The Fairyland Murders (12 page)

P
enelopee's name worked like a charm after the guard stopped laughing long enough to call up to the princess's loft. Penelopee must've ordered the man to let us up because he quickly motioned to the elevator as he apologized for his conduct.

“Relax,” I said as Izzy and I stepped onto the elevator. “I get it.”

The guard's eyebrow rose with question.

I laughed. “Izzy looks dangerous.”

He frowned, but before he could comment the elevator doors closed, sweeping us forty floors into the sky. Izzy smacked me. “What was that for?” I rubbed the red palm print on my arm.

She rolled her eyes before slugging me again.

At the second punch I leaped back, more shocked than hurt. Izzy had just touched me. Really touched me. No jolts or cries of pain. No blue sparks. True contact for the first time in my life. “Son of a bitch.”

“What?” she yelped. “Is there a spider on me?”

I shook my head, unable to speak.

She patted her hair. “I know I look a fright, but in my defense I was kidnapped. . . .”

I grabbed her chin in my bare hand. Consequences be damned, I leaned down, kissing her fully on the mouth both to shut her up and test the lack of electrical current between us.

At first touch heat flared, but not the kind I was used to. Rather than burning pain, sparks of intense pleasure surrounded us. Surprised and pleased, I pressed her back against the wall of the elevator, my hands exploring the curves of her short but lush body.

My fingers caressed the junction where wing met shoulder, and Izzy shuddered. My breathing grew ragged, harsh enough to drown the Muzak version of “A-Tisket, A-Tasket” blaring through the elevator.

Her fingers tore at my leather belt, pulling my body closer to her own. Every drop of blood in my body dove south and my head swam. I wanted Izzy as I'd never wanted another woman, let alone a woman with pink wings. Her scent intoxicated me, likely from the combination of musk and fairy dust rising off her.

Before I could test our nonelectrical connection further, the elevator dinged, announcing our arrival. Disgusted by my lack of self-control, I abruptly released her and dropped my arms. She pulled back. “What was that about?”

“You didn't get singed.”

“And?”

Instead of answering I ran my finger down her cheek and into the neckline of her T-shirt. For the first time in my life I was able to connect with another person without causing them pain. Somehow, in the last few hours, I'd been cured. No more surge protectors. No more human jumper cable. Could it really be true? Was the curse finally broken? And by what? Had the fairy next to me somehow released me from my electrical binds? “I can touch you, Izzy!”

Izzy slapped my hand away, dampening my good mood. “Not unless I say so. I wouldn't want you to think I'm easy.”

Her lips curled into a stunning smile. The blood that had just returned to my head once again moved south. My fingers itched to grab her, to take all she had to offer until her knees were as weak as my will. Before I could test Izzy's virtue, the elevator doors opened.

Penelopee stood on the other side, her eyes darting between Izzy and myself. What she saw she obviously didn't like, for her lips curled into a frown. Just as quickly as the expression crossed her face, it vanished, and she gave us a wide smile.

“Blue! You're here,” she said, ignoring the Tooth Fairy at my side. “I'm so glad. You solved my case, then? You found the missing tape? I knew you would.” She threw her arms wide and rushed toward me.

Before I could say no and explain my arrival on her doorstep, her fingers brushed the skin on the back of my neck. Fifty-thousand volts shot from my body into hers. Her eyes went wide and her body jerked backward. The voltage knocked Princess Penelopee halfway across the room.

“O
h God, Penelopee.” I rushed toward the downed princess. Smoke curled from the ends of her hair as well as the cow slippers on her feet. “Are you all right?” I asked, my voice shaking slightly.

“Pretty,” she said as her eyes rolled back in her head.

“Shit!” I yanked my gloves from my pocket, pulled them on, and quickly checked her pulse. On the plus side, she was still alive, just loopy from the jolt.

But that could change at any moment as the carpet where she'd landed began to smolder and then suddenly burst into flames. I stomped on the burning carpet fibers, but it was too late. The fire quickly spread from the lush carpet to the billowing white curtains. Thick smoke filled the room.

I ripped off my jacket to beat the flames out. “Izzy,” I yelled, my voice rough with concern and smoke.

“I'm here,” she said, her small frame obscured by flames and haze.

“Get out of here.”

“I'm not leaving you,” she said, coughing.

“Don't be stupid. In a few minutes this whole place will be an inferno.” I threw my now flaming jacket into the fire and then lifted Penelopee from the floor and tossed her over my shoulder in a firemen's carry.

I searched for Izzy, but the smoke had already swallowed her, obscuring her vivid pink wings from my sight and her from any chance of escape.

“I
t's okay, Penelopee.” I patted the princess's back as she choked up a lungful of smoke. Black soot covered her and everything else around us. “Just breathe.”

“What happened?” she asked once she was able to speak.

“There was a small fire,” I lied. Small was a bit of an understatement, seeing as the top two floors of her building were now completely engulfed in smoke. At least she was safe.

I glared at the other woman coughing her heart out a few feet away. Izzy hadn't fared nearly as well. She'd lost a good portion of her right wing and three inches off her hair.

