The Fairyland Murders (19 page)

I
came awake with a start, unsure where I was, let alone who the woman on the bed snuggled next to me was. I peeled open a sandman-drenched eyelid and everything came rushing back to me in a flash. The Shadows had threatened Penelopee because of me. She had been so afraid, much too scared to leave the safety of my apartment last night. I'd offered her the couch . . .

How the hell had she ended up in my bed?

I peeked under the covers and frowned. I was naked except for a pair of gloves. So was the princess, thankfully minus the hand wear. Tiny scorch marks ran up and down her pale skin, like fingerprints at the scene of a crime. My stomach rolled and I considered throwing up, then decided against it at the last minute, settling on a loud groan instead.

I tried to remember anything after my fourth drink last night. Nothing came to mind except shame and guilt. I stretched, feeling every bone crack in my back. “I . . . ah . . .” I said, unable to look her in the eye. The room smelled of desperation and alcohol. Add in a bit of disappointment and we'd hit the one-night stand trifecta.

Penelopee blew the hair out of her face, which caused her to wince, and her already pale face to grow two shades sallower. “My head hurts.”

Tell me something I didn't know. My own head felt like a balloon on the verge of popping. My stomach rolled again, threatening to burst from my throat.

Since I was usually a six or more soup cans of whiskey kind of guy, a total blackout felt like a bad sign, though it wasn't nearly as bad a sign as the very rich, slightly charred, and disappointed princess staring at me as if I'd grown two heads.

I scanned my bedroom, searching for my pants. I located them bunched up in the corner. How they'd ended up there was a mystery, almost as much as how the hell I'd ended up in bed with one of my only clients. At least it wasn't Mervin, who looked like the before photo in every men's diet magazine. I sighed. There was a specific level in hell for PIs like me, just above politicians and ogres.

Rising from the bed, I cringed as the chilly morning air hit my bare bits. But before I could reach my pants my bedroom curtain parted and a very beautiful, pissed-off, pink-winged fairy stood in the doorway.

Izzy glared at me and then at the princess in bed next to me. Her mouth formed a perfect circle, but no sound emerged for at least a few seconds; then she unleashed. “You bastard!” she yelled in an ear-piercing screech. “You left me in jail to rot so you could hump your princess client?” I held up a hand for quiet. Not that I got it as she continued with her tirade. “How could you?”

Heat rose on my cheeks. “It's not what it looks like,” I said, though I had a feeling it was exactly what it looked like. And it looked very much like I was a selfish prick who took advantage of a rich princess when she was afraid and vulnerable.

“It's not?” Izzy snorted, letting me know exactly what she thought of my less than noble deed. “I feel so much better now.” She wrapped her arms over her chest. “And to think I was worried about you. I must be a fucking idiot.”

One of us was, that was for sure. I licked my dry lips, closing my eyes as my head pounded to a steady, much too loud beat. “How did you get out of jail?”

“I made bail. Like you did.” She crossed the room, giving me a hard shove in the chest. Blue sparks shot from my naked body and into her palms; nevertheless she didn't flinch. Rather she pushed me again with greater force. “But I didn't have to screw my benefactor after.”

Penelopee rose from the bed, the sheet wrapped around her naked body. “I . . . I'll just go get dressed. . . .”

Izzy spun around, grabbing a red lace bra from the lampshade next to my bed. “You'll probably need this,” she said, tossing the offending garment at Penelopee. It hit the princess in the face.

“That's enough.” I leaped up, still naked, and seized Izzy's arm, pushing her backward through the doorway as electricity sparked between us. Izzy panted with rage and possibly third-degree electrical burns.

I knew I was hurting her as her flesh fizzled under my touch, but I wasn't able to stop. Her accusations had hit too close to the bone. Everything she'd said—about me, about my intentions, be they good or not—was true.

Once we reached the living room, I dropped her arm, wincing at the red marks on her skin. I swallowed a wave of guilt, replacing it with indignation instead. “Penelopee didn't bail me out. I'm not sure who did, but it doesn't matter. Penelopee was here when I got home last night. The Shadows had threatened her and she was terrified to go home.”

