He took a drag from his cigarette, and I noticed the jerky shaking of his movements. I’d bet a golden pearl he was cranked out on some form of hallucinogen. And this being Wonderland, with a ready supply of spelled mushrooms at hand, I knew I’d win the bet.
“Ye be that detective lady hailing from Grimm, by any chance?” He spoke with the deep-throated trace of a Wonderland accent, and as he spoke, his nose twitched like a rabbit’s. The front two teeth holding the cigarette reminded me of white, blocky cinders.
No doubt this was the March Hare.
“Yes.” I walked over to him and shook his outstretched hand. His touch was warm, his palm slightly calloused. “And you are?”
“Harry.”
“Are you my guide?” I asked once he’d released me. If he was, I’d be phoning in a complaint to GPD headquarters in a nanosecond.
“I was s’posed to be, but I fell into a patch of halo-shrooms not an hour past. I’m seeing man-eating dinghbats crawling everywhere.” He gulped. “I don’t think ye’d be safe with me as I am.”
As he said it, the whites of his bloodshot eyes expanded in fear, and the vein in the side of his neck pulsed like the beat of a hummingbird. Now I understood the shakiness that coursed down every inch of him. He slapped at the air, and I took a step back.
“Right. Then is Hatter around?”
“Aye.” He nodded at least four times. “Back there.” He pointed before quickly turning his attention back to puffing on his cigarette.
Twirling on my heel, I jogged toward the constable’s hut and knocked once on the door.
“Come in!” a thunderous voice boomed. “And by the devil, if that’s you again, Hare, screaming of dinghbats, I’ll choke you myself.”
Swallowing my grin, I stepped inside.
The interior of the hut was not at all what I expected from looking at the outside. It wasn’t a rustic one-room cabin that I’d walked into, but a warmly lit garden that glowed with the flames of thousands of floating candles. Lightning bugs danced and zipped to and fro, their green glow discharging at uneven intervals and casting a hazy pallor on the thick vines of ivy sliding up the trellis-covered walls.
A man dressed in a burgundy velvet jacket and with a shaggy head of thick black hair sat behind a desk with a cup of steaming tea on his left and a stack of papers that seemed to pile as high as eternity on his right.
He wore a black cravat with white dots, which tied neatly around his long, muscular neck. Not nearly as shabby in appearance as the Hare was, Hatter sported a trimmed goatee, had a large—but not too large—nose that was centered evenly on his angular face. Medium-sized lips were currently tugging down at the edges into a puzzled frown. His brows rose to a peak, which added a slightly devilish appearance to him. But all of that was forgotten upon witnessing the peculiarities of his eyes—one a rich green and the other a vibrant, almost neon blue.
I wet my lips.
“Who are you?” he snapped in a terse growl.
Spine going stiff, I snatched my badge out of my pocket and flashed it at him. “Grimm PD.”
I might have lit into him for acting like such an ass if the attitude hadn’t immediately dissipated.
He sighed, pinched his brow, and then shook his head. “I’m sorry. This has been a day from hells. A body was discovered face down behind the Queen’s pub in a patch of spelled mushrooms. We’ve been fielding complaints all day.” He stood and walked around to the front of the desk. “But not your problem. Forgive me.”
Still prickly but understanding what it was like to have a crap day, I shook his hand. Long, strong fingers latched across my wrist.
His gaze was lucid, his eyes clear. In no way did he resemble the mad man of gossip. Grunting, I quickly dropped his hand.
“Yes. Well. I’ve had days like that.”
A body had been found behind the Queen’s pub in yet another realm of Grimm? Murder wasn’t uncommon in our realms. Great evil lived and walked amongst us, but it did seem odd that on the day I was investigating the twin murders on the Charmings’s lawn, yet another high-profile murder had been committed. I wasn’t sure if the Queen’s pub was on the Queen’s property or just a nickname the locals had given it, but still... strange.
Shoving his fingers through his hair and causing the edges of it to poke up stiffly in many directions, Hatter twirled on his leather shoes, glancing around.
