Bitches and Brawlers

by Melanie Karsak

  Edwin shifted in his seat. “Indeed. There have been some options, but I didn’t think they were the right fit for Clemeny.”

  “Worked a case with Agent Rose this week. That was…messy.”

  Quinn laughed. “No doubt, no doubt,” he said then looked at Jessica.

  I followed his gaze. She was smiling wistfully at the cherry tree. Jessica never cared much for agent talk, and Quinn always tried to keep her out of it. I was not surprised when he then asked, “How is your grand-mère, Clem?”

  “Remarkably quiet these days.”

  “Well done,” Quinn told Edwin. “And you, Agent Hunter, what of your family?”

  And so it begins. Moving deftly, Quinn turned the conversation into an interview.

  “My father, Sir Edward Hunter, has retired to our estate in Antigua. He was previously attached to the crown as an attaché.”

  Quinn nodded. “And your mother?”

  “She…she passed when I was a boy.”

  “I’m very sorry to hear that,” Quinn said.

  Jessica rose and set a comforting hand, albeit briefly, on Edwin’s shoulder. “Let me go see about the refreshments. I had them make all your favorites, Clemeny,” she said with a smile.

  I looked at Edwin. I hadn’t known anything about his mother. Most of our conversations had lingered around the job. I had sensed that there was something tender about his family issues, but I hadn’t pressed. Now that the story was out, I was sorry for it.

  Once Jessica left, Quinn turned to me. “So, what did Rose blow up this week?”

  “It wasn’t her. It was me. A fang exploded all over me. I didn’t know they did that.”

  Quinn and Edwin both laughed.

  “Yeah, I saw it happen once. Bloody awful,” Quinn said.

  “Literally,” I replied with a laugh.

  “Lionheart keeping things quiet for you?” Quinn asked.

  A guilty pang crossed my heart, but I buried it. “Quiet enough, though some of the old pack is stirring up trouble. Edwin is going to help me follow up on a lead today.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “I don’t know, exactly. Alodie is mixed up in something. She’s trying to leverage a way to bring back Cyril’s old crew, and she’s tracked down someone who was or is in the States. It has something to do with the American West. I don’t know who or why yet.”

  Quinn grunted at the mention of Alodie’s name. “Alodie. I don’t know why Lionheart didn’t just send her away. Can’t you convince him, Clem? I always suspected he was partial to your charms.”

  I swallowed hard and glanced at Edwin out of the corner of my eye. My relationship with Lionheart was complicated and not one I wanted Edwin to be concerned with, but I could see from the expression on his face, that Edwin had caught Quinn’s meaning.

  “I need to know what she’s after first. She got her hands on a shaman, used an elemental to track someone for her.”

  “Who?” Edwin asked.

  I shook my head. “I don’t know.”

  Quinn tapped his cane. “The American West… Do you remember Clara?”

  “Clara?” I asked, trying to recall. The name was familiar, but I couldn’t place her.

  Quinn nodded. “She was Cyril’s mate, though that was long before you started the job. She and Cyril had a boy, but Cyril being Cyril, he was rough on the lad, so Clara took the pup and left. She went to the States. Arizona, I think. That must have been twenty or so years ago.”

  “Hell’s bells. On the map, the shaman’s monster conjured the image of a wolf wearing a crown.”

  “A prince,” Edwin said.

  “Dammit,” I said with a frown. The packs would be unlikely to follow Alodie, but they would rally behind Cyril’s blood. I needed to pluck that young wolf off the streets before anything got started. But first, I had to find him. I remembered then how the line on the map had twisted across America and the Atlantic. For all I knew, he could be here already. What was I doing making a social call when Alodie was about to usher in a war?

  “Here we are. Tea, lemonade, and pastries. I have petit-fours and scones for you, Clemeny,” Jessica said as a servant followed behind her pushing a cart. She paused and looked from Quinn to Edwin to me. “Well, I see I’ve stumbled into something.”

  “As usual, your husband just gave me a lead on a case,” I said with a grateful nod to Quinn.

  “We need to increase your retirement wages, Agent Briarwood,” Edwin said good-naturedly.