“And you, being such an upstanding gentleman, offered her a place to stay. A nice warm bed and an even hotter, electricity wise, bed partner. Is that it?” She gave a bitter laugh. “Now you're her knight in shiny blue armor. How sweet.”

“Izzy, I . . .”

“You're just like all the rest. Flash a pair of breasts and you turn into a drooling idiot.”

She had a point, I thought. A few seconds later I failed to see her first punch coming. One minute I was standing in front of her, unable to stop my gaze from wandering to her heaving breasts, and the next she'd popped me in the jaw with her tiny fist. I stepped back, more surprised than hurt.

I grabbed her hand as she pulled back to smack me again. Sparks sheared her delicate skin under my grip, but I couldn't control myself. I chased her out my front door and into the dimly lit corridor.

Her eyes burned with the promise of imminent violence. “I'm warning you, Blue . . .”

I cut her off with a laugh, squeezing her hand even tighter. “Is that so? What are you going to do, Isabella?”

A stabbing pain sliced through my gut as I finished the sentence. I dropped Izzy's arms, clutching my midsection. The warm rush of blood spurted through my fingers and my vision turned gray at the edges.

I staggered against the wall, trying to keep my balance. But it was hopeless. The pain brought me to my knees as darkness filled my vision. “Run, Izzy,” I ordered.

But she didn't move. Couldn't move, in fact.

Damien materialized into a solid form next to her, her arm clasped tightly in his. My blood dripped off the shiny blade in his hand. A blade now pointed at Izzy's midsection.

“Leave her alone,” I said through bloody lips.

“Can't do that. Never could.” He grinned, pulling her closer like a long-lost lover. He reached out, stroking her cheek with the back of his blood-soaked hand. She flinched.

I grabbed the wall, trying to stagger to my feet to save the Tooth Fairy. “Izzy . . .”

“Don't you worry your pretty blue head,” Damien said. “I'll take good care of Isabella for you.” He leered, smashing the heel of his very expensive boot into the side of my skull.

“W
ake up,” a soft, high-pitched voice whispered in my ear, drawing me from the warm softness surrounding me. I wanted nothing more than to snuggle further into unconsciousness, to avoid what was on the other side. I knew what awaited me once my senses returned. Pain. And lots of it. I could feel it hovering on the edges of my psyche. Calling me. Waiting to strike.

“Don't play games with me. Wake up.” The voice came again. Angry this time. Icy wetness followed. I shot up, blinking. I lay on a hospital bed, a large IV needle jammed into my arm. A nurse stood a few feet away, her hands covered with thick rubber gloves, a scorched handprint on her otherwise unmarred scrubs.

“Oh thank God, he's awake,” the voice said.

I rubbed my skull, surprised to find it intact by the amount of throbbing inside of it, and then searched the room for the speaker. “Hello?” I called when I failed to find the source.

“Down here,” the speaker said.

I leaned over the hospital bed's railing, surprised to see an emerald-winged fairy standing next to the bed. He looked vaguely familiar, but for the life of me, I couldn't place him. “Do I . . .” I squeaked, my voice hoarse. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Do I know you?”

He crossed his small arms over his chest, puffing it out as he did so. In a flash I recognized him. He was the dude with the Napoleonic complex at Fairy Central, the one who'd insulted Izzy's father but also had stopped Deafy the Dwarf from locking me in what I assumed was a very small dungeon. “My name is Jonas,” he reminded me. “We . . . met the other day. At Isabella's coronation.”

As he finished his sentence the white curtain dividing the room flew open and Penelopee rushed inside. Her face was pale, so pale it looked nearly translucent under the harsh hospital lights.

She reached for my hand to pull it to her ample chest. “Blue, I was so worried. But the doctors say you'll be just fine. They didn't even have to stich you up. Somehow the wound on your stomach cauterized itself. Isn't that odd?” she asked, not waiting for an answer. “The bump on your temple was much more worrisome, especially when you didn't wake up. But I knew you'd pull through. No thanks to that horrible woman. She almost got you killed. And for what? I never did like her. Not since I walked into your office—”

“Whoa,” I said, trying to avoid her reach before she ended up in the burn unit. “Slow down. What horrible woman don't you like?”

