by Amy Sumida
“It could be used as a drug but I wouldn't call it a drug.”
“It's a drug.”
“It is not a drug but, regardless, we were able to determine what the main ingredient is.”
“Go on,” I urged.
“Mucus.”
“I'm sorry, what?” I gaped at him.
“It's mucus,” he said again. “In particular, secretions from the skin of an Alp Luachra.”
“It's Alp Luachra snot?” I made a face at him; it was not a happy expression.
“No, it's secreted from their skin, not their noses, but it is mucus so it's the same consistency. At least, it was once that consistency. I believe it was dried out and then altered with magic, but I'm not certain on the exact preparation method.”
“Eew,” I sounded like one of my kids. “Hold on! Alp Luachras can take the shape of a newt.”
“Yes, keep going. You're almost there,” he encouraged in the most condescending way.
“They live in water, right? Lakes and ponds and rivers?”
“Irrelevant, but yes.”
“And if someone falls asleep near their water, they transform into a newt and crawl down that person's throat to eat whatever is in their victim's stomach.”
“Yes, and?”
“And that's even more disgusting than mucus,” I concluded.
Dylan made an annoyed face. “And?”
“And that's it. But we found a baggie yesterday—one of the types that drug dealers use—and it was stamped with the image of a lizard. Probably a newt.”
“Now, that is interesting,” Dylan murmured. “But not what I was getting at.”
“Just tell me already.”
“The mucus that Alp Luachras secrete from their skin contains a substance that puts their victims into a state of euphoria. It gives them time to feed and keeps the humans complacent so that neither the fairy nor the human gets hurt.”
“Holy shit,” I whispered.
“No, it's mucus and it's not holy,” he said dryly. “Slightly magical but not holy.”
“Don't act as if you've never heard that curse,” I grumbled. “You've just told me that a type of Unseelie fairy naturally produces a narcotic that is now being sold to humans.”
“It's not a drug!” Dylan snapped.
“If it acts like a drug and quacks like a drug...”
“You're ridiculous,” Dylan huffed. “It's a normal bodily secretion for the Alp Luachras. A secretion that someone is altering into a substance that produces a drug-like effect.”
“Wait, so the mucus isn't the magic?”
“No.” He sighed impatiently. “I told you—we can't determine what magic was used but it was used to alter the secretions. There are at least two fairies involved in this, Seren.”
“And they're making mucus into a drug.” I grinned at him. “Thanks, Uncle Dylan. Love you!” I slashed a finger across the crystal and snapped the case closed before he could say anything else. Getting the last word in with him was one of the small pleasures in my life. Then I stared at the black leather case and uttered an exclamation that my uncle would have both understood and approved of, “Dear Danu.”
Chapter Fourteen
The sci-psych arrived while I was telling Head Councilman Dan Teagan, Councilman Wayne Williams, and our extinguisher team what my uncle had discovered. I was just saying that we needed to inform the Fairy Council when someone came in to tell us that the sci-psych, Councilman Sung-ho Park, was being shown to the autopsy room downstairs. Yes, there was an autopsy room; that's pretty standard for a council house. When a lot of investigations involve dead bodies, it's necessary.
We finished up and Killian called High Councilman Murdock to update him as well as get approval to inform the Fairy Council. Murdock grudgingly agreed to inform the Fairy Council himself and the Witches as well—both the Coven and the Casters. As soon as he said that, I called Daxon on my cellphone.
“Seren?” Daxon made my name into a question.
“I'm fine,” I assured him immediately. “I'm calling because I'm in Kansas City and there have been several human deaths recently.”
“Human deaths that concern me?” He asked in confusion.
“Not directly. They appear to have overdosed on a drug made from magically altered Alp Luachra mucus.”
“Come again?” he asked dryly.
“Someone is using Alp Luachra mucus to make a drug that is now killing humans.”
“Okay. I suppose that's not too farfetched but why is it killing them?”
“I'm assuming it's because they've taken too much,” I said in an obvious tone. “That's why it's called an overdose.”
“Yes, I'm familiar with the term,” I could hear the eye-roll in his voice. “But Alp Luachra mucus is harmless—that's kind of the point.”
“How can you be sure?” I countered. “It's not as if they repeatedly victimize the same human over and over. It could have a negative cumulative effect.”
Daxon made a pensive sound. “Perhaps. But it's unlikely.”
“Unlikely,” I murmured.
“Who's there with you? Besides Killian, that is.”
“Oh...”
“Seren, the agreement was that one of us and Killian would be escorting you on these missions.”
“Yes, I know. But the Human Council didn't want me to tell you about this until we knew more and I didn't even think about calling the others when I couldn't call you.”
“Well, that's something at least,” he grumbled.
