Ruled by Tainted Blood

by Michael J Allen

  Things in homicide were better, cut and dry. Murderers went to jail. No deals. No pressure to let a criminal escape justice.

  “How many times do I have to tell you, Quayla Buckler!”

  Sabrina froze in her tracks, jerking her handcuffed informant to an abrupt halt.

  “Hey!”

  She ignored him, instead seeking out the familiar voice. It took several moments to recognize the animated woman as the thin, impersonal shop attendant Judith...something.

  “Someone needs to help,” Judith said.

  “I already explained this to you,” the desk sergeants tone indicated the imminent death of his last nerve. “We will assign your report to one of our officers to investigate. I’m sorry, but missing persons aren’t the highest priority on our plates today.”

  “There was blood.”

  “I know. It’s in my report.”

  “Stay here,” Sabrina stepped toward Judith. Second thoughts stopped her. She flagged down a uniformed officer. “Hey, take this suspect to my desk. I’ll be right there.”

  If the younger officer objected to being ordered around by a detective, he didn’t make it obvious. He inclined his head, took the purse snatcher by his bicep and left Sabrina to approach Judith.

  “Excuse me—”

  “You’re the one that came by asking questions about Quayla,” Judith said in a rapid stream with barely any gaps. “She’s missing. There’s blood in her apartment. I need—”

  Sabrina held up a hand, resisting an urge to grin. “All right. I understand. If you can give me a couple minutes, I will come with you to check this out.”

  Judith gave the incredulous sergeant a nasty look.

  Sabrina gestured for the sergeant to let it go and escorted Judith deeper into the precinct. The formerly dispassionate woman rattled off information on fast forward and seemingly endless repeat. Sabrina barely listened. Judith’s report meant sufficient probable cause to get her back into Buckler’s apartment. It wasn’t burglary, but, “Did you notice anything missing from Miss Buckler’s apartment?”

  “Besides Quayla?”

  “Yes,” Sabrina asked.

  “How the hell should I know? I’ve never been in her apartment. Besides, what does that matter?”

  “Could anything be missing?”

  “Yes, Quay—”

  “Excellent,” Sabrina cut her off. “Have a seat here. I have to finish up with that suspect, but I will be with you as soon as I am done.”

  “Someone needs to help now.”

  Sabrina gave Judith a flat look. “The desk sergeant was sending you home. I’m offering to come with you as soon as I finish one thing. Be grateful I can squeeze you in.”

  Judith’s face dropped. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m just really worried about Quayla.”

  Sabrina forced a smile. “I understand.”

  It took longer than Sabrina would’ve liked to deal with the purse-snatching stool pigeon. He seemed interested in anything that dragged out the interview while Judith paced back and forth in front of the line of chairs near the wall.

  Sabrina cut him off. “You’ve already told me that. I’m starting to think you’re stalling so by time I get to the location you gave me, the evidence will be gone.”

  “No, nothing of the sort.”

  “Good, then I’m going to put you in holding so you can’t warn anyone before I get there.”

  “Wait, you didn’t say anything about me being stuck here.”

  “Must’ve slipped my mind.”

  After the dirt bag was off to rot in holding, Sabrina turned her attention to the impatient florist. One surprise inspection of Buckler’s apartment would tie up the case with enough time to raid the address provided by the purse snatcher. After a short discussion, Sabrina agreed to meet Judith at Quayla’s apartment. The woman’s scooter meant not being restrained by Atlanta traffic, soon escaping Sabrina’s sight. Sabrina breathed a sigh of relief when she pulled up to find Judith waiting.

  If Buckler’s landlady discovered Sabrina on the premises, she’d likely demand a warrant. Judith’s presence meant not needing one. She followed Judith up the stairs.

  “There was this guy who kept coming into Ponds looking for Quayla. He followed me here.”

  “I remember you telling me about him.”

  “He might still be here.”

  “Let me go first,” Sabrina said.

