Hexed Hit: An Urban Fantasy Mystery (The Lyon Fox Mysteries Book 4)

by Ann Denton

  Suddenly, the bouncer turns red as a watermelon. The guy starts choking. He starts spitting up the massive amounts of water.

  Bennett grabs Becca by the shoulder. "Stop!"

  She shrugs and grudgingly makes the bouncer stop choking. The guy takes a swipe at her. My eyes widen in horror. I'm about to see little Becca get crushed by a part-troll. WTF? How am I gonna tell Seena?

  But, as the guy’s hand reaches her head, Becca turns into water. Her body suddenly liquefies. She morphs into a swirling mass of water shaped like a person. Her clothes spin around like they’re in an upright washing machine. Her skirt spirals up through her stomach and behind her blinking eyes, that somehow, are still eyes. (Magic is weird.) I try to ignore the fact that her whirling thong gets caught along her shoulder. The point is —the bouncer’s hand passes right through her.

  Instead of screaming and stomping like I expect him to, the troll just laughs. "Okay, fine, little lady, you proved your point. Go on in with your friends."

  Becca slowly solidifies her arms first, yanking her clothes back into place so she’s covered as the rest of her body goes back to normal.

  Bennett and Flowers both eye her with envy.

  “Wish I could do that,” Bennett grumbles, no doubt thinking of all the clothes he’s shredded when shifting.

  Becca shakes a head as her teeth start chattering. Her clothes are still soaked. “It’s awesome during summer. Now? Not so much.”

  Bennett lets out a smoke ring or two and Becca steps into the heat to dry off. “Thanks, Commander.”

  We head through the door and I can't help but give Becca a pat on the back. "I had no idea you were such a reaper. Life-endingly cool, lady."

  She grins over at me. "I might have dated a troll or two in my day. You have to line those suckers out. Don't tell Seena."

  We get inside and instead of fog and strobe lights, there’s sulfur and black lights that highlight the trolls’ teeth, making everything stuck between said teeth that much more visible. Of course, trolls grow fungus on their teeth on purpose, kinda like some humans put gold in their teeth on purpose. They think it’s hot. Part of me wonders if the sulfuric smell in here is caused by their bad breath.

  "Let's break into two groups. Flowers, you take point on the left side I'll take point on the right side," Bennett orders, immediately going into commander mode.

  Flowers and Petey head off in one direction. I follow behind Bennett with Becca. It's hard to see through the crowds since they are so tall, but I keep my eyes peeled because my intuition is pinging.

  Something’s about to happen here, I can feel it.

  We make our way toward the trolls’ dance floor. Only they don't dance on a wooden floor. The name of this place is not creative—it’s literal.

  Trolls bump and grind while their feet are stuck in three inches of black sludgy tar. The theory is that the tar is supposed to slow them down in case of a fight. Plus, they supposedly love the feel of the thick sticky goo. (They have notoriously dry cracked skin. Like Grand Canyon style crevices when they don’t exfoliate.)

  Two blue trolls are out-dancing everyone around them. Their hands whip up and down like jumping jacks and they bob their heads.

  “Ooh, they’re doing the flap!” Becca says as she starts to do it too, smacking me in the waist as she tries to imitate a bird, her neck jutting forward with each flap of her arms.

  "Do I want to know how you know this dance?" I asked.

  "Nope. Ooh! Look at those hotties!” Becca points to a group of guys standing outside the nasty black tar goo. Each one of them is sporting arms as big as fifty-year old tree trunks. They are ripped, in a way that moves past hot into scary. Or maybe it’s the fact that they all have shaved heads and have metal spikes implanted on different parts of their skulls that makes them scary.

  The nightmarish group is all huddled together and talking quietly.

  Becca walks straight toward them, flipping her hair behind her back. “Hey guys,” she grins.

  I hang back, letting a couple people get between me and her. I’m not sure what her plan is, but even I wouldn’t just walk up to these iron-heads. I peer through the crowd, hoping Bennett’s noticed we aren’t behind him.

  Nope. No luck. But then I see Flowers heading our way. So, I feel a little less likely to die in the next two seconds.

  Until Becca says, “So, who’s been trying to sell you guys urine tonight?” She says it casually, as if she’s asking about the score of a game.