“I'm sorry. Did you want to come to Missouri?”
“Fuck no, I don't want to go to Missouri,” Dax said so vehemently that I laughed. “I need to stay here and monitor all of the Undergrounds for this new newt drug.”
“Very well. I'll scry Raza and Tiernan.”
“Good.”
“Oh, my God! You're an ex-drug lord!”
The other people in the room turned toward me in surprise. I waved their interest away.
“Yes,” Daxon said slowly. “I assumed that you called me to ask drug-related questions.”
“No, I called you to inform you as King of the Undergrounds that you might want to warn the Prince or Princess of Missouri to keep an eye out for this mucus drug.”
“Oh. Yes, I'll do that.”
“But you're right; you're a valuable source of drug dealer information.”
“Why, thank you,” he said sarcastically.
“Also, you were surprised that this drug caused death.”
“Yes, and?”
“And if you're surprised, the person making the drug—”
“The fairies,” he interjected.
“I'm not ruling out a human,” I protested. “I've learned to put nothing past them.”
“Fair enough. Go on.”
“So, if you were surprised,” I started again, “then it stands to reason that the person who made this drug was just as surprised when their customers started dying.”
“Of course they were,” Daxon agreed. “What would be the point of creating a product that killed your customers?”
“Vengeance,” I suggested. “Hatred. Boredom. All of the above.”
“There are better and more pointed ways of handling all three of those motivations,” Daxon drawled. “No, my love, if someone—Fey or otherwise—has made a new drug, they're after money or power or both. They are likely as upset about these deaths as you are.”
“What would you do if your product started killing people?”
“Easy. I'd adjust the formula.”
“Yes, I would too.” I glanced around me at the other people in the room who hadn't stopped eavesdropping on my conversation despite my ignore-me gesture. “I'll give you a call back later, babe. I need to talk to a dead man.”
“Yes, I imagine you do.”
Chapter Fifteen
I called my other husbands first. Tiernan graciously backed out since he had seen me so recently and Raza eagerly accepted. He would travel to Twilight and d
rop off Shahzadi before he headed to Kansas City, and he even promised to leave his King's Guard behind. Unfortunately, Raza can't twilight, not even as a passenger with someone who can. Twilighting doesn't allow for passengers, only for directing the travel. In other words, even with one person leading the other, both of them must be able to twilight on their own. So, I couldn't just twilight home and pick him up. Raza had to travel by rath to San Francisco where he'd take my father's private jet to Kansas City. He should arrive by the end of the day.
After speaking with my three kings, I discussed what Daxon had said with our team—that if it were him, he'd be working on a new formula.
“So, the deaths may stop?” Extinguisher Henry Sullivan asked.
“Or they may get worse,” Extinguisher Lance Sloane—Janelle's brother and the leader of the extinguisher team—added grimly.
Lance was as blond and attractive as his sister, but he didn't have an obsessive crush on my husband so I didn't have a problem with him leading the team.
“We'll deal with that if it happens,” Killian said. “Let's just hope this drug lord—”
“Or lady,” I interrupted.
“Or lady,” Killian amended as he brushed my lower back with his fingertips and sent shivers racing up my spine, “has enough decency to pull their deadly product off the streets.”
Several dubious snorts circled the room.
“It's possible,” Killian insisted. “If this person is smart—and they likely are—they won't want to kill any more customers or scare away new ones.”
The team started looking a bit more hopeful.
“This means that we'll likely have a break in deaths so let's use this time well,” I said. “First thing's first, Killian and I are going to check in with the sci-psych.”
“I'll take you to him,” Head Councilman Teagan offered. “The rest of you go over what we have and monitor things for now.”
The team dispersed and Dan took us downstairs and then down another set of stairs to the basement. The space was divided into several rooms and didn't feel at all like a basement. Instead, there was a hospital ambiance, enhanced by the antiseptic scent in the air. Fluorescents buzzed overhead and our shoes tapped the linoleum floor as we strode down a corridor. Teagan took us into a bright, sterile room with lots of steel surfaces, medical equipment, a gurney, a sci-psych, and a corpse. Granted, there could have been more corpses in the metal cabinet that took up an entire wall, but sci-psychs never tried to contact more than one spirit at a time so only one body was out.
“Councilman Sungho Park, this is Ambassador Killian Blair, his wife, Ambassador Seren Firethorn Sloane, and her guards, Sir Conri and Sir Felix,” Dan introduced us. Then to us, he added, “Councilman Park is on loan to us from the Memphis Council House.”
