I nodded, though “happy” wasn’t quite the word I would use for finding myself a pawn in their fairy scheme. “So what’s this about missing fairies?”
“Over the last few months nearly a hundred fairies have gone missing,” he whispered. “No one thought much about it since they were fringe fairies.” A fringe fairy was one who lived outside the protection of the Fairy Council. They usually lived in small bands, scavengers searching for non–Tooth-Fairy–acquired dentin. Without dentin no fairy could survive for long. A week, tops. Which was why the Tooth Fairy existed, to collect teeth for the council. “Then a few fairies from the outskirts of Fairyland began to vanish too,” he said. “And we knew something was very wrong.”
“No one knows what happened to them?”
“One day they were there, and the next . . .” He shrugged his tiny shoulders. “I fear the worst.”
I suspected he wasn’t far off. Fairies just didn’t up and disappear. Someone—or worse, something—had snatched them. “Why would someone want a bunch of fairies?” I asked, not expecting an answer. The only enemies they had that I could think of, other than me, were the Shadows, and they’d been underground since last year. More important, I doubted the Shadows would want to keep a hundred fairies locked up for months. They were much more likely to kill the fairies outright, leaving tiny corpses in their wake.
Peyton scratched the grey whiskers on his chin. “I can think of a number of reasons. After all, we make fine houseguests . . .”
I rolled my eyes, which oddly enough gave me a better reason, this one much more realistic. “Dust,” I said, snapping my fingers. A small bolt of electricity shot out, leaving a smoldering patch of carpet on the floor. I stomped it out with the heel of my boot. “Someone is taking fairies for their dust.”
Peyton’s eyes widened. “Oh, this is bad. Very bad.”
I nodded. An average fairy, as long as he or she ingested enough dentin, would produce about a pound of fairy dust every night. The fairy would then spend much of the morning shaking it off, ridding his or her body of the stuff in order to function throughout the day. Dust often acted as an evolutionary deterrent for any and all predators, sort of like the horrible taste of a brightly colored butterfly. If attacked, a fairy would shake his or her wings, flinging dust at the predator. Since dust acted on the nervous system, as little as half an ounce would incapacitate an attacker for hours in a relaxed, pain-free, and numb state.
Any more of the stuff and you’d be in the morgue.
Having been on the receiving end of the dusty stuff more times than I cared for, I could attest to the intense aftereffects. It was also highly addictive, hence the common use of dust on the streets. Over the last few years the increase in dust addiction had blossomed into a full-on epidemic in the city. No longer were the addicts content to stuff it up their noses; they’d begun to shoot it straight into their veins.
If some drug kingpin was kidnapping fairies for their dust, things would only get worse on the streets. I closed my eyes, picturing the chaos already filling the city, from Zen-spouting trolls to flesh-eating ogres, and everything in between.
One of the many reasons I loved living here.
But I drew the line at drugs.
At least the hard ones.
Dealers preyed on the innocent, turning kids into addicts with a single hit, forcing young girls and women alike to sell their bodies and souls for a few bucks. Not that I wasn’t all for the free market when it came to sex. But I preferred willing partners with plain old greed in their eyes rather than track marks on their arms.
“Okay,” I said to Peyton. “I’ll look into it. But you have to keep your mouth shut. One wrong word and whoever is keeping the fairies might decide to cut his losses and kill them all.”
His hand flew to his puffy lips. “I won’t say a word.”
My gaze narrowed on his face. “Not even to Clayton.”
“But—”
I shook my head. “Your brother’s got enough to worry about with the upcoming election. He doesn’t need this hanging over his head too.” With Izzy’s encouragement Clayton had tossed his hat into the ring for the first official democratic election for Tooth Fairy. Now, with less than a month until Election Day, neither twin had much time to do anything but kiss winged babies and fairy butt.
“You’re right,” he said. “We need to focus on what’s important.”
My bluish eyebrow rose.
Peyton had the grace to blush. “I meant, we should focus on the election because you are going to focus on the more important matter of finding the missing fairies.”
