To Kill A Warlock

  I checked the water again; it was warm enough. I lived in a pretty crappy apartment and the pipes in the wall screamed every time I turned the hot water on—they’d just pound if I wanted cold. I know I mentioned earlier that I make a good living, and I do. The crap apartment is due to the fact that I’m saving all my money to retire from the A.N.C. Then I can focus on my writing full time.

  It might sound strange that one as magical as I would need to work nine-to-five weekdays and some weekends, but there it is. There are strict laws that disallow those of us who can, to create money out of thin air. I guess the powers that be thought about it and realized all creatures who can create something from nothing—fairies, witches and warlocks, just to name a few—certainly would be at the top of the food chain…something bad for the less fortunate creatures and humans, too.

  That, and money created from magic turns to dust after a few days anyway.

  So, I have to work. I’ve accepted it.

  I stepped under the less-than-strong flow of water, which was more like a little boy peeing on my head, and grabbed my gardenia-scented soap, lathering my entire body. I repeated the process four more times before I could actually say I felt any semblance of clean.

  After toweling myself off, I plodded into the living room with a towel wrapped around my head and body. Then I noticed the blinking red light on the answering machine beckoning to me. I had three new messages.

  I hit play. Bram’s alto voice, the pitch reminiscent of his English roots, filled my living room.

  “Ah, I’ve missed you, Sweet. Come by the club. I have information for you.”

  The arrogant bastard—he never bothered saying, “It’s Bram.” As to the information he had…that could be meaningless. Bram had been trying to get into my pants since I became a Regulator—about two years ago. And just because he had my home phone number didn’t mean he’d succeeded—I used to be listed in the phone book.

  I deleted the message. I’d have to pay him a visit tomorrow. The next message was from my dry cleaners—my clothes were ready to be picked up. The third message was from my boss.

  “Dulce, it’s Quillan, Sam told me what Fabian did to you. Just calling to make sure you’re okay. Give me a call when you get in.”

  I hit delete. Quillan was a good boss; he was the big wig of Headquarters, and an elf.

  Elves are nothing like you’re imagining them, although they are magical. Whereas I have the innate ability to create something from nothing (all it takes is a little fairy dust), Quillan is magical in his own way. He can cast spells, control his own aging and he’s got the strength of a giant. Fairies and elves are like distant cousins—sprung from the same magical family tree but separated by lots of branches.

  Quillan is tallish—maybe five-ten or so, slim, and has a certain regality to him. He’s got a head of curly blond hair that would make Cupid envious, bronze skin, and eyes the color of amber. And he’s also the muse for the hero in my romance novel. But, he doesn’t know that.

  I wasn’t in the mood to call Quillan back. I’d add him to my long list of visits for tomorrow. Even though it was Saturday, it looked like I’d be working.

  Sometimes working law enforcement for the Netherworld is a real bitch.

  TWO

  A.N.C. Headquarters is located on Main Street in Splendor. It’s a two story, white concrete building with dark triangular windows—like it shared the same architect as the Amityville house. It was busy when I arrived at nine a.m. Saturday morning. A couple of werewolves were already in custody, a fairy in one holding cell, and a leprechaun in the other.

  “Hey, Baby,” the fairy called out.

  “Hello, Zara. Nice outfit,” I grumbled.

  She twirled around as if she were a ballerina. Her hot pink halter dress inched up her thighs until I worried she might flash everyone. With her fishnets, she looked every inch the hooker—which was fitting, considering she was one. She smiled as I walked by, her red lipstick screaming out, as if enraged it was paired with orange hair and a pink dress.

  I nodded at Elsie, our receptionist, who was busy entering the weres’ info.

  “Hey, Dulcie,” she murmured, her voice barely audible over the crying of the old woman next to her.

  “My poor baby! They ate him!” the haggard woman sobbed. Amid a bout of breathlessness, she pointed at the two weres. “Tore him to bits, so there was nothing left but fur! Disgusting, you’re disgusting!”

  I cringed.

