“I’d ask, but they’d probably send Jenna,” I said.
Jenna was a young, female Hunter I’d met during the each uisge invasion of Harborsmouth. Jenna is petite, wears her flame red hair in a short, cute, pixie cut, and is always armed to the teeth. When we first met she wore a sword at her hip, knives in a forearm sheath, a gun holster strapped around her thigh, and held a crossbow trained at my head. I have that effect on people.
“I need some eye candy,” Jinx said waggling her eyebrows. “Tell them to send Hans.”
Hans was a tall, Nordic drink of water who looked like a Norse God. Fought like one too. The guy was gorgeous enough to give Jinx a toothache, but Hans was also known for his berserker-like rages. Angry rampaging on the battlefield was usually beneficial, especially when the desired outcome was a high body count, but it wasn’t a quality I wanted in someone dating my best friend. Leave it to Jinx to always pick the bad boys.
“Sure, I’ll do that,” I said, rolling my eyes. “While I’m at it, I’ll ask a leprechaun for his pot of gold. I have about the same chances of him saying yes.”
The Hunter’s Guild didn’t owe me any favors. In fact, their assistance in the recent battle against the each uisge army had helped to save my city. I knew that the Hunters hadn’t fought for me, they were there to back up Kaye, a former hunter, and to defend the humans of Harborsmouth, but it felt like I owed them. Of course, if they ever wanted to collect on that debt, they’d have to get in line.
“Then bring me back a coffee,” she said, pouting. “That demon gave me a headache.”
“That, I can do,” I said.
I pulled on my coat, tucking the notepad in one pocket and a fistful of charms into another. Being half-fae had its perks. Most anti-fae charms, such as rowanberry, stale bread, clothing turned inside out, four-leafed clovers, and cold iron, didn’t affect me.
We may have put away most of our protection items in consideration for our new clientele, but that didn’t mean I went around unarmed. I kept a stash of iron nails, sharpened stakes, holy water, and silver crosses in my desk drawer. I was an equal opportunity kind of girl—you never know what might slink, slither, crawl, fly, or dance through your door. It was best to be prepared for the worst.
If a faerie, a vampire, and a demon walk into a bar, you wait for the punch line. At Private Eye, when a faerie, a vampire, and a demon walk through the door, it’s just another day at the office.
Chapter 4
If it wasn’t for the holidays, winter would be my favorite season. A cold, arctic wind blew across the harbor to tug at my scarf and bite my nose. I pulled my coat tighter and smiled.
Winter is the one time of year when I feel normal. I can walk the streets of Harborsmouth without strange looks, curious stares, and stolen glances. Wearing gloves when it’s freezing cold outside is completely reasonable, but wear those same gloves in the melting heat of summer and passerby are likely to think you belong locked away with Aunt Edna’s fruitcake.
I ignored the wreath and garland bedecked lamp posts as I made my way through the Old Port toward Kaye’s shop. Holiday decorations?—bah humbug. I’d rather the city invest its money in putting sand on our sidewalks.
I trudged through the slush along the curb, avoiding the ice slick walkways. The sidewalks in this part of town were made of dark red brick that matched the old buildings that lined the street. During the day, water dripped down from icicles the size of yeti fangs to threaten those who walked beneath and dampen the ice below. At night the puddles froze, turning this brick sidewalk into a narrow skating rink…at a forty-five degree pitch. More than one drunk had stumbled out the door of an Old Port bar and ended up in the harbor.
I’d take my chances with the cobblestone street.
I turned up Wharf Street where Madame Kaye’s Magic Emporium perched at the top of the hill like a queen in a purple and midnight blue gown trimmed with gold. Astrological symbols covered the wood and brick façade while overflowing cauldrons, tarot decks, Halloween costumes, and packets of herbs fought for space in the shop windows.
I hurried my pace, the wind now at my back, and pushed open the door. Wind chimes sang and the plastic bones of skeletons rattled as a rush of cold air made its way into the store.
“Close the door, dear, before my face freezes this way,” Kaye said.
I pushed the door closed and turned to see Kaye glaring at her assistant Arachne with one eye scrunched up tight. Arachne was facing Kaye and mirroring the expression.
