Winterstruck: an urban fantasy supernatural crime thriller

by Sara C. Walker

  I shrugged and said, "You're the boss."

  "Believe me, if I could have got someone with more experience, I would have. Right now, that kid is all I can afford." He shook his head, his frustration flaring to life.

  It was just that the fewer people involved in catching faeries, the fewer people hurt. Or dead.

  Or put into a coma to erase this life.

  "Did you hear back from your contact at CSIS?" I asked.

  "He’s working with an army colonel to figure out a plan to bring cops on board without causing mass panic."

  The mention of a military colonel reminded me of a case I’d worked with my old partner, Reece Thatcher. The memories of him were unescapable.

  "Great," I said. "They can’t all be sworn to secrecy."

  "Are you here just to point out the obvious? I have work to do."

  I knew it was dangerous to poke the bear, but there was no time like the present.

  "I need to ask about my escrow fund."

  Ever since I'd started at the agency, I'd been paid the equivalent salary to an insurance adjustor, with the remainder of what I should be making as a government field agent put into a bank account and held in escrow until a later date, like when I retired from the agency.

  "What about it?" Magnusson asked.

  "I need a new car. After monthly expenses, my cover job doesn't make enough to absorb that cost." I drew in a breath. "I need the money."

  Magnusson fixed me with his trademark stare. But I'd prepared for this. I matched his expressionless face and held his gaze with my own.

  "I know you don’t approve of my current mode of transportation—"

  The phone rang and he answered it. He didn't shoo me from the room this time, so I remained where I was.

  From Magnusson's side of the conversation, he was in deep reconciliation with someone from the City, being made to go through a checklist of everything we’d done on the case so far. It sounded like they wanted a guarantee the killer would be caught.

  "We'll get him. Get off my fucking case." Magnusson was his usual charming self.

  The phone hit the cradle so hard I thought I was going to be picking bits of plastic out of my hair. He gathered his keys and things, and then he practically flew out of his chair, his long coat swooping like wings behind him.

  "Trouble, boss?" I asked.

  His icy stare was enough of a confirmation.

  It suddenly didn't seem like the right time to tell him about the information I'd obtained from Simon identifying our fire bug, Hammond.

  I followed him out to the main room. While he barrelled out the door, I looked over at the windows to Oshaun's lab. She stopped what she was doing to watch Magnusson's exit. For a brief moment her mouth tightened and her eyes softened, but her brow was furrowed with concern.

  Oshaun was worried. My stomach knotted.

  The boss hadn’t said yes to giving me the money. On the other hand, he hadn’t said no.

  Magnusson returned in the afternoon. I waited until he had something to eat and some time alone before trying to talk to him again. File in hand, I went over to his door.

  Just as I raised my hand to knock, I caught him grumbling, "budget cuts" and "endangering the public."

  Simon had been telling the truth about budget cuts? I hoped that meant he'd been truthful about everything.

  I knocked.

  Magnusson barked, "Stop hovering and come in."

  I pushed the door open cautiously. "Everything okay, boss?"

  He threw his pen on the desk and leaned back in his chair. "You want me to open up and have a heart-to-heart with you?"

  He sounded irritated—no, more than irritated. Angry. Like that time when we'd come back from a long night of chasing a stinking troll across the harbourfront, and I'd dropped the pot of coffee just after it was made. Lost my grip somehow. Magnusson lost his temper. I knew well enough that his anger wasn't really for me then, and it wasn't for me now, but it was enough to make me worry in either case. The boss usually kept his feelings shut up in a vault.

  "I couldn't help but overhear something about budget cuts?" I hoped my escrow was safe.

  He exhaled with such force I thought maybe the walls would fall down around us. Heavy bags hung under his eyes, as though it had been days since he'd slept a full night. Maybe it had.

  If so, the situation was worse than I thought.

  He stared into his coffee cup. "Why does every government have to make cuts to services?"

  "Because they're trying to buy the public's votes?" I asked with a shrug. The moment of levity quickly evaporated. "Are we losing our jobs?"

  "Not if I have anything to say about it," he snapped. He put down his cup, stood up, and started loading the pockets of his suit jacket with his keys and wallet. "Did you want something?"

  I glanced down at the file in my hand. "I, uh, have a name for our fire bug."

  I passed him the dossier I'd worked on throughout the day. As he flipped through the file, I explained, "His name is Hammond. His element is fire and he's part of the Summer court."

  "How did you get this?"

  I swallowed. "An informant."

  His eyes cut sharply to me. "Who."

  Definitely a command, not a question.

  Moment of truth time.

  I drew in a breath. "He says his name is Simon."

  His eyes narrowed. "Human?"

  "No."

  "Damn it, Ivory." He flung the file across the desk.

  "For what it's worth, sir, they seem to want to help. They want Hammond put away as badly as we do."

  "At what price?" he snapped. "They don't do anything for free. What do they want?"

  "Just what we learn through the course of this investigation."

  "So you're feeding information to the enemy?"

  It hit me like a punch to the gut. "No, not at all," I said quickly. "I thought we were sharing information to expedite a capture, I never thought—"

  "You were betraying your country? Did you forget who you work for?"