  Elsie just bobbed her head while she tried to console the old woman, even as the old woman berated her. Ever since creatures of the Netherworld had decided to go public, over fifty years ago, we were still subject to fear and ignorance from humans. Most humans had learned to accept us, but plenty still believed we should all be dead.

  I hightailed it down the hall and poked my head into Quillan’s office, only to find it empty. With a shrug, I headed further down the hall to my desk.

  Every city with a large enough Netherworld population had its own A.N.C. precinct. Our A.N.C office wasn’t a huge unit—Quillan kept about fifteen employees on staff—but it was big enough for Splendor and the three other cities within our jurisdiction—Sanctity, Estuary and Haven. The crux of the Netherworld activity—what activity there was—always centered in Splendor, though.

  When I reached my desk, Quillan was sitting on the edge of it, deep in conversation with Trey, our only other Regulator. Quillan flashed me a disarming grin of pearly whites, as I threw my backpack onto my seat.

  “Dulcie O’Neil, you decided to grace us with your presence. You okay?” he asked.

  Trey laughed, his rumbling chuckles echoing through an immense stomach. “Heard you got turned into somethin’ pretty nasty, O’Neil?” he said.

  I narrowed my eyes. “Yeah, I did Trey, and when I looked in the mirror, there you were.”

  Quillan grinned and put a concerned hand on my shoulder. “You didn’t call me back last night.”

  I turned my attention from the heat of his hand to my computer and booted it up. “I was really tired. I got in the shower and went to bed.”

  “Are you going to see Fabian today?” Quillan asked.

  “That’s my plan.” At the mention of Fabian, I remembered the stranger who’d been in his store. “Before the little bastard turned me into that green thing, I noticed a man in his store. I couldn’t tell what he was.”

  “Really?” Quillan asked.

  “Yeah. And he hadn’t registered with me. Did anyone register with you yesterday?”

  Quillan pulled out his Blackberry and flipped through the bios of recent creatures to our territory. Every bio included the creature’s photo, what part of the Netherworld he or she was from, his or her race, reasons for being in our district, and contact names and addresses.

  “I thought maybe he’d gotten lost on his way over,” I said.

  Quillan nodded to Trey. “You see anyone suspicious around?”

  Trey managed to shake not only his head but also his three double chins. He was one chubby guy, well a hobgoblin actually. The only reason he was a Regulator was he had a great knack for seeing the future and the past, something that made him…useful, though I hated to admit it.

  “Nothin’ out of the ordinary,” he said, the light glinting off his perpetually wet upper lip.

  “I’m planning to talk to Fabian about it today,” I said. “After I let him know exactly how much I didn’t appreciate his stunt yesterday.”

  Quillan smiled. “I’m coming with you. I don’t want him trying anything again.”

  I had to swallow the annoyance that careened through me like a fat man on a bicycle. “I can handle this on my own.”

  “Not up for argument,” Quillan said.

  “Fine,” I grumbled, secretly making note of his tight-lipped expression—it would serve me well in my characterization of Captain Slade, the hero of my romance novel.

  Quillan quirked a brow but didn’t say anything more. Trey returned to his desk which, unfortuna
tely, was right across from mine. Quillan’s office had a great view of Splendor park which was now in bloom with orange poppies.

  My desk had a view of Trey.

  “I’ll just get my jacket,” Trey said.

  “What is this—a field trip?” I asked.

  Quillan met my gaze and shook his head. I frowned and turned my computer off, wondering why I’d booted it up in the first place. Not finding an immediate answer, I stood and started down the hall, ahead of Quillan.

  “And what’s Trey doing here anyway?” I asked. “Doesn’t he have something better to do on a Saturday?”

  Quillan shrugged. “Apparently not.”

  As we hurried down the hall, me hoping we’d lose Trey somewhere along the way, Zara wrapped her hands around the prison bars, running them up and down, trying to be suggestive.

  “Hi, Honey,” she said, looking at him like he was crack and she, Whitney Houston.

  Quillan didn’t meet her eye. “Hi, Zara.”

  She smiled and made me want to hit her. Her attention fell to me, and she smiled even wider.

