by C. S. Wilde
Ruth had watched her without a hint of emotion, not giving a single clue as to what she might be thinking.
“He won’t,” she finally assured.
“How can you be so certain?” Mera insisted.
“You don’t need to know.”
The Cap would never kill someone to protect her, of that Mera was certain. Ruth had the biggest sense of duty, and the highest morals in the entire force, but there were other ways of making sure secrets were kept hidden. If anything, the Cap was resourceful.
Kind, too.
She had adopted Mera when everyone else would have either killed her on the spot or called the cops. She owed the woman everything.
“I wouldn’t send you on this mission if I thought you might be exposed,” Ruth continued. “Your partner for this assignment will be Detective Dhay. And I expect your full cooperation.”
“But⸺”
“I think working this case with a fae will do us some good,” the Cap went on, always bordering that line between sweet mother and fierce boss. “Maybe it’ll improve relations between the two boroughs. Who knows?”
Ha, dream on.
When the Cap raised an eyebrow at her, Mera wondered if she’d said it out loud. Sometimes she swore Ruth could read her thoughts.
“Go solve this case, Detective.” Once more, she focused on the papers. “That’s an order.”
Mera didn’t trust easily, but she trusted the Cap with her life. Literally. She also knew better than to poke a sleeping tiger with a short stick.
When Mera stepped out of the office, Bast was waiting for her with a smug look on his stupidly beautiful face. He leaned over a table, arms crossed, and chin held high as if he’d won a battle.
Julian stood beside him, his hazel eyes asking and a little desperate.
Walking toward her partner, Mera bit her bottom lip. “You’ll have to sit this one out, Jules.” Her hand rested on his shoulder and he immediately cupped it with his own.
Electricity crackled down Mera’s spine and pooled at her belly, but she was used to this. It was how she felt every time Julian touched her.
“Will you be careful?” he asked, his fingers intertwining with hers.
She winked at him. “When am I not careful?”
“Only always.”
“Are you two lovebirds done?” Bast nodded to the exit of the precinct. “Detective Maurea and I have work to do.”
“Mind your own business, pixie,” Julian spat, the bitterness in his tone so intense that it pricked Mera’s tongue.
Bast frowned, but that typical fae wickedness came to the surface again, flickering behind his eyes. A hint of a smile brushed his lips. “Are you jealous? Rest assured, I’ll take good care of your partner.”
“Buddy, Mer would never go for one of you,” Julian countered without hesitating. “She prefers her males real and without magic.”
Not true. Mera had slept with a warlock yesterday, and a wolf shifter not a week ago, but Jules had no clue. It was not like she told him about her romantic conquests—if fleeting one-night stands fit the definition.
“Glad I struck a nerve, Jules.” Bast turned to Mera with an air of madness, but he must’ve spotted the concern on her face, because he cleared his throat, and whatever had been there a moment ago vanished. He pulled down the edges of his vest and fixed his collar. “Shall we, kitten?”
“Call me that again, and I’ll shove my gun up your ass, dickface.”
“Such unneeded brutality. Try and see things from my perspective, kitten. I don’t have many options left.” He gave Julian a wink. “Mer is already taken.”
Julian flipped him the bird, but Bast didn’t seem to mind.
“Fucking fae,” Mera grumbled to herself as she pulled Bast away, toward the exit of the precinct. Raising a hand, she waved. “Talk to you later, Jules.”
As soon as they stepped out on the street, she let Bast go and pointed one finger at him. “Here’s how we’ll do this. You won’t try to fool me, you’ll share information, and you’ll play nice. Understood?”
“Loud and clear, except for the part about playing nice.” He spread a hand over his chest in an apologetic manner. “Not in my nature, you see.”
She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. So, I usually go to the family first—”
“What? That’s moronic.” A strand of silver hair slipped over the left side of Bast’s face, and he tucked it behind his pointy ear. “Did you tell your parents anything when you were Sara Hyland’s age?”
Mera’s situation growing up had been… different.
