The Fairyland Murders

by J. A. Kazimer

  I took offense at the lightning-rod crack. “Tinker Bell, if I was menacing you—”

  She waggled her finger an inch from my face, ignoring my comment. “Yes, genius, I’m thinking that all this,” she gestured to the bullet-fragmented concrete, “might somehow be related.”

  “Hold on.” I raised my hand. “You don’t want to be the Tooth Fairy?” From what little I understood of fairy politics, being the Tooth Fairy was a valued honor with many perks. It was almost like doing the Hokey Pokey naked with a group of cheerleaders. Which, in all honesty, wasn’t the dream come true one might imagine.

  “Are you nuts?” She stabbed her finger at me again, barely missing frying herself in the process. “What about me says I have a thing for pearly whites?”

  “Well—”

  “I can’t be the Tooth Fairy,” she cut me off, crossing her arms over her chest. Her tattered habit slipped an inch. The swell of her breasts rose from the shredded fabric as her shoulders slumped.

  Being a gentleman, I only ogled her cleavage for a minute before answering. “You’ve got the wings for it.”

  But she was right. She wasn’t Tooth Fairy material. For one thing, she was far too tall: five feet in her bare feet, if I had to guess. Yet not a bit gangly, as Clayton had said. Nor was she the least bit ugly.

  The photo I’d stolen from her apartment didn’t do her justice, though. Standing there, her body heaving with anger, she was stunning, like a volcano on the verge of complete and total destruction. Her fiery red hair swirled around her face, showing off a sprinkle of freckles across her nose.

  My body warmed in a completely different and uninvited way. Lusting after a fairy was bad enough; lusting after the twins’ half niece bordered on suicidal.

  “So what now, boy wonder?” She glanced up and down the dark street. “Do you return me to the fairies and then just walk away?”

  Good question, but one I didn’t have a ready answer for. If I returned her to Clayton and Peyton, my job was done. I’d collect the rest of my dough and be on my merry way.

  But someone would still want her dead.

  And since that someone had just tried to use me to accomplish their goal, I wasn’t feeling particularly accommodating. “Come on, Tink,” I said, staggering to my feet. “Let’s go someplace, grab a drink, and talk about it.”

  For a second she looked like she wanted to argue. “Fine,” she said. “I could use a drink myself. But I’m warning you,” she paused, letting her words sink in, “if you call me Tinker Bell one more time, I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

  “Good to know,” I said, tossing my leather jacket at her. “But I’m not real good at taking advice, especially from girls with pink wings.”

  Tucking my jacket over her wings, she zipped it up without speaking. Once her body was sufficiently covered, her gaze locked on mine. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  CHAPTER 8

  We entered The Mother Goose, a bar a block from my apartment, at a little after one in the morning. The place was packed with drunken henchmen, down-on-their-luck princesses, and the occasional CPA. What The Mother Goose lacked in class it tried to make up for with watery booze and Ferns.

  I hated the Ferns.

  “Look who it is,” Fern said to her Siamese twin, Fern, who sat planted on a barstool, a gin martini grasped in her willowy hand. The second Fern, her mouth stuffed full of peanuts, waved at me. “Well if it ain’t Little Boy Blue. Why don’t you come blow my horn?”

  I hustled Izzy to a table at the back of the room without acknowledging either woman and flagged down the bartender. “Two bottles of mead.”

  Izzy glanced about the place, her nose wrinkling. “Come here often?” She brushed at the cracked red vinyl on the booth before sitting down.

  I laughed, drawing a few stares from a table of humorless ugly ducklings next to us. “Sorry it’s not up to your high fairy standards.”

  “Please stop saying that,” she said after the bartender set our bottles and two glasses on the table and then quickly walked away.

  “Say what? Fairy?” She nodded but didn’t explain, so I pressed her. “What’s your deal?”

  “What’s yours?” she countered, forgoing the smudged mug in favor of the green bottle. Her lips curled around the bottle and she drank deeply. When she finished she licked at the grape mustache staining her upper lip.