  “When are you two going to give me a visit? You’re both so easy on the eyes. We could have us a good time, you know? A little fairy on fairy action…”

  “Not anytime soon,” I said between stiff lips.

  “Who’s driving?” Trey asked with a toothy grin, coming up behind us.

  “My car is right out front,” I said in a less than thrilled voice.

  “Shotgun,” Trey said.

  I shook my head. “You ride with me, you’re in the back.”

  “Jesus, O’Neil, love you too.”

  Quillan opened the front door for me. “Enough, both of you.”

  Once outside, I unlocked my yellow Jeep Wrangler and threw open the driver-side door. I jumped in while Quillan folded the passenger seat forward, allowing Trey to catapult into my small back seat.

  It took us a few minutes to reach Fabian’s store—it was just a couple miles east of Headquarters. There was plenty of parking, which was almost never the case, so I sailed into the spot right out front. It always makes my day when I get a good parking spot.

  I jumped down from the Wrangler and pulled the seat forward. A look of surprise crossed Trey’s wide face, which lit up in a smirk. “Aw, you do love me.”

  I shook my head. “Just get out, please.”

  Quillan was already at the front door of Fabian’s shop. “Looks like he doesn’t open until eleven.”

  Eleven was over an hour away. I strode past Quillan and headed into the alley that bordered Fabian’s. “I know the back way,” I said with a self-satisfied grin.

  I reached for the back door and froze. It was already ajar.

  Something was rotten in the state of Denmark, or Splendor, as the case may be.

  “What’s the hold up?” Trey asked, his putrid breath rolling down my neck.

  I cringed and glared up at him, wishing I could’ve arrested him for halitosis.

  ”It’s open. Fabian always locks his door.”

  I pulled my Op 6 pistol from my shoulder holster. Even though it was a small gun, the length just spanning the width of my palm and fingers, it was lethal. The dragon blood bullets would cause instant death to any creature unfortunate enough to get in the way of one.

  I nudged open the door to Fabian’s store, my pistol ready should the need arise. If the little jerk was brewing an illegal potion, I needed to catch him in the act. And if he was in the middle of an illegal sale to a human, the bust would be a gold star on my upcoming review. Most Netherworld creatures could handle the toxins involved in drinking potions, but the same couldn’t be said for humans. With their weak temperaments, just a swallow could do permanent damage.

  I turned to Quillan and Trey and brought my index finger to my mouth in the universal sign of shut the F up. They both nodded and were good about not making any noise behind me. That is, until Trey kicked something metal and sounded as inconspicuous as a garbage truck in a narrow alley.

  “So sorry,” he muttered.

  ‘Shhh!” I turned to glare at him then held my gun close to my face as I continued down the long hallway. I couldn’t see a damned thing.

  My fairy eyesight finally kicked in and I was able to make out the corners of the wall and the mouth of the doorway leading into Fabian’s store. When I came to the front of the store, it looked empty. I walked headlong into a piece of mermaid netting hanging from a ledge and pushed the sticky stuff out of my face, hoping it might catch Trey.

  Talk about claustrophobia—Fabian’s store held entirely too much junk. Boxes piled against the walls so the actual space within the room was reduced to maybe twelve feet by twelve feet. Barely enough room to breathe. I continued forward, wondering where the hell the little bastard could be. I couldn’t hear any voices. Maybe they’d heard Trey trip and had already hidden whatever illegal deeds they’d been doing.

  Goddamn Trey.

  My foot hit something and made a thunk sound. I dropped to my knees and clenched my hand into a fist. I shook it until a mound of fairy dust grew in my palm. Reholstering my pistol, I opened my palm and snapped with the fingers of my other hand. A flame bubbled up between my thumb and middle finger. I blew on the flame and the fairy dust caught fire, lighting the room in an eerie glow.

  I glanced down and couldn’t stifle my gasp. I’d nearly tripped on a head, Fabian’s head. It had been ripped from his body and not in one neat stroke like you might find with a long blade. This looked more like the work of an animal—the flesh at the nape of what was once Fabian’s neck, was torn and uneven. I lifted my palm of light and spotted a mangled arm with tendons and muscle looped back over it, looking like a red lace doily. A few fingers were scattered in a far corner.