  They reached the third-floor landing. Buckler’s apartment door hung open just enough to display a dark sliver. Sabrina pushed the door in, hand on her undrawn sidearm. Old bloodstains marred the floor, but they’d been present the last time Sabrina had searched the apartment.

  No reason to tell Judith that until after I’ve searched.

  “Miss Buckler? It’s Detective Foxner and your coworker. Judith’s concerned for your safety, so we’re coming in...”

  The door opened to reveal a crowd of small, malformed naked men. They turned as a nasal tone filled the quiet. “You incompetent jackass. You told me you dealt with her.”

  A blur of motion left a glittering trail of fairy dust as an impact against the foremost ugly, dark-skinned midget’s head sent him toppling. The others tensed but didn’t move.

  A male Tinkerbelle rocketed from Buckler’s couch to the door. Sabrina drew her sidearm, an order on her lips. A plume of golden dust flooded the doorway.

  Sabrina spasmed. Her gun thunked to the floor as her body arched in a body-wide stretch. Her nipples tightened as phantom fingers caressed her breasts exactly the way she liked. Wetness collected between her thighs. Something triggered her clitoris and every muscle spasmed in orgasm.

  Somewhere distant another woman, probably Judith, moaned in ecstasy.

  The fairy grew to a full-sized man dressed in a tidy business suit. He gestured. “Put them on the bed while I figure out what to do with them.”

  Sabrina’s orgasms intensified until her muscle spasms grew to the verge of painful.

  “We can dispose of them,” the ugly midget licked his lips. “At least, what’s left.”

  “No eating them...or tasting for that matter. Just put them on the bed. The spell will keep them quiet,” a grin flashed across his face, “well, not quiet, but pliant until I find out Her Highness’s desires.”

  5: Revelations

  Vitae

  Both Champion blades had formed themselves to fit my hand when I’d first claimed them after my defeat of their Sidhe owners. It seemed clear they’d responded to the Sidhe essence mixed into my new body. Dolumii’s sword had refused to give up Mare—theoretically due to my exhausting the faerie magic within me. Without magic to command their function, Gherrian’s sword never should’ve drank in the shamble or its captured souls.

  My use of glamour against Aquaylae’s paramour hadn’t been conscious, but I had desired the mortal to see reason.

  I did not wish this. It should never have happened. I will not accept this.

  I held Gherrian’s sword in both hands. Horror-backed will commanded the Champion blade to release the souls I’d inadvertently captured. I strained against the sword to no avail, thwarted by what almost felt like a smug stubbornness.

  Impossible! Weapons don’t possess wills of their own.

  Slamming the blade into its sheath, I returned to relocate my car’s parking place. The extensive dead zone hadn’t been managed by a single shamble. North perimeter hid the Sidhe I desperately needed. If I climbed to the MARTA transit system and rode on their filthy trains, I’d discover another faerie sooner or later. Long hours on plastic seats held no appeal, so I investigated the nearby shopping mall first.

  I held a heavy glass door for several young ladies deserving the courtesies due a lady despite indecent attire. Two youths in desperate need of belts barged through the opening, cutting off the ladies.

  My jaw tightened enough to hold back a scathing rebuke.

  Once the thankless ladies were on their way, I located a map. Running my figure down the various eateries iden
tified two spots likely to draw in pixies—a candy shop and a bakery. I oriented on the bakery first, counting on the pixie love for honey to provide quarry.

  I hadn’t traversed to the half way point when the warm aroma of cinnamon, butter and sugar caressed my nose. A small shop to my left—drolly named Cinnabon—offered baked sweetbreads and some kind of citrus drink named after a Roman emperor.

  I stopped, closing my eyes to feel for any pixies or sprites drawn in by the tantalizing aroma.

  A youth knocked me forward. “Watch where you’re stopping, old fart.”

  In bygone days, it would’ve been compulsory to redeem my honor while teaching the youth proper manners. Unfortunately, dueling had been outlawed in recent centuries, and as such, doing so risked unwanted attention.

  A tickle against my essence lifted my eyes to a hole in the ceiling just behind a support girder. Since mice seldom flew and frequent climbing to such a home would be too exposed, the only logical explanation seemed a pixie hollow.

