Under Pressure (Moonlight Detective Agency Book 4)

by Isobella Crowley

  Remy extended a pinky to ruffle her hair. “Well, I’m glad you’re safe.”

  She smiled. “Thanks. I think we need to tell Kendra about…well, me and everything else. She’ll find out sooner or later, anyway, you know. And that way, I wouldn’t almost get melted.” She shuddered.

  He grimaced. “Ugh, you may be right. The thing is, Bobby at least believed in all those goony conspiracy theories even before we looped her in, whereas Gilmore strikes me as the rational, skeptical type. Not to mention she’s a good decade older than Bobby anyway, so probably more set in her ways. She might refuse to believe in the preternatural even if we shoved it in her face.”

  For a moment, he was amazed in retrospect at how easily he’d accepted it. Doing considerable drugs in the not too distant past probably helped.

  “Anyway,” he continued and locked gazes with the fairy, “we’ll need your help with something.”

  He explained the gist of the situation with the spell and the list of esoteric ingredients with an emphasis, of course, on fairy dust.

  “Yes,” Riley confirmed, “it does exist and we have some at the colony. We don’t simply give it away, though. It’s closely guarded by all the Fair Folk against any other species who might try to steal it. And I don’t think you could change their minds by explaining about Moswen to them. As far as most of them are concerned, she isn’t really our problem.”

  Remy stood again. “Crap.” He finished, at long last, the aborted act of removing his tie. “Maybe we can give them stock in a sugar company—like, enough to possess a controlling share and a seat on the board of directors. Well, thank you for the info. One way or another, we’ll think of something. But first, I need a damn shower.”

  Leaving his tie and shoes with the fairy, he walked to the bathroom, glowering in exasperation.

  Because of frickin’ course, things can never simply be easy for once.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Taylor’s House, Harrison, Westchester County, New York

  Once he’d freshened up, Remy returned to the library and spread his arms to announce his presence.

  “Okay, don’t worry, everyone, I’m back. I had a nice, pleasant shower. Oh, and Riley didn’t die in the dishwasher like I was afraid of for a minute. In fact, there she is, yeah.”

  The fairy fluttered behind him and perched on his shoulder.

  The two looked up. They were seated side by side at the reading table and each flipped through a different old, leather-bound book.

  “Good,” Taylor said and returned to her reading.

  Alice smiled, although he suspected it wasn’t at him. “Hello there. You’re very pretty. My name is Alice. What’s yours?”

  “Riley,” the fairy replied. “Thank you. I like your hair. It’s red.”

  The witch nodded. “She’s a perceptive one. I take it she’s from the same colony where you’ll ask about the fairy dust?”

  “Yeppers,” he confirmed. “They’re…uh, temperamental—I’ve dealt with them many times before—but after a certain period of annoying bullshit, they always seem to come around, usually after I give them something that contains large quantities of monosaccharides. I hope I don’t contribute to an epidemic of Type Two diabetes amongst their people.”

  She rested a fingertip against her chin. “I don’t think it works that way with their species, although, if the truth be told, you seem to have more dealings with them than I do. Oh, but we’re talking about the fae in the third person when one is right here, aren’t we? What do you think, Riley?”

  The fairy shrugged. “It won’t be easy. We’ll have to find a way to make it personal. Most of them don’t really care what happens to humans or vampires. I’m one of the only ones who do, most of the time.”

  Without looking up, Taylor murmured, “Remington has a natural talent for improvisation. We can trust him to do his part while we focus on ours.”

  He grasped at once that this was Taylor-ese for “stop wasting time talking to them and do what I want you to do,” but he decided not to let her get away with it that easily.

  “So,” he continued, “we can probably get the fairy dust, one way or another. But aren’t we simply wasting our time if we can’t procure all that other crap? I mean, apples from the Garden of Eden? You have to be kidding me. That can’t be a thing. Meaning, you know, one that exists, and is real.”

