by C. S. Wilde
If Sara Hyland was smuggling some sort of drug to the merfolk, she would have to sail beyond the protection zone, far into Open Ocean. Which basically meant a death sentence, unless she used one of the bulky government charters that could obliterate an entire school of sirens in the blink of an eye—a death machine birthed by technology and magic.
A shiver coursed down Mera’s spine as she remembered watching the Nightbringer’s hull cut across the surface above her.
She’d hid inside a forest of algae with her best friend, Belinda Tiderider, and watched the metallic beast’s belly break moonlight. It cast a shadow upon her home.
The ocean had never been so silent…
She shook off the memory.
Yeah, she doubted Sara had used a Nightbringer to smuggle drugs. Which begged the question, could there be another siren in Tagrad?
Impossible.
Mera had been the only one to break into the protection zone and survive to tell the tale. If someone before her had done it, Professor Currenter would have known. Everyone would.
Her attention returned to the open case file sprawled on her desk, and she spotted the picture of Sara Hyland’s body.
According to the notebook, she was selling tampered blood to Norman Beetes, a big player in Kazania, the vamps’ borough. Sara was smart, and kept some leverage within her notes—a must when in bed with terrible people.
Her customers also included Lara Ackerton, a pack queen, and one of the most notorious criminals in Lycannie; Agnes Bessie, a bloodthirsty witch from Evanora; Richard Hegway, the cruelest loan shark in Clifftown, and many others. Sara’s notebook probably had enough material to incriminate a third of the low lives in Hollowcliff.
Jules had quickly sent the info to the other boroughs, and taken the lead on Richard’s case, the only one in Clifftown’s jurisdiction.
Rubbing her forehead, Mera sighed. Why would any of these assholes drown their drug dealer?
“Frustrated much?” Bast asked from behind, reading a newspaper with his feet propped atop Phil’s desk. The lamp on the left end of the table shed light into the pages.
He was lucky Phil had already gone home, or he’d be hearing a long speech about “how important it was to respect other officers, and also, get your fucking feet off my desk.”
“It would be nice if you were helping me,” Mera pointed out, “partner.”
“I am.” He showed her the newspaper’s first page, which had a picture of the dead fae king but no mention of Sara Hyland. “I suppose my people struck a deal with your newspapers.”
“Oh, the scandal,” she mocked. “Not only did the Summer King die in Clifftown, but he died beside a human woman. One must fix what one can.”
“And one did,” he turned his attention back to the pages. “The death of a fae in human territory is not to be taken lightly, kitten. The relations between the two boroughs have been delicate for decades.”
An uneasy feeling settled in her stomach. “Do you think this could be the tipping point?”
“We’ve gone to war for less,” he answered casually. “Shifters and vamps would support you, so would the witches. We have most of the magic, though. And faeries enjoy playing dangerous games.” He seemed to consider it. “Hard to predict the outcome.”
A new idea suddenly hit her like a hammer. “Maybe the murderer wanted to cause a national incident.”
“That’s what I thought at first.” He frowned at the pages. “But it doesn’t add up. Why drown her? Why kill Zev Ferris and place her body next to his, knowing my people would strike a deal with yours to cover up their connection?”
Her hair swayed as she cocked her head left, observing him. “True. Fae can be predictable in their duplicity. In their trickery, too.”
He chuckled. “My kind especially.”
“Night fae, right?”
He gave her a sideways grin. “What gave it away?”
The darkness in his eyes.
“Your hair. Night fae have hair the color of the moon.”
He gave her a humorless smirk. “Someone’s been paying attention.”
According to the stories the Cap told her, thousands of years ago—before Hollowcliff and the nation of Tagrad existed—the Night and Winter Courts lost a mighty battle against the light fae—Summer, Autumn, and Spring—while the mysterious Day Court chose to remain impartial.
This explained why the Night and Winter Courts held almost no power in the fae state. Why most of Winter lived up north, while Night lived isolated in an island off the coast.