  I regarded the bakery once more, noting an employee cutting open a bag to apply icing to a freshly baked tray of rolls. The employee’s skill with icing the buns, compounded by the prepacked icing itself disqualified the youth as a baker’s apprentice.

  And thus, those sweetbreads are some modern convenience, a counterfeit of true craftsmanship with undoubtedly an equally slapdash flavor. How can these mortals have forgotten the richness of handcrafted baked good?

  The answer was one of caring. Mortals didn’t care the flavor was inferior because having a sweetbread without even a moment’s effort is convenient. They didn’t have to work for the treat. Someone else performed the work for them.

  Better flavor and a sense of accomplishment no longer warrant personal effort. These mortals are entitled to their inferior sweets and to have them without any effort.

  I withdrew a wallet from inside my coat. The two five-dollar bills contained in the folded leather had sojourned within for almost a century. The price of the so-called confection would exhaust one—obscene for a single roll, but ready bait would lure the pixie faster than more hunting or returning to the sanctum for honey.

  “My good fellow, I would purchase one of your confections.”

  The employee gave me a strange look, but his fingers created beeping noises on a computer. “Visiting from out of town?”

  “Nay, I’ve lived in this city for some time.”

  “If you say so. That’ll be five thirty-two.”

  “The price board indicates four dollars and ninety-six cents.”

  “Sales tax.”

  I pursed my lips, added the second bill and offered both.

  The employee gave me a shifty eye. He extended the bills “Look, I don’t want to call a cop, all right. How about you just leave?”

  “I require the confection.”

  “And I need you to pay for it.”

  “That is legal tender.”

  The employee yanked another five-dollar bill from his drawer, taping a finger on the green seal. “If you’re going to counterfeit, do a little research.”

  Heat burbled in my stomach. “My good sir, this is legal tender in these United States you call America.”

  “Fine, just a minute,” the employee stepped into the back.

  The delay was irksome, but at least the boy had come into line.

  After an interminable wait, a lady addressed me. “Excuse me?”

  I turned to find a woman dressed in a local law enforcement uniform. I inclined my head. “How may I assist you, madame?”

  She sucked in breath. She tucked stray hair into place, her smile flickering to full strength. Widening pupils traced up and down my body, lingering a moment near the swords without actually locking onto the weapons.

  The sweetbread vendor came out from behind the counter and pushed my two bills into her hands. “He tried to pay with these.”

  My temper rose. I’d been put off so that he could summon law enforcement and accuse me of criminal activity.

  “Please remain where you are, sir.” The officer turned the bills over in her hands, brows rising first at me and then furrowing at the boy. “What do you think is the problem?”

  “They’re counterfeit.” He offered the same bill he’d shown me. “He didn’t even bother to get the seal the right color.’

  She gave him a flat look. “The bill in your hand is worth five dollars. These are over a century old and probably worth far more considering their condition.”

  She handed me the two bills. “I recommend you trade these to a collector rather than just trying to spend them.”

  “I see.” I pursed my lips, frowning at the currency she handed back. “Thank you, madame.”

  “Is something wrong?” She asked.

  Many things piqued my temper. The sweetbread vendor had accused me of being a lowly knave—something I couldn’t settle via challenge. My own mistake using old currency had gathered unnecessary attention.

  We carried toothless weapons to avoid legal entanglements or drawing attention. We only employed essence to arm ourselves in the face of faerie adversaries. The law keeper had noted my swords, but for whatever her reason chosen to overlook the bladed weapons.

  Both mistakes and my ignorance of sales tax grew out of limited exposure to current mortal life.

  There may have been some merit in Mare’s arguments after all.

  “Sir?”

  “My deepest apologies, madame. I’d intended to purchase a confection as a treat for a...little one, but it seems it would be imprudent to purchase such with this currency.”

  She smirked at me and drew a wallet. She handed money over to the boy. “Get his order.” She turned back to me. “I love your accent. Are you a British movie star?”

