Enchanted Addictions: A Reverse Harem Fairy Romance (The Twilight Court Book 11)

by Amy Sumida

  “An open-air drug market?” I asked.

  “Amanda says that drug dealers, users, and prostitutes congregate there,” Sung explained. “It's so bad that the Police have parked cars equipped with cameras in prime locations to monitor the area but it doesn't change anything. She was frightened to go down there but her friend drove the first time.”

  “This friend, what's her name?” Killian asked.

  “She's a neighbor.” Sung referred to his notes again. “Roma Stillson. I have her address.” Sung pulled a sheet from his notebook and handed us the information he'd collected. “That's everything she gave me. Do you want me to ask her anything else?”

  “Amanda, do you happen to know anything about the person who supplies the dealers?” I asked the space beside Sung.

  “No,” Sung answered immediately. “I asked her that already. She said it wasn't something she thought appropriate to ask Eddie.”

  “No, I don't suppose it's something you ask your dealer,” I murmured. Then, in a stronger voice, I said, “Thank you, Amanda, we're going to do our best to stop these people and get you some justice.”

  “Amanda says that she wishes you the best,” Sung said and then smiled softly at the space to his left. “Very nice to meet you as well.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Part of me wanted to head straight to St. Louis but it was a four-hour drive and Raza's plane wasn't landing for another three hours. I didn't want him to arrive only to find that we'd left him behind. So instead, we headed to Roma Stillson's house with Extinguisher Henry Sullivan and Councilman Wayne Williams. The rest of the team stayed back to conduct more research. Williams drove. Now that we were on the case, I couldn't refer to him as Wayne anymore. It just didn't feel right. Once in extinguisher mode—or ambassador mode, I suppose—I had to use surnames.

  It's kinda silly when you think about it. The habit had been drilled into me by the Extinguishers but with the way all Extinguishers come from one of five families, using surnames can get confusing. If there's one military group who shouldn't go that route, it's us. Them, I mean. Sorry, it's been several years since I've been an extinguisher but I still can't stop thinking of myself as one. It's another habit, I guess.

  We took a black SUV—a standard extinguisher vehicle—Williams and Sullivan in the front while Killian, my guards, and I sat in the back.

  “This is nice,” I said as we drove through a shopping district full of cute stores in buildings that had a historic look to them.

  Pedestrians strolled down the street—families with children eating ice cream, people walking dogs, a few groups of teenagers, and couples holding hands. All very picturesque. Not the sort of place you'd imagine to have an issue with drugs.

  “This is the Brookside neighborhood,” Williams said. “It's one of the better places to live in Kansas City.”

  We passed through the main part of town and into a residential area. Killian's hand found mine and squeezed. The homes were charming, with wide lawns and cultivated flower beds. Children rode bikes down the sidewalks and sprinklers watered the grass in bursts. It was suburbia at its best, and I knew exactly what Killian was thinking—if things had been different, we could have lived in a place like this.

  “We still have that house in Oregon that Dad gave me,” I reminded him.

  Killian grinned. “I don't want this. It just makes me smile to think about it.”

  “Yeah. I get that. Rowan playing on a swing set in the backyard.”

  “Thanksgiving dinner with our families.”

  “And neighbors who get you hooked on fairy drugs,” Williams added.

  I grimaced at him through the rearview mirror. “Do you mind? We were having a moment.”

  Williams chuckled. “That was my way of telling you that your moment's over. We're here.”

  I looked out the window and followed his gaze to a quaint Tudor that looked as if Hobbits should live in it. Or Shakespeare. Or a very short, hairy Shakespeare. A front section of the roof peaked sharply over a bay window while more triangular peaks adorned the house further back. It couldn't seem to decide on a look for the walls—the lower ones were red brick walls while the upper walls were painted white and accented with dark brown slats set in angular designs.

  “I'll get us in the door,” Williams said as he flashed us a police badge.

  “Nice,” Killian noted. “How do I get one of those?”

  “Ask the Council.” Williams grinned and got out.

  We followed him up a brick and cement path to the front door. It was one of those with a rounded top that would probably be a bitch to replace but Shakespeare-Hobbits need rounded doors. If they're banded by big iron strips—as this one was—all the better. Williams rang the doorbell and it made a light ding-dong chime. I shared a smile with Killian as we waited for someone to answer.

  A few minutes later, a woman opened the hatch in the door—a little panel covered by wrought iron bars—and peered out at us. “Yes?”

  “Roma Stillson?” Williams asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I'm Detective Williams of the St. Louis Police Department and these are my colleagues. We'd like to ask you a few questions about your neighbor, Amanda Hutchinson.”

  Roma's dark eyes widened. “What about her?”

  “Could we come in, please?” Williams tucked his badge away and stared her down. “This isn't a conversation to have on your doorstep.”

