by Gina LaManna
I pinned him with a deadly gaze, but I held my tongue because Lillie’s mother had shown us into a neat living room with mostly white furniture. I took a squashy white armchair while Marcus sprawled on a neat white loveseat. Lillie’s mother stood, her fingers uneasily gripping the back of a large recliner.
“Did you see your daughter’s body, Mrs. Brooks?” I asked gently. “Did the officers explain how your daughter died?”
“My husband identified Lillie,” she said shortly. “He encouraged me not to see her.”
“Did he say why?”
“She was tortured,” Mrs. Brooks said, though her eyes betrayed her with a curious gleam. “Wasn’t she?”
“I’m sorry to say that she was. In a very intense way,” I said. “We believe she was drained of a certain magical ability.”
Mrs. Brooks’s head snapped to attention, her gaze drawn to the ceiling like a bullet. “What sort of magical ability?”
“I’m not sure, but we believe that whoever took her harvested something of hers—a certain power,” I said. “There was a third girl with Lillie and Maybelline when they were taken—”
“Cynthia,” Mrs. Brooks said. “Yes. I met her briefly after Lillie disappeared. I thought maybe she knew something because she was there. But she didn’t.”
“Cynthia said the kidnapper should have taken her too. But they chased after Lillie and let Cynthia go. Do you have any idea why that might have been?”
Mrs. Brooks’s eyes watered. “I don’t know.”
“I think you do, Mrs. Brooks,” I said. “And it might be too late to save your daughter’s life, but it’s not too late for closure. And more importantly, it’s not too late to help save another young woman’s life. Who knows how long this has been going on? Maybe your daughter was the first, and maybe she wasn’t. We suspect she will not be the last.”
“I—” Mrs. Brooks pulled a handkerchief from somewhere. “Please, no.”
“Confirm something for me, then,” I said, reading between the lines. She couldn’t speak. Her eyes darted behind her, as if she feared her husband and children would walk in at any moment. “Lillie was different than your other children. In some way, she was different.”
Mrs. Brooks bit a trembling lip. The hesitation went on for a long while, but eventually, she gave a quick jerk of her head. “Yes, she was.”
“How could you tell?” I asked. “Is there a way to physically see a difference between her and the other elves?”
“Not usually,” Mrs. Brooks said. “This gift occurs only in purebred elves, of course. As soon as one is found, they and their family are placed in appropriate housing in the Golden District. The most powerful ones are given a residence in Gilded Row. It’s a very prestigious thing, this magick. That’s why we have our home, here.”
“Who determines your placement?”
“The council of elders,” she said. “We must file a notice if we suspect we have a gifted child. The elders then perform an investigation to determine if the gift has truly manifested in a child, and to assess how powerful the child might be. Lillie was powerful enough to get us a home in one of the most prestigious subdivisions of the Golden District, but by no means was she strong enough to get us into Gilded Row.”
“What is it?” I asked. “What is this power?”
“I—” The front door opened, startling Mrs. Brooks. “That is all I will say on the subject.”
“The investigation—”
“I don’t know what the investigation entails.” Mrs. Brooks hissed. “I wasn’t privy to it. I don’t understand Lillie’s gifts, except to know that sometimes, it drove her wild. She liked to...well, go dancing and drinking. I think it helped her cope. She fought her talents—I know that much. Now leave before my husband sees you here.”
We were too late for that, however. A tall, wiry elf with two small braids on either side of his face, slid into the room, his face passive.
“Honey,” he said sarcastically. “I’m home. You didn’t tell me we were expecting company.”
“The Sixth Precinct brought by their condolences,” Mrs. Brooks said, gesturing to a bouquet of bright blue puffs of flowers on the table. “They were just leaving.”
Mr. Brooks merely watched Marcus and I as we stood and filed quietly out of the room, like two misbehaving children caught with our hands in the cookie jar. We slipped out of the house, and I felt Mr. Brooks’s eyes on my back even as we climbed down the stairs and onto the street.