  “Let’s start over,” I said, taking a deep breath as my gut tightened. “My name’s Blue. Your uncles, Clayton and Peyton, hired me to save you from your kidnappers. Since I don’t see any kidnappers, I’m guessing you weren’t kidnapped.” I waved at her. “Now it’s your turn, Tink.”

  “My name is Izzy. I-Z-Z-Y.” She frowned. “And those freaks who hired you are not in any way related to me.”

  Little sawed-off bastards. They’d lied to me. Again. When I got my hands on them, they were going to wish Band-Aids came in 31 flavors.

  Izzy wasn’t finished with her tirade. “And now, thanks to you, someone found me and tried to blow my brains out. Again.”

  “Again?”

  She sighed, her mouth thinning. “Three days ago someone broke into my apartment and attacked me. I managed to get away. Barely.” She pulled up the torn sleeve of her dress, showing off a colorful array of bruises along her arm. Bruises I hadn’t noticed before. In my defense, if I had one, my attention hadn’t exactly been focused on her arms.

  I ran a gloved finger up the bruises, anger burning inside me. “I’m glad you weren’t seriously hurt.”

  She covered her arms. “After the attack I sought refuge at the church, where I thought no one could find me. Until you led them right to me . . .”

  A part of me—a very small part—wanted to argue with her last statement. Unfortunately, it was all too true. It was obvious I’d guided the would-be assassin right to her. “You’re right. It is my fault.” I took a drink of my mead, enjoying the grapy aftertaste. “The question now is what the hell do we do about it?”

  A satisfied smile formed on her lips. “Tell the Fairies you failed. Tell them you couldn’t find me.” She reached across the table for my gloved hand, but I pulled back. No sense in getting too touchy with the client. Not when I would never know if her skin was as soft and warm as it looked.

  I couldn’t remember the last time someone had touched me or I them, truly touched without protection, and I’m not referring to a condom. I’m talking full-on electrical tape and surge protectors.

  I quickly glanced away from her soft, freckled skin, disgusted by my desire. I wasn’t some little boy with blue balls. I was a man, a man with blue pubes sure, but a man nonetheless. Isabella Davis wasn’t the first beautiful woman I’d encountered, just the first with a nice pair of wings.

  “Lying to the Fairies won’t do any good.” I rubbed the indigo hairs on my chin. “They’ll just send someone else to find you. What we need to do is figure out who wants you dead.”

  Her eyebrow raised a fraction of an inch. “We?”

  I nodded. “We.”

  The smile on her lips should’ve put me on full alert, but instead, I returned her grin, happily oblivious to what was to come.

  CHAPTER 9

  As Izzy and I finished our first round of drinks a hush swept through the bar. Two men, at least from what I could tell, entered The Mother Goose, their bodies merely blobs of blackness more formally known as Shadows.

  By the look of them, these two were potent specters, for only the most powerful of Shadows could appear in near-solid human form. In fact, legend said the leader of the Shadows walked among us, as dense as rock. I wasn’t sure if I believed that.

  But I knew better than to ask.

  The Shadows floated across the room toward the back of the bar. I watched them until my uneasiness subsided. In a city filled with creepy, often winged things, I’d learned long ago the dangers of crossing a Shadow. And in case I ever forgot, the six-inch knife scar on my side served as a vivid reminder.

  Izzy app
arently shared my distrust. Her stare stayed planted on the two phantoms as they faded into the darkness of the bar. Like all Fairies, she’d instantly reacted to the apparitions. After all, Fairies and Shadows had been warring for the last century, ever since the day the Shadows physically separated from the Fairies, causing a bloody hundred-year battle known as the Fairy Wars.

  From Izzy’s reaction I guessed a cease-fire wasn’t in the near future. However, her distraction gave me time to study her, not in a weird way but through a trained investigator’s eyes.

  Not only was Isabella beautiful, with her curly red hair and trim body, but she had a spark in her eyes that warned of intelligence and stubbornness.

  Both of which promised to cause me endless problems.

  A stupid client equaled a good client.

  A stubborn client usually ended up dead.

