by M. D. Massey
Better by far than heading to Maeve’s and killing every fae in her court. Or sending up a beacon to draw Mother and her assassins to me so I could engage them directly. Either choice would be suicide. I was powerful and dangerous, but not even I could stand against an ancient fae sorceress in a head-to-head battle.
Once back at the café, I found the same, disheveled vampire working the counter. The place was nearly empty, as it was late in the evening when I arrived. Colin would’ve called the young-looking bloodkin a “hipster,” but I merely classified the barista as slovenly. He cocked his head as I approached, giving me a sidelong look that bespoke both idle curiosity and disdainful indifference.
“You’re not dead, so that either means you didn’t find him, or you’re more important than you look,” he observed in a dour tone.
“Neither. I am merely too much trouble for your master to kill.” I left it unsaid that the attempt might leave both Luther and me in a state of permanent repose. “Now, I’ve never ordered the sort of beverages that your establishment peddles, so I ask that you simply prepare something with lots of cocoa.”
“I suppose you want lots of sugar as well.”
“Hmph, indeed.” I glanced at the pastry display next to me. “And one of those eclairs.”
He smirked, but not unkindly, which was disconcerting. “Hormones acting up?”
“Old foes, actually.”
“Hmm, same thing in most cases.” He hummed as he worked, moving with superhuman alacrity, although there was nothing he could do to speed up the espresso machine. “Here, try this.”
He served the drink in a tall, clear glass that revealed the creamy tan and brown concoction within. There was a generous amount of foam at the top, covered with a ludicrous amount of whipped cream adorned by chocolate shavings. I eyed it suspiciously, then lifted it to my lips with a shrug, taking a small sip.
My eyes widened with surprise. “That’s actually quite good.”
“It’s all in how you froth the milk,” he said as he wiped down the counter. “Enjoy.”
I paid and tipped him generously in cash. The vampire gave me an informal salute by way of thanks as I took my drink and pastry to a lone table in a dark, secluded corner of the shop. Just as I was about to take a bite of my eclair, the last person I wanted to see walked through the door.
Colin McCool.
6
I was nearly tempted to cast an obfuscation spell on myself while fading into the shadows, but he’d have sensed the magic and investigated. Colin was annoying in that regard. Yes, I respected the druid for who he was, but I also secretly resented that he’d stolen Belladonna’s heart… and then trampled it underfoot.
His gaze swept the room as he entered. Cagey, that one. A genuine, if self-satisfied, grin split his face the moment he noticed me.
“Crowley, what a surprise. Shit, man, what brings you out of the bat cave?”
“Hmm. I actually got that reference.” I tried to hide my frou-frou drink with my hands as I continued. “I’m meeting a potential client here.”
“And getting a sugar high, I see.” He gave me a devilish wink. “Hang on, I’ll join you.”
“That’s not... necessary,” I finished under my breath. He soon returned with a drink that was not dissimilar to mine, and a bran muffin.
Bran—oh, the humanity.
He took a slug of his beverage, slobbering like a rabid Saint Bernard and making slurping noises to match. “Mmm, nothing like a mocha from Luther’s.”
“Isn’t the name of this establishment La Crème?”
“Sure, but everyone calls it Luther’s. When’s your client getting here?”
I glanced at my Patek Philippe Calatrava. “Oh, they’re already late. I really should be going.”
“Hang on now, Crowster, we’ve barely talked. How’re things?” He arched an eyebrow at me like a street busker inviting me to play a game of shells.
“Things? I suppose things are fine.” Except that the woman I love pines over you. “Yes, simply splendid.”
“That’s good to hear,” he said, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. “Now, tell me what you’re really doing here at Luther’s.”
I sat up straight, crossing my arms over my chest while keeping my voice neutral. “Why, I have no idea what you mean.”
“C’mon, Crowley, be for real. The only time I’ve ever seen you here is when you jumped me out back. You rarely leave your tower—not just because your mom is out to kill you, but also because you hate people.”
“Hate is such a strong word. ‘Despise’ would be more accurate.”
“Whatever,” he said with an absent wave. “You don’t socialize, and you sure don’t care to be around other humans, so why in the hell are you hanging out in a coffee shop drinking a latte and eating pastry?”
“Perhaps I simply wish to enjoy new experiences.”
He chuckled and rubbed his brow. “Fine, don’t tell me. But if you need help—”
“Allow me to stop you there. I appreciate your intent. But if I needed assistance, the situation would likely be beyond your ken. And, you have problems enough of your own.”
The druid sat back in his chair, pursing his lips. “Fair enough. Did Bells tell you what happened at Big Bend?”
“She mentioned nothing, although that is her way. Additionally, she was distracted by other concerns when last we spoke.”
McCool hmphed. “She must be taking it well, then.”
“‘It’ being…?”
“We broke up, officially. For good this time.”
I suppressed a grin, instead keeping my expression neutral and my voice flat. “Well, that is unexpected news.”
“But not unwelcome. Look, Crowley, I know you still have a thing for Bells. No need to hide it. I’ve seen how you look at her.”
Rather than committing myself verbally, I sipped my coffee.