She didn’t have a father because her mother said Mera had been born of Poseidon, which was utter bullshit since gods weren’t real—fae, human, Atlantean, or whatever. Also, confiding in the woman who beat her senseless on a weekly basis didn’t make much sense.
She did confide in the Cap, though.
Ruth had found Mera when she was only thirteen. She’d saved her in every sense of the word, so Mera never hid anything from her, simply because she didn’t have to. She’d even told Ruth about that time she’d let Billy Wetzel grope her in the parking lot, which hadn’t been one of Mera’s proudest moments.
“The woman who raised me kept an open line of communication. So yes, I told her everything. How about you?”
He stared at her as if she’d come from another planet. “I’m fae. We don’t trust easily.” He studied his fancy shoes, and his voice grew quieter. “Especially our own.”
She could certainly relate.
Bast did have a point, though. If they were going to solve this case quickly, so that Mera could be back on the streets with Julian, she would have to throw standard procedure out the window.
“Fine,” she gave in begrudgingly. “On to the friends list it is.”
Mera stopped before the limestone construction that resembled an old castle. It had rococo carvings of humans, witches, fae, shifters, and vamps lining the windowsills and door. The steep, red-tiled roof was carefully crafted, and matched perfectly with the medieval vibe of the four-story building.
Artsy vamps from Kazania loved detailed and excessive crap like this, so she wouldn’t be surprised if one of them had been the architect. These types of constructions were a rarity in Clifftown, where most buildings were block houses or skyscrapers. Yes, the human borough had earned the title concrete jungle, and although most humans took that with pride, Mera guessed the other boroughs hadn’t meant it as a compliment.
“UCH—University College of Hollowcliff” hung in big brown letters atop the university’s stone façade, arching over the large wooden entrance.
Every borough had a branch of UCH, even Tir Na Nog, but the bigger courts never attended it. Only lower Sidhe and weaker faeries such as brownies, leprechauns, or banshees went to public schools.
Not that Mera had seen it firsthand. She’d never been to the fae state, only heard the Cap’s stories from the time she had to escort the human minister on an assignment.
“Sara Hyland studied economics here,” Mera said as she watched students strolling across the endless green fields that stretched around the property. “Divide and conquer, partner?”
“You tell me,” he replied without turning away from the façade. “If you were a civilian, would you open up to a faerie without a human present?”
She observed the stares Bast received from passersby. Some were loaded with hate, others with lust; some were quizzical, and others filled with cold indifference. For the first time, Mera realized how hard being here must be for him. Not that he seemed to mind.
“The issues between our kinds go both ways.” He raised his shoulders. “Without a common enemy, the comradery forged in the Great War crumbles with each passing day.”
Common enemy.
He meant sirens. Like her.
“You guys don’t make liking you any easier,” she muttered under her breath.
A laugh twittered in his throat. “That we don’t.”
Mera couldn’t work this c
ase the way she did with a human partner. Which meant that casting a wide net was a no-go. Also, they couldn’t waste time on cold leads.
“Roommate?” she asked, removing a pad from the inside pocket of her leather jacket. “Andrea Johnson, room forty-five.”
Bast grinned and stepped aside, showing her the way. “After you.”
Inside the building they went, passing through crowded halls and corridors, then following the garden path that led to the student quarters. The concrete block stood near the left end of the campus, hidden behind a small forest.
All the while, a metallic scent invaded her nostrils.
Magic.
It was weaker than Bast’s and it flickered in and out of range. Mera searched her surroundings, but other than passing students and teachers, she couldn’t find anyone suspicious.
“Everything all right?” he asked from beside her.
“Do you feel a magical presence?”
He stopped, closed his eyes and raised his head to the sky, as if he was trying to catch a scent.
Mera noticed how squared his chin was, and the sharp curve his jaw made toward his Adam’s apple. And his hair, Poseidon in the trenches, it resembled silver silk. Under the sun, it seemed like thousands of spiders had woven its threads.