  "No, I—" I gulped. "I didn't think of it that way."

  "That's the problem, Ivory. You didn't think." He stood up and grabbed his coat. "The rules exist for a reason."

  He stopped in front of his desk and fixed me with a stare. "National security and lives are at stake."

  He stormed out, thundering across the office, and slammed the front door behind him.

  I'd seen the boss angry before. But this was different.

  This was bad.

  Magnusson had said he would ask Oshaun to run through the taxi company's database so I could find Flint, but I didn't know if he'd gotten around to asking her yet. And since I couldn't exactly ask him, there was no other option: I had to talk to Oshaun.

  I went over to the lab door, knocked, and entered.

  "What do you want?" Oshaun said without looking up from the microscope. I'd only just entered the room and she already sounded like she was tired of talking to me.

  "Uh…just wondering how it was going with the search." I pointed my right thumb at the big screen on the wall where the composite photo she'd made from the security videos took up the left side of the screen and database images rapidly flashed on the right side of the screen.

  When I first started with the agency, it seemed funny to me that a faerie would have a driver's licence. But then it was pointed out that not all faeries could fly—in fact, flying in human form was forbidden here in the human realm. While stuck here, faeries had to hide or learn to assimilate among humans, and for some that meant renting an apartment, buying a car, and getting a licence to drive. Still, the database search wasn't guaranteed. Some had fake licences. Others drove without one.

  "It's still going," Oshaun said.

  "Right," I said, nodding. "Did, uh…did Magnusson say anything to you about getting an address from the taxi company for me?"

  "Yes."

  "Okay, good. Any luck with that?"

  "Do I look like I'm sitting around tw
iddling my thumbs waiting for something else to do?"

  "Um. No."

  "So what do you think I should prioritize? Catching someone for setting off indoor fireworks? Or murder?"

  "I think I'll come back later."

  Oshaun shook her head as she changed the slides under her scope. My shoulders slumped, I stuffed my hands into the pockets of my jeans and exited the room. I flopped into my chair. It squeaked and groaned under my weight, but it was so old it would have made the same noises if a hummingbird had landed on it.

  This was ridiculous. I had no leads, nothing to go on—nothing but the vague suggestions Simon had made. He seemed to want to help with this. But the boss was right; no good could come of such partnership.

  My gaze fell on the one spot in the room I mostly avoided looking at: the empty desk across from me.

  Not everyone could handle this job.

  Did I need backup? Yes.

  Did I want someone new to train? I was planning to quit. Did I want to train a replacement or leave that for Magnusson to do?

  The training part, I could handle. It was the becoming friends part that I was having a hard time with. As partners, we spent all our time together, getting to know each other. Hearing about a daughter's dance recital or a nephew's first word.

  I worked alone. Until I quit this job.

  In the meantime, I had my team. We might not be much of a team with the boss and Oshaun always busy, but I trusted them with my life. True, Oshaun could be nasty and Magnusson a jerk, but they weren’t always this way. Something was going on that was stressful for them. This thing with the city, maybe.

  The absence of my last partner? Yeah, that seemed more likely. The loss of one of our own hit hard.

  That decided it.

  No new partner necessary.

  11

  I arrived at the office bright and early in the morning, having risen with Luke so we could have breakfast together. He'd worked late the night before, making up for his day of errands. I still didn't have a plan for getting a new car, and fortunately, he thought I was still considering his offer, so he didn't ask. But he left the key fob for the Porsche in the basket by the door. I hadn't prepared for the temptation.

  As I reached for my keys, my hand hovered over the fob. Heated seats.

  I picked up the key and held it in my hand.

  What if I just took it for a spin around the block? Or drove it to work for the day, just to see what it was like?

  For a moment I imagined arriving at work warm instead of shivering. I imagined listening to the radio and traffic reports. I felt the distinct lack of rumble in the engine, grinding of gears and squeaking of brakes. I closed the doors without having to worry about large chunks of rust falling off.

  I pictured the look that would be on my mother's face if she knew, triumphant to see that I finally acknowledged I wanted to live a life of luxury. No doubt her expression would then harden and she would issue some choice words about never giving me access to my father's money.

  With a sigh, I dropped the key fob into the basket, scooped up my own keys, and headed out the door.

  As early as I was, I still wasn't the first one at the office.

  Nobody started before Oshaun. Sometimes I wondered if she kept a cot in her lab. Other times, I was convinced she was some kind of super-human who didn't need sleep.

  The downside of coming in early was the absence of coffee in the pot. I had to make it myself. While the water and grounds were perking, I put my gun and badge into my desk drawer, took off my jacket, and hung it on the back of my chair.

  And there, in the middle of my desk, between the piles of files I'd yet to put away, sat a fresh report.

  From Oshaun.

  Interesting.

  The office felt cool and damp, so I cranked up the thermostat. The heaters clanked and hummed as they came to life.

  My favourite mug waited on the coffee cart. Bright green with a chip on the rim. I knew I should throw it out, but it was given to me by my former partner, Reece Thatcher, after the first case we worked together.