  The guys stiffen. One of them, with a spike coming out the bottom of his nose, growls, “What?”

  Becca gives a wry grin, completely unintimidated. “Please. You don’t expect me to believe you aren’t juicing. Come on. We all know Ironmen causes hair loss.”

  “We shave our heads!” a yellow dude with a head full of horned spikes says. “So no one can pull our hair.”

  “Sure, you do,” Becca grins. “Because so many of your opponents are eight feet tall and can reach that head of yours.”

  (Side note: I’m kind of in awe of her fearlessness.)

  “Look guys, I can take you all downtown and you can take turns peeing in cups with a little friend of mine watching to ensure you don’t mix in any shifter pee … or you can point me in the direction of the person who ‘attempted’”—her air quotes reek of sarcasm—“to sell you urine so you’d pass your tests tomorrow.”

  The trolls exchange a glance. Then they step apart to reveal Hopper. I’d thought that dude had been huge the night we found him at the nap shack. But, next to these guys, he looks tiny. His legs aren’t as thick as their arms. His green mohawk doesn’t even reach their shoulders.

  Becca steps up to Hopper without an ounce of hesitation. She pulls out her cuffs just as Bennett joins us.

  One of the other trolls growls and reaches toward Becca, but a huge shadow falls across our group. Gasps go up around us.

  I look up to see a troll who’s so tall he has to duck his head to speak to us. His voice grumbles like rocks tumbling through a polisher.

  “What seems to be the trouble here?” he asks.

  “Tar,” one of the trolls gives a respectful snarl to the side, eyes downcast to show his subservience.

  So, this is Tar. Louise’s boss. One of the Bloods. Tar Pit. I thought this was just named for the dance floor. But is this his place?

  Camera phones are coming out. Like seeing him is a big deal or something. Didn’t Becca say the owner was a recluse?

  I eye the troll that’s so large he’s clothed in cloth tarps. He’s got to be at least ten feet tall. He could crack my skull in one hand. Possibly Becca’s too, at the same time. This does not make me feel good.

  His skin is baby-smooth and a pale yellow that glows nicely under the black lights. He has only minimal dandruff, which is saying something, for a troll.

  Becca eyes Tar with disdain. “Look what the giant dragged in.”

  Tar laughs. “Still bitter about the breakup, princess?”

  I cannot control my jaw. It flips down and refuses to shut as I gape at the two of them. They dated? Becca dated him?

  “It’s not called bitterness. It’s more ‘I’m damn glad you hired a half-wit witch doctor and the love spell wore off.’ So … you’re heading up Nappie dealers now that you made it big-time huh? Now that the Bloods let you in so you could be their little bitch?”

  I catch Bennett’s eye—he’s finally freaking noticed we’re gone and is heading back—and I give him a little ‘what the hell do we do’ look. I know I’m not supposed to back away from Becca. We’re on assignment. That would show weakness. We have to put on a united front as cops. But what the mother-loving heck? She’s gonna get us obliterated.

  Becca’s on a roll. She just keeps going, laying into Tar. “Bet momma’s proud of you. Following her footsteps. Turning into a criminal who steals from people who’re helpless babies.”

  Tar shoves his face down at Becca. His fists curl and his nostrils flare. His eyebrows crunch togeth
er to form one solid line. Those—according to a very detailed illustration on page 527 of our training manual—are clear signs he’s about to fight.

  Screw protocol. I’m not quite ready to die. I shuffle back a couple steps and bump into someone in a cloak. Someone short enough to be human.

  “Sorry,” I start—

  But then the world is engulfed in white heat. And all I have time to register is Becca dropping to the floor in a steaming puddle and Bennett, suddenly next to me and going dragon, wings lifting up to shield me from the massive wall of white heat.

  “What the hopping mad cats was that?” I ask, when Bennett finally releases me from the shelter of his black wingspan.

  Bennett doesn’t answer as he struggles to shove a flame into a spelled bottle with his claws. His black dragon nostrils snort smoke.

  Around me, everyone looks dazed as the smoke clears. The trolls Becca was harassing are black, their skin cracked like burnt wood.