It was also why the winning courts of light occupied the majority of fae territory.
Night fae especially—or nightlings—were despised by their counterparts in Tir Na Nog, yet no one knew what had caused that civil war.
There were rumors, though.
“Is it true you can dab into dark magic?” she probed.
Bast changed the newspaper’s page slowly. “I’m a nightling, so yes. Though my magic and the kind you’re referring to are not the same. By dark magic, you mean forbidden magic. No one with a shred of common sense dabbles into that. Our magic is dark, as much as Summer and Day’s is light.” He glanced at her with annoyance. “It’s just a term.”
“Is it?” She observed his impeccable shirt, vest, and pants. “Why did you become a detective?”
“Am I under interrogation?” he asked carefully, a snarl in his tone.
Message received, but Mera couldn’t help herself. “Okay, fine, but don’t you find it ironic that you’re a night fae and your last name is Dhay?”
“Yes,” he retorted without any amusement. “It’s fucking hilarious.”
She rolled her eyes, then focused on the notebook. “The killer must have known Sara Hyland’s murder would lose importance compared to the Summer King’s. Maybe they were counting on it.”
“If that’s the case, why would they bother drowning her?”
He had a point.
The door to the Cap’s office opened and Ruth called in Mera. Bast dropped the newspaper atop Phil’s desk and followed her, even though he hadn’t been invited.
Julian stood inside the office, a concerned look creasing his forehead.
Mera glanced at him and then the Cap. “We got the toxicology reports from the coroner, didn’t we?”
“We did,” Ruth said as she dropped on her leather chair. “There were no defensive wounds in Sara’s body. No paralyzing agents in her blood either, so it’s fair to assume she was stupefied by magic while still breathing.”
Anger gnawed at Mera’s gut. Rendering someone immobile only to drown them with minimal effort was a cowardly way to kill.
The sheer agony Sara must have felt…
“There’s more,” Julian added, his tone heavy. “She was pregnant. And the fetus had magical DNA, though it’s hard to pinpoint what kind of supernatural fathered it.”
Something in Mera’s chest dropped. This murder got more gruesome by the second. “Okay,” she breathed. “So, it’s safe to assume the child was Zev Ferris’.”
“We’re waiting for further DNA results, but yes.” The Cap turned to the small squared window on her left, which led to a view of the old, abandoned building across the street.
She always did that when she needed to think.
Stepping forward, Bast stood beside Mera. “The murderer could perform strong magic. That rules out shifters, at least. Bloodsuckers can glamour, so they could’ve stupefied her, but my bet would be on a fae or a witch.”
“Great.” Mera chortled. “That gives us a pool of what, eighteen million creatures?”
“I wouldn’t rule out mermaids,” he added.
Bast couldn’t drop the damn bone, could he? She had never wanted to smack someone in the face so hard.
“Sirens worship Poseidon,” he went on. “It’s logical that whoever named themselves Poseidon is a mermaid. Also, a siren could’ve paralyzed Sara by speaking, or using the macabre.”
“Detective Dhay.” The Cap narr
owed her eyes at him, a freezing storm in her tone. “If mermaids step foot in Hollowcliff—no, in all of Tagrad, they disintegrate. Literally. So no, mermaids are not a viable angle.”
Oh, how Mera loved this woman.
“With all due respect, Captain,—”
“There’s more,” Julian interrupted, running a hand through his lemon-colored hair. “The contents of Sara Hyland’s lungs, more specifically, the composition of the water in which she drowned, doesn’t match with Clifftown’s shore.”
The Cap leaned forward and rested her elbows on the table, forming a triangle with her hands. “They match the lower end of the eastern shore.”
Fae state.
More precisely, Tir Na Nog.
“That doesn’t make sense,” Mera argued. “Tir Na Nog is on the opposite side of the country.”
“Also, most fae can’t pop in here as they wish because of the barrier that protects Clifftown,” Bast added. “Winnowing would be hard, but not impossible, I suppose.”