  “I am not. While I appreciate the offer, madame, I cannot allow you to give me charity.”

  Her eyes flicked away. “A trade then? You buy me dinner.”

  Do all mortals think only with their hormones?

  “Once more, I appreciate the gesture but that isn’t possible.”

  “Oh.” She made a dismissive gesture. “Just pay it forward then.” When I didn’t immediate respond, she added more. “You know, you do something nice to help someone else.”

  “I shall do so. You have my gratitude.”

  The boy pushed a box into my hand and coins into hers. He huffed at both of us and stormed back into his shopfront. The lady shield hurried way, glancing backward twice.

  I seated myself at the nearest bench with my back to the shop. Opening the carton wafted cinnamon-spiced steam into my face. Despite the attractive aroma, I knew tasting the sweetbread would ultimately provide only disappointment.

  A moment’s focus extruded essence, allowing me to drip it upon the roll. I settled the roll’s container on the lip of a trash receptacle with the cardboard lid open. A finger brushed the thick icing and I brought it to my mouth without thinking. Incredibly smooth sweetness touched my tongue, undercut by the tang of cream cheese and a hint of vanilla.

  Inferior—as expected.

  A silk handkerchief from my vestment cleaned the residue from my fingers. I leaned in an alcove beneath, but behind the pixie hole and went quiet, damping my presence.

  Between the free sweet and my vital essence, the pixie took almost no time to poke his head out of his hole. He glanced around, tiny nose sniffing and antennae twitching back and forth. His eyes narrowed toward the abandoned confection.

  A surge of magic took me off guard, causing an involuntary gasp. The spike far outstripped what I’d heretofore felt from any faerie of his size.

  Glamour cloaked his dive, but the wind of his passing washed over my skin. Impact slid the carton a finger’s breadth. A mammoth bite—for a pixie mouth—disappeared from the iced bread.

  After allowing several moment’s gorging to foster lethargy, I approached with a swift, silent gait. I snapped the box closed on him. The box buzzed and jerked, foul-mouthed oaths spilling from the container’s seams.


  I shook the box once. “You will be still, Sidhe.”

  “You bent my wing! Whoever in the blighted hells you think you are, you’re not giving me a lot of reasons to grant you your heart’s desire. Let me out this instant or there’ll be no bargain.”

  I rattled the box again, striding out the nearest exit

  Teeth sank into my finger where he’d chewed through the carton and into flesh. I didn’t jerk my hand away, but I did address him. “Assaulting a shield will not improve your predicament, faerie.”

  An involuntary squeak told me I’d shut down his teeth for the nonce. It took considerable juggling to open my Mercedes’s door, remove my swords and enter without allowing the Sidhe escape. Doors closed and locked, I set the container on my passenger seat. The top popped open. The pixie hovered just over the confection, shaking like a dog. Icing shot in every direction, dotting calf-skin leather and dashboard controls, pristine carpet and my suit.

  Heat built up, escaping in a growl that wrenched the pixie’s eyes up to mine.

  He cringed, casting around and squeaking in a piccolo voice. “No napkins?”

  I removed my handkerchief and cleaned a glob of icing from my cheek. “No.”

  It puffed itself up. “I demand to know why you trapped me. I wasn’t doing nothing?”

  “Sidhe are not allowed to abide within Creation, certainly not in a public shopping area where mortals might witness them.”

  “Fine, fine, spare me the lecture. Release me and I will return to the Courts.”

  “I have queries first.”

  “I won’t rat anyone out,” he crossed his arms.

  “You invoked glamour to disguise yourself when you went after the roll. How did you go about that?”

  “I just did it, okay?”

  “No, you had to have learned some process or mindset to allow you to create the illusion you desired.”

  “Maybe, I don’t know, look, what’s it to you?”

  “I wish to understand more about faerie magic.”

  His gaze narrowed and he sniffed loudly. An instant later, his head shot sideways to the blades lain in the back seat. I wasn’t concerned he could turn the blades against me so I made no move to prevent him from investigating my swords.