  Alice arched her eyebrows. “What, like witchcraft? Fairies? Mad cow disease? The world is full of strange things. Eden-apples are certainly rare, for sure. But there are people—wealthy eccentrics and such—who collect things like that. It’s merely a question of finding them and then, I suppose, either buying, renting, or stealing them.”

  Taylor looked up again, but she was curiously quiet and unresponsive. After a couple of seconds, her eyes hooded and distant, she said, “I have a lead on both the apples and the twig. Don’t worry about them.”

  Remy hoped that was true. He also wondered how Taylor fared with the time of day now well into late morning. He’d suspected for a while that vampires did not biologically need sleep in exactly the same way humans did, but simply being active during the day for so long must have taken a toll on her.

  The witch waved a hand. “Leads? Well, that’s good. If you’ll excuse me a moment, I’ll rest my eyes and do my minimal unpacking.”

  She stood, took her satchel with her, and began taking things out to spread on the library floor.

  “Wait,” Remy asked, “you’re spending the night here, too? Don’t you want to get…uh, more than one satchel’s worth of stuff from your place?”

  “Ms Steele has informed me,” she pointed out, “that she has very nice accommodations here, which ought to suffice for a couple of days. Besides, I only live half an hour away. You’re lucky you found me across the brook there in Hudson Heights, aren’t you? Otherwise, you might have had to go all the way to a hexenmeister in Pennsylvania Deutsch territory. That’d be an adventure, I’m sure.”

  He inclined his head in query. “Isn’t it Pennsylvania Dutch?”

  “Kind of, but only if you mispronounce it,” said Alice. “Hence, the confusion. They’re Germans with Old-World traditions, although of course the Dutch are their cousins anyway.”

  He shrugged. “You’re the expert. Anyway, it sounds like you and Taylor have things under control here, so Riley and I will head out.” He took a deep breath. “Wish us luck.”

  She looked up and smiled in a way that was almost…sympathetic? Pitying? “Good luck.”

  Fluttershire Fairy Colony, Fort Washington Park, New York City

  Remy adjusted first his tie, then his cufflinks, and finally ran a hand through his hair. “You know,” he told Riley, “I’m fairly sure this will be the first time you and I have ever negotiated with your people together for something. Usually, it’s only me negotiating for your help.”

  “I think you’re right,” she agreed. “I’m not sure exactly how they’ll react.”

  He patted the plastic shopping bag that dangled beside his hip. “This will help, I’m sure.”

  She peeked into the sack again. “It might. It looks good but this is normally the kind of stuff you use to barter for, you know, small things. Giving fairy dust to a mortal is really serious. It was one of those things I grew up knowing. No one ever does it, except maybe once every century or two.”

  The investigator grimaced, but he was fairly sure he’d already done a few things that were once-in-a-century occasions. He might as well add another to the list.

  They crossed the last few yards of the park’s muddy ground and reached the dual mounds that indicated the blue and orange halves of the colony, which lay barely out of plain sight in the shadow of the George Washington Bridge.

  “Halt!” a tiny voice commanded as usual.

  “Hi, guys,” he gushed. “I’m so glad to see you again. My old friends whom I love to give sweet things to every time I see them. It’s fantastic that we have such a super relationship. Oh, and I have Riley with
me. She and I would like to talk to you if that’s okay.”

  Riley waved. “Hello. It’s kind of an important thing. Please listen.”

  “What?” another voice squealed as the other guard joined the conversation. Both the blue and the orange sentries suddenly flitted into sight and converged about five feet in front of his face. “No. It’s finally come to pass. The stinky giant plans to take her away and marry her without so much as an offer of recompense!”

  “Uh,” he stuttered, while his mind raced to dig himself out of this unexpected hole, “no, that’s not—”

  “How dare he,” the other guard shrieked. “We’ve not even seen her in days. Now, she shall never again know the truth of the fae existence, and will have to subsist forever on the gruel of the mortal and submit to his boring, unimaginative desires.”

  Remy’s eyes bulged at that. “Boring? Do you have any idea what kind of shit I’ve done at parties? I’ll have you know that—” He made a choking sound as he forced himself to stop before he launched into a full-blown explanation.