  Quinn grinned at him. “I like him, Clem.”

  At that, we all chuckled. Jessica fixed my tea precisely as I liked it and handed it to me.

  “He’s a good catch,” she whispered, eyeing Edwin over her shoulder. “And you look so beautiful.”

  “Thank you,” I said then looked her over. While Quinn was looking thin and gaunt, Jessica most certainly wasn’t. In fact, being this close to her, I noticed that her heart-shaped face seemed far rounder, as did the rest of her. I gasped. Loudly.

  Jessica laughed then turned to Quinn. “She finally noticed.”

  Quinn chuckled.

  “A-are you?”

  “Due in the autumn,” Jessica said then touched her belly.

  Setting my cup aside, I rose to embrace her. “Congratulations.”

  Jessica laughed lightly. “Thank you.”

  I went to my old partner then and took his hand, leaning in to kiss his cheeks. “Congratulations, my old friend,” I whispered.

  “Now, Clem. Don’t get emotional. Between the dress and the beau, I’ll barely recognize you.”

  I took him by his clean-shaved chin. “Could say the same for you. I’m so happy for you.”

  Quinn grinned at me.

  “Wonderful news. Many felicitations,” Edwin said, rising to shake Quinn’s hand.

  I winked at Quinn then turned and went to Edwin who looked down at me, giving me a brief, private smile. He set his hand on the small of my back.

  Jessica lifted a plate of petit-fours and offered it to me. “Better take one now before I eat them all. There used to be twice as many. It was all I could do to save some for you,” she said with a laugh.

  Grinning, I gently pushed the plate back to her. “With my compliments to the little one,” I said.

  Edwin gently stroked my back. I look up at him once more. He reached out and lightly touched my chin, a sparkle in his eyes.

  “How about some lemonade, Agent Hunter,” Quinn said, barely suppressing the laugh in his voice.

  Edwin gave me that slight smile once more then turned to Quinn. He coughed once then said, “Yes, please. Thank you,” he said then went to the serving cart to get a drink.

  Behind him, I gave Quinn a scolding look.

  My old partner winked at me then turned to his wife. Jessica was pointing to all the sweets on the cart, describing them all to Edwin while she munched on petit-fours. Edwin gave Jessica a kind, friendly smile.

  In that brief moment, all thoughts of Alodie and Lionheart and werewolves vanished. Suddenly, I felt like I saw an image of the future.

  And I loved it.

  Chapter 13: Mister Phillip Phillips

  We left Quinn and Jessica a few hours later and made our way back to the city in order to visit the British Museum.

  Once we had turned the corner out of sight of Quinn and Jessica’s house, Edwin exhaled a deep sigh of relief.

  I chuckled. “As bad as that?”

  He gave me a soft smile. “No, not at all. Mrs. Briarwood is lovely. It’s just… Agent Briarwood is intimidating.”

  I laughed. “Intimidating? Haven’t you faced some of the worst demons ever to pop up in our realm?”

  “Yes, but none of them lorded in a fatherly manner over you. Do you… Do you think I did all right?”

  “Edwin.”

  “I’m quite sincere, Clemeny. I really do want the people you care about to approve of our…match.”

  Our match. “Yes, you did all right.”

  Edwin smiled lightly.
“Good. I’ve won over Agent Briarwood and your grand-mère. With those marks behind me, I think I’m all well and good to face your Mr. Phillips, whomever he is.”

  “That’s the question, isn’t it?”

  Edwin nodded. “I haven’t been to the museum since I was a boy. My mother used to take me on a tour from time to time. I must have been ten or so the last time I was there.”

  I had never actually been to the museum before but felt too embarrassed to say so. After all, the entry fee was not cheap, and Grand-mère only spent her money on necessities. But more, my thoughts went to Edwin and the small catch I’d heard in his voice when he spoke of his mother. “I’m sorry to hear about your mother.”

  Edwin nodded. “Thank you. It was a great loss. My father and I… Well, we never got along.”

  “And he’s gone to Antigua?”