“Where is that bloody teapot? Care for a drink?” he asked, shoving at another stack of papers behind his desk, which caused them to tumble down around his feet like an avalanche. Hatter bent over to peer beneath his desk, presumably for the missing teapot.
I frowned. “No. I’m fine. But I am in a hurry to get things going, if you don’t mind.”
He stood abruptly, causing another flurry of paperwork to scatter around him.
The chief would throw a conniption at the way these two ran things. There had to be a backlog of several years’ worth of form-filling to do. I cringed as Hatter sloppily gathered a few stacks of paper together then peered at the pile still scattered at his feet. He gave a resigned shrug before tossing himself down onto his chair, obviously giving it up as a lost cause.
“Forgive the mess,” he muttered.
Try as I might, that wouldn’t be happening any time soon. Tidiness was next to godliness in my eyes, and this was just a nightmare. Giving him a weak nod of assent, I pinched my lips shut and pretended that the stack of papers I sat on was actually a chair.
“You know, you really need a secretary.”
He growled. “Aye. We do. Unfortunately, there are few in Wonderland sane enough to do the job adequately, and none of them are willing.”
“Wasn’t like this when the Knight ran things,” I couldn’t help murmuring.
“No, indeed. I’ve gotten us caught up on at least two years’ worth of backlog at this point.” He shot back.
I snorted. “Touché.”
I’d never had a problem admitting it when I was wrong. That was partly the reason I found myself in my current predicament. He shrugged off my apology.
Lifting his cup of tea, he took a measured sip before setting it back down. “We’ll leave at first light.”
Hatter turned back to his paperwork, and from one minute to the next, was completely lost to his work, muttering beneath his breath as he scratched and scribbled things down, acting for all the world as though I were no longer even present. What the ever-loving hells?
I scowled and tapped my foot. This bastard had another think coming if he thought I was just going to sit here like a meek little mouse and continue to be ignored.
After another minute, I lost my composure completely and thwacked my palm down on the desk, startling him. He looked at me like I’d lost my mind.
“Listen, I don’t have days to drag this out, Constable Hatter.”
“Friends call me Maddox,” he mumbled by rote.
I flailed my wrist. “Whatever you say. Look, I’m here to work and get home. Now, let’s go.”
He held up his palm, his lips pinched tight in a frown as he said, “I don’t know how things work in Grimm, Detective Arielle—”
“It’s Elle,” I hissed, digging my claws into my knees at the sound of that goddess-awful name slipping from his tongue. Arielle had died years ago in a past life I wanted nothing to do with.
“Whatever.” He threw my words back at me. “You don’t want to be friendly, that’s fine. But around here, we do things differently.”
I chuckled, but the sound was anything but cordial. The bastard had me hamstrung, and I damned well knew it, but I wasn’t going down without a fight. “You know I can’t walk through Wonderland without a guide.”
“And I can assure you that has no bearing on why we’re not leaving tonight. You want your answers, then you must play by this realm’s rules.”
Seething with anger at this unexpected delay, I bit down on my tongue. He couldn’t know I only had three days of water to see me through, and he was right that it was c
urrently the dead of night. But working in a city meant keeping odd hours. Here in the country, that obviously wasn’t so.
“I have just enough water to last me three days here, Constable.”
He sighed and looked back up at me, his eyes clearly conveying his exasperation with this conversation. “I see. And should we need to return to your waters, I can assure you that I shall oblige you that journey. Our realm will remain open to you however long you have need of it, have no fear.”
At least he sounded sincere. One thing Ichabod had always stressed was that using honey and not vinegar was the way to keep those around you helpful. Counting to three in my head, I forced myself to a calm I didn’t feel.
“I’m sorry. I’m only anxious to get things underway. As I’m sure you understand.”
Nodding, he stood and gestured toward the gardens. “There is a brook not fifty yards back should you like a swim in it. The waters run in from fairy.”
They weren’t my waters, but fairy water would help alleviate some of the pressure from being on land too long.