  “Ugh,” one groans. “Look at me!” He eyes a huge crevice in the skin of his arm. “That’s basically a handhold for a fae now.” Luckily, troll skin is crazy thick, it only looks like these guys got surface burns. Hopper is … nowhere to be found.

  That little green dick! Did he throw fire at us to try to escape?

  I whirl around, looking for him, only to run into Becca’s waves as she stands up, still liquid. She blinks at me and speaks. Her voice warbles … because, obvi, she’s water right now.

  “Unde-e-e-e-r my foot.”

  I have no idea what the heck that means, but I glance down. I see a tiny green armored horse trying to swim through the water in Becca’s foot. But she keeps moving her foot so he can’t get away.

  I scoop up Hopper and hold on tight, so the squirmy little guy can’t escape.

  Becca says, “Clothes,” and then sloshes off to go find herself something to change into, because, despite the fact that she’s made of water, her clothes still burnt to a crisp in that fire.

  As did the clothing of the trolls I turn back to eye. Dang. I didn’t notice at first because they were basically charred. But, yup. Nudity. All around.

  Tar got the worst of the burns, by far. If Bennett hadn’t been here, the troll might actually have been hurt. His smooth yellow skin is so burnt that it’s not just black, it’s white in places. Ashy. Tar gnashes his teeth in fury. But, unlike the fighting trolls, he’s smart enough to remain silent as Flowers and Petey make their way over.

  Flowers says, “Good thing Bennett was here and contained that dragon thire. Otherwise, you mightta been toast, Tar.” Flowers just totally goes with his lisp as he stares half-heartedly around the club, as if looking for suspects. But everyone’s cleared out.

  The gangster glares down at Flowers. “Gonna investigate, you son of a rock?”

  Flowers shows his teeth.

  But I don’t have time for male posturing. I’m still reeling. Dragon fire?! Someone attacked us all with dragon fire? Ohhh. My heart squeezes tight. If Bennett hadn’t been here … I’d be a pile of ash on the ground.

  I glance around the club. But the fire was only in our little area. The ceiling above us is a gaping hole to the starlight. The flames were so hot, they melted the metal back and shot up to the sky.

  This was a targeted hit. And Tar got the worst of it. Who did it? I glance down at the little armored horse that’s wriggling in my hands. Did Hopper do it to get away? Did he somehow find that secret passage and figure that dragon fire was another thing he could use or sell? He seems like he’s slimy enough to do something like that. A guy who chains up a girlfriend and leaves her for days …

  My hand tightens around him and I can’t help the anger in my tone as I glare down at the miniature shifter and say, “You’re under arrest.”

  Chapter 20

  I watch Flowers and Becca effectively melt Hopper down in questioning. It’s either because they’re super amazing investigators or because they threaten to drop him off back at the Tar Pit with those angry juiced up trolls if he lies.

  Hopper admits to stealing Rachel’s urine, chaining her up, and leaving her so he could sell it. He admits he had an ongoing deal with Louise to drain a bit of Frank’s blood sweat.

  “She was giving me free hits, man. How could I pass that up?”

  “You couldn’t,” Flowers shrugged. “Until you decided to take Louise outta the picture.”

  “What?”

  “Why’d you kill her?”

  “Louise was my hook up! Why would I kill her?”

  Becca shrugs. “Didn’t seem like you needed her when you approached those trolls.”

  “Yeah, because, clearly, I’m a total expert. I shoulda’ never trusted Rachel. She doesn’t know shit. Marian’s the whole brains of that operation—”

  I lean forward in my seat. “Marian?”

  “Yeah. Rachel didn’t tell me her pee wasn’t worth shit,” Hopper says this bitterly, as if Rachel deliberately misled him into chaining her up.

  “Who’s Marian?” I press.

  “Rachel’s best friend.”

  “More details please.” I swear, all the Nappies have made this guy slow. Or maybe it’s the giant goose-egg from when I flicked his grasshorse head with my finger as we climbed into the van to come back here.

  “They grew up together. I dunno. Marian’s boring. Straight edge. She’s like … the smart one.” He blinks, hard, and holds his head in his hands. “I’m dizzy. Don’t you think I should get checked out? I mean, you sent all those trolls to the hospital after the dragon fire.”