Back in the twenties, there were enough random attacks from revolutionary witches and fae to justify magical barriers around the human state. After all, humans had occupied the lowest levels of the Tagradian food chain for a long while before their technological boost. Before they joined the fight against the treacherous mermaids and helped the rest of the nation win.
Despite their aid, many supernaturals felt threatened by human technology. Though nowadays, the relations between the different states were amicable.
Still, the barriers around Clifftown stood.
Just in case.
“As far as I recall, most pixies have wings,” Julian clarified, his tone oozing poison. “The killer could’ve drowned Sara Hyland, then flown with the body into Clifftown.”
Bast shook his head. “The journey would take days, even if the killer didn’t stop for food and water. We’re magical creatures, human, but we’re not one of your machines.”
How had he managed to make “human” an insult?
Mera turned to Julian. “I hate to side with Bast on this one, but Sara had been dead for ten hours when we found her. There’s no way the murderer could’ve flown from Tir Na Nog that quickly without teleportation. I mean winnowing,” she corrected herself when Bast made a face.
“Whoever did this is either powerful enough to break through the barrier, or rich enough to pay someone who could,” the Cap said. “Mera, I’ve booked tickets to Tir Na Nog for you both, and I’ve alerted your precinct, Detective Dhay. The two of you leave in the morning.”
Julian eyed Bast with suspicion. “Cap, I should join them.”
“I agree,” Mera added, not caring to hide the smile she shot at her partner. The real one, that is, not the fae prick standing beside her.
“Negative.” Ruth pointed at Julian. “I need you here providing support for Mera, and working Richard Hegway’s case. But you’ll keep her up to date with new findings regarding the crime scene or the bodies, understood?”
For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Mera could swear he was about to oppose, but instead, Julian’s shoulders slumped. “Yes, Cap.”
“Good. Will you excuse us for a moment?”
With a frown, he glanced at Mera, then at the Cap again, as if to make sure he hadn’t heard the order wrong. However, Julian knew better than to make the Cap repeat herself, so he nodded and left, closing the door behind him.
Ruth leaned back on her chair. “I’ve spoken to your Captain, Detective Dhay, and we agree that if you and Detective Maurea solve this case, we’d like to make your association permanent.”
“Wait,” Mera interrupted. “Permanent?”
The Cap nodded. “We want to use you as an example of unity between Hollowcliff’s law enforcement. Encourage teamwork and communication between the different districts. God knows we need it, especially now that a fae died in human territory.”
“No,” Mera blurted. Noticing Bast’s silence, she glanced back at him. “No. Right? I mean, you probably have a partner back in your precinct, and—”
“I work alone. No self-respecting fae wants a nightling for a partner.”
Her heart broke a little at that. Her siren instinct urged her to hug him.
“Some have been brave enough to do it, mind you,” he added, “but I quickly changed their minds.”
Jerk.
The pity Mera had felt drained from her at once.
“Nothing for you to worry about, kitten.” He gave her a cocky grin. “You’re smarter than my previous partners, and I don’t entirely detest you, so I suppose that’s a plus.”
Fuck that.
Half of Mera’s weight rested on her palms as she leaned over Ruth’s mahogany table. She kept her tone calm and gentle, hoping it would help. “Cap, Jules is my partner. He always has been. I’m not okay with this.”
“Detective,” she spoke with the tone of an approaching thunderstorm. “I never asked for your permission.”
With that, the Cap turned back to the window and motioned for them to go.
Chapter 4
Somewhere in the past…
* * *
The moon shone fiercely in the clear night sky.
Mera walked out of the water, dragging a body with one hand by its russet hair with long curls—so similar to her own. In the other hand, she held a shovel she’d found inside a sunken ship.
Mera had been only a merling then. She hadn’t gotten her bosoms like Belinda Tiderider yet, nor the elongated fins behind her ankles and on the edges of her ears, which denounced her coming of age. And yet, she’d defeated this warrior with a lifetime of experience and spite; this corpse that weighed a boulder of hate.