  His companion interceded on his behalf. “No, it’s true. We’re not getting married. Instead, we’re trying to save everyone—the whole city, all the deep-dish pizza places and candy shops, and even the colony. Please, listen. We need help.”

  “Ha!” the blue guard scoffed, his hands on his hips. By now, another dozen of both colors had drifted out of their holes and formed a buzzing throng behind the sentries. “Another feeble attempt to use us as your personal army. You will never succeed.”

  Remy decided to cut to the chase. “I have marshmallow peeps,” he pointed out and dangled the bag, and they gasped audibly, “but—you can’t have them unless you hear our proposal. Deal?”

  “You…” the orange one raged and literally trembled with frustration. “You cheap, rotten scoundrel! That’s not fair. But so be it. We are not proud people. State your offer.”

  They did, taking turns to explain while their diminutive audience listened skeptically.

  “Fairy dust?” A couple of them from the mingled crowd gasped. “Fairy dust? That is forbidden. Totally, absolutely—”

  “Please,” Riley urged, “remember that Moswen is a threat to everyone, including us. If she kills or enslaves all the humans, no one will be able to make marshmallow peeps or honey-roasted peanuts at all ever again.”

  This was followed by generalized chatter, rustlings, and murmurings as almost the entire colony had arrived by now and floated in midair. They’d formed a circle, almost a giant ball, to have their conference in their own strange language.

  When it had gone on for five minutes and after two joggers had passed and glanced at Remy as he stood there staring at nothing—from their perspective—he coughed loudly and rustled the bag containing the box of peeps.

  Finally, one of them—bigger than the others—turned to face him. “So, what’s in it for us?” he asked.

  “In addition,” he began, “to a number of small birdlike creatures made of marshmallow and saturated with yellow food dye, I can also offer to bring you a fresh pizza sometime and a backup supply of honey, and…uh, the promise of a favor in the future?”

  “Hah!” the large one snapped. “Typical. That is nothing more than the standard, the baseline we would require for normal interaction. Garnering a sample of our most precious possession requires something far greater. Humility, for starters. And you have been nothing but arrogant with us.”

  He hoped they couldn’t hear the sound of his teeth grinding together. “Have I? Gosh, I’m dreadfully sorry. This is a big deal, though, so tell me what I have to do to…uh, prove my humility.”

  All of them smirked in unison, and he wasn’t at all sure he liked where this was going.

  “You must,” proclaimed the big kahuna, “demonstrate your humility not only before us but before your own people as well. While we watch.”

  Washington Heights, Manhattan, New York

  Remy cleared his throat. “Well, I might as well get started,” he announced loudly enough for the hovering mass of gleeful winged spectators to hear. They whispered and chortled behind him, eager for the show to begin.

  Then, in a lower voice directed at Riley, he added, “You said the glamor will make it hard to tell if I’m completely naked or not, right? People will see me and kind of do a double-take like they’re confused if it’s actual indecent exposure or merely a fruity guy in peach-colored underwear?”

  “I think so, yes,” Riley answered. “It’s hard to achieve these kinds of subtle half-enchantments because I still don’t completely understand how humans think. It might not work if they look at you too long and hard.”

  He nodded. Fortunately, it was a chilly day, and he wasn’t in the mood to be long and hard, anyway, so that ought not to be a problem.

  Once they’d decided on terms, he’d walked—with every last inhabitant of the entire goddamn colony floating at his heels and magically cloaked from human sight, to be safe–out of the park and into the closest neighborhood where it looked like a fair number of people ambled around. They weren’t far from the Armory, so there were a few tourists in addition to various locals.

  They were all adults, fortunately, or at least teenagers. It was hard to tell in some cases.

  “All right, gang,” he grunted and suddenly wished he were extremely drunk, “let’s fucking do this.”

  He stripped his clothes in record time, tied them into a bundle with his tie as a handle, and slung it over his shoulder. Only his boxer shorts remained free, and he slid them over his head. An old woman, seeing him get naked, stopped and stared for a second, then turned and hurried back the way she’d come.

