The Fairyland Murders (15 page)

A
fter a dinner of freshly delivered pudding and pie from the local Farmer in the Dell Deli, Izzy and I settled in for a restful and hopefully unmurdery night.

Which honestly, given the last few days, felt like a monumental task.

Every bone in my body ached with exhaustion as I patted my full stomach and relaxed with a deep sigh. I'd started to wonder if Izzy was some kind of curse, sent to ruin what little luck I had left.

If so, she was a damn beautiful one.

She sat on the couch next to me, no more than six inches away. The television in front of us flickered, but for the life of me, I couldn't say what was on. I was too distracted by her scent, a mixture of fairy dust and vanilla. I wanted nothing more than to scoop her up into my arms and find out if the rumors were true. Did fairies really have more fun?

She slapped my arm, hard, shocking herself in the process. “Ow!” She rubbed her hand. “Blue! Did you hear me?”

I jerked from my fairy fantasy. “What?”

“Look,” she said, pointing to the TV.

Without even looking, impending doom filled me. I knew what was coming. Hell, I'd dreaded this very thing for the last twenty-three years. Since the day I stood outside the orphanage, my hands burning with electricity.

She grabbed the remote from the coffee table and increased the volume. “. . . Princess Penelopee's loft is a total loss,” the bright-eyed reporter was saying. “Arson is suspected.”

“Turn it off.” I reached for the remote, but she snatched it away, leaving me clutching air. A picture of me helping Penelopee from the street appeared on screen. She looked stunning, even covered in soot. I, on the other hand, looked like a blue-haired thug who'd just burned down her building.

“Getting a little handsy there, Blue boy,” Izzy grumbled, sounding both jealous and sarcastic. I laughed, but my humor quickly disappeared as the next picture flashed on the screen.

The reporter's tone grew serious, the gravity of his next words at odds with his too smooth forehead and plastic-looking cheeks. “Sources close to the investigation tell us this man,” my picture again flashed across the screen, this time a mug shot taken a few years ago after a trumped-up assault and battery charge, “is suspected of starting the blaze,” the reporter finished, his tone even grimmer.

“This is bad,” Izzy said, her gaze glued to the station. She didn't know the half of it.

Not for long, at any rate.

No sooner had the thought crossed my mind than the very image I'd dreaded flashed over the screen. It was a candid shot of me as a young blue-haired boy, all of eight years old, taken at the orphanage.

Well, not at the orphanage, but rather in the rubble of what once was an orphanage. Nuns, some covered with electrical burns and singed habits, along with a group of equally soot-covered, towheaded orphans, stood holding hands and praying while I stood off by myself, looking guilty as hell.

“Tell me you didn't,” Izzy said.

I winced but didn't comment.

What could I say?

A picture was worth a thousand words.

And this one said that at eight years old, I'd burned down an orphanage after Mother Mary refused to let me stay up and watch TV. In my defense—not that it was much of one—I hadn't meant to torch the place. I just hadn't yet learned to control the rising tide of electricity inside me. It swelled, burning deep from within, whenever I got anxious or angry, and then boom, a bolt of electricity would shoot from my fingers, charring the statue of Jesus hanging on the wall.

From the day I burned down the orphanage, the other orphans feared me, called me names, and avoided playing any reindeer games with me.

Not that I blamed them.

The nuns were just as reluctant to harbor a human torch. But God had spoken; judge not lest ye be judged or some such nonsense the sisters did their best to smack into me. So the nuns had tolerated me as I zapped my way through puberty, eventually branching out on my own at the ripe age of thirteen, much to the sisters' relief and subsequent lower fire insurance rates.

As the last of the orphanage fire footage flickered on the screen, I swallowed the remaining whiskey in my cup and closed my eyes, dreading what I would see on Izzy's face when I opened them again.

She knew the truth now.

I was, and always would be, a monster.

T
he next morning I woke up feeling an odd sense of relief. I'd never told anyone about my time in the orphanage, especially not how I'd burned it to its foundation. But Izzy knew what had happened now. She'd seen it with her own two eyes.

Saw the horror of what I was up close and personal.

There was no denying it.

No hiding from the truth.

And yet she was still here.

Or was she?

The thought pulled me fully awake better than an icy shower and ten cups of coffee. I straightened from my bed with a groan, rubbing my face. “Izzy?” I called as I tripped over an empty bottle of whiskey on the floor, a bottle that had been full the night before. A bottle I'd consumed while wading through the last of the New Never City history books in search of Mervin's missing magic fruit. It beat lying in my bed, tossing and turning, as my mind replayed the fiery orphanage footage.