Anger burned inside me all over again as I recalled the harrowing moments when I'd thought I'd lost her. Again. Yet Izzy proved to be made of tougher stuff than I'd given her credit for. She'd managed to leap from Penelopee's balcony before the fire overcame her. Apparently, it paid to have a sturdy pair of wings.

“A fire?” Penelopee's softly posed question drew me back to the conversation at hand. “Was anyone hurt?”

I ignored the searing pain of the leather gloves melted into my palms. “Nope. Everyone got out just in time.”

“Thank God,” she said. “Do the firemen know what caused it?” She waved her hand to the brave New Never City firefighters risking their lives to control the flames. Flames that grew higher and higher as we watched.

Guilt thickened my voice. “Not yet.” I wouldn't be volunteering the information either. Arson charges didn't look good on a PI's record, even a record as long and disturbing as mine already was.

“Do you think it was set on purpose?” Penelopee asked, her voice barely a whisper as she pulled her charred robe tight across her lush body. I felt like an ass for noticing her attributes, but what could I say? I might have blue hair, but I was still a relatively young man. My guilt intensified when tears dripped down her soot-coated face.

“No,” I said with force. “It was probably carelessness. Somebody left a candle or something burning.”

“ ‘Or something' sounds about right,” Izzy mumbled, which turned into a choked cough. A cloud of fairy dust and smoke billowed around her. She waved it away with a blackened hand.

I glared Izzy into silence and then helped Penelopee to her feet. She swayed slightly, nearly toppling over. I wrapped my arms around her waist, steadying her. My fingers stung underneath the scorched leather of my gloves.

A sudden, intense silvery light exploded in front of us, followed by the wide lens of a television camera. “Princess, can you tell us what happened?” A guy, his hair as snowy as his shirt, shoved a microphone in Penelopee's face. I jerked back, taking the princess with me. Fucking great.

“Princess, the fire chief believes the fire is a case of arson.” The reporter pushed the microphone at us again. “Did you see anything suspicious?”

“Arson?” Penelopee echoed. “But Blue said . . .”

I reacted without thinking, shoving the annoying reporter. A domino effect of cameras, lighting, and gelled hair followed. It was time to grab Izzy and get the hell out of there. Last thing I needed was our faces plastered all over the TV. Not to mention what the paparazzi might say about Penelopee and me or, worse, who started the fire in the first place.

“Princess, I have to go.” I squeezed Penelopee's soot-covered hand. “I'll be in touch . . . I mean, contact.”

Because I would never touch—really touch—a woman again. Not like I'd touched Isabella in the elevator.

The thought left me cold.

W
e left Penelopee and together Izzy and I maneuvered around a pile of news equipment, dodged a fire hose, and ran up the street, away from the bright lights of the paparazzi.

Four blocks up Izzy pulled to a stop. Her gaze shot to mine, and what I saw in them sent a shiver up my spine. “Glad we didn't draw any attention to ourselves, you know, with our subtle exit.”

She had a point. I wasn't a bodyguard. Hell, I was a human lightning bolt responsible for nearly killing all three of us. And why? Because I'd foolishly believed I could overcome a curse. I would never be free. What happened in the elevator had been some sort of fluke, probably brought on by adrenaline and fairy-dust intoxication. It meant nothing, I repeated in my head until the rush of nonelectrical heat and disappointment faded.

She took a deep breath. “I'm sorry. That was out of line.”

“No it wasn't.” I closed my eyes. “I'm the one who should be apologizing. I promised to protect you and I nearly killed you. Maybe you should find another—”

“Oh hell no,” she blurted out. “You are not getting out of this that easy.” She smashed her finger to my lips when I started to argue, wincing as a spark of electricity shocked her this time. But why not in the elevator? I wondered. What had changed?

“Not another word,” she said.

“Just tell me this—”

“No.”

I ignored her, asking the question that had been bothering me since I'd seen her photo at Fairy Central. The question I wasn't sure I wanted to know the answer to. “Izzy,” I began, “what do the fairies have on you?”

She lowered her gaze to the ground, her cheeks heating from either the chilly morning air or embarrassment, I wasn't sure which. “It doesn't matter. Once they have what they want . . .”

“And what's that, Izzy?”

“I can't tell you.”

“Fine,” I lied. “But you can't honestly believe they'll let you go back to your,” I curled my fingers into air quotes, “real life.”

“I just need a little more time, Blue.” She reached for my arm, but I jerked away before she made contact. I couldn't bare her touch right now. Not when my senses were still reeling from our kiss in the elevator. “Can you trust me a little longer?” she asked, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Please?”

I knew it was stupid. Dangerous even.

But I slowly nodded.

Fingers crossed behind my back.

 

After our brush with death I wasn't taking any chances. Our first stop was my office for extra ammo for my really big gun, as well as a few other provisions, including the half-empty bottle of whiskey in my desk drawer. Much to my surprise, Izzy insisted on grabbing the New Never City history books she'd been reading. I shrugged. A little light missing magic pea research couldn't hurt. Not if I kept Izzy occupied while she stayed locked inside my apartment for the next week.

