Winterstruck: an urban fantasy supernatural crime thriller

by Sara C. Walker

  I was in trouble. I'd made a mess. A big mess. I'd pushed Hammond into lighting himself an escape route, when I should have done everything I could to keep him there until backup arrived. And worse. He'd riled me with his lies. I'd let him get to me.

  Would I still have a job in the morning? I'd just cost the city thousands of dollars, who knew how many lives. What did I have to show for it? Nothing. Hammond roamed free.

  If anything, I had more questions. Was Hammond telling me the truth? Did Magnusson have some kind of secret deal with the Spring sovereign?

  At least I still had Luke.

  I'd come too close to losing him tonight. Too close. No matter what, I had to make sure nothing like this ever happened again. I pulled him tighter to me.

  I had to catch Hammond and put an end to this. Then I would be free to quit and get the faeries out of my life once and for all.

  19

  I woke in the middle of the night, burning with fever, dripping with sweat. I threw back the covers and sat up in the dark. The cool air caressed my naked skin, but it wasn't cool enough to wash away the dream.

  I dug through the sheets until I found my underwear. I slipped them on. I found my pajama shirt on the floor. I picked it up and pulled it over my head. Barefoot, I padded through the dining room and stepped out to the balcony. The cold wind whipped my bare legs. The wind could get pretty rough up here. It would blow off Lake Ontario so strongly sometimes I thought it would carry me away.

  Tonight, the wind wasn't strong enough. Not near cold enough.

  I wanted it to erase my dream. I wanted it to steal away the images and feelings and wash me clean.

  I'd dreamed of Hammond.

  I supposed I shouldn't have been surprised. It had been a frightening night and he'd been the major part of it. Even after I got home, it had taken a while for my mind to settle down enough to let me sleep.

  I'd dreamed I was with Hammond on a sandy beach. Not one of Toronto's beaches. A tropical beach of white sand stretching to an ocean glittering with sunshine. Hot with the kind of heat that makes you sweat even when you're lying in the shade. I could smell fresh coconut and sex. I was sore from a full day of making love on the sand. We were alone and naked.

  But Hammond wasn't finished with me yet.

  He took my foot in his hand, brought it to his mouth. He licked the sole of my foot, and where his tongue touched me, I burned. I arched in response. I'd tasted him, and I wanted more.

  He wrapped his lips around my toe and gently sucked until I groaned with pleasure. But by the light in his eyes, it seemed the pleasure was all his.

  He sucked again, and I was sure I'd never had a lover this good, until he pulled his mouth away and watched with pure joy as my toe burst into flame. It burned, becoming a twisted, blackened thing. And when the fire went out and the toe fell off, he took the next toe in his mouth.

  And I let him.

  He burned off all ten of my toes and then what was left of my feet...and I let him. I ached for his mouth to move higher...to take all of me. I wanted him to have all of me. Every last piece, forever.

  That's when he laughed. That's when I woke up.

  There wasn't enough cold air on the planet to wash away the memory of Hammond or the shame of wanting him. Not even burying myself in Antarctica would cool this heat.

  I tried to tell myself it was just a dream. Too much champagne. Too much excitement for the night. But no matter how hard I tried to deny it, I knew it was more than a dream.

  Hammond had gotten to me. Got right under my skin. Got inside my head.

  He'd spoken to me at the restaurant inside my head. When he'd told me to run. When he said we would meet again.

  I'd walked in and invited myself to the table. I'd done this to myself.

  There was no telling what he could do now that he was in my head, now that he could speak to me that way. We were connected now. Who knew what he had access to, inside there? My computer passwords? My memories? My most private thoughts and feelings?

  A shiver ran through me.

  I was in trouble.

  The batshit crazy fire faerie had got right inside my head.

  And the worst of it was, I'd let him.

  Morning light spilled through the space between the curtains, brightening the room, reminding me of a fever-dreamed tropical beach. Hammond's laughter echoed in my mind.

  With a gasp, I sat bolt upright.