So far I hadn't uncovered a single clue as to where to find the pea, much less why anyone would want it. But I'd made a promise to Mervin when I first took the case, and even with a fairy killer on the loose, I would find the pea. Just like I'd vowed to keep Izzy safe. “Izzy,” I called again. “Where the hell are you?”

“You shouldn't swear in the presence of the Tooth Fairy,” Clayton said, poking his chubby head from the doorway.

I closed my eyes. Just what I needed: advice from the very sawed-off bastard responsible for my current predicament. I considered zapping him for the heck of it but decided the effort wasn't quite worth it. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Fine,” I said with a long drawn-out sigh. “I apologize for my language. Happy?”

The little demon nodded.

“Then tell me why you're here.”

Izzy appeared in the doorway behind him, looking amazing in a pair of dark jeans and one of my T-shirts. Her fiery hair was pulled back in a ponytail and her face glowed with health, if not happiness. The sickness was fully gone. I flushed with relief. She would be all right.

Unless a serial killer had his way.

“Clayton came to say hi,” she said quickly, her face flushing with obvious guilt. “He said it and now he's leaving. Aren't you?” Her death glare could've shrunk a lesser man, but seeing that Clayton was already miniaturized it had no effect.

“But—” he began.

“Take care, then,” she said, yanking him from the doorway and tossing him toward the front door. “Come again soon.”

As much as I enjoyed watching Clayton being tossed out on his ass, I suspected Izzy had darker motives for booting him from my apartment. “Hold up,” I said, moving to block her path. “Clayton and I have a few things to discuss.”

Her mouth tightened into a thin line. But she stopped pushing Clayton toward the door. “I don't think that's a good idea. He really does have to be leaving.”

“It will only take a second.” I smiled, faking a shiver. “Why don't you go in the kitchen where it's a little warmer?”

Her hands slid to her hips and she smiled. “I'm pretty comfortable right here.”

“But I'd hate for you to catch your
death
from the cold,” I said. Clayton stood there between us, his head swinging back and forth as if he were at a tennis match.

A smirk pushed the corners of Izzy's lips higher. “I see your point, but I'm not the one who's naked.”

I glanced down. Sure enough, I was standing in my open doorway as naked as the day I was born. “I enjoy the brisk morning air.” I raised my arms over my head for a nice stretch. In truth, I wished I'd tossed on a pair of boxers before jetting from my bedroom. The chilly morning air wasn't doing me any favors as my junk headed north.

“You're an idiot,” she said, throwing her arms up in surrender.

Instead of arguing with her insult, I shrugged. She had a point. I was standing there, naked, hung over, and clueless to boot. Not only was I at a distinct disadvantage in my argument with Izzy but Clayton was, at the moment, eye to balls with my genitals. It was enough to turn a blue-haired boy red. “If you'll excuse us . . .” I said, waving her off to the kitchen.

She slapped Clayton on the back of the head. “Remember our talk,” she said to him.

He swallowed, hard, and then nodded.

“I will not be pleased if I don't get my way.” Her eyes met mine. “A good lesson for you too, Blue.”

“W
hat is Isabella trying to hide?” I asked Clayton as soon as Izzy stomped off to the kitchen. He glanced from the kitchen doorway to me, as if weighing the lesser of two evils.

I grabbed him by the throat, lifting him from the ground to assure him lying to me was far more dangerous than keeping any of her secrets. He let out a small squeak as a few hundred volts shot through him, constricting his muscles as he dangled from my fingers. I eased my grip enough for him to speak. “You owe me, Clayton. Now spill it or I will end you.”

“Ouch. Ouch. That hurts. . . . Take it easy. . . .”

I let him go and he fell to the floor. “Good choice. Now what doesn't Izzy want me to know?”

His gaze slid to the kitchen and then down to the floor. “You can't tell her I told you.”

I crossed my fingers behind my back. “Your secret is safe with me. After all, you've been nothing but honest with me so far.” His eyes narrowed, as if unsure how to take my comment. I decided to make it a little easier on him. “Whatever it is she doesn't want me to know will only end up hurting her. I'm here to protect her. Now help me do my job.”

“All right.” He lifted his chin. “Here it is.”

I motioned for him to continue.

“The Fairy Council—”

A clatter rose from the kitchen, much like a gaggle of geese taking cooking lessons from a less than jolly giant. The noise was so loud it drowned out Clayton's words.

