He waved at her as she disappeared toward the cellar. “Sleep tight!”
Fort Washington Park, New York City
As soon as he turned into the park and began his search for a space for his car, Remy began to squirm with discomfort. Some of the bruises and abrasions were still healing. Simply being here triggered flashbacks of twenty or more of the little winged bastards crawling all over him and head-butting him in the nipples, armpits, ears, nose, and crotch while mockingly calling him “Reh-meeeee!”
He parked his vehicle, turned it off, and sighed. “Well, let’s see if Taylor actually knows what she’s talking about.”
The park was busier today than it had been during his first fae experience. Still, he was reasonably sure none of the normies would be able to see the little critters, anyway, so he ought to be fine provided some passerby didn’t see him talking to no one.
He marched off through the emerald grass toward the area under the bridge, which looked all too familiar already.
Perhaps twenty paces sooner than anticipated, two small forms with iridescent wings appeared in front of him.
“Halt!” two tiny voices said in unison.
Remy’s gut clenched but he only smiled. “Hi,” he said. “I’m Remington Davis, from the Moonlight Detective Agency. Sorry about that little misunderstanding we had last time. Taylor has informed me that I should talk to you about an issue which has come up—”
It was difficult to be sure, but he suspected that the two fairies before him—one blue-tinged, the other orangish—were the same two he’d originally seen arguing.
“Oh!” the blue one piped up. “You! Yes, Remy—Rehmeeeeeeeee! We remember. That was a good fight. You made such ridiculous sounds.”
They both snickered at the memory. He tried to show no expression whatsoever.
“We have forgiven you for your insult,” the orange one said, “since we settled the score, anyway, and things have been smooth here ever since you visited us.”
He nodded. “Well, that’s good to know. Could you…uh, help me? I need to track someone down, and Taylor said you could be of help.”
By now, a few other fairies had wafted out of their nests and begun to drift over to join them.
“Help?” one of them inquired. “Help, you say? This from the giant who gave us such good sport not long ago?”
“Indeed!” another replied and squealed with laughter.
The two guards turned to face the gathering throng, and he stood and waited awkwardly while they conferred amongst themselves in a language unknown to him. A convoy of joggers passed and apparently ignored him, but he pretended to admire the bridge anyway to be safe.
The two guards turned back toward him. The blue one announced, “It is decided, then.”
“Yes!” the orange one agreed. “You shall have exactly one helper assigned to your person. But in exchange for these services rendered, you shall pay us one pound of honey per week for as long as your helper assists you.”
The blue one smirked. “And the first pound must be paid in advance.”
Remy had somehow assumed that the price would be far steeper. “Okay.” He shrugged.
The nearest grocery store was, thankfully, only a few minutes away. It took a while to wander the aisles but he eventually found the honey, although it was all in the stupid little squeeze bottles. He’d hoped to find something more like a gallon jug’s worth.
“Hmm.” He pulled one of the bottles off the shelf and examined the label. “Twelve ounces…a pound is sixteen ounces, isn’t it? Wait, is this fluid ounces or weight? Fuck.” He sighed. “Two bottles ought to be enough. They feel like about a pound each, I think.”
He grabbed another one while he considered whether or not he’d be able to charge this to Taylor as an expense, then flushed with shame at the notion that such a trifling amount of money would even concern him, to begin with.
As he started back toward the checkout aisles, someone came up behind him, grunting and muttering. A hand was planted firmly on his shoulder, right near his neck.
“Back off!” he snapped, pivoted, and stuck his elbow out before he lashed a blow with his fist. Both extremities connected with flesh and bone and the mysterious person fell back and released him in the same motion. Without even looking back to see who it was—probably some crackhead—he strolled to the express aisle.
Remy placed the two bottles on the belt near the scanner. The clerk, a young Latina, must have seen the little incident a moment before and looked at him with wide eyes.
“As you can see,” he said to her, “I require honey.”
Five minutes later, he returned to the park. It occurred to him that while he’d never been overly frightened of his fellow humans, to begin with, he cared even less about the fact that he’d almost been assaulted than he would have guessed—somehow, dealing with paranormal creatures of myth and nightmare had altered his perspective on mundane shit.
He passed an elderly couple walking a pair of tiny poodles, who glanced at the two honey-filled plastic bears in his hand but thankfully moved on with their business.
And that’s what I love about New York—you have to be really crazy to ever get a second glance.
The fae guardians reappeared before him in the same position they had earlier.
The blue one spoke first. “How quickly you’ve returned. What is that? Is that our honey?” She pointed to the bear-bottles.
“Yeppers,” he said. “I think the two of them together are about a pound or slightly more. Don’t worry about it. Keep the change. Both bottles are the same size and quality, so I assume one can go to the blues and one to the oranges. Does that sound good?”
“Ha-ha.” The orange one cackled. “This will last us at least a week!”
Eight more fairies fluttered over to take the bottles from him. They struggled somewhat with the weight, but their wings were stronger than they looked.
“Now, then.” He put his hands on his hips. “Keep your end of the bargain. Where’s this helper of mine?”