“Thank you.”
Standing, I dipped my head one last time, but Constable Maddox Hatter was already back to work on his mounds of paperwork and lost to the thoughts in his head.
Speckled mushroom caps lit the way toward the brook. The garden contained a neatly trimmed set of topiaries—butterflies in flight, blooming roses, and even a thinking man. There were no flowers, but considering how deadly most of them were here, it was no wonder they’d decided against adding them.
In moments, I smelled the sweetness of fairy water. My fingers trembled as I lifted off my top and tossed it to the ground. Immediately it grew harder to breathe—not impossible, but far from pleasant. In two seconds, I had my pants undone and was kicking them into the pile of already-discarded clothing.
Turning, I faced the impossibly clear waters that glowed a deep-blue through the piercing darkness. This might be a garden within a home of sorts, but I heard the telltale song of predatory night birds somewhere off in the distance.
I dove into the deepest section of the brook, smiling the moment the chilly cold came into contact with my flesh and the burning sizzle of legs gave way to my golden tail. The rush of that transformation moved through my blood like a drug.
I swam several yards through the waters before turning back. Normally, I wouldn’t have cared about the land while I was swimming, but Wonderland had an intrigue to it that had always made me curious, despite my misgivings.
Gliding easily against the swift current, I studied my odd surroundings. Trees here seemed unable to decide whether it was winter or spring, like someone had drawn a line straight down each of their middles so that half a tree bloomed with the rich green of budding leaves, and the other half was nothing more than spindly branches reaching like witches’ fingers toward the sky.
Similarly, the landscape, too, seemed confused. On one side of the brook, it was deep winter with snow piling as high as my head in some places, and on the other, a balmy spring night with a plethora of lightning bugs zipping in and around bushes.
Animals I’d not noticed earlier came scampering out from between topiaries, shadowy creatures with eyes as big as my palm and bodies half that size.
The water I swam in tasted sweet and rich, pumped full of fairy magic so that each inhale of it reminded me of something fragrant and sugary. But the water itself was barren of life. There were no odd fish or unusual plant life in it, just rocks that gleamed like cut opal.
Turning onto my back, I allowed my fingers to trail languorously through the gentle swells as memories of a happier time crowded my thoughts. I thought of a time when, on a night, much like this one, I sealed my fate to a Prince of Thieves.
“What do you smile about, Detective?” Hatter’s deep voice shivered across my flesh, making me gasp.
Frowning, I glared at him, hiding my tail beneath the water.
“I am sorry.” He bowed. “I did not mean to startle you. I only came to tell you that supper is ready, should you wish to join us and discuss our course of action come morning.”
His hands flicked impatiently along the sides of his dark trousers.
Angry—but only because the ghost of my past, which never seemed to stay gone long, lingered still—I shook my head. “I’m fine. And yes, thank you. I’m starving.”
Before Maddox had a chance to turn away, I was shoving out of the water, calling the change instantly and suffering a moment of vertigo as my tail flashed once more into legs.
He averted his gaze quickly as a dark blush rose high on his cheeks. “I should leave you—”
“Oh, c’mon, Constable.” I rolled my eyes, squeezing the excess water from my hair as best I could. “As a siren, nudity is nothing.”
Marching over to my stack of clothes, I reached not for the pants, which donning might stop Maddox’s blushing, but my shirt. I was gasping and shaking by the time I slipped the final button into place.
He frowned. “Does it pain you to be outside your waters that much?”
Glancing up, I’d not even realized he’d been watching me. Feeling infinitely better now that I felt my waters rub against my chest, I nodded.
“You have no idea.”
Constable Maddox
MADDOX SWALLOWED HARD when Elle bent over once more to grab her leather pants. An honorable man would have turned on his heel, marched back the way he’d come, and not looked back. But Maddox hadn’t been able to make his feet move.