  I blinked, taking in the room with each deep breath as I tried to calm my frazzled nerves and racing heartbeat.

  It was seven o'clock. Luke was still in bed. Hammond was not in the room.

  Luke.

  Luke was still in bed. Why was Luke still in bed? Normally, Luke rose before dawn and went to the gym before leaving to be at work by seven. He kept his workout time the same on weekends.

  I grabbed my phone from my nightstand and checked the time and date.

  Right. It was Saturday.

  The events of the night before replayed in my mind and I shivered, suddenly cold. I put the phone back, laid down, and pulled the blankets up over my shoulders, shimmying my way into Luke's arms. He moaned sleepily and cinched his embrace a little tighter.

  "You okay?" he asked. His warm voice was rough with sleep but soft next to my ear.

  "Yeah."

  "I'm so glad we got out of there," he said. "All those poor people."

  "Your parents—have you heard from them? Are they okay?" My stomach knotted with guilt, knowing I'd caused the fire by provoking Hammond.

  I wouldn't be able to live with myself if something happened to Luke or his parents.

  "I got up and called to check on them an hour ago. They were already up and having coffee, waiting for their eggs Benedict." Luke yawned.

  That was a good sign. I would have felt relieved, but Luke shifted as though he were holding back on telling me something.

  "Mom is fine," he continued. "Dad has been coughing. He has a history of asthma, so this is nothing unexpected, but that hasn't stopped him from complaining. I told him to ask his doctor for an oxygen tank if he really felt he needed it."

  "Good."

  Luke drew in a breath and exhaled as he said, "He's decided his time is better spent at City Hall hunting down a politician to bribe into doing something about the arsonist, if there is one, or sloppy fire inspections if there isn’t, before his fire insurance rates go up."

  "Oh." The last thing I needed was a spotlight on the very issue we were trying to keep quiet. This was only going to make my job that much harder.

  "Bribery is illegal, you know," I said half-jokingly, turning my head so I could almost see him. Maybe Luke could get them to back off.

  "I'm sure it's not going to be outright bribery, so much as funding for election campaigns and donations to causes near and dear to the politicians' hearts," he said with a sigh.

  "Right." I turned away, nestling my back into his front, grateful that my Luke wasn't anything like his parents. Normally, being nestled together like this would be very cozy, comforting, even sexy. But today, Luke seemed a little distant. Certainly to be expected after last night's traumatic event, but I couldn't help but feel there was something he wasn't saying.

  The police were already trying to muscle into our investigation and now, after a fire at a high-profile restaurant, they were going to demand answers. Luke's parents were only going to make things worse.

  I needed to find Hammond. Fast.

  We dozed off and on, snuggled and cozy in the bed for most of the morning. I couldn't remember the last time we'd slept so late.

  I woke and Luke's side of the bed was empty, but I heard the shower running. The scent of fresh coffee wafted in, beckoning me. Hunger pains cinched my stomach. I climbed out of bed.

  I pulled on jogging pants and a sweatshirt before I headed to the kitchen, looking forward to wrapping my fingers around a steaming mug. My feet felt like frozen blocks of ice so I stopped at the bedroom closet to yank on a pair of warm socks and slippers.
I checked the thermostat in the hallway on my way by. Twenty-one degrees. I shouldn't be cold at all. I hoped I wasn't coming down with something.

  I was sipping my coffee when Luke joined me in the living room, where I'd curled up in the chair by the fireplace with a blanket thrown over me. He put on the television, and the flat screen hanging above the fireplace came to life with one of the city's news stations. Luke muted the sound. The blackened remains of the restaurant filled the screen. Fire crews were still on the scene, spraying water into the charred shell while smoke continued to rise.

  This was the last thing I wanted to see, and yet I couldn't take my eyes away from the screen.

  We were there. Right there. Inside those charred remains.

  I shuddered.

  Tears blurred my vision as I realized how close I'd come to losing Luke.

  I couldn't let that happen.