The two guards looked at each other in what he now recognized as private and nonverbal communication, and they smiled. Together, they flourished their hands at a point behind the man’s shoulders.
“Why, Remy,” said the blue one, “she’s right back there.”
Remy turned and suddenly found himself face to face with a naked woman. Or, more accurately, face to entire body. She was about five inches tall.
“Whoa!” he exclaimed. “Uh, this isn’t what I expected.”
The woman—fairy—unfurled herself before him. She looked similar to the others but subtly different as though her appearance had somehow been tweaked specifically to suit human standards of beauty. She was both lithe and curvaceous, possessing the best traits of both late adolescence and the full bloom of maturity at the same time. Her skin had a slight bluish tint to it but it seemed more subdued than in the other fae of that color, and her hair was a pale silvery blond.
“Hello, Remy,” she greeted him in a voice that managed to be sultry despite being pitched about where a small child might be after inhaling helium. “I’m Riley. And I’m yours for at least the next week. Maybe longer if you have enough honey.”
She giggled and rubbed one shapely leg over the other. Her gossamer wings folded over her front but did absolutely nothing to disguise her bare breasts or pubis.
He adjusted his tie at the neck. “Well, uh…hi there, Riley,” he stammered. “It’s nice to meet you and all, but if we’re going to be working together—in a professional capacity, like, as co-workers and stuff—you’ll…uh, need clothes.” He turned his head and coughed.
Behind him, the other fairies laughed uproariously. He’d almost forgotten about them for a minute.
“What?” Riley exclaimed and her tiny, beautiful face pouted with sudden rage and hurt. “Don’t you like my body?”
Remy was confused. He recalled Taylor’s admonition that the fae did not think like humans, but she had not bothered
to elaborate on how they did think. He wracked his brain for any clues he might already have encountered as to how the hell he should react to this situation.
“Well,” he began, “it’s a little small but otherwise very, very nice…yeah. I simply worry that it will be…distracting. We have work to do so…uh, unfortunately, I can’t…um, look at you all the time.” He wiped his hands on the back of his pants.
The fairy narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips which, if anything, made her even more attractive. He had not lied but the facts were that she was about the size of a lab rat and a member of a different species that officially didn’t even exist. These were not things he could simply ignore.
“But,” she protested, “you should want to look at me.” She turned in midair to show off her perfectly shaped ass.
“I do,” he responded quickly. “I guess. But I also worry about the effects of being seen with a bite-sized naked chick floating over my shoulder. Well, most people probably can’t see you anyway, but still. Put something on and I’ll be happy to look at you whenever I have time.”
She crossed her arms over her breasts. “No. It’s pointless. I made myself look this nice for your benefit and now, you don’t even want me.”
Terrified that she might start crying or refuse to help him track James the werewolf’s final days, he said hurriedly, “Okay, okay…you can fly around naked for now, fine. But…don’t be surprised if it takes a little while for me to get used to it.”
She relaxed and posed for him. “So you do want me.”
He nodded at her. “Yes, yes, absolutely. So, do you have, like, kind of tracking powers or something? I need to find out where this one guy spent his time in the days before he got himself killed.”
Again, she tensed and pouted, apparently offended. “Of course I have tracking powers. Don’t you know anything?”
Chapter Twelve
Sullivan Street, Lower Manhattan, New York City
The nudist fairy, distracting and contentious though she was, had actually proven quite useful.
“We’re almost there!” she exclaimed in fervent excitement. Fairies, Remy had already learned, were far beyond bipolar in both the frequency and intensity of their mood swings.
“Oh, good.” He sighed. “Whatever this place is, at least it ought to get us out of fucking traffic. I envy those of you with wings.”
All around him, cars honked mindlessly and probably out of habit. New York motorists didn’t even need specific things to honk at. They seemed to merely thump their horns in idle moments as a way to relax their minds.
As he waited for the obligatory traffic jam to clear, Riley examined the care package Taylor had attached to her notes.
In addition to writing down all the pertinent information about James which she had been able to collect, she’d also included a tiny plastic baggy that contained a few pieces of dark-brown hair. He assumed it had originally belonged to James himself.
For obvious reasons, he also assumed it was best not to ask exactly how she had come to possess the werewolf’s hair—especially considering that she said she had killed him. Still, it did raise all kinds of questions he wished he could ask. Had she simply ripped some from the corpse? And why would she even think of doing that?
The fairy finished sniffing the baggie on the passenger’s seat and floated to the dashboard. “It’s stronger up there. See? There!” She pointed through the windshield.
Remy leaned forward and squinted. Silvery-blue sparkles—probably invisible to everyone but him—had appeared in the air near a nondescript building about half a block past the light and on the right. They were deep in Lower Manhattan now and near the edge of the financial district.
“Excellent,” he said. “So, we only need to get through this light, half a block down the street, and find a place to park. It should take thirty or forty minutes.”
It ended up only taking fifteen or maybe twenty, at most. He impressed himself by managing to parallel park between two cars of approximately equal size to his own without incurring a civil lawsuit in the process. His diminutive companion helped by fluttering out the window and guiding him, shouting estimates of how much space he had.