  “Oh. Of course.” The sound of locks opening was a prequel to the door itself. Roma—a swarthy, full-figured, brunette beauty—waved us inside. “Come in.”

  Roma shut and locked the door behind all of us. I thought the locking a bit much, especially since she thought we were a bunch of cops. She skittered around our group and waved us down a hallway. We trailed after her—walking down a hallway hung with photographs of smiling kids, men in uniform, and a Granny with a baby in her arms—to the back of the house and into a bright kitchen done in country kitsch. A pale wood dining set waited beyond the cluttered kitchen counter, right in front of a bay window that overlooked a small backyard.

  Roma motioned toward the seats. “May I offer you some coffee or juice?”

  “No, we're fine, thank you,” I answered for us.

  Roma's stare latched onto me and held firm. She moved to sit beside me. I suppose it made her feel better that there was a woman in our group. But why did she need that comfort? I looked at her pensively. Roma appeared... tense.

  “Are you all right?” I asked her. “You seem a bit on edge?”

  “Yes, I'm fine.” She fluttered her hands so that the light caught the huge diamond in her ring. It looked like a practiced move—something done so often that she now did it unconsciously.

  “If someone has threatened you, we can help you,” I tried again.

  Roma gave a brittle laugh. “Who would threaten me?”

  “A drug dealer perhaps?” I suggested gently.

  Roma stiffened and Williams gave me an irritated look.

  “Mrs. Stillson,” Williams caught her attention, “your neighbor died of an overdose. We have traced the drugs that killed her to a dealer named Eddie.”

  “You have?” She squeaked.

  “We know that you were the one who suggested newt to Amanda,” Williams said sternly. “We're not here to arrest you; we just need your help in finding Eddie's supplier.”

  Roma's face went through several emotions rapidly—fear, relief, panic, and back to fear. “I don't know who you're talking about.”

  “Please, don't make us do something we don't want to do,” Williams said. “We're just talking now but if you're going to be—”

  “Okay!” Roma nearly shrieked. “Okay, I know Eddie. He...” she took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

  “Mrs. Stillson, if you're taking newt, you need to stop immediately. It will kill you,” I urged her.

  “I'm not a druggie,” she said defensively.

  “Then why would you suggest it... to... oh,” I murmured. “You'
re in on it.”

  “I'm not in on it,” she huffed. “I just recommend it to people I know and I get a referral fee.”

  “From who?” I asked. “Who pays you?”

  “I find an envelope with cash in my mailbox on the first of the month.”

  “Who hired you?” Killian tried.

  “She said her name was Alicia,” Roma whispered. “Oh, God, they'll kill me if they find out that I talked to you.”

  “Who will?” Williams prompted.

  “Them,” she said with emphasis. “Alicia and her people—the people she works for.”

  “You've only spoken with Alicia?” Williams asked.

  “And Eddie.” Roma made a face that indicated how much she'd enjoyed that interaction.

  “How did you get hired?” I asked.

  “I was at the Brookside Shops when Alicia approached me. She looked... well, she's so beautiful and she was dressed in a very expensive outfit.” Roma grimaced. “Her shoes alone cost more than my monthly clothing allowance.”

  I slid Killian a look at the word “allowance,” and he shrugged.

  “I knew she wasn't a saleswoman or anything like that,” Roma went on. “She just had this confidence about her.”

  “What did she look like?” Williams pulled out a little notebook and started jotting things down.

  “Um... late twenties maybe, light brown hair, straight to her mid-back. Hazel eyes. She was slim like a model and tall. Just so beautiful. I couldn't focus on what she was saying at first.”

  I grimaced at Killian and he nodded. This Alicia was likely a Sidhe.

  “And what did she say?” Williams prompted.

  “She had seen me looking at an expensive handbag and asked why I didn't buy it.” Roma grimaced again. “I told her that my husband has a good job but not so good that I could go wasting that kind of money on a purse.”

  I could imagine the cost of the purse she'd been eyeing and I don't care how much money I had, I wouldn't waste that much on a handbag either. You could buy a car for the price of some purses. Not a great car but still.

  “She said that she worked for a company that paid her to recommend products to her friends and it was how she afforded to dress the way she does. I, of course, asked about her job. She didn't tell me till later, after I was in her office and had filled out all of her employee forms, that I'd be pushing drugs. I thought it was going to be expensive makeup or jewelry—something like that. When I started to leave, she implied that I would be murdered for what I knew. They had my name, address, and even a picture of me that she took for the file.”

  “Her office?” I asked eagerly. “She took you to an office?”

  “Yes, it was why I thought she was legit.”

  “Where is this office?” Williams asked.

  “Downtown St. Louis,” Roma said with a grimace, “in a really nice building with a view of the Arch. The company is called Enchanted Addictions.”

  “They have a company?” I asked in shock.

  “Enchanted Addictions?” Conri snorted. “Subtle.”