When we reached a safe distance away, I whirled on Marcus. “What are you doing here? You could have ruined everything!”
“I knew you were holding out on me,” Marcus said. “You and King are expecting us to share everything we learn with you, but it’s not reciprocated. I thought you were supposed to get fair treatment, DeMarco.”
“Captain King asked me to accompany him today for a look at the Residuals,” I said, thinking that while I had been noticing Residuals all day, it hadn’t exactly been helpful. I’d been nothing more than a regular detective in this investigation so far, so it was possible Marcus had a point. “We’ve been working nonstop since yesterday morning—we have a debrief tomorrow, and I’m sure the captain will fill you in.”
“I’ll be straight with you, DeMarco. I’m looking for a promotion, and I don’t plan on handing it over to you.”
“I’m not looking for a promotion. I’m only looking for Linsey. If a promotion is your first priority, then have at it.”
“You know that’s not what I meant,” he snapped. “You’re gone for a year, then you come back with your same rank and get first choice of cases because you’re canoodling with the boss.”
“That’s not true, and you know it. He only needed my help because I can see Residuals.”
“Whatever you tell yourself to feel better,” Marcus said, easing forward so we were nose to nose. “But let me explain something to you, DeMarco. I stuck around while you ran away from it all. If you think you’re going to come back, hide information from me, and steal my promotion, you’ve got it all wrong. I’m not going to let that happen—are we clear?”
Before I could respond, Marco gave me one final glare, then turned and headed in the opposite direction. I was left standing on the boulevard and reeling from the confrontation, wondering if he was right.
On a certain level, I understood where he was coming from—it was unfair I’d been shifted to the highest priority case on my first day back, but I also hadn’t asked to be placed as Matthew’s partner.
I didn’t have time for mixed-up feelings while Linsey was still missing, so instead, I focused on the case and headed toward Silver Street. The less-than-trendy part of town was full of cheap apartments, working girls on every corner, and convenience stores with boarded up windows. It was certainly not a place I’d expect to find the future princess of Gilded Row spending her nights.
Unless, of course, she was going through a rebellious stage. In that case, this was exactly the place I’d have expected to find Linsey Luca.
I turned over the knowledge I’d learned from the Brooks family as I strolled, scanning the sidewalks, the small shops lining the silver section with curtained off front doors and shadowy whispers filtering through the cracked windows.
I arrived outside of the club fifteen minutes early and found Matthew already waiting for me. He didn’t have much of a story to exchange. Maybelline had only a father alive, and he’d barely kept in touch with his daughter. He’d only found out she’d been missing when the police informed him of her death.
Then it was my turn to fill Matthew in on Mrs. Brooks’s story. The only thing I’d really confirmed was the fact that her daughter had been special. Magically inclined in a secretive sort of way. A way determined by a council of elders.
“The elders must protect these children,” Matthew said thoughtfully. “It appears they prefer to keep these children within the bounds of the Golden District, with the powerful ones having a space on Gilded Row. It’s as much a prison
sentence as it is an upgrade in living space.”
I thought of Mrs. Brooks cowering in the living room when her husband walked into the room, and I had no doubt that Mr. Brooks would not be pleased to know his wife had shared even a little bit of the secret with us.
“Hopefully we’ll find some answers inside,” I said, nodding toward Dust as a bouncer stepped into the shaded alley and kicked open the door. “So far, a secret magical power and this club are the only link we have between all three girls.”
“Then, I suggest we get started,” Matthew said. “Hungry?”
“Ravenous.”
Chapter 11
The club itself didn’t turn into an actual, disco-styled dance floor until nearly midnight. For the first few hours it stood open, Dust was nothing more than a dimly lit bar with a limited food selection.
However, I hadn’t eaten all day, and I’d take the limited food selection over no food at all.
“I’ll take fries,” I informed the tattooed elf who was tapping a pencil against her server’s notepad. The rest of the stuff on the menu looked barely acceptable at best. “Make that lots of fries.”