“No.” He opened his eyes. “I got nothing. Why?”
“I don’t know.” Shrugging, she let it go. “Gut feeling, I guess.”
“You mean insanity,” he scoffed. “A human, thinking they can sense magic? That’s hilarious.”
Mera almost told him to shove it, but she walked a thin line already. Better to let the subject fade.
Once they reached a set of stairs, they went up to the third floor, soon arriving before a door with the number forty-five engraved on it.
After Bast knocked, a short girl with glasses answered. Her eyes were red from crying too much. Her rock band T-shirt smelled of sweat, tears, and Cheetos.
Mera and Bast exchanged a glance.
Bingo.
“Andrea Johnson?” He leaned on the door frame, oozing charm—which wasn’t hard for someone as freakishly handsome as him. “We’re the detectives in charge of your roommate’s murder. We were wondering if you could answer some questions.”
“You’re a fae,” the girl sniffed, her eyes trapped on Bast’s face. “Why are you investigating a human murder?”
“Sara Hyland was involved with some of my people. I’m working with Clifftown’s police on this case, as you can see by my human partner.”
His tongue was fast and sharp, not that it surprised Mera. Bast’s kind was famous for trickery and quick thinking.
He nodded to Andrea’s room. “If we may?”
“I-I’m not sure,” she stuttered.
“Please?” He smiled and it was over. Mera could practically see the girl’s knees melting.
Andrea nodded hastily and stepped aside, letting them into the room.
“Ms. Johnson…” Mera started, observing the space. Two beds rested against each wall, one carefully made, the other a twirling mess of Cheetos bags atop a dirty blanket. At some point, Sara Hyland made her bed and left this room for the weekend, never to return. “Do you know anyone who might want to harm your roommate?”
“Friend,” Andrea mumbled. “Sara was my friend. And no, everyone liked her.”
A lie. Mera could taste it.
She glanced back to Bast, who’d gone to inspect some papers on a desk near the window. The nod he gave her said he’d also caught the lie, but his focus quickly returned to the documents on the desk.
“Ms. Johnson, you’re safe,” Mera assured, her tone soft, calming. “Are you certain Sara didn’t have any enemies?”
“Yes.”
“Was she involved in any illegal activities?”
“Definitely not.” She cleared her throat. “Sara was as clean as a whistle.”
Ah, there was the lie.
Andrea clearly wanted to protect her friend’s memory, but the faster Mera could figure out this case, the faster she’d be back with Julian.
Briefly peeking at Bast, she found him focused on a notebook. This was her chance.
Mera’s siren swam underneath her skin, twirling around her vocal cords as she turned to Andrea.
A siren’s glamour was more refined than normal glamour, at least that’s what the Cap said. Also, the warlock’s hiding spell helped. Even if Bast paid attention, he couldn’t catch her weakened siren essence. Mera had once interrogated an undocumented banshee, and the poor thing hadn’t had a clue.
Why should he be any different?
‘He’s a Sidhe,’ her siren reminded her. ‘Crapload more powerful than a banshee.’
Well, she had to risk it.
Mera’s siren spell wove into her voice. “Ms. Johnson, are you sure?”
“I’m…” The girl’s eyes widened, and her jaw dropped. “No, I’m lying.” She frowned, as if she couldn’t understand what came out of her mouth. “Sara had to pay for college. You can’t blame her.”
“How did she pay her tuition?” Mera pushed.
Andrea shook her head, as if forcing herself awake. “I-I don’t know. She had a business.”
Mera’s siren was about to charge again when Bast stepped beside her, looking at her with puzzled sky-blue eyes.
Her heart stopped. Heck, her lungs froze, too.
Had he sensed her siren essence? Was Mera’s life in Hollowcliff over?
Bast watched her a moment longer, then turned to Andrea. “You humans are addicted to your precious technology. Did Sara have a mobile phone?”
Mera felt like she could breathe again, and only then did she notice Bast was holding a black notebook.