“Um, am I interrupting something?” I asked.
Kaye was the most powerful witch in all of Harborsmouth, possibly the entire eastern seaboard. If she was angry, I wanted to be somewhere else, fast.
“Hey, Ivy,” Arachne said. She smiled and waved, the angry expression leaving her face. “Kaye was teaching me the Evil Eye. Cool, huh?”
Arachne worked part time at The Emporium in hopes of becoming Kaye’s apprentice. Arachne was sixteen, blond, and a hard worker. She was also completely gullible.
Kaye likes to play tricks on her human employees, which is why they usually don’t last long. Arachne had been here the longest, but Kaye never tired of pranking her. If I didn’t know better, I’d say Kaye had a puck in her bloodline.
I looked over at Kaye, who was pulling faces behind Arachne’s back, and groaned.
“Are you going to tell her, or should I?” I asked.
Kaye started laughing, the bells on her bracelets and anklets jiggling, and waved for me to go on. I turned back to Arachne and her face fell.
“Oh, it wasn’t a real lesson, was it?” she asked.
“Sorry, kid,” I said.
Kaye let out a snort and dabbed at her kohl rimmed eyes with the corner of her head scarf.
“Don’t worry, dear,” Kaye said. “I’ll teach you a truth spell later. It will be worth more to you than an Evil Eye.”
It was true that Arachne could use a truth spell working here, but knowing Kaye she’d know a way around her own spell. It wouldn’t do to spoil her fun and trickery.
Arachne nodded and moved behind the counter where she started counting and tagging packets of incense. Kaye hustled toward the rear of the store and I followed. The jumble of wares that cluttered the aisles closed around us as we made our way to the back of the store where a secret button let us past the counter, through a beaded curtain, and into a hallway that led to Kaye’s small office on one side and her spell kitchen on the other.
Kaye turned left and I followed her into the kitchen where Marvin sat on the floor. Hob was flitting around Marvin’s head, attaching something to his face.
“Hello, Hob,” I said. I acknowledged Hob first, since brownies were particular about such things, and easily angered. Orphaned bridge trolls, on the other hand, were much more forgiving. “Hello, Marvin.”
“Hello, Poison Ivy,” Marvin said, grinning.
The kid never got tired of that one. Hob fussed as the gray stuff he was attaching to Marvin’s face shifted with the wide grin. Hob harrumphed and stomped a booted foot on Marvin’s shoulder.
“Told ye ta sit still,” Hob said.
“Why don’t you both take a break,” Kaye said.
I thought Hob would complain, but instead he flew toward me so fast I stumbled over my own two feet. He stopped, perching on a pot hook above my head. There was a greedy gleam in the eyes that peeked from below his large, bushy brow.
“Where be me gift?” Hob asked.
I may have a fear of handling strange gifts, but Hob had no such compunction. I had entered the hearth brownie’s domain and he expected his payment. It was tradition and faeries take such things very seriously indeed.
I dipped my gloved hand into the pocket of my coat and pulled out a small pigeon feather wrapped in shiny tissue paper. I always kept small gifts with me in case I visited Kaye’s kitchen. I’d rather stumble into a nest of pixies than enter Hob’s domain without bringing his payment. There is nothing worse than an angry brownie.
I set t
he present on the nearby counter and stepped away. Hob circled the tiny package, dancing a jig on the white tiled countertop. Even if he didn’t care for the dove gray feather, I figured he’d like the tissue paper. Brownies adore shiny things.
Hob pounced on the package, stripping the tissue from the feather. He examined the feather so closely it tickled his bulbous red nose. His nose twitched, but Hob continued to hold the feather to his face.
“Is the gift acceptable?” I asked.
As much as I enjoyed visiting with Hob and Marvin, I really did have questions for Kaye. My father’s blood may add extra years to my lifespan, but I couldn’t wait around here forever. Whoever was killing faeries in our city had to be stopped.
“Aye, lass,” Hob said.
I let out the breath I’d been holding and moved further into the kitchen.
“So what’s with the get up?” I asked, nodding at Marvin.