  I filled the cup with Magnusson's excuse for coffee and sat down to sift through all the data Oshaun had mined from the taxi company. I didn't have a precise time stamp for when Flint hailed that cab—I wasn't exactly paying attention to my watch—so all I could do was guess. I'd checked my watch a couple of times while I was with Ruby (that child version of Ruby) so I had an approximate time to work with. I started there and worked backwards.

  Flint wasn't the only fare to depart Front Street that night. There were three in the right time frame and two that were close enough to the time that I thought I'd better count them.

  I switched on my computer and waited for it to boot up. Once all the programs loaded and the computer settled down, I opened a map program and started inputting addresses. My veins started thrumming with excitement. This was the part of the job I loved. Following leads. Solving the mystery.

  Three of the addresses went to apartment buildings. I noted them, but nothing really stood out as having a reason for Flint to go there. It didn't feel right. These buildings didn't feel "summer" enough. One address turned out to be a shopping mall, but Flint didn't strike me as the fashion type, and everything would have been closed at that time of night. The last address was for the Breckenridge Conservatory Gardens.

  I leaned back against my chair, putting distance between the monitor and my body. My stomach swirled with dread. My mother was a patron of that place.

  I remembered unhappy days spent in the warm and tropical air under the glass and steel dome-shaped greenhouses, eternally summer.

  A cold chill broke out across my skin.

  I didn't want it to be true. From the empty desk across from me, I could almost hear my last partner, Reece Thatcher, telling me I needed to check it out. He was a procedures guy, following rules and guidelines, whereas I went by instinct. We'd worked well together. Eventually. Until we didn't.

  Right now, my instincts were telling me I had to get there and have a look around, no matter how little I wanted to.

  For the first time, I had a lead I didn't want to follow.

  The Breckenridge Conservatory Gardens consisted of acres of land around a creek that fed into Lake Ontario. The land was mostly trees and bushes native to the area when the Gardens was constructed in the mid-1800s by the Breckenridge family. Over the years, flowerbeds had been added, lawns sprawled out, and the place had become known for hosting weddings every weekend and charity teas and dinners during the week.

  All this within a twenty-minute drive from the office—thirty, since I took a detour through a drive-thru for a cup of coffee.

  While the rest of the traffic whizzed by the Gardens, I turned down the long driveway that bisected the forest. Snow had been cleared from the lane, and looking out into the trees, there appeared to be very little snow under the canopy of branches compared to the open ground in the rest of the city. It was like driving into another world. A less wintery one.

  The road rounded to a parking lot next to the pavilion. The main parking lot was full, and the annex lot dotted with cars, which meant an event was in full swing. I parked and got out of my car.

  The atmosphere was hushed here, compared to the noise of the bustling city. The trees muffled the noise of the traffic, but even the song of the winter birds seemed soft, as though they didn't want to chirp too loudly.

  The trees enclosed an area with a greenhouse, a shed, and the largest building: the pavilion.

  If there was anything to find here, it would be there.

  The main floor of the pavilion was two stories high. Inside, a balcony ran around the second floor. Both the ground floor and the balcony were filled with plants in big pots, small pots, long planters, hanging planters. The walls were mostly windows, but you could hardly tell for all the plants.

  They held all their special events on the main floor, right in the middle, around tall pillars that went up to the glass roof. The place was bustlin
g with people; the sound of crowd chatter grew louder as I approached the main doors.

  My skin tingled and buzzed as if an electric current ran through me.

  There was definitely something fae inside. Something big.

  A high-pitched voice cut through my thoughts. "Ticket?"

  I turned toward the voice to find the source was a woman standing behind a table draped in white cloth. Papers, brochures, and a cashbox sat on the table. The woman was short with straight white hair cut in line with her chin. Her eyes were bright and friendly and her lipstick was glaringly hot pink.

  "Do you have your invitation, dear?" she repeated politely, blinking and smiling.

  "I'm not here to attend—this." I waved my hand at the main room, hoping to catch a glimpse of Flint through the foliage. Maybe he was a statue here?

  "Oh, so you're not a member of the Friends of the Breckenridge Conservatory?" she asked sweetly.

  "That's right. I'm—" I had a feeling that if Flint were here, he would be somewhere secret, out of sight. Hiding.

  "Would you like to purchase a membership? You won't be able to vote at today's annual general meeting, but you can vote next year." She began to cite the member benefits, but I tuned her out.

  I needed to get inside...

  "No, thanks, I—"

  The small woman moved around the table and stood with her hands on her hips. Her tone of voice shifted from sweet to terrifyingly harsh. "Then you're not coming in."

  I blinked at her, startled by her sudden shift in tone.

  She narrowed her eyes and drew back her bright lips into a sneer. "You'll not be crashing this party, missy."

  "I'm not trying to crash—"

  "Think you're going to get some free champagne, eh? I'll have security here in two seconds flat, so I suggest maybe you should think about leaving."

  "I assure you, I'm not—" I reached for my badge, readying a story about needing to check for a runaway perp, but caught sight of a familiar figure approaching.

  I shoved my hands into my pockets. "I'll come back another time," I hastily mumbled to the woman, and then quickly turned and fled.