“Uh-huh.”
He nodded once. “Now that that’s settled, I’ll leave you to your dinner.”
“Dinner?”
Frowning, he motioned to my kitchen. “Aren’t you barbecuing?”
Rather than answer, I walked him to the door, promised to call as soon as I learned anything about the missing fairies, and shut the door in his face, which wasn’t nearly as satisfying as I’d hoped.
With a sigh I went in search of a can of air freshener.
CHAPTER 6
The next morning as the sun broke through the cracks in my bedroom window I yawned and stretched. Little bluebirds chirped outside, mocking me. I hated mornings. All mornings. But especially this one. Izzy had called me again last night, sweetly requesting my presence at the office by eight A.M.
I glanced at the clock by my bedside.
Nine fifteen.
Oops.
In my defense, I’d been a wee bit drunk by the time Izzy had called last night.
I would’ve agreed to anything.
Unfortunately, all she wanted was for me to meet with the new VP of marketing she’d recently hired. I dreaded it, but it was part of the job. Or so Izzy told me time and again. “You need to make more of an effort with our employees,” she often said. “Get to know them. Let them get to know you instead of walking around the office glaring at everybody.”
That was why I now found myself slowly getting out of bed, mostly because of my advancing age, and heading for the shower. Thirty-one was a bitch. Everything ached, from my littlest piggy to the ends of my hair. Naked, my pale, flesh-toned skin nearly blinding in the sunlight, I padded across my bedroom to the bathroom. I avoided glancing in the mirror, knowing just what I would see—red-rimmed eyes, a bluish five-o’clock shadow, and a head full of hair badly in need of a cut. My hair stood on end from both static and my own electricity, not to mention a slight beer gut, which stood out on its own as well, a new addition to my already vast array of physical shortcomings.
With a wet smoker’s cough I vowed to take better care of myself.
Like I did every morning after hacking up a smoke-infested lung.
Stepping into the shower, I cranked the water to hot and enjoyed a rainbow of blue sparks flickering off my body as I washed myself clean. After scrubbing my parts twice, I turned off the water and toweled dry. Still taking my time, mostly just to annoy Izzy, I slowly pulled on a clean undershirt, a silk dress shirt, a freshly pressed pair of suit pants, and shiny loafers. As much as I hated the dress code of corporate securities, I had to admit I looked damn good in it.
However, I absolutely refused to wear a tie.
Any tool who did was asking for trouble.
It took only a few seconds when in a fight for your life to twist your opponent’s tie into a garrote, thereby ending the fight with little muss or fuss. Never would I give someone that kind of leverage.
Besides the snub-nosed .38, the final accessory to my attire was a pair of black leather gloves. No use electrocuting the clients before they paid their bills. Fully dressed, I headed to the kitchen for the breakfast of champions: leftover coffee from the day before and a stale roll with what looked like flakes of basil in it but turned out to be green mold. I spit the roll out, promised my stomach a big lunch, and headed off to work.
I wasn’t whistling.
Far from it, in fact.
I grabbed the Fey Tra
in uptown to the office of Reynolds & Davis Securities. The building that housed our offices dwarfed the surrounding buildings by ten stories at least. Like a beanstalk, the building rose into the clouds, disappearing into the sky. When we first partnered up, Izzy had insisted on new digs, saying my old office was too small for a growing business. Which it was, but given our financial standing, it was hard to rent anything bigger inside the city limits, and I’d be damned if I’d commute to the outer kingdoms. A two-hour drive to go twenty miles held little appeal. But I suspected Izzy’s insistence on moving had more to do with my nearly dying inside my old office than a longing for more expensive digs. I never put the question to her, though. Instead, I agreed to look at a few places within our price range, which was about a thousand bucks a month at the time. A stretch, but anything under a grand meant we’d be doing business out of a box under a bridge in Troll Town. Not a pleasant thought.
Two days after that, Izzy dragged me to what were now our offices, way up on the fortieth floor of a mass office complex. Lawyers, stockbrokers, and other assorted corporate riffraff worked on the floors above and below us.