“Play,” Marvin said.
Were the troll and brownie playing dress up? That was new.
“We are putting on a theatrical performance,” Kaye said. “During the solstice party.”
“Aye, the Changling Child,” Hob said. He put a knobby finger to the side of his nose.
“I don’t think I’ve seen that one,” I said. “What part are you playing, Marvin?”
“Wise man,” he said.
Now that I thought about it, the cloth covering Marvin’s head and shoulders did resemble a hooded cloak. The gray stuff Hob had been attaching to Marvin’s face must have been a beard.
“And you, Hob?” I asked.
“Ta changling babe!” he said, slapping his knee. Hob laughed and wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve. “Dis wise man bring me gold.”
I had a sinking feeling about what holiday story they were doing a faerie retelling of. The image of the shriveled old brownie swaddled in a manger made me cringe. Changeling tales had always given me the creeps.
Faeries rarely have children of their own and have been known to steal human infants. The human child is whisked away and an elderly faerie left in its place. The unsuspecting humans will often take care of the invalid fae while their baby is raised by faeries. Unfortunately, faerie child rearing often includes slave-like servitude. I hid my shudder with a shrug.
“Cool, can’t wait to see the show,” I said. “So, Kaye, I had an interesting visitor today.”
“Was it that demon?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said, tilting my head to the side. “How did you know?”
“I strengthened my wards,” she said. Kaye had been upset when Forneus first entered the city without her knowledge. Apparently, she’d been working to remedy that problem. “An alarm sounds when a demon enters the city, but he was gone before I had a chance to investigate.”
“Is that the only demon you’ve sensed entering Harborsmouth recently?” I asked.
“Yes, no other demon would be so foolish,” she said.
That confirmed my original suspicion. Our killer wasn’t a demon. We were looking for a faerie, an undead, or…a human.
I filled Kaye, Marvin, and Hob in on the details of the case. Kaye stomped across the floor, jewelry jingling and skirts rustling as she paced back and forth. She may be a retired Hunter, but Kaye was a fierce protector of this city. Knowing that someone had managed to kill five fae under her nose had upset her.
Marvin chewed his lip and stared at the floor.
Hearing about faerie murders had to be hard on the kid. A bridge troll probably doesn’t sound like an easy target for a beating, but Marvin was a teenager and an orphan. He had been struggling to live alone on the streets when the each uisge came to Harborsmouth. When the bloodthirsty water fae attacked, the kid never stood a chance. If the each uisge hadn’t had more interesting prey that night, Marvin would be dead. His wounds were healing, but the emotional scars were going to take a while longer.
Good thing I knew a way to cheer the kid up.
“Hey, Marvin,” I said. “My bugbear client ate all of the honey candies in my office. Want to take a trip to the candy store later?”
Marvin nodded and smiled.
“How about you take off your costume, dear, while I speak to Ivy in my office,” Kaye said.
Kaye bustled out into the hallway and I hurried to catch up.
“I’ll be back in an hour, Marvin,” I said, following Kaye to the door. “Hour and a half tops. I have a few items to stock up on from the shop and then I’ll come meet you here.” I waved to both Marvin and Hob. “Safe travels.”
“Safe travels, lass,” Hob said.
I entered Kaye’s office to a cloud of dust that made my eyes water. I pinched my nose, stifling a sneeze, and watched as Kaye used her magic to move books and documents around the room. Books covered every surface of Kaye’s office and formed precarious towers that reached to the ceiling. With a twitch of Kaye’s finger and a twist of her wrist, leather bound tomes and yellowed papers slid out of the leaning towers and whizzed past her face. If it wasn’t for Kaye’s magic, we’d be buried in a book avalanche.
“Here it is,” Kaye said, holding an object triumphantly over her head.
I moved closer, ducking as a sheaf of papers flew past my nose. I stepped back, not wanting anything of Kaye’s to touch my bare skin. Kaye may be my friend, but her arcane collection of spell tomes, ritual items, and occult books has been passed down from one magic user to the next—steeped in centuries of blood and madness.
