

Since Izzy didn't appear to want to rule anyone except for me, I didn't see what had his wings in a bunch. “You have my blessing.” A rock smacked into my back, thrown by the evergreen bush. Then again, maybe she did? I tried not to wince as I returned my attention to Henrick. “Now what do you know about the twins?”

He hiked his bathrobe up. “Clayton called me the night before he disappeared. Said Isabella was trouble and that we must guard against her.”

That explained why Izzy didn't want me to bring her to Clayton, not if the twins considered her a threat to whatever devious plan they'd roped me into. But then why did they send me to find Izzy in the first place? Unless they were the ones behind the drive-by all along? I shook my head. That didn't seem like the twins' style. Not only was the attack too organized for that brain trust but neither of them could reach the gas pedal and fire out the window at the same time. I rubbed my hands together. “Are you sure it was Clayton who called you?”

“I think so,” he said, scratching his hairless chin. “The connection was pretty bad.”

“Blue, they're coming,” the bush behind me said. “We must go. Now.”

I didn't need to turn around to know it wasn't the bush talking but Izzy, who'd been following me since I'd left my apartment. Tension filled her tone, growing thicker, like the dark, dense fog suddenly rolling in.

She stepped from behind the evergreen, her head held high and without an ounce of remorse for disobeying me on her too pretty face. My body burned with annoyance but not enough to cause electrical sparks. Not yet at least. What part of “stay inside and safe” had she not understood? Before I could berate her in a manner unbecoming of such an upstanding citizen as myself, Henrick interrupted. “You!” He stabbed his finger in Izzy's direction like a weapon, his wings flapping a mile a minute. “You are here to kill me like you killed all the others. Help! Someone help!”

“Quiet.” I grabbed his offending finger, pulling the fairy off his feet. He responded by pulling off my glove, leaving skin against fairy flesh. Sparks shot from my hand, shocking the purple-winged fairy.

Now anyone else would've stumbled to the ground, contrite, but not him. In full flutter, he rose an inch off the dirt, spraying Izzy and me with fairy dust and spittle. I held my breath to avoid a nasty dose of the dusty stuff.

Izzy took a menacing step toward Henrick, her eyes blazing with fury. He spat a juicy glob of goo at her. She sidestepped like a pro. “You will never be the Tooth Fairy,” he screeched. “I will see you in fey hell first.” He added, for my benefit I assumed, “You and your little Blue too.”

“That's original. Next you'll be dropping a farmhouse on top of us and cavorting with flying monkeys.” I gave a laugh. “Oh, that's right, you
are
a flying monkey.”

Henrick looked ready to explode. His face turned violet, a very unbecoming color for a fairy with purple wings or anyone else for that matter. I said as much, which only enraged him more. His cheeks puffed out like an angry hamster.

For some reason his rage lessened my own.

Either that or I'd inhaled too much fairy dust.

“Please, Blue.” Izzy tugged on my arm. “We must leave.”

I glanced at the swirl of fog pushing closer and closer. It surrounded us. Night twisted to total blackness. Too late. A rush of adrenaline and the instinct to protect Izzy sparked something deep within me. My skin exploded into a silvery light, much like a strobe but without the epileptic seizure side effect.

Izzy started to flutter around me, her wings in full glorious sight. The light from my skin bounced off her pink wings like a reflector. The total blackness eased a bit. I moved forward, ready to take on the darkness.

“Don't be stupid,” she said. “It's suicide.”

Suicide or not, I wasn't about to let a swarm of Shadows hurt one dusty inch of her. I'd die first. By the thickness of the haze of Shadows, my impending demise was pretty damn likely. I counted seven obsidian figures, all ready, willing, and much too able to take out one lightning rod and his stubborn fairy sidekick.

But I had something else on my side.

Something a little smaller and much more annoying.

I grabbed Henrick, who also circled my illuminated frame, and tossed him headfirst into the haze. His squeak of protest lasted a second or two. The haze swarmed the tiny fairy, pulsing like a black hole. I took advantage of the distraction and shoved Izzy behind me. The blackness, apparently finished with their Henrick snack, oozed closer.

“Run,” I ordered.

“No.”

“We don't have time for this,” I said, weighing the growing darkness. “Save yourself. Go. Now.”

“No.” She smacked me in the back. “You promised to protect me.”

“So?”

“So protect me, damn it.”

Standing there arguing wasn't going to save either of us. “Fine.” I pulled on my gloves, grabbed her hand, and together we started to run for the safety of Troll Town.

We didn't make it very far.

Not that I'd expected we would.

In a flash an obsidian wall sprouted in front of us, blocking our exit. “Where are you going, Little Boy Blue?” the wall of Shadows called. “We're not done with you yet.” The wall divided into seven figures, each armed with a thick, wavy kris sword. The metal gleamed in the full moonlight.

I swallowed, fingering the trigger of my really big gun, tucked in my waistband. “Come on, guys.” I grinned. “Is this about last night?” I wasn't sure if these were the same phantoms from the bar, the ones who'd jumped me and subsequently learned a lesson about blue-haired guys.

The lead Shadow—or at least I assumed he was the boss since he stood in the front of the pack—jabbed his sword in my direction. I stayed planted right where I was.

Don't get me wrong, I wasn't being macho; rather, Izzy and I were trapped between the steel-and-concrete bridge and seven unhappy specters.

Without waiting for an answer, I pulled my really big gun from my waistband, flicked off the safety, and fired, hitting the boss in the center of his quivering torso. He let out a scream and then vanished in a puff of hazy smoke.

Make that six really unhappy blood-splattered specters.

The second-in-command ignored my weapon, taking a threatening step toward me. His not-so-minty-fresh breath felt hot on my face. “You have something we want. Give it to us and you won't get hurt.”