We actually prettied the place up a bit.
Or so Izzy claimed was the reason the rent was so cheap. I hadn’t believed her at the time, and I still didn’t. My only hope was that the twins weren’t our landlords. I’d had enough of their interfering innkeeping at my old place.
Shaking off the memory, I took the elevator to the fortieth floor, inanely singing along to the Muzak version of “Ring Around the Rosie” blasting through the elevator speakers. To tell the truth, I was as pleased as the rest of the riders when the doors opened at the brightly lit offices of Reynolds & Davis.
A sleek receptionist with long flaxen curls, a color not found in nature, who may or may not have been a former princess and contestant on The Bachelor: Prince Charming Edition, smiled in welcome. Until she saw it was me, and then her smile slipped a few degrees south. “Mr. Reynolds, how nice to see you,” she lied without a hint of sincerity.
“Right back at you,” I said to her as I pulled off my gloves. I would’ve used her name but I couldn’t remember it to save my life. I did, however, remember shocking her about a month ago. Not entirely my fault since she’d been the one to grab my ass at the after-work office party. My eyes narrowed as I considered the color of her hair, thinking of the Ferns’ description of the woman with hair the color of spun gold. I quickly shook off my growing paranoia. “Is Ms. Davis in?” I motioned to Izzy’s office, which sat at the opposite side of the office from mine.
The receptionist glared at me. “I’ll check.” She pressed her long, manicured nail against the intercom and then spoke quietly to whoever answered. She seemed to take great pleasure in making me wait for an answer. Seconds turned into minutes. Finally her eyes met mine. “Ms. Davis is in a meeting at the moment. She will be with you shortly.”
I laughed and headed toward Izzy’s office, the woman’s screeches following me down the hallway. I didn’t bother to knock on Izzy’s door; instead, I pushed it wide open. “Honey, I’m home.”
Izzy rose from her chair, looking gorgeous as always. Her long red hair curled around her shoulders, brushing her ample breasts, which were hidden inside a charcoal business suit. The only hint of color besides her hair was a bright red camisole barely discernable underneath her form-fitting jacket. Her indigo eyes flared almost purple with anger. But her lips twisted into an indulgent smile. A smile she used too often when in my company. “Blue,” she said, her voice husky and soft. “I’m glad you’re here.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“You’re just in time to meet Clark Boyer, the third . . .” Her eyes narrowed when I failed to respond. “Our new VP of marketing.”
I nodded to the guy seated in front of Izzy’s desk. He rose, a good four inches taller and twenty pounds of pure muscle heavier than me. He wore a Grimm Brothers suit that probably cost more than my rent, and his hair was slicked back with too much pomade.
I squinted at his do, fairly sure he dyed his hair. That shade of black wasn’t found in nature. And was that a widow’s peak peeking from his forehead? Suddenly I felt a lot better about Clark. Until I noticed how Izzy was looking at him, and he at her. My throat grew dry and my palms started to sweat. Not a good thing when you’re electrically challenged.
I cleared my throat, trying to dispel the sudden rush of current inside me. “Pleased to have you aboard.” When the hell did I start sounding like a boat captain? I shook off that thought, stepping forward to shake Clark’s hand.
“Don’t,” Izzy ordered, her eyes darting to my outstretched hand.
Clark froze, his hand a few inches from mine.
I winced, pulling my electrically charged hand back. “Oops. Better not.”
A warm smile split Clark’s too-handsome-to-be-good-in-bed features. “That’s right. Izzy told me about your . . .”
“My what?” My jaw clenched as I looked from Clark to Izzy. “Izzy,” I said in a sarcastic voice, “just what secrets have you been sharing?”
“Behave,” she hissed in warning. She turned to smile at Clark. “Clark’s first priority is increasing our brand. He wants us to have a greater presence on all the social media sites, especially Fairybook.”