  When her attention returned to me, I sneered, “So tell me about this perfect life of yours.” Nobody’s life was perfect. Believe me. Everyone had secrets. Those who claimed otherwise held the deepest, darkest ones. “What happened to the fiancé? Mr. Right?”

  Slowly, she turned to me. For a second she didn’t move, just stared into my eyes as if weighing my soul. I’ll admit it freaked me out more than the hail of bullets had. Finally, she licked her lips and spoke. “Do you really want to know?”

  “I asked, didn’t I?” I flagged down the bartender and motioned for another round. “One thing you’ll learn about me, Izzy.” My voice lowered, turning my words into a threat. “I get what I want—answers, revenge, all of it. Nothing gets in my way.” Which sounded like an arrogant boast, but Izzy and I needed to start off on the right foot. I was the boss. She would do what I asked, when I asked.

  It was the only way to keep her safe.

  Her smile suggested my threat had missed its mark. “If I tell you, I want you to answer a question for me.” I nodded, my fingers crossed underneath the table. “My . . . fiancé dumped me two days after the Fairies came,” she said.

  “Why?” I leaned forward, our faces close enough for me to smell the sweet scent of grapes on her breath. She aroused my curiosity as well as other parts of my anatomy, but to be fair, the reasons behind her failed relationship weren’t any of my concern. Fuck it. I hated being fair. “Well?” I pressed when she remained silent.

  “The wings.” She gave a vague wave to her wings, hidden beneath the folds of my leather jacket. “They came as a . . . shock.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “What? He didn’t realize you had wings until a year ago? What was he? Blind? Stupid? A eunuch?” How the hell had her lover missed a pair of wings? Pink wings at that? If Izzy were my girl, I’d know every inch of her body by our second date. Our first date if she drank enough.

  “None of the above.” She shook her head, sending a wave of curls dancing about her face. “How much do you know about Fairies?”

  “Not much.” Other than the fact that they were manipulative little bastards with surprisingly sharp teeth and Napoleonic complexes to boot. After our earlier adventure, I’d have to add murderous to the list. Who else but a fairy would want the next Tooth Fairy dead? Gnomes had enough of their own shit to worry about, the trolls had found God—or Buddha, to be precise—and Shadows weren’t the drive-by type. Stab-you-in-the-back type, sure, but apparently the hazy dudes found driving a wee bit too hard.

  The soon-to-be Tooth Fairy’s tone turned clinical. “A fairy doesn’t get her wings until she reaches maturity.” My gaze dipped to her breasts, concealed under my jacket. She looked plenty mature to me. She tugged the jacket tighter around her and glared at me. “I got mine at thirteen.”

  “So? I got hair on my balls at twelve.” I grinned. “What’s that have to do with your impotent fiancé?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Imagine believing you’re a thirteen-year-old human girl and instead of boobs, you sprout pink wings.”

  “I see your point.”

  “I learned to hide them.” I opened my mouth to ask her how, but she raised her hand to stop me. “The thing is, for the most part I can control when my wings appear, unlike other fairies. I’ve kept them hidden from everyone for much of my life.” She shrugged, delicately lifting her shoulders in a way that sent a shock through me. “But sometimes, when I’m,” she frowned at me, “agitated, they can pop up without warning.”

  “Or aroused?” I suggested with a wink. “Like tonight, when you first saw me?”

  She laughed, drawing the eyes of every heterosexual male in the bar. “Don’t think for a minute you had any effect on my wings. Other than the obvious fairy-to-a-flame trick, that is.” Her smile dimmed. “Like what happened early when I realized you were following me, when the twins came to my brownstone the first time . . . I became . . . agitated.”

  “I know the feeling.”

  She nodded. “Basically, I lost it, and my fiancé had his first encounter with four feet of wingspan.”

  That didn’t sound so bad to me. “And?”

  “He freaked.” She gave a bitter chuckle. “You should’ve seen the look on his face. It was a mixture of horror and disgust.”