“I see you’re not dieting for your date tonight,” Matthew said when a mound of fries as big as my head arrived on the table. “That grease is horrible for you.”
I grabbed a fry that was half as long as my forearm and bit into it, closing my eyes and moaning with the pleasure of the hot, crispy bite. When I looked up, Matthew’s fangs had descended, and he had a different sort of hunger written all over his face.
“That’s what I thought,” I said. “Now where’s this Damien?”
“You must be looking for me.” A man appeared at our table then, wearing a smarmy smile and a cheaply made suit. He looked at Matthew first and scowled, then turned his attention to me with a wide grin. “Hey, gorgeous.”
“Hey, slimeball,” I said back. “We’re here on business. Sit down, have a chat.”
Damien wasn’t deterred by my instant dislike. Instead, his lips twitched into a brighter smile as he sat. “A live one. I like it.”
“Looking into a dead one,” I said. “So, if you value your life, lay off the friendliness, pal.”
“Burn.” Damien made a hissing sound as he put his finger on my arm. “Feisty.”
I gave his finger on my skin a dark glare. “Next time you touch me, I’ll break it. Fair warning.”
Damien pulled his hand away and shook his wrist with a playful grin. “Firecracker.”
I let Damien study Matthew while I sized him up. He had greasy hair and a button-down shirt that was unbuttoned almost to his navel. He was dark all over—dark locks on his head, curly chest hair, and a build that could only be described as swarthy.
He was not at all attractive to me, especially sitting next to Matthew—his polar opposite. If I squinted, I could see how someone could mistake him for good-looking in the dark if they’d had enough to drink. He was commanding and persistent—that was as positive as I could get.
“Tell us about Linsey Luca,” I said.
“Linsey...” He pursed his lips. “Doesn’t ring a bell. You’ll have to understand—lots of women come through here. Lots of women interested in me.”
“Are most of the women from Gilded Row?”
Damien crooked one eyebrow. “We’re on Silver Street, gorgeous. What do you think?”
“My name’s Detective DeMarco,” I said, “and this is Captain King.”
Damien’s eyes raked over us. “I know who the two of you are.”
“Great, then you won’t mind telling us about Linsey Luca.”
“I already told you—”
“Try again,” I said in a low hiss. “Please.”
Instead of denying anything, he rolled his eyes. “I didn’t know the chick was Gilded Row until my partner told me. She made up a name—Pam, I think?—and I only figured out who she really was after she disappeared.”
“If you knew Linsey, why’d you lie to me?”
“I didn’t know her,” Damien said, “but I’d been seeing her come here for a few weeks. She caught my eye. I mean, she was the most beautiful woman who’s ever stepped foot in this bar—no offense, Detective.”
“None taken,” I said, suddenly understanding that Damien was the sort of man who thought putting women down made them interested in him. Unfortunately, I was willing to bet it worked for him on occasion. “When was the last time you saw Linsey? Did you talk to her?”
“I’ve talked to her a few times. Like I said, she was hot. I talk to all the good-looking women who come through the door.” Damien rolled up his sleeves and sat back in his seat, as if we should be praising his accomplishments. “I didn’t spend a ton more time on her than I did on anyone else.”
I interpreted that to mean Linsey hadn’t taken a lick of interest in the man. Good on her, I thought, suddenly respecting the elf princess leagues more. “Right, so basically, she didn’t fall for your pickup lines, which isn’t a huge surprise. When’s the last time you saw her?”
Damien scowled. “I dunno. Couple nights back.”
“Did you talk then? Dance?”
“Sort of,” Damien said. “But she was here with someone.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know,” he said with a scowl. “I never saw him—that’s just what she said.”
I considered the very real possibility that Linsey had made up a boyfriend just to keep Damien off her back. Still, we’d have to consider the possibility she’d shown up here with another person.
“Give me the run down on the night,” I said. “I want every detail, or I’ll find a warrant for the SpellHash I can smell stinking up this place.”