All to save her home, Atlantea.
The final battle had cost Mera everything, but it didn’t matter now. She would be meeting her end soon.
The waves helped push them both to shore. Almost as if the ocean encouraged her to see this through. Almost as if it thanked her.
The war corals protecting her body were broken and shattered. She threw away the pieces that hung on the shark-leather straps, and only her scaled bodysuit remained. It probably wouldn’t serve its purpose of helping her walk on land, or breathe air with ease, since it had been ripped and torn beyond repair.
The change took over the minute she stepped out of the water.
Her fins sunk back into her body, disappearing from sight. Her thick, light-gray skin acquired a pearly hue, becoming softer as pores spread atop it.
The pull of what humans called gravity weighed on her at once. Mera dropped on her knees and vomited all the water in her lungs.
Yeah, the bodysuit wasn’t working.
Still, her grasp on those lifeless curls, and the shovel, didn’t wane.
Once Mera could breathe, the air making a wheezing sound as it cut through her throat, she forced herself up and walked on. Her bones felt like broken glass, and she had to use the shovel’s handle as a crutch to steady her steps. But she didn’t stop.
Mera knew she would start feeling a tingling sensation soon. That’s how those who crossed the forbidden zone described it—a tingling at first, then a growing burn that spread along your skin, pierced into your bones, and ate you whole until there was nothing left but ashes.
Few had managed to return to the safe zone in time, bearing severe burns and missing limbs. Most, however, simply crumbled onto themselves, puffing into nonexistence.
She dragged the body behind her, leaving a line on the sand.
Air burned Mera’s lungs, her legs stung harder, and she wanted to give up, but Professor Currenter’s lesson echoed in her ears.
“Walking comes rather instinctively, but breathing… Oh, younglings, it takes a while to get used to that. When we practice on the Isles of Fog, you’ll see the difference between stepping on land, with and without a suit.” Mera remembered the sorrow in his tone as he continued… “None of said islands, however, will offer you a delicious stew.”
His wrinkled fins stretched wide as the
old waterbreaker drew in water, which filtered out through the membranes in his neck, torso and legs. As if he could smell this thing called a stew.
“Cooked food, children. Thank Poseidon you’ll never know what that is. Better than to spend the rest of your days craving for it.”
Mera walked farther. Her pain⸺physical and emotional⸺didn’t matter. Neither did Professor Currenter; not anymore.
She dragged the body through the sand and into the edge of what had to be a forest, though it looked so different from the algae plantations she knew, and strangely, so similar.
Feeling the fluffy and moist soil underneath the palms of her feet, she stopped. Mera wiggled her toes against it and smiled.
Earth felt so different from sand. It still stuck to her soles, though.
On she went, propped by the upside-down shovel, until she found a clearing circled by bushes.
She let go of the body, spun the shovel to its correct position, and dug.
“This is how you bury a body,” Professor Currenter had said, showing it to the class on an abandoned beach near the Isles of Fog, an unprotected archipelago near Atlantea. For the exercise, he’d used a piece of coral instead of a dead body, which in retrospect, was quite wise. “Those who commit the severest of offenses are buried on dry land, as has been our way for generations.”
Belinda, Mera’s best friend, had raised her hand. “Why is that?”
He’d stopped shoveling and leaned on the tool. With his scaled bodysuit, the professor and the rest of the class had no problems with breathing or adapting to the harsher surface force he called gravity. “Those buried on land can never be found by Poseidon on the day of Regneerik. Not that I believe in such things, but it’s become a tradition that denounces great shame.”
Mera breathed faster from the effort, and the air hurt her lungs. Her muscles stung from the exertion of shoveling, but her movements were quicker than she’d expected.
Maybe a part of her bodysuit was still working.
Mother’s voice echoed in her ears. “One day, you’ll know what’s best for our people, weakling.”