“No way,” Andrea argued. “Sara was super old school.”
Odd. Every human had a phone, including Mera. Yet, Andrea seemed to be telling the truth, at least about this.
“Smart decision, considering your friend’s line of work.” He wiggled the notebook in front of her. “Your roommate had some important clients, Ms. Johnson. I’m guessing she was dealing drugs?”
“Okay, fine!” Andrea blurted, like she’d been holding a breath for too long.
Apparently, a charming fae was more convincing than Mera’s siren, which kind of offended her.
“Wolfsbane, fae crystal,” Andrea continued. “She even sold tampered blood to the vamps.”
“I see.” Bast’s slender finger touched the surface of the notebook. “Detective Maurea, this is a list of Sara Hyland’s clients.” He opened the pad and pointed to a page. “Our fae king is here, plus some big shot vamps and shifters. In theory, any of them could have wanted her dead.”
“Detective Dhay!” Mera snapped. “We can’t disclose information in front of a civilian.”
“Wait. A fae king killed Sara?” the girl asked.
Too late.
Rolling his eyes, Bast snapped his fingers in front of Andrea. She immediately straightened her spine, her eyes wide open. Mera waved in front of her but the girl didn’t blink.
“You’ll forget what I said about the fae king,” he ordered. Maybe Mera had lost her mind, but she could swear his irises had turned black for a quick second. “Understood?”
Andrea nodded robotically, but when he snapped his fingers again, the girl’s shoulders relaxed.
She blinked at them, then nodded at the notebook. “That was Sara’s.”
“Now it’s ours.” He smacked the notebook shut and walked out of the room.
Mera barely had time to give Andrea her card before rushing to catch up with him. “What are you doing?” she asked as she reached him by the stairs. “You can’t use magic on a human in Clifftown, not without their approval.” She lowered her tone. “It’s against the freaking law.”
Not that she’d done any better with her glamour, but Bast believed Mera was human, and after over a decade pretending, she’d learned to act the part.
Mostly.
He winked at her as they went down the stairs. �
�I won’t tell if you won’t.”
She blew an exasperated breath. “At least it’s clear why Sara had the silver stake.”
“Being cautious is a good trait for a drug dealer, especially when doing business with criminal vamps.”
“Do you think a vampire did this?”
“Unlikely. A vamp wouldn’t have drowned her.” Stopping, he watched Mera. “You know who would, though?”
She shook her head.
“Sirens.”
Mera swallowed dry, trying to hide the panic in her tone. “That’s impossible.”
“Perhaps. But mermaids used to walk among us, way before you and I dreamed of existing. A time before most living creatures in this country.” He didn’t take his eyes off her as he spoke. “Sure, nowadays they’re either exterminated or banished, but there are plenty of them out there, in the sea.”
“Yeah, I know,” she answered quietly. “They used to have their own borough back in the early days.” An ache Mera couldn’t explain pricked her chest; a longing for something she’d never had. “Look, sirens are cursed. They can’t set foot on Tagrad. Even if Sara was an exceptional swimmer and passed through the protection zone, and even if a siren drowned her, they couldn’t have placed her body back in her apartment without crumbling to ashes first.”
He narrowed his eyes at Mera for an uncomfortable amount of time. “You’re right,” he finally spoke, then showed her the notebook and a name. “What do you make of this, then?”
Mera’s blood froze. A small earthquake quivered underneath her skin.
The word had been scribbled in messy handwriting below Zev Ferris, and it was half-blotched by what seemed to be a dried tear.
Poseidon.
Chapter 3
It was night by the time they returned to Mera’s precinct.
Her desk lamp highlighted the word scribbled on the notebook, the name echoing in her mind.
Poseidon. Poseidon. Poseidon.
Okay, whoever was behind the alias couldn’t be the actual Poseidon. Like every other deity, he wasn’t real.
So, who was the dickface passing for him?
Not a siren, obviously. Mera was the only one in Tagrad—or at least, she had been until now.