But now, a few hours later, finally tucked into my apartment safe and sound with a pink-winged fairy, I watched as day settled into night with an odd feeling of dread. I swirled the whiskey in my glass. So much had happened in the last couple of days: Barry's murder, the fairies' stockpile of teeth, and the Shadows. I had nothing but questions without answers.

And yet one question stood foremost in my mind.

Who wanted Izzy dead?

The sooner I figured out the who the sooner she would be out of my life. The sooner I could go back to the way things used to be. To my lone-wolf lifestyle. To being a cursed electrode who would never be able to touch Izzy—not the way she deserved to be touched—unless it was a fluke.

None of this was new. I never was and never would be a nine-to-five, husband-and-father sort of guy. I was better off alone. Always had been. My own parents had known as much when they left me on the steps of the orphanage when I was six months old.

I shook off the wave of self-pity and refocused my attention on Izzy. Not on her exactly but on who wanted her dead.

The obvious answer was a fairy. Henrick was my number-one winged suspect at the moment. For some reason even though Izzy claimed to want nothing to do with her fairy brethren, Henrick saw Izzy as a threat to his toothy reign. What better way to ensure his place in history than to remove the competition?

Only one problem with that scenario, though.

Henrick had purple wings.

The fairy-dust junkie had claimed he saw a green-winged fairy following Izzy the night she ordered her nun's habit from Barry. And the bit of costume-shop wing I'd found at the twins' apartment was also green.

Unless Henrick had worn fake wings the night he followed Izzy and then planted the piece of green wing at the twins' place to throw suspicion off himself.

He had to know he'd be Detectives Locks's and Rabit's top suspect for the Fairyland murders once he became the Tooth Fairy. So why not cast the suspicion on someone else for the killings? Someone with a vibrant shade of green for wings.

I took a sip of whiskey and glanced at Isabella over the rim of my glass. The alcohol burned a nice numbing path down my esophagus and into my stomach. “Tell me about the night you were attacked at your apartment.”

She shrugged. “What's to tell? I was asleep and then I wasn't. There was a dark figure standing over my bed.”

I frowned, leaning forward. “Like a Shadow?” Had they tried to kidnap her more than one time? And why? What good would holding Izzy do? As far as the Council was concerned, she was fairy non grata until she agreed to collect teeth.

“Kind of, but not a Shadow shadow. A solid form. I'm sure of it. I screamed and lashed out, kicking and punching, until I was able to get away.”

“Could you identify him?”

She shook her head.

“Was he tall? Short? Fat?” I frowned. “Have a set of wings? Come on, Izzy. Give me something.”

“I don't know!” Her eyes blazed, turning indigo in color. “It was dark. I was half asleep. . . .” She paused, tilting her head. “There was one thing. . . .”

“Yeah?”

She shook her head. “It's probably nothing.”

“Let me decide that.” I leaned closer to her. “Even the smallest clue can solve the biggest of cases.”

“He smelled like denture cream.”

“Denture cream?”

“I know it sounds crazy.”

Rubbing my chin, I considered her description of the attack. Something just didn't sit right. “You weigh, what, a hundred pounds?” Her gasp told me I'd guessed a little too close for her comfort. I quickly moved on to make my point. “What kind of man let's a hundred-pound chick best him?”

“Hey,” she said, stabbing her finger at me, “I'm scrappier than I look. And I have damn good wings.”

My gaze fell to her breasts, concealed under a tight tank top. “Wings. Right.”

“Now that I think about it,” her tongue poked from her mouth, “I'm fairly sure he had a pair too.”

“Who?”

She rolled her eyes. “Try to keep up.”

“Right,” I said with a laugh. “Our bad guy.” Again it came down to a pair of wings. “Anything else you remember?”

She shook her head. “It's your turn to answer a question for me,” she said, grabbing the glass of whiskey from my hand and downing it in one gulp.

My body heated at the near contact, a bad sign. Izzy was affecting more than my investigational abilities. I cleared my throat. “That ointment in the bathroom was there when I moved in.”

She laughed. “Good to know, but not the question I had in mind.”

I sighed. “Fine. I'll answer one question.”

All the laughter left her face and she grew serious. Too serious. Whatever she was about to ask would change our relationship. I wasn't sure I was ready for that.

She grabbed my hand, clenching her fist as a current rocked her body, but she didn't let go. I tried to pull away. She wouldn't let me. Instead, she squeezed my hand tighter. Her skin felt hot, so hot I worried I was doing her serious damage.

“If you could have the very thing you want more than anything else in the world,” she said, her voice soft, “but it would cost you your soul, would you sell it?”

I thought of my curse. Would I sell my soul for the truth? For freedom from what I was? I didn't have a ready answer, which was good since Izzy wasn't finished with her question.

“Or would you do the moral thing,” she paused, her eyes on mine, “giving up everything, maybe even your life, for what was right?”

I relaxed, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips. The electrical voltage churning inside me quieted to a mere hum. “That's kind of a chicken-or-egg question, Izzy.”

She dropped my hand, pushing to her feet. “Just answer it.”

“It depends.”

“On?”

I slowly stood, our faces now inches apart. “I guess we'll find out.”