  Remy pranced forth into the street. “La, La, La! Hey, everyone, look at me. Ha-haaaa…”

  A car swerved to avoid him and a few pedestrians froze and gawked or cried out and turned away. He skipped on one foot to the sidewalk, close enough for the small crowd there for them to see him but not so close that they’d think he was coming at them.

  “Row, row, row your boat, gently down the…uh, spleen!” he cawed and deliberately made his voice crack as though he were intoxicated and very emotional. “Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a peen!”

  “Oh, my God!” a fat guy gasped and shook in horror as he fell back against the nearest building, his face ashen.

  Something struck him upside the head. He wheeled his arms and made noises as he turned to see that it was a purse.

  “Bastard!” screamed the woman who’d hurled it. “There are children who sometimes walk through here.”

  “Aww!” Remy shouted in response, although he did not look at her and was already rapidly hopping away, “but Mom, I’m only seven! Also, uh, one thousand bottles of beer on the wall, one thousand bottles of beer…”

  While all this was happening, the cluster of Fair Folk squawked and cackled in near-hysteria. They might well have been the most appreciative audience he’d ever had for a comedy routine, come to think of it.

  But the mood on the street began to turn more and more hostile and a couple of tough-looking barfly types scowled at him with belligerent contempt.

  “Riley,” he whispered, “I’m very sure they can see the family jewels. Why isn’t the glamor working?”

  “Sorry,” she apologized and trailed him closely. “I’m trying. I don’t think it’s going to work on that…scary, ridiculous, beastly thing.” She gestured at his groin.

  “Thanks,” he replied, “but I’m about to get in trouble. Can you go see if the colony is satisfied yet? Oops, here come some more people. Hey, folks! Do you have a moment to talk about our Lord and Savior, Cthulhu? Stranger aeons, even death may die. Isn’t that precious? Ha-ha, ho-ho, heee…”

  He stuck his tongue out and did a Russian squat dance as he moved down the sidewalk and finally came face-to-face with a tall, sour-faced Wall Street type guy who stared at him, shook his head, and pointed behind him. Then, he turned and walked away.

  Remy stopped. Did that g
uy see the fairies? Or is it…

  From over his shoulder came a couple of low, grunting chuckles before a loud voice commented, “Well, well, look who it is! It’s about time this guy came to see us again.”

  With a deep breath, he put on his best “my innocence is the source of my self-confidence” face, and turned.

  Naturally, the two men who believed he was specifically seeking their company were patrol officers of the NYPD. The tall young black guy and a short, pudgy, slightly older Greek or Turkish guy clearly knew who he was.

  He did not specifically recognize either of them but then again, so many cops had arrested him over the years that there was no way he could keep them all straight in his head. Especially since most of the times it had happened, his neural functioning had been impaired.

  “Good evening, officers,” he greeted them and casually removing his boxers from his head and bent slightly to slip his feet through them and return them to their intended position. “I’m finishing up one of those performance art pieces for the…uh, college. Can I help you?”

  The shorter man moved around to flank him while the taller one closed in from the front.

  “Sure,” the former said, “although you already made our lives a hell of a lot easier by putting your pants on.”

  Remy scratched behind his ear. “You’re welcome. Are you planning to escort me somewhere warm and safe? Spring hasn’t really altogether sprung yet and I’m worried I might catch a cold.”

  “Something like that,” the black cop stated and retrieved a pair of handcuffs. “It must have been a hell of a party. Classic David Remington. We’re gonna throw one of our own to view the results of your blood test, you know. Invite the whole family, have a potluck. Real science fiction shit, combining that many chemicals.”

  He recoiled as if slapped and his eyelids fluttered. The officers tensed briefly and hands moved toward their waists.

  “I—” he stammered. “That’s—I’ve been clean for months. On the straight and narrow, aside from…well, you know, this. Which, again, is performance art. I think that’s covered under the First Amendment, right?”