  The images on the screen changed and we noticed a pair of familiar faces sitting in the news studio. Luke's parents’ names scrolled across the bottom of the screen.

  "Oh no," Luke said. He unmuted the television.

  "What? What are they doing? Why are they on television?" My mind started to reel.

  Luke frowned. "I assure you I had no idea they were doing this. I only put it on because I got a message from Mother."

  I watched with horror as his parents recounted their experience at the restaurant with cries for "something to be done" about the arsonist and calls for "watchdogs" to oversee the investigation. Luke's face contorted with worry every time his father coughed and when they went into a rant about their son being at the restaurant and what a loss to the medical community there would have been if he'd been killed in the fire.

  I pulled out my phone and texted Magnusson about the newscast. Then I texted Randy Craddock, our contact within the police department, and asked him if he had any information on the restaurant host with the most, Stuart. I wanted a few more words with him about Hammond. I should check to see whether he knew anything useful.

  So much for my day off.

  "They do raise a good point," Luke said. He stood with his arms crossed.

  "Huh?" I'd tuned out his parents' list of demands while I'd been texting.

  "Don't you think this fire needs to be investigated? That something should be done?" I sensed him turning to face me.

  "I'm sure everyone has been working as hard as they can—"

  "The room got too hot too fast. Hot enough for the tablecloths to spontaneously ignite. Someone is responsible for the restaurant’s heating system."

  "Right." Spontaneous ignition. Not a faerie.

  "Who was that man you were talking to?"

  I looked up. His mouth was drawn tight. "What?"

  "Last night. On the main floor. After you'd been gone for so long, I got up to find you. I saw you sitting at another table."

  "Oh. Right. Just a client. He had questions."

  "I see." He nodded like everything was fine, but he looked down and away, his eyes shrouded in thought.

  "Luke, that's all it was."

  "Yeah, yeah. That's fine."

  It clearly was anything but fine. It felt like we were standing on opposite sides of Niagara Falls. A horrible feeling wrapped around my gut.

  Just how upset was he?

  My cell phone buzzed. Craddock had a name and address for me. I got up, throwing the blanket over the back of the chesterfield.

  "I have to go to work," I said cautiously. "Can we finish talking about this later?"

  "Work? Again?"

  "I can’t help when disaster strikes or that it’s my job to show up and tell people what their insurance covers for them. I don’t always deliver good news, either. I also have to tell people what their insurance doesn’t cover for them."

  "You’re right. I’m sorry. Go to work." His shoulders sagged and he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

  "Can we discuss this later?"

  He shrugged and turned away. "There's nothing to discuss. I forgot your job isn’t easy, either."

  "Luke—"

  "I'm going to the gym."

  I put on my best apologetic smile. "Can we do something special when I get home?"

  He paused and looked over his shoulder. "Sure."

  This was not sure. This was anything but sure. I should be staying to fix it. Instead, I was heading out the door.

  20

  Stuart McFadden's apartment building was average for this city: it wasn't the graffitti-streaked, gang-ridden Jane-Finch Corridor, and it wasn't a waterfront condo, but something in between—one of many orange-brick apartment buildings. Before I left my parking garage, I texted Magnusson the address. Hopefully he'd be able to join me as my backup, but I wasn't holding my breath.

  The last thing I expected was to be following thumping music all the way from the elevator to the exact apartment number Craddock had given me. After last night's disaster, I'd expected Stuart to be sleeping.

  I knocked. No response. I knocked again. Louder. But again, no one answered the door, and I heard nothing but loud music from within. This time, I kicked and pounded and banged and shouted. Several doors down the hallway opened, heads peeked out but disappeared again.

  One head did not. "Cut that out!" an elderly gentleman croaked. "Do you know what time it is?"

  I glanced at my watch. "Nine thirty-six, sir," I said. Yeah, I could be a wiseass. At least I didn't ask him if he wanted fries with that.

  He scowled at me and pointed a finger at McFadden's door. "Get him to turn that crap off or I'll call the police and have you all arrested!"