“Hey, it’s okay,” he said. “I’m not jealous or anything. Belladonna and I just aren’t right for each other.”
“Oh? And why is that?” I asked, genuinely curious.
He ran his fingers through his hair, scratching the back of his head as he pondered my question. “I’ve grown and changed, and so has she. Except, I think she wants someone who’s completely devoted to her. And I’m not, no matter how I feel.”
I could be that person for her—after I regain my humanity.
“And?”
“And, not to get too personal, but in hindsight the attraction was mostly physical.”
“Stop,” I said, holding a hand up. “I’m getting nauseous just thinking about it.”
“Er, right. Sorry.” He glanced down at his coffee cup. “Anyway, she’s yours for the taking. Not that you need my permission or anything. Bells is her own woman.”
“That she is,” I replied. “However, it was, ahem, considerate of you to share this information.”
He smirked. “Is that your way of saying thanks?”
“I was raised in Underhill, remember? ‘Thank you’ isn’t in our vocabulary.”
At that, his expression grew serious. “Ah, that reminds me—there’s something else you should know.”
“Don’t tell me—did you recently find yourself at odds with Mother’s assassins?”
“Not exactly. I had a run-in with the Fear Doirich.”
An involuntary hiss escaped my lips. My adoptive father was not my favorite person at present. “If you’re going to tell me you killed him, then you really do deserve my thanks.”
He shook his head. “Not exactly. I sort of beheaded him and gave his severed head to a death god for safekeeping.”
I stared at him unflinchingly, and then something unexpected occurred. Mirthless laughter welled up from deep within, beginning as a soft titter, and eventually developing into outright guffaws. The fit lasted for the better part of a minute, until I exerted control over my emotions, locking them down again as I wiped my eyes.
“Oh, that is—poetic,” I said, gather
ing myself. “Well done.”
“That’s not the response I expected,” the druid replied. “Didn’t he help raise you?”
“By ‘raise,’ you mean ‘torture and humiliate,’ perhaps? He was responsible for much of my magical education, however. While I once looked to him as a role model, if he were on fire, I wouldn’t micturate to extinguish his charred, smoking corpse.”
McCool blinked several times. “Oh-kay. Not that I needed that image in my head, but good to know.”
“But, Colin, I will say this.”
“Yeah?”
“You should’ve killed him. One day, you’ll regret not having done so.”
After spending considerable time processing the information I’d received from both Luther and the druid, I decided there was little I could do about one, and much I might do about the other. Thus, I drove back to the tower, fully intent on interrogating Monty until he told me everything he knew about my family and the connection between the fae and the Vampyri Council. No sooner had I driven through the front gate than Nameless accosted me, flapping in circles above my vehicle and squawking in alarm.
As I pulled into my driveway, the nachtkrapp alighted on the hood of my vehicle. “Gone, master. Squawk! Gone is your prisoner.”
I stepped out of the car, closing the convertible top with the remote as an afterthought. “Settle down, Nameless, and tell me what happened.”
“Portalled, the bloodkin was, away from here. A portal appeared, it passed squawk over the vampire, and he was gone.”
Portal magic took considerable skill and power. Creating a mobile portal that could steal a person away? That was quite the impressive feat, not to mention that I had my tower and the grounds shielded from such incursions.
I doubted that whoever cast the portal could know exactly where this farm was located. If Fuamnach could not find me, then no mortal magic-user could either. That left only a couple of possible scenarios—either the magic-user was more powerful than Mother, or the vampire escaped by way of a retrieval spell.
Having done its job, the night raven preened and smoothed its feathers as it awaited my next command. “Come, Nameless—let us have a look at the laboratory and see what we can glean from the evidence.”
The shadow creature flapped off, entering the tower through an upstairs window. I took my time as I strolled into my home, making certain none of my wards had been tampered with and no traps had been set in my absence. Seeing no evidence of either, I entered my laboratory.
It was just as Nameless had described. The exam table sat empty, and the courier was gone. Nothing else had been tampered with, and since my wards were intact, I had to assume that the spell had originated inside my ward boundaries. No magic could enter here without disturbing the protective spells I’d set to prevent entry by the uninvited.
However, the only wards I’d created to prevent entities from escaping were those that kept Xanthe and Nameless confined to the property. The vampire had clearly been enchanted with some sort of recall spell, one designed to retrieve him should he not check in with his keepers at set intervals. It was sloppy of me to overlook such spell work, but I’d been distracted by my shade and Belladonna.
Leaning over the exam table, I clasped my hands behind my back, not wanting to contaminate any potential evidence. Likewise, there was a remote possibility that the table had been magically sabotaged. I scanned it in the magical spectrum first, ensuring no such traps existed, then I scrutinized it closely with my mundane eyesight.
There.
Although their metabolisms were quite different from humans, having been altered to allow for the processing of heme for sustenance, vampires retained many human characteristics. One of them was the routine replacement of keratinous cells—skin, nails, and hair. And while their metabolisms were much slower than ours while at rest, they still shed hair like the rest of us.