“We don’t let people use in here,” Damien said defensively. “It’s a club—what do you expect? Some people will leave behind Residuals.”
So, Damien did have an understanding of my skillset, I mused. Maybe he was more perceptive than he looked. If so, I’d fallen hook, line, and sinker for his oblivious act.
“I don’t know what more there is to tell you,” he said, watching me carefully. “I’m here all day, every day. I have a partner, but he thinks he’s the brains of the operation. Makes me do all the grunt work.”
“Bran,” I said, remembering the name of the co-owner Felix had pulled for us. “Bran Lewis is your partner. Did he front the money for the club?”
Damien scratched at his wrist. “Sort of.”
“You do the grunt work, and he’s the financing behind the business,” I said. “Got it. Tell me again about the night Linsey was here. Everything you can remember.”
“I saw her climb down the steps from a carriage,” he said. “But I didn’t see who drove it or anything. It was one from the nicer side of town, that much I could tell even from a distance. I was standing at the door next to the bouncer, and then she just appeared like an angel before my eyes.”
“Gee, romantic. Careful how much poetry you wax about a woman who’s missing—and possibly dead. We might just start to think you loved her.”
Damien paled. “I didn’t love her.”
“But obviously you were interested. Did she even notice you?”
Damien rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, but when he blinked, it was heavy and pained. “Hardly,” he finally admitted, and then coughed. “That night was a little different. It was like she was really jazzed. Super excited about something when she arrived.”
“She showed up alone?”
“Yes,” Damien said. “As soon as I saw her, I waved her through the line, helped her inside, and got her fixed up with a nice drink.”
“Then what happened?”
“What do you think?” Damien snapped. “She started dancing. This is a club.”
“She didn’t talk to you, didn’t meet up with anyone...nothing?”
“It was like she was waiting for something,” Damien said. “She had her drink and started dancing—alone. In fact, when I asked if she wanted to, ah, hang out, she said no.”
&
nbsp; “Bet you didn’t like that,” I said. “Did things turn south after that?”
“No!” Damien visibly recoiled. “I would never hurt her, if that’s where you’re going with this. It’s morbid of you to even think that.”
“Well, you were probably one of the last people to talk to her while she was a free woman,” I said, “and it doesn’t sound like things went well.”
Damien’s exposed chest, darkened by thick hair, began turning red. “I wouldn’t have hurt her. I have proof.”
I leaned an elbow on the table and reached for a fry. “What sort of proof?”
Damien fumbled in his pocket for a moment while I chomped on a fry. When he pulled his hand free and opened his palm, a thin bracelet of silver, clearly expensive, sat there. I flicked my eyes up to Matthew’s to see what he made of it, but he didn’t have much of a reaction at all.
I, however, found the bracelet extremely eye catching, in large part due to the Residuals flanking every loop in the charm bracelet. A light, fluttery cotton-candy pink hovered over the bracelet.
“Lovely,” I said, reaching out to grab Damien’s hand and pull it closer. “Is it hers?”
He seemed confused by my sarcasm. “Do you see—those things? You know, the whole reason people think you’re nuts?”
“I’m not nuts,” I said. “And they’re called Residuals. Yes, I can see them, and they’re all over this bracelet. Did this belong to Linsey?”
“Yes, I just—she dropped it.”
“You didn’t take it off her wrist?” I squinted. “Be honest with us, Damien.”
He stared deeply into the squirt of ketchup next to my fries. “Fine, I might have helped it off her wrist, but I swear it was only because I wanted a reason to talk to her.”
“That sounds a little overzealous,” I pointed out. “Women do not appreciate stalkers. If she wasn’t interested, she wasn’t interested. It’d do you well to learn that.”
“You think I don’t already know that?” Damien finally cracked, raising his voice as he slammed the bracelet onto the table. “She didn’t pay me a second’s mind, and I don’t know why. I really liked her. Maybe I could’ve fallen for her.”