“That makes me sound like a piece of machinery,” the man said with just a slight country twang. He looked like a doctor from the neck down—with a lab coat and latex gloves—but his thick hair was dyed a bright purple that, when combined with his Korean features, made him look like a K-Pop star. He grinned broadly and extended his hand first to Killian and then to me. “It's nice to meet you, Ambassadors.” He nodded at my guards and then to the stripe of ombré purple in my hair. “I like your hair.”
“I like yours too,” I grinned back. “Call me Seren.”
“I'm Sung.” He nodded. “And this”—he laid a gloved hand on the corpse—“is Amanda Hutchinson, mother to three children—Jenny, Rob, and Veronica—and wife to Tom Hutchinson, attorney at law.”
“The housewife,” Killian concluded.
“She's here?” I asked.
“Yes,” Sung confirmed. “I've asked her about her death and she's admitted to buying a drug recommended to her by a friend. She was told that it gave the most pleasurable high without affecting the libido or sensibilities.”
“You get high without getting high?” I asked him.
“In a way.” Sung nodded. “Amanda experienced feelings of bliss while experiencing no jitters, lack of focus, or any other side effect known to narcotics.”
“A perfect drug,” Killian noted.
“Except for one major problem.” Sung waved at Amanda's corpse.
“Yes, but my point is that people like Amanda—people who otherwise wouldn't touch drugs—might be convinced to give this drug a try because of its lack of side effects,” Killian explained.
“Yes. That was the case with her,” Sung confirmed.
“They've opened up a whole new market,” I murmured.
“Newt,” Sung said.
“Excuse me?” Dan asked.
“That's the name of the drug,” the sci-psych explained. “They're calling it newt.”
“Daxon called it that too,” I made a soft snort. “If only the humans knew what it was made from, they might not be so eager to try it.”
“You never know,” Conri said. “Humans eat a lot of weird shit.”
“So true.” Killian fist-bumped him.
“What is it made from?” Sung asked.
“Alp Luachra goo,” Killian said.
“Goo?” Sung lifted a dark brow.
“Mucus,” I corrected. “Or secretions, if you prefer that word.”
“I don't.” Sung made a face. Then his eyes shifted to the side and he added, “An Alp Luachra is a type of fairy who can shapeshift into a newt.” A pause. “Yes, you were consuming newt snot.”
Killian burst out laughing.
We all gave him a look.
“Hey, she's funny,” Killian said defensively. “You gotta appreciate someone who can crack jokes over their own corpse.”
“I don't think she was joking,” Sung said with a grimace. “Merely lamenting.”
“Oh.” Killian sobered. “Sorry, Amanda.”
“I called it that too,” I admitted. “My uncle said it wasn't snot because it doesn't come from their noses.”
“She says thank you to you, Seren, that makes it a little better,” Sung said brightly. “And she to you, Killian, she says that you are forgiven. You remind her of her son.”
“How old is her son?” Killian asked.
“Seven,” Sung said with a smirk.
I chuckled at that.
“As if you're not as immature as I am,” Killian said in response to my laughter.
“Why do you think I'm laughing?” I shot back. “But back to Amanda. Sung, does she have any names and descriptions for us? Of a dealer perhaps?”
“Yes.” Sung pulled a small notepad out of his breast pocket and referred to it. “The man who sold her newt is a Caucasian man in his late twenties who goes by the name of Eddie, has short, dark hair, blue eyes, is of an average build, a little taller than me”—he looked up to say—“so likely 5 feet 9 inches, around there.” He looked back down. “And has a tattoo of a snake head on his left hand.”
“A snake head?” Killian asked and then grinned at me.
“You feelin' some sort of kinship with a drug dealer because he has a tattoo of your face on his hand?” I teased.
“No, I just thought it was a cool coincidence,” Kill grumbled. “And it's my other face.”
“You're a snake-shifter?” Sung asked.
“Yep.”
“Ah. Okay.” Sung looked to the side again. “Yes, he can transform into a snake but, no, I don't think he wants to do so now.” He looked over at Killian questioningly.
“Uh, no, sorry. I'd have to get undressed or I'd ruin my clothes,” Killian said as Conri snickered.
Sung chuckled then explained, “She says that would be fine by her.”
Killian grinned and reached for his belt. “In that case.”
I smacked him. “Not appropriate, babe.”
“I was joking,” Kill huffed. “I'm not about to strip for a ghost.”
“Full phantom frontal,” Conri declared.
“Lap dancing for the dead,” I added with a grin at Conri.
“Peckers for specters,” Felix said.
We all gaped at h
im.
“Too far?” Felix asked dryly.
“Anyway.” Sung cleared his throat and looked back at his notebook. “Eddie frequents an area in St. Louis around Grand, Bacon, and Montgomery Streets in the Jeff-Vander-Lou Neighborhood. Evidently, it's a very rundown part of town where there's an open-air drug market.”