  “Speaking of dragon fire, how’d you smuggle it in?” I ask.

  “WHAT? You think I’m crazy enough to touch that stuff? Hell no.”

  I really want to punch Hopper right now.

  But Flowers shocks me out of my ire when he shrugs and says, “I know you didn’t bring the dragon thire.”

  “You do?” Hopper and I ask in stereo.

  “Your clothes slipped to the ground when you shi … turned into your animal. They weren’t burnt. No vials of anything other than pee in there.”

  If Hopper didn’t throw fire at us … who did?

  Becca and I exchange a glance. She doesn’t look like she knows either. When I glance at Flowers, he shrugs. Great. Another unanswered question in this case. A dangerous one. Because someone out there is willing to steal dragon fire and use it.

  Hopper starts coughing. At first, I think he’s just putting us on, but after a minute, he starts to wheeze.

  I turn to Flowers. “I think this guy might actually need medical attention.”

  Flowers’ nostrils flare as if I’ve done something annoying. But Hopper might have a concussion. Has definitely inhaled smoke. And his answers are useless. He’s given us some of what we wanted. But still … I agree with him. He never had a reason to kill Louise. He benefitted from his arrangement with her, sick as it was.

  “Fine,” Flowers sighs.

  We arrive at the hospital and let the nurses get to work examining Hopper. One of them clucks over the bump on his forehead. She walks away and comes back with a goose. She lays Hopper down and plops the goose right on top of his head.

  “It’ll heal faster this way,” she reassures us.

  I hold in a snort as I exchange a glance with Becca. But then yellow goo starts dripping down Hopper’s face and when the nurse lifts off the goose—sure enough, the swelling is gone. Hopper’s goose egg has cracked. The nurse hums as she swipes at the ooze and mops up the yolk.

  I shake my head, glad for the zillionth time that I do not work in medicine.

  When that nurse leaves and another comes in, Flowers pulls the new one aside. “We need to ask a doc about spell reversal.”

  The nurse—a dodore with a single eye, a single leg, and red hair—eyes Flowers. “You try one of them male enhancement spells?” she asks tiredly.

  “What? No!” Flowers jerks his head at me. “She put a spell on me so I can’t say the letter …”

  Clearly, he can’t finish his
sentence, so I roll my eyes and step in. “I accidentally made him unable to say the letter ‘f.’”

  The nurse sighs. “Seventh floor.”

  I perk up a bit. “So, reversal is easy? I also accidentally turned my boyfriend’s hand into catnip.”

  The nurse shakes her head, her single eye disapproving, as she says, “Maybe you’d be better off not using spells.”

  “Agreed,” Flowers glares at me.

  But I ignore him. “Becca, you good with Hopper?”

  She nods.

  I pull out my phone and text Luke. “Sweet. Let’s go get this dopey magic of mine all reversed.”

  We hit the seventh floor and a skinny minotaur doc in a lab coat immediately approaches us. He snorts when he reaches Flowers, then covers his mouth.

  “Sorry, you a cat shifter of some kind?”

  “Tiger,” Flowers responds.

  “One sec, I’ll get my colleague over. I’m allergic. Sorry.” The guy walks off, tail swishing, and full on sneezes.

  Flowers grumbles. “It’s not like I’m a tiger now.”

  I shrug and say, “But you probably have cat hair all over the place, right? Doesn’t that stuff get caught in, like, crevices?”

  Flowers just glares. But, whatever. That’s basically his normal face to me at this point. I stare at the wall until my phone buzzes.

  I’m here.

  Luke’s text sends giddiness right through me as I text him back and tell him where to meet us.

  By the time he arrives, the allergic minotaur has been replaced by a tense, fifty-something valkyrie with grey hair and a harsh booming voice.

  “You’re not dying. Why’re you on my floor?” she booms.

  “Well, my magic is a little funky and—” I cut off my sentence when I notice Flowers has gone to his knees behind me and is shoving Luke’s hand on his face.

  “Stop that!” I smack Flowers away. “Control yourself. Geez!”

  Flowers just snarls at me and his tiger nose and whiskers spring up on his face.

  “Catnip hand,” the valkyrie sighs as I try and separate the guys.