  “We have an estate there. Victoria has given him some work to do on behalf of the crown. My father,” Edwin said then paused, “made some embarrassing choices regarding a ward of his some years back. He left the country amongst scandal thereafter.”

  I raised an eyebrow at Edwin. “And the ward?”

  “When she didn’t get what she wanted, she left my father heartbroken and sauntered off to Italy in search of her next mark.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “We were lucky, in a way. My father figured out the game just in time. He left the family estate, Willowbrook Park, to me and took his eroded reputation into retirement with him.”

  “That must have been very difficult for you.”

  “It’s no matter now. What about you, Clemeny? It’s only you and your grand-mère?”

  “The widow Louvel raised me. In truth, I have no idea who my real parents are. I was left as an orphan at Saint Clement Danes,” I said, my stomach twisting with embarrassment.

  “Any ideas about your birth family?”

  I shook my head but then remembered Lionheart’s words. I needed to go to the summer country. I debated for a moment on whether or not to tell Edwin. But tell him what? The preternaturals thought I smelled like roses. What did that even mean?

  “It makes no difference. We shall carve our own paths forward,” Edwin said.

  I smiled up at him. “Sometimes literally.”

  He chuckled. “Indeed.”

  We took the tram from Twickenham to the British Museum, arriving about an hour before Phillip Phillips was scheduled for his tour. Checking in with the guards—who eyed Edwin and me suspiciously—to alert them to our presence and possible complications, they permitted us to carry on. The massive museum had been under construction for many years, only reopening of late. Edwin and I headed toward the Assyrian exhibit.

  “Who do we have working in the thieves’ colony watching my old boys?” I asked Edwin as we wove between the massive, ancient stone sculptures.

  Edwin frowned. “Not the Clemeny Louvel of Australia, I’m afraid. Some good field agents, but, it seems, not good enough.

  I paused in front of a statue of a winged lion with the head of a man.

  “From the royal palace in Nimrud. Related to the war goddess Ishtar,” Edwin read from a plaque.

  I looked up at the tall sculpture which was more than double my height. It occurred to me then that not only had the preternaturals roamed our own realm for hundreds of years, but they had done so worldwide for millennia in a variety of forms.

  “The fighting lion was a symbol of the war goddess,” Edwin continued.

  I studied the statue. The man’s head was armored. Did they have shape-shifting lions in ancient Assyria? Suddenly I was glad I was only hunting wolves.

  We moved from the statues to study the reliefs that had come from the walls of ancient temples. On them, I saw massive ships, depictions of war, gods and goddesses, and more lions.

  “When I faced Skollson, Lionheart warned me that wolf culture was deeply ingrained in Norwegian myth because the preternaturals nearly outnumbered the humans at one point. Do you suppose it was like that in other cultures?” I asked, my fingertips just touching the image of a man-lion.

  Edwin considered the relief. “We may tease our Pellinore brothers and their endless and seemingly futile dragon hunts, but there is a reason King Arthur was called a Pendragon.”

  I scoffed. “You can’t be serious. Dragons?”

  Edwin raised a playful eyebrow at me then turned back to the figure. “Just be glad you don’t have to worry about dragons. Besides, your wolves keep you busy enough. It’s good that Sir Richard is inclined to speak to you. Agent Greystock informed me that his cooperation is not easily won.”

  There was an undertone to his voice that I didn’t miss. Suspicion? Jealousy? I was probably reading more into it than I should. “He’s too smart and too crafty for any of our good, but he’s loyal to the crown. He just needs to be firmly reminded of it from time to time.”

  Edwin nodded, but I noticed his stance was a bit stiffer than it had been a moment before.

  It was then that the palms of my hands and bottoms of my feet started to prickle. I motioned to Edwin.

  “Someone’s here,” I whispered.

  Nodding, Edwin took my hand, and we found a discreet spot away from the crowd behind a statue of the goddess Astarte. The room was brimming with people. I scanned the gallery. Someone was here. Who? Where?

  Edwin pulled out the small device he had used on the Krampus case. Adjusting a nob thereon, he scanned the room. To my surprise, the device sparked to life, glowing and beeping intensely.