  “So he dumped you for that?” I took a long pull of my mead. “Hell, I electrocuted my last date and we’re still friendly. What a loser.”

  “We had other problems.” She sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. “None of it matters now. Once the fairies came my life ended, and now I’m stuck with the likes of you.”

  “Look on the bright side.” I stopped, running my hands up and down the neck of the mead bottle.

  Her eyebrow rose half an inch. “What’s that?”

  “I’ll let you know when I think of it.” I grinned and she laughed, relaxing slightly. We ordered another round and discussed our next move. She couldn’t return to the rectory or the seedy flophouse. Both were compromised now.

  Which left us with one option.

  An option Isabella vehemently refused.

  “I can take care of myself,” she said for the tenth time in the last five minutes. “I don’t need or want your protection.”

  I let out a loud snort. “I don’t give a flying fairy what you want. You are staying with me until we sort this mess out. Starting with the twins.”

  “No.”

  “Yes,” I said, adding a growl for good measure.

  “Fine,” she finally conceded.

  For a second I thought I caught the tiniest glint of satisfaction in her gaze, but she quickly covered it with her go-to glare when talking tome.

  CHAPTER 10

  Before we left the bar I slipped off to the head. After relieving myself for what seemed like an hour, I washed my hands, causing blue electrical sparks to shoot in every direction, slipped my leather gloves on, and left the restroom.

  I paused outside the door. Izzy stood by the front door of the bar, and she wasn’t alone. A thick black haze circled her like predators to their prey.

  Shit.

  Four Shadows moved closer to her until they obscured her from my sight. I pushed forward to get a better view. Izzy didn’t look frightened, but the glow in her eye gave me pause. She appeared enraged, far more so than the situation demanded. Something bad was about to happen. I could feel it like the tingle of energy before an electrical storm.

  Just what I needed, I thought, a pissed-off fairy and a group of drunken manifestations. I debated an array of nonviolent actions.

  But what was the fun in that?

  My path of least resistance was altered when the Shadow closest to Isabella slipped his hand around her throat and licked the fairy dust from the back of her neck. A thin trail of saliva glistened in the weak bar light.

  My temper ignited, sending a rush of electrical flux across my flesh. “Get your tongue off of her,” I said, pushing through the crowd of phantoms and slamming my fist into Licker Boy’s face.

  Under normal circumstances busting my knuckles on some idiot’s skull held little appeal. For one thing, it damn well hurt. Not this time, though. My fist oozed int
o his skull. I had to admit it gave me the willies. It was like touching death. But that didn’t stop me. I followed the punch with a kick to the back of his jellylike knee.

  Had the guy not been hopped up on fairy dust the fight would’ve ended there. But dustheads have a surprisingly sick strength and delusions of invincibility. Licker Boy, no exception to the dusthead rule, staggered under my attack but quickly gained his footing.

  Much to my dismay, and my well-being.

  “Big mistake, Little Blue Boy.” He wiped a trail of blood from his busted lip.

  Wouldn’t be my first one, I thought, assessing the situation. It was four against one. Four against two if I counted the chick with the wings, but a glance at Izzy suggested I was on my own. She was pissed all right, but not at the goon slobbering all over her.

  Nope, her anger was directed at me. For what reason I had no idea. But her glare was enough to make me question her sanity and my decision to help her. I didn’t need her hostility, not now. Not when I could very well end up needing stitches.

  “Come on.” I held up my hands to appease the Shadows as well as the clearly insane, soon-to-be Tooth Fairy. “No need for violence.” As the words left my mouth I smiled, plowing my fist into Licker Boy’s skull again. This time he stumbled, falling to his knees.

  Score one for the Blue team.

  Unfortunately, the other dark degenerates rushed to his aid, and I soon found myself buried under six hundred pounds of surprisingly heavy darkness.

  At this point I had two options: take a beating like a man or fight back. Me being me, I picked the less painful but more effective method. I reached in the waistband of my jeans, withdrew my really big gun, and shot the first shadowy appendage I saw. It turned out to be a foot, if the spray of toenails followed by loud whimpering was any indication.