I grabbed a long pair of tweezers from my instrument stand, using them to carefully pluck a single strand of dirty blond hair from the table. I held my prize up, scrutinizing it to make certain it belonged to the vampire and not the previous individual who had occupied the exam table. That was a siren who’d been drowning swimmers on Lake Travis, right under Maeve and the druid’s noses.
Colin had been preoccupied with other, more pressing affairs, and too busy to notice the pattern of deaths. However, said events had not escaped my attention, and I was able to abduct the killer with no one being the wiser. Her hair had been the color of spun gold, and she’d smelled of sand and sea. This strand smelled like blood and death, most assuredly marking it as Monty’s.
“Did Master find what he searched squawk for?” Nameless asked.
“Indeed, I did. Now, let us see if we can track down our missing guest, shall we?”
The tracking spell I cast pointed me to a modest home on some acreage southwest of the city. It was a wonder what one could do with a locating spell and a maps app, if you possessed the requisite skill to mix technology and magic without ruining your smartphone. I was heading out the door when Belladonna called, and suddenly I realized that I had stood her up.
I cursed myself silently as I answered the call. “Hello, Belladonna.”
“Hello? Crowley, you’re supposed to be here backing me up on this stakeout. Do I need to remind you that I’m unemployed and no longer in Mama’s good graces? You might not have bills to pay, but I really need to make this freelance thing work.”
“My apologies. I got distracted by my work—”
Her voice took on a high, strained pitch. “You’re acting just like Colin, you know that? If your work is more important than your word, then maybe I shouldn’t have asked you for your help.”
“I’m sorry, Belladonna, and I’m leaving now. Text me your location, and I’ll be there momentarily.”
The line was silent for several moments, but I finally heard her exhale. “Fine. I’ll send you the address.”
She hung up before I could reply, and while I was upset with myself for forgetting my promise to her, I didn’t take her anger personally. What Colin failed to understand about Belladonna was that, due to her upbringing, she never showed weakness—ever. The harsh and unforgiving environments we were raised in were something we shared. While I suppressed what little emotion I felt, she expressed hurt with anger.
Both were coping mechanisms, albeit dysfunctional ones at that. Yet it was just one more reason why I felt drawn to her, and why I regretted hurting her when we were briefly an item. Trust was a difficult thing to earn from persons as broken as we, and even minor infractions of confidence might cause a withdrawal of faith. I’d have to remember to avoid letting her down in the future, if I wanted to win her back.
Thankfully, the location she sent was only a short ten-minute drive from my farm. Minutes later, I pulled to the grassy, weed-filled shoulder of a narrow country lane. Despite the time of year, it was a warm, muggy night. I cast a cantrip to keep the gnats and mosquitoes away as I exited my Jaguar.
Just ahead, Belladonna sat side-saddle on her Harley, looking through a pair of binoculars across a field of withered corn stalks. As always, seeing her practically took my breath away, and I’m not ashamed to admit I took the opportunity to stare while she was distracted. After tearing my eyes away, I magically enhanced my vision, then I followed her gaze to a ramshackle single-wide mobile home a quarter-mile away.
“You’re late,” she said without taking her eyes off the trailer.
“As we established earlier. And, as you’ll recall, I apologized.”
“Well, you’re here now.” That comment was the closest I’d get to an acknowledgment of forgiveness. Yet, her brusqueness gave me no offense. Compared to the fae I’d been raised with, Belladonna was warmth personified.
“Indeed. And what are we dealing with this fine evening?”
“Parental estrangement case between a baobhan sith and a clurichaun. The mother took off with the kids and didn’t tell the father. He petitioned Maeve’s people for help,
and she hired me to find them.”
“He must pay her quite the tribute, then.”
“Yeah, he’s loaded. Owns a successful HVAC repair business, one of those ‘millionaire next door’ types.”
“And what was the mother’s reason for leaving?”
“You mean, was he beating her or abusing the kids? No. I looked into it before taking the case, believe me. Besides a bit of drinking on the weekends—the guy is a clurichaun, after all—by all accounts he’s a model father. The couple separated because the wife wanted him to quit drinking, and then she split with the kids. Pretty cut and dry, really.”
“Perhaps he might’ve asked his beloved to give up luring young human men to their deaths.”
“Fair is fair, after all. But Maeve doesn’t allow that sort of thing in her demesne. Mom still feeds, though. She has a teenage boyfriend on the side, some nineteen-year-old meth dealer—a real catch, from what I gather.”
“Lovely. I take it we can’t just kill her and give the children back to the father?”
“Our job is simply to find the kids. Once we verify they’re here, we’ll leave it to fae law.” Belladonna gave me a sideways glance. “Besides, we can’t just go around killing fae. Maeve gets upset when you kill subjects who pay tribute to her court.”
“Of course,” I said, rolling my eyes skyward as I fluttered my eyelids. “Any sign of the children this far?”
She tucked the binoculars inside the saddlebags of her motorcycle. “Nope, and that means I’ll need to get a closer look.”
“Oh, joy. I knew there was a reason why you wanted me here.”
“Eggszactly.” Belladonna flashed a saccharine sweet smile as she patted me on the cheek. “Now, be a good backup and whip up some defensive spells, just in case this job goes sideways.”