  Edwin frowned.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “The relics are charged. They’re throwing things off.”

  “The relics are charged?” I asked, looking up at the statue of the ancient goddess.

  The statue of the goddess Astarte had wide, round hips, her hands cupping her breasts which had been covered loosely by a swath of fabric. She had a placid look on her face and wore a crescent moon on her head. I closed my good eye and glanced at the statue with my mooneye. There was something there, just below the surface, like a wave of heat coming off the figure.

  But then, I heard a laugh I couldn’t miss.

  I sighed.

  Edwin looked at me. “What is it?”

  I frowned. “Alodie,” I whispered almost inaudibly.

  Making sure the veil I was wearing fully covered my face, I looked around the statue and followed the sound of the ultra-feminine laughter. There I found Alodie on the arm of the gentleman she’d visited the night before. He was pointing at a relief of King Gilgamesh. Alodie, who was impeccably dressed in a lemon-colored gown with lace trim, carrying a pretty parasol, clung to his every word.

  “Dammit,” Edwin said, unbuttoning his jacket and pulling out his gun.

  “What is it?”

  “I don’t know what’s going on, but I do know who he is.”

  “Him?” I asked. “Phillip Phillips?”

  Edwin nodded. “Yes, Phillip Phillips. Of course, that is not his real name. His name is Rumpole, and he is a demon.”

  At the sound of his name, the small man turned and looked across the room toward us. His eyes flashed brightly for just a moment, and the expression on his face darkened.

  Alodie, who was still giving the man a fake laugh, patting his arm as she did so, noticed her mark was distracted. Following his gaze, she turned and looked at us. Her eyes narrowed as she looked me over. Fury washed over her face as she realized it was me. She shook her head angrily, her jaw clenching.

  But at that moment, it wasn’t her I was worried about. Whomever Rumpole was, he recognized Edwin, and that terrible creature was about to unleash hell.

  Chapter 14: Ishtar Rises

  “Hell’s bells,” I whispered, pulling my pistol from my boot.

  “Clemeny,” Edwin said warningly.

  But he didn’t have to say a word. The shutters on the tall windows of the gallery slammed shut, and the lights above flickered out. A torrent of wind began to circle the room.

 
; The human tourists, shocked and frightened by this sudden and inexplicable weather occurrence in the middle of their casual museum viewing, hurried for the doors, which was a good thing. Phillip Phillips was about to come unglued from his mild-mannered disguise.

  A fact about which even Alodie looked surprised.

  “What the hell?” Alodie said, stepping back as she looked at the man.

  “Stupid wolf,” Phillip Phillips said in a voice that echoed throughout the chamber. He flung out a hand toward her, sending Alodie flying across the room.

  “Bloody hell,” I said then pulled my knife.

  The doors to the gallery slammed closed as the wind picked up.

  “Edwin Hunter,” the demon called, walking slowly toward him.

  One of the museum guards raced into the room, his gun drawn.

  “What’s happening here?” the man demanded.

  The demon lifted his hand. A strange black smoke emanated from his fingers, lashing out like a sword that plunged into the man’s chest. A spray of blood blasted all over the statue from the temple of Ishtar. My mooneye saw the figure tremble, the head turning in the direction of the demon.

  Edwin dipped into his pocket and pulled out a tinkered device. He advanced on the demon as he began speaking loudly in Latin.

  Phillip Phillips—Rumpole—twitched violently. “Silence,” the demon commanded then reached toward Edwin, black smoke teetering on his fingertips.

  “Oh no you don’t,” I said then took aim and fired.

  The shot hit home, the bullet slamming through the demon’s chest. He paused a moment, turning as if someone had tapped him on the shoulder, and looked at me.

  He flung his hand toward me.

  I gasped.

  “No,” Edwin shouted.

  Alodie laughed.

  I stared, frozen, as the strange snaky smoke came hurdling at me. But then, something inside of me sparked to life. It was like a light flickered on inside me.

  I raised my hand. “No.”

  The smoke stopped, recoiling like it had run against something, stopping when it came near.