With his car safely tucked between the bumpers of two other vehicles, he slid his credit card through the meter and advanced down the sidewalk toward the building that the fairy had highlighted. She drifted beside him and indicated that the trail seemed to be coming from underground.
“I see that,” he muttered. “Another basement pub or something?”
He wasn’t entirely correct. A staircase led from the street to a subterranean floor and only once he stood in front of the door with a few pedestrians walking over his head did he encounter the sign—Chattering and Chips Casino.
“Crap,” he mumbled. “Not gambling. That’s another one I’m trying to give up.” He shook his head and knocked on the door. It struck him as an exclusive kind of establishment and he might be lucky enough to have some goon tell him to get lost.
A small portal—about six inches across—opened near the top of the door. A broad face scowled out at him. “You got a membership?” the man asked.
Before he could think of a clever response, Riley flew over his shoulder. To his surprise, the doorman’s eyes locked on the fairy and he seemed to nod.
“Okay, then.” The window closed and the door opened.
“See?” she proclaimed triumphantly. “You love having me around.”
Remy stepped into a narrow, featureless hallway. “You do seem to be earning your honey thus far.”
Behind him, the big guy shut the door and said, “I ain’t seen you around here before though, pal—so mind your manners.”
“Oh,” he retorted over his shoulder, “I always do.”
The hallway turned left and opened onto a large floor that housed the actual casino. He realized at once why and how the mere presence of the fairy had gained him access to the place. Only a few of the patrons were human.
Gnomes made up a significant portion of the clientele. Like Porrillage, they could almost pass for diminutive humans, but to those who could see, their preternatural qualities were obvious.
There were also strange small furry creatures he did not recognize. One of them scuttled past his leg and he jerked aside and tried not to think about what the thing was or how dirty it might have been.
He saw, too, a few men who were taller than the gnomes but still rather short by human standards, while being broad and powerfully built with long bushy beards.
“Holy shit,” he said. “Dwarves? What character class are they, though? Have they put any points into Charisma?”
“What strange things are you saying?” Riley asked. “But yes, they’re dwarves. Of course they are.”
They advanced onto the main floor. Remy saw something out of the corner of his eye and almost jumped in place. He managed to stifle the reflex before he made a complete idiot of himself but cold prickles ran down his neck and back.
“Jesus.” He gasped and dragged in a breath. “Was that a frickin’ ghost?” He thought he could still see a barely tangible shape hovering eerily around the edge of the room but refused to look straight at it.
She floated up over his head to look. “Yes, there are two of them on watch. Ghosts make good security guards because they can surveil people less obviously.”
“Ugh, I see,” he responded. “With Taylor, it’s not so bad, but I’m not exactly a big fan of the undead when they are actually dead. I hope we don’t have any zombies barging in.”
Riley tittered. “That would be most unusual. Zombies aren’t very popular.”
Remy adjusted his tie. “Good. Smelly bastards usually aren’t very popular.”
As he said this, a gnome who passed stopped and looked sharply at him. “What did you say, asshole?”
“Oh,” he replied hastily. “I wasn’t talking about you. Zombies.”
The gnome grunted. “Fair enough.” He wandered off.
They
paused a moment to examine the scene. It wasn’t a large casino but given its niche clientele and general bustle, it probably turned a good profit. There were two poker tables, rows of slot machines, blackjack, craps…all the basic essentials.
His gaze settled on an usher who approached them slowly, probably to offer a polite version of the standard “spend money or get out” ultimatum.
Remy’s palms were sweating again. “Unless you have any better clues, Riley,” he said in the moment before the usher reached them, “I propose that, in the interest of the investigation, I should…uh, try to fit in. Especially at that poker table. It looks like it needs me, really. Most people suck at poker.”
“Whatever you say,” she cooed. “But don’t get too distracted.” She drifted in front of his face and writhed sensuously for his benefit. He noted that her carefully groomed pubes were bluish, which suggested that platinum blonde was not her natural hair color.
In fact, he was already distracted, but not by her. He pictured four-of-a-kinds appearing in his hand while chips piled up in front of him.
The usher, who had a subtle bestial look and was probably some kind of shapeshifter, stopped two paces away. “Hello, sir. First, let me remind you of the House Rule that no magic whatsoever is allowed during play, as I’m sure you know. With that in mind, what will you play, sir?”
He smiled. “Poker.”
“As you wish.” The man glanced at Riley. “However, the fairy has to wait outside. We’ve had problems in the past with their kind peeking at other people’s cards and relaying the information to their companions. And I’m sure you can appreciate that we have a zero-tolerance policy on cheating.”
“What?” she squealed indignantly.
Remy fixed her with a sympathetic frown. “I’m sorry, but you heard the man. Go guard my car. Or more importantly, guard the meter and feel free to magically open the window and magically insert a couple more quarters if need be. This might take me a while.”
She looked as though he’d slapped her. “You hobgoblin-fucker!” With that, she spun and rocketed out of sight.
Last Ditch Effort Page 12