  “They're big,” she was back to whispering. “Whoever these people are, they have a lot of money and they're smart. You'd never know that they were running drugs. They say that they're a marketing company that pays people to advertise on a more personal level.”

  “Pretty much what Alicia told you they did,” I noted. “Except they get people to advertise for their drugs, not legal products.”

  “Yes. From the look of things, they get a lot of people to advertise for them,” Roma said grimly.

  “We're going to need that address, Mrs. Stillson,” Williams said.

  Chapter Seventeen

  By the time Raza arrived that afternoon, we had everything that could be found on Enchanted Addictions by legal and not so legal means. It appeared to be a legitimate company, listed as an advertising agency. It had a website with very general information but it did name the CEO as Alicia Waterhouse. A shell corporation owned the company so we weren't sure if Alicia was the owner or if there was an entire fairy drug cartel backing her. Enchanted Addictions paid their taxes, had all the required licenses, and was never late on rent. On paper, they looked like a profitable, upstanding business.

  A search on Alicia Waterhouse brought up a driver's license picture, a birth certificate, and an address. She was just as Roma described—beautiful, light brown hair, hazel eyes, and 5'9'' tall. She'd never been charged with a crime but the activity under her identity only went back a year. Previous to that, Alicia Waterhouse made no impact on American society—something that could be explained away by immigration papers that documented a move from Poland to the United States a year ago.

  “Tricksy,” I noted as I looked over Alicia's information.

  “What is?” a deep, primal voice asked.

  My body constricted instantly, awareness prickling my skin as that sexy rumble nestled into my blood and set it to racing. Killian and I are the most alike out of all of my men. Despite his transformation into a Nathair-Sith, he reminds me that I'm part human. Killian grounds me. But Raza... Raza gives me the sky. I lifted my head and watched my Unseelie, Dragon-Djinn husband enter the room. He was good at making an entrance.

  Raza had his human guise on. All fairies could hide their unearthly appearances under a glamour but—as far as I knew—only Djinn could actually transform themselves into any body they wanted, not just cast an illusion. At least, any humanoid form. I've never seen Raza shift into a creature other than a dragon, and Djinn are classified by their prime shifting shapes—dragons, snakes, dog, etc.—so I think it's safe to say that he's limited to one beast.

  Raza's original body—the one he'd been born with—is my favorite but this one wasn't too shoddy either. His usual pure-midnight skin was hidden under a tawny tan, his golden eyes toned down to topaz, his sharp features softened, his claws shifted into blunted nails, and his leathery wings were gone. He still had his impressive build—a taller, thicker version of Killian's linebacker physique—and his rock star hair with two streaks of crimson in the shoulder-length, ebony locks, both near his right temple. It was enough to read as Raza to me—enough to make me happy to be alive.

  “Raza,” I whispered and tried to control the full-body shiver that threatened to rock through me.

  “I'm tricksy?” Raza grinned at me, reminding me that he'd asked me a question. He navigated through the room, straight to me, while keeping our stares locked.

  The other women in the room—two extinguishers on our team and a councilwoman who had brought us refreshments—all giggled like girls. Raza didn't even glance their way. He stepped up to me, took my hand, and pulled me to my feet. His mouth lowered to mine and consumed me in a passionate kiss that had the men in the room clearing their throats and the women sighing. Yes, even extinguisher women sigh for Raza. I should know, I still consider myself to be one.

  “Hey, baby,” I whispered when he finally drew back.

  “Hello, my queen,” Raza purred and grinned wickedly.

  The tray the councilwoman was holding started to shake, making mugs rattle.

  I stroked a hand done his strong jawline—that was the same in this form as well—and whispered, “I haven't seen this look for awhile.”

  “A few months.”

  Head Councilman Teagan cleared his throat again, this time more pointedly. Raza swiveled his head to stare him down. Teagan swallowed roughly and looked away.

  “Raza,” I said in a slightly chiding tone. “This is Head Councilman Dan Teagan. He runs this council house. Dan, this is my husband, King Raza of Unseelie.”

  “Yes, I, er, I assumed.” Dan stood up and offered Raza his hand. “It's an honor to meet you, Your Majesty.”

  Raza tucked me in against his side and shook Dan's hand. “Why does my wife call you by your first name?”

  Dan blanched.

  “Because we're being friendly.” I elbowed him. “Stop that! If you're going to work with Killian and me on cases, you need to be n
ice to the people we work with.”

  “I am nice.” Raza frowned in confusion. “I didn't immediately eviscerate him.”

  Dan fell back into his seat. The councilwoman with the tray set it down and ran out of the room.

  “He's joking,” I said, then glared at Raza. “Tell them you're joking.”

  “I'm joking,” Raza said woodenly. “Mostly.”

  “Yo', Beast Bro, tone it down,” Killian called out. “And what's with the suit? Didn't you bring any jeans? You know we're working, right?”