“. . . and that's why they . . .”

A high-pitched screeching entered the commotion.

“. . . Isabella doesn't want . . .”

“What the hell is that?” I screamed after a particularly loud, piercing squawk.

Clayton flinched. “‘The Fairy Spangled Banner,' I think.” He sighed loudly, throwing his hands up to his ears. “For all her good traits, she can't carry a tune to save her life.”

I grabbed him by the collar, dragging him with me through the door and into the kitchen. “Damn it, Izzy,” I yelled at the top of my lungs. She kept right on screeching. “Knock it off!” My hangover couldn't take much more. My stomach had already merged with the back of my throat and it would be only seconds until both made an appearance in the kitchen sink.

The last note finally faded after what seemed like a torturous hour but was less than thirty seconds later. My ears rang from her audible assault. When Izzy finished her serenade I gave a soft golf clap. She smiled, bowing at the waist. “Did the two of you finish your little chat?”

“Not quite,” I said.

Her lips pulled into an affected pout. “Oh, sorry to hear that. Maybe next time.”

I laughed, wincing as my head started to ache. “It's not going to work. I won't be left in the dark. Not when it comes to your life. I need to know what's going on. Do you understand me?”

“I understand many things, like the importance of loyalty. Of trust,” she said with a glare in Clayton's direction. “It's so hard to find good, loyal fairies these days. Fairies who know when to keep their traps shut.”

“Don't push me, Izzy.”

“Don't threaten me, Blue.”

I took a deep, cleansing breath. It was too early in the morning to deal with this shit, especially without pants. “I'm going to take a shower and then get dressed. The two of you,” I gestured between Izzy and Clayton, “have until I'm finished to get it together. When I come back you will tell me what the hell is going on . . .”

Izzy lifted her eyebrow. “Or else?”

“That's a given, sweetheart,” I said, smacking her fairy bottom as I left the kitchen. Her resulting yelp from the slight shock brought the first genuine smile of the day to my lips.

That same smile soon turned upside-down.

“I
should've known better,” I mumbled half an hour later as I glanced around my empty apartment. As soon as I stepped out of the shower, I knew I'd made a tactical blunder. Izzy wasn't the kind of fairy to cave at an ultimatum. And sure enough, she hadn't. Instead, she'd fled the apartment with Clayton. For a second, fear paralyzed me. What if her wannabe killer was at this very moment stalking her every step? Waiting, biding his time until he caught her alone? Or, even better, with a two-foot-tall bodyguard?

“Damn you, Izzy,” I said. I dressed quickly in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, adding a smaller-than-my-really-big-gun-but-still-sort-of-big gun to complete the ensemble. I quickly shoved my feet into a pair of worn combat boots and was ready to go.

I grabbed my cell phone and dialed Izzy's number. It rang once and then my call went to voice mail. Fear-induced rage filled me. “She screened my call,” I yelled to my empty apartment. A bolt of electricity burst from my fingers and into the phone. My mobile blew up, pieces scattering everywhere. I glanced down at the busted phone parts with disgust. Third phone this month. You'd think they'd make them of tougher stuff.

As I turned from the smoldering mess, I noticed a small, round, blackened metal piece, a part that looked remarkably like a bug, on the floor a foot away. Not a bug of the winged variety either, not unless one considered the very real possibility that a fairy had placed it there.

“Son of a bitch,” I said, smashing my boot on the listening device until it crunched under my foot. The sound made me feel a little better, enough to calm the rising current inside me. Someone had been listening in on my every phone call, tracking my every movement, for who knew how long.

The implications hit me at once.

Everything from Izzy's whereabouts to the exact place where I'd tossed Henrick's body into the drink was known to some faceless entity.

Maybe even Jack the Tooth Ripper.

 

A half hour later I stood outside Fairy Central, trying my best to remember the code Doyle the Fairy had used to open the security door. I knew it had two 7s, a 3, a 0, and a 4. After seven tries I finally hit the right combination, which, much to my disgust, spelled out the word HELLO upside down. Fucking fairies.

Yep, that's why I was named investigator of the year. Nothing got past me, not when it was beyond obvious.

I sighed as the once locked doors slowly opened.

Izzy had to be here. I wouldn't even think about what it meant if she wasn't.

Once the doors opened all the way I ducked down, squeezing through the opening and into the corridor. I frowned, surprised not to see a fairy in sight. Come to think of it, there wasn't a sound coming from the warehouse either.

What the hell were the fairies up to?