When Detective Elle had first appeared at his door, he’d been instantly aware of her exotic beauty. There were few creatures in all of Grimm quite as lovely as a siren, and Elle was no exception. Her face was so flawless that it seemed carved of marble. She had high cheekbones, a pert nose, a heart-shaped jawline, and golden eyes. Robin’s-egg-blue hair fell past her hips in a loose braid, and her long legs made his mouth water.
Her tail was equally as attractive—long and golden with perfectly shaped flukes. Her scales gleamed like coins in flame. She’d swum on her back in his brook, her eyes closed, an angelic smile on her face, her peach-tipped nipples poking out of the water and budded up tight. He’d lost himself then. She’d looked so innocent that he’d forgotten she was the same hard, demanding woman who’d snarled and snapped at him earlier.
Beneath the attractive exterior of any siren lay a darkness quite unparalleled in all of Grimm. As beautiful as they were, they were equally as deadly, if not more so. Many a wanderer had lost their souls to the briny depths of Davy Jones’s locker to sirens such as her. And though he didn’t know Detective Elle personally, her reputation was fierce. She was a man-eater.
Literally.
By all rights, she should have lost her badge for what she’d done—or had been alleged to have done. In truth, most of Detective Arielle Trident’s life was shrouded in mystery.
She slipped on her leather pants, gave her hair one final twist, then twirled on him, raising a dark brow.
“Well?” she snapped.
Clearing his throat, Maddox stepped to the side and swept his arm out. “After you.”
After several moments of thick silence, she glanced at him. “I honestly do not care that you caught me nude or wearing my tail.”
He dipped his head. “I thank you for that. It’s been many years since I’ve had a woman around for any amount of time. I fear my manners have eroded completely.”
Elle nibbled the corner of her lusciously pink lips. “What do you know of me, Constable?”
Crossing his arms behind his back, he was content to walk at their meandering pace. This day had been hells on him—he’d not exaggerated that truth to her. And having only Harry for company for so long was exhausting.
“The truth?” he asked cautiously.
Her look said it all. “Of course.”
“That you have killed many men in your lifetime. That you are prickly at the best of times, hard to get along with at the worst, and quite moody. Not to mention the cannibalism.”
<
br /> He’d halfway expected an outburst or a denial at the very least. But she gave none. Instead, she sighed.
“I’m not surprised. Seems to be all anyone knows of me these days. And I’d only be a cannibal if I’d eaten other sirens. Humans, no matter how similar on the surface we might appear, are nothing at all like me.”
She’d not shied away from the most shocking of the allegations, which he supposed he had to give her credit for. Nor had she really explained anything, though he’d not failed to note the swift glint of fiery anger in her eyes when he’d said it. Whatever was in her past, he knew it was bad. It had to have been to get her exiled by her own father.
“These days?” he asked as he brushed his fingers along a topiary of a prancing horse whose leaves were starting to get a little unruly. He’d need to come out and clip them in the morning. “Was it once so different?”
She snorted. “I wasn’t always such a bitch, if that’s what you’re asking. I was a sweet little siren once upon a time.”
“I didn’t mean to imply—”
“I didn’t say you did.”
Adjusting his cravat—it was perfectly tied, but he no longer seemed to know what to do with his hands—he nodded. “And so, what have you heard of me?”
“You?” She grinned.
The sight of her smile stole the breath from his lungs just as it had when he’d spotted her smiling in his brook. The woman had a way of making him feel hot beneath the collar.
Clearing his throat, he shrugged. “You make that sound ominous.”
“Ominous, no. But you are infamous, Constable Hatter. You are said to be mad. Some say you belong in a padded cell. But...”
His brows twitched. “But?”
They were just about out of the garden. The scent of wild-onion stew and crusty bread had his stomach growling.
“You don’t seem mad to me. Eccentric and bizarre, yes. But not mad.”
It was his turn to chuckle. “Give it time, Detective Elle. I can assure you I’m quite mad. See my eyes?” He pointed to the vivid blue one. “Blue sees the past, green the future. I am full of madness, haunted by visions, and can never tell from one moment to the next when the apparitions will grip me.”
It's a Charmed Life Page 4