Brand? Since when did a PI need a brand? We followed cheating husbands and white-collar crooks. What else was there to say? I kept my opinion to myself, though, at least for now. But I vowed to talk some sense into Izzy as soon as we were alone. She might be a whiz when it came to making money, but I knew what our clients wanted, and it sure as hell wasn’t a Fairybook presence. “Okay, then,” I said flatly. “Izzy, when you’re done here, I’d like to talk to you about a couple of things . . .”
She nodded. “I’ll come to your office.”
“Thanks.” I turned to Clark again. “Nice to meet you.”
“You too,” he answered. “Very much so.”
At his words, a vague sense of uneasiness filled me. I nodded once and then walked out of Izzy’s office. I could feel Clark’s eyes on me, watching, assessing. I didn’t like the feeling one little bit. Something was up with that guy. I wasn’t sure what, but I suspected it had something to do with his interest in my partner.
The thought of them together left me cold.
Odd when one burned just above a hundred degrees.
CHAPTER 7
I walked down the long corridor to my office, my footfalls swallowed up by the thick carpeting, with the exception of the sharp crackle of static electricity building around me. Outside my office door, I pulled to a stop. The shiny nameplate on my door brought a smile to my lips—“Blue Reynolds, CEO.”
Not that the title mattered. I could say I was a CEO all I wanted, but when the chips were down, Reynolds & Davis was Izzy’s baby. I appreciated her attempt at including me in the daily operations, but I was and always would be a PI, a private dick, ready and willing to kick ass and take names in order to solve a case, not some corporate stuffed shirt. Not that there was much ass kicking to do. Investigating in this day and age was all about computers, the Internet, and electronic clouds filled with everything a PI needed to know.
I missed the old days.
But I wasn’t a true Luddite. I used computers and other electronic gadgetry when the investigation called for it, which seemed like more and more often.
I sat down in my high-backed office chair, running my hand over the desktop, feeling as worn as the wood under my fingers. The desk was the only piece of furniture from my old office. Each pit, scar, and fingerprint scorch mark told a story I’d explained when Izzy first protested my choice in furnishings. I’d pointed to a gouge mark on the side where I’d smashed a gnome’s head into the wood when he failed to pay for an array of photographic evidence that his lovely bride-to-be had quite the billy-goat fetish.
In the end Izzy had agreed to keep the desk, but everything else in my office, including the half-empty bottle of year-old scotch, had gone straight to the Dumpst
er. Though I missed my old office at times, missed the smell of mold and case files, I had to admit my new office wasn’t too shabby. For one thing, it was three times the size, smelled like a new car, and lacked the general chaos and clutter of the old office. When I needed a file now, I pressed the intercom buzzer and some lowly file clerk set it on my desk a few minutes later. Sort of like an investigational drive-through.
To my surprise, when I opened the laptop computer on my desktop it flickered to life. Odd, since I could have sworn I’d shut it down the day before so it could do some random updates or whatever it was computers did when their users weren’t around. I suspected it was something to do with plotting to take over the world.
A file folder sat open on the screen, displaying it for the world to see. Not that the world cared one way or another about my quest to find a former nurse at the New Never City Hospital named Christine Connors. Only I cared about her, since she very well might hold the key to finding out my true identity and ending my electrified curse.
Not that I’d had a single break in my search for the elusive Ms. Connors. The file I kept locked in my bottom desk drawer, a file only three people knew of—well, two now that James was dead—was only about an inch thick, but it held years’ and years’ worth of my life. Years I’d spent searching for the truth behind my birth and the subsequent electric curse. I often asked myself why my parents had abandoned me on the steps of an orphanage. Was it because of my electrical curse? Was said curse genetic? Or more of a freak mutation? But even more important, was there a way to end it? Would I ever be free?
I shook off my wayward thoughts, closed the computer file, and got down to business. Fairy business. I did a quick search on all the interwebs for any mention of the disappearing fairies. Finding nothing, I moved on to my less straightforward investigational methods. I contacted my informants in the underworlds, both figurative and literal, offering a reward for any information pertaining to the missing fairies or my attempted murder.
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