A frown puckered her features. “Don't you remember what happened?”

Nothing came to me. The last thing I remembered was pouring a third soup can of whiskey last night. “I found you in my apartment last night. We had a few drinks . . .” Right after I found Mervin's magic pea.

She shook her head. “No.”

“Yes, we did.”

She shook her head again. “Blue, that was three nights ago. You've been unconscious for over forty-eight hours. The doctors thought you might never wake up.”

Forty-eight hours? “What the hell happened? Was I in an accident?”

Jonas answered for Penelopee. “You were attacked outside your apartment.”

The barest flicker of memory tickled at the back of my mind. Darkness. Thick blackness. Pain. And pink wings. My head began to throb. “Damien,” I said.

Jonas nodded. “Apparently, Damien has given up on using you to acquire the pea and instead is focusing on Isabella.”

“The pea?” I rubbed my head, confused. My client, Mervin, had hired me to find a pea, not Damien. Damien was a shadowy douche. He'd kidnapped Izzy. I had to help her. I threw back the thin hospital blanket, kicking my legs over the side. The room started to spin and the air grew incredibly hot.

Apparently, Jonas didn't notice my distress for he flapped his wings, pacing in front of me. I focused on his green wings until the spinning in my head slowed. “We believe Isabella knows how to find the pea, which is why Damien took her rather than killing her outright.”

“Hold on.” I held up a hand. “What's this about the pea?”

He frowned. “You don't know?”

“Would I have asked if I did?”

“Not likely,” he said. “How much do you know about the fairies and the Shadows?”

I shrugged, immediately regretting the action when my head began to throb. “The fairies enslaved the Shadows using some kind of magic spell and then, a hundred years ago, the Shadows somehow freed themselves. And you guys have hated each other ever since.”

He snorted. “Typical.”

“What?”

“The Shadows tricked everyone into believing the fairies were the aggressors, the slave masters, but in truth, it was the Shadows who ruled the fairies.” His eyes blazed. “They controlled us with dentin, forcing us to do whatever they wanted.” He gave a shudder. “It was like being a Siamese twin with Satan.”

“How'd you free yourself?”

A small smile grew on his otherwise gruff face. “Isabella Davis was born.”

“Izzy?” She sure as hell didn't look a hundred years old.

He shook his head. “The first Isabella Davis. Your Isabella's great-grandmother, the first fairy with the ability to collect teeth, and provide all of Fairyland with enough dentin to survive without the Shadows.”

I snapped my fingers, causing a blue bolt of electricity to shoot to the floor. “The fairy on the door.” His eyes narrowed, as if I'd lost what was left of my mind. “The carved wooden door in Fairy Central, the one where Izzy was elected Tooth Fairy; it has an image of the first Isabella.”

His face relaxed and he smiled. “Yes. She unchained us from the Shadows. The First Fairy War was a long and bloody one for both sides. But in the end we were free.” He paused. “For the most part.”

I tilted my head. “What do you mean?”

He sighed. “During the war, a weapon was created. Well, grown really.”

“The magic pea.” A pea I now had in my possession. A pea that could save Izzy's life.

“Yes.” He lowered his voice until I could barely hear him over the squeak of rubber soles and hospital equipment. “The pea was to be used as a last resort to win the war; a nuclear option, if you will. It has the power to enslave an entire race.” He paused, his eyes darting around the room as if checking for shadowy spies. “Isabella, the first one,” he added quickly, “refused to use it. She knew what it was like to be a slave, and the very idea of enslaving anyone else, even a Shadow, disgusted her.”

“She didn't trust you guys not to use it.” I grinned. “Smart.”

Frowning, he took what would've been a menacing step if he was three inches taller, toward me. “That's not true. Isabella was cautious. After the prophecy foretold of the ultimate betrayal, she feared—and rightly so—that it might fall into the wrong hands one day.” He shot me a pointed look.

I tried not to squirm under his heated glare as I pictured the magic pea tucked inside the wooden box at my apartment. “My hands?”

“You have to understand,” he said, “we will do anything to stop the Shadows from enslaving us again.”

“Anything?”

His gaze locked on mine. “Anything.”