The papers rustled as they rushed forward and slid beneath one of the book towers to my left. I held my breath as a crystal ball, which had been sitting atop the stack of books, teetered back and forth. If the scrying crystal tipped over the edge, I knew one private investigator who wouldn’t be catching it.
Kaye reached up to smooth her wild raven locks, and I let out a sigh of relief as the items settled back into place. She waved me forward and I tiptoed through piles of magical detritus as if compelled. But this time Kaye wasn’t using her magic. My boots were finding their way across the office because of the item in Kaye’s hand. Her heavily beringed fingers held a well worn volume from a set of herbal encyclopedias.
Of course, Kaye’s compendium of herbs went beyond what plants to grow in your garden. These books contained the magical uses, both good and wicked, for each herb—seed, stem, leaf, and root. I had perused a few of these volumes when researching protection charms. Some of the entries were fairly benign, but others had left my stomach in knots and had given me nightmares for a week. Since I already had my share of nightmares, I hoped the information on mistletoe fell into the safe and boring category.
No such luck.
“Here,” Kaye said.
With another puff of dust, Kaye dropped the open book onto her desk and tapped the page with one tattooed finger. The black swirls of ink hadn’t reached her hands before the each uisge attack. I winced and made a mental note to ask her about it later. It seemed like lately all I had for my friend was questions.
I leaned forward to see what Kaye was pointing at. The old etching depicted a man reaching for his throat. His eyes were bulging and his tongue was black.
Mistletoe was poisonous. It was also used during the holidays as an excuse to sneak a kiss. I wasn’t sure which was worse.
According to the book, mistletoe was poisonous when the leaves or berries were ingested. It was also considered dangerous to inhale the smoke. For these reasons, mistletoe was not used in magical teas, tisanes, incense, and ritual fires. However the plant did have many magical uses.
Mistletoe was used by the Druids to alter states of consciousness and induce visions. The plant was also commonly used in ritual sacrifice. I swallowed hard and skimmed past the diagrams depicting the stomach contents of sacrificial victims.
My leather glove creaked like a coffin lid as I rubbed at the back of my stooped neck. Could our killer be reenacting some form of ritualistic murder? I sure hope not. Reading one encyclopedic entry on sacrifice was enough nightmare fodder for an entire
lifetime.
In the cases of sacrifice involving mistletoe, the victims were force fed the plant then subjected to a three-fold death. The first death was caused by blows to the head with a blunt instrument. The second death involved strangulation, hanging, or breaking of the neck. The third death was secured with a blade to the victim’s carotid artery. Got to love that human sacrifice.
“This three-fold death thing is disgusting,” I said.
I pointed to the sketch of a victim succumbing to each stage of death. The drawing was worse than the diagram of stomach contents.
“The number three is significant to humans and the fae,” Kaye said, shrugging. “At least the victims ate or imbibed the mistletoe first. That was a kindness. The sacrificial lamb would hallucinate and die from poison before realizing the horrors of the first beating.”
Kaye seemed unfazed by the stories of sacrifice. Had she taken part in such a ritual in her past? I shook my head. No way. My friend may have a practical approach to magic and its uses, but she wouldn’t step over that line. Kaye had given her life to protecting humans. She wouldn’t go around using them as spell components.
“So mistletoe is a poison and a part of murderous rituals,” I said. “What else?”
I had a feeling that Kaye knew most of the wisdom found in her library.
“Mistletoe is a magical amplifier,” Kaye said. “Adding the plant or berries to almost any magic, good or evil, will increase the desired outcome of a spell. The mistletoe that grows on oak trees is the most powerful, but any type will do.”
“Great, this stuff acts like a shot of energy drink to casters,” I said. “Is that it?”
“Just a question, dear,” she said. “Was there anything else at the scene? Perhaps something that could indicate what magic, if any, was being used.”
I thought back to my conversation with Forneus. According to the demon, the only thing left at the crime scenes, once the bodies disappear, was mistletoe and blood. I ran a gloved hand through my hair and voiced the idea that came unbidden to my lips.
“Blood,” I said. “At every scene there was blood. I assumed it was from the act of murder itself. But…”