  "Good luck with that," I mumbled after he slammed his door shut.

  Just as I prepared to pound on the door again, it opened and the music got a whole lot louder.

  "Hi!" I shouted brightly. "Remember me?" I held up my shiny badge.

  Blinking red eyes that he couldn't seem to keep open, Stuart pushed the door to close it, but I got my foot wedged in time. Taking advantage of his surprise and sorry state, I pushed the door wide open and sailed in.

  The place was a dark and disgusting mess. People were passed out over every piece of furniture and available scrap of floor. Empty bottles littered the place. The reek of alcohol, smoke, and garbage seemed to pour out of the walls.

  There was no way I wanted to do an interview in the middle of this. I could barely hear myself think.

  I couldn't interview him out in the hallway, either, not if I wanted any sort of privacy from the litany of nosy neighbours. So I went to the next best place.

  I grabbed Stuart by the ear and hauled him out to the hallway.

  "Ow! Shit! That hurts! Let me go!" he shrieked like a little girl. "Where are you taking me?"

  I held onto his ear until the elevator doors closed and we started moving. Then I let him go so I could hit the emergency stop button.

  "Remember me?" I said towering over him, while he cradled his ear and cowered in the corner. If there was one universal truth, it's that everybody lies. "From the restaurant last night? You claimed to not remember me, but we both know that wasn’t true, don’t we, Stuart?"

  "Hey! It wasn’t my fault!" he whined. He frowned, rubbing the side of his head. "He did something to me."

  I shook my head. He was dressed in rainbow-bright polyester short-shorts that looked like they came straight out of a seventies disco roller rink, and a plain, white, sleeveless tee. He wore dark circles and heavy bags under his bloodshot eyes. His curly hair went in every direction, and there was something like dried drool stuck to his cheek. At least I hoped it was dried drool.

  "Were you up all night doing dr—"

  "Partying," he said.

  "You're in big trouble," I said, meaning it in more ways than one. Did he really think I missed the blow laid out on the coffee table, or the syringes and spoons on the dining room table?

  "Hey, I was just blowing off some stress—"

  "Not just that. I mean, the drugs are going to ruin your life, yeah, but you may not have mu
ch life left after last night."

  He flopped down on the floor with his arms crossed and stared straight ahead with a pout on his face.

  "Do you understand?" I asked. "That man-- that guy who got in your head and burned down the restaurant last night-- is going to want you dead now that you can identify him."

  That got Stuart's attention, but not the way I'd hoped. "Why? What did I do? He cost me my job, ruined my life, and now he's going to kill me?" He snorted.

  "You can identify him, McFadden." I was watching him carefully now.

  Stuart blinked. "You know my last name?"

  "And where you live, and if I could find out your name and address, so can that guy."

  "Shit."

  Drugs and alcohol are how people escape the hard realities of their lives. Champagne was certainly lovely for dealing with the future in-laws. It was no coincidence Stuart went on a bender last night. He was building walls around the existence of faeries, trying to escape the things he saw. Things he now knew existed but shouldn’t.

  And now it was time to smash through those walls.

  "And now you know what he can do."

  Stuart looked confused. "You mean the fire?"

  I nodded, watching the slow replay of the night's events pass over his mind. "You were watching us. I know you saw exactly what happened."

  Stuart swallowed. "Please, I don't want a hitman after me. I didn't say a word to the cops, I promise. I didn't tell them what really happened, I promise."

  Great. Now he thought this was a mob thing and not a supernatural thing. "Your promises don't mean anything to me. Or him."

  He burst into tears. Big, whooping, ugly sobbing. Hugged his knees to his chest.

  "Please don't let him kill me," he sobbed. "I don't want to die!"

  He was terrified of Hammond. Perfect. Because anyone who wasn't afraid was in for big trouble.

  I squatted down in front of him so I could get him to see the sincerity on my face, hear it in my voice.

  "I can catch him," I said. "I can make it so he never comes near you. So he never hurts anyone else again."

  He turned his tear-stained face up at me. "You can?"