  “Hot Hades,” Quillan whispered as he came up behind me. “Ugh, what’s that smell?”

  “That would be Fabian…or what’s left of him,” I answered.

  Trey stumbled into the room, sounding like a herd of buffalo, and stepped on one of Fabian’s dismembered fingers. It made a crunch like biting into a carrot.

  “What the hell,” he started.

  I blew the flame in my palm, and like a thousand fireflies, the lit embers floated on my breath, illuminating the area just around Trey’s foot.

  “Holy dragon’s balls!” He gasped. “What the heck did that?”

  Even though I couldn’t say I was fond of Fabian and even less so since he’d turned me into a booger, still this was no way for someone to go.

  “No idea. Looks like it could be the work of a were,” I said.

  Quillan whipped out his cell phone and speed-dialed Headquarters. Well, now I knew what the rest of my Saturday would entail. I’d been hoping to get home and clean the apartment before heading down to Bram and Dagan’s. And I’d planned on penning a bit more of Captain Slade’s Bounty. Guess I’d had a change of plans.

  “I need the coroner to Fabian’s store. Promptly,” Quillan said, then hung up and dropped his phone back into his pocket, facing me. “The intruder might still be here.”

  He pulled his Op 7 gun from his belt; something most similar to a 9mm Glock. It was also loaded with dragon blood bullets.

  I pulled my smaller version from my shoulder holster and followed Quillan’s lead as he headed back down the hallway. Fabian’s place only consisted of the front room, a hallway, and a restroom right off the hall. Quillan paused outside the restroom and signaled me to open the door. I grabbed hold of the doorknob and shook my fist until I had a handful of fairy dust.

  Quillan mouthed “one, two, three.”

  On the count of three, I yanked the door open and threw the dust into the room while Quillan aimed his gun into the darkness. The fairy dust acted like mini drops of acid once on the person in question, and it would only attach itself to you if you were, in fact, guilty. Sort of like a better version of a lie-detector.

  I dropped my gun but didn’t re-holster it.

  “Clear,” I said, my heart still racing.
br />   “Hey, can you get some light in here?” Trey asked from the front of the shop.

  Frowning, I turned to the problem of lighting the entire space. Setting a flame to some fairy dust wasn’t enough to light the shop, so I’d have to do more. Remembering the mermaid netting hanging in the rafters, I shook my palm until the dust appeared and blew it toward the rafters. Then I focused on the netting and watched as it unraveled. Using just my vision, I pulled on each end, stretching the netting until it spanned the entire width of the ceiling. I shook my palm until another mound of dust appeared. Then I aimed it at the netting, lit a flame between the fingers of my other hand again, and blew the embers toward the mermaid netting. It immediately caught and burned a criss-cross design just above our heads. It looked like a checkerboard aflame, kind of pretty.

  Well, the netting might have been pretty, but the rest of the situation wasn’t. In the light, Fabian was even more hideous. His head was definitely dismembered but half his two-foot spine still ran the length from the base of his skull to where his ribs would’ve been. He reminded me of a prop someone might use to decorate a haunted house. His tongue hung out of his mouth and rested against the floor, looking like uncooked tuna. He’d never been a good looking guy when alive—about four feet tall, largish nose, wide brow and badgerish eyes—but now, yuck.

  “There’s no blood,” Quillan said as he inspected the corpse.

  I glanced at the unfortunate Fabian. There was no blood. Hmm, definitely strange. A gruesome attack like this would warrant blood all over the place.

  “No blood—looks like the work of a vampire,” I said.

  Quillan shook his head. “Vampires leave their corpses dry. This is…a hell of a lot messier.”

  Trey laughed. “So, Dulce, looks like you might’ve been the last one to see Fabes, here, alive.”

  I reholstered my gun. “Don’t go there, Trey.”

  He shrugged. “The motive is there. You seemed pretty pissed off that he turned you into that green thing.” He paused. “That’s all I’m saying.”

  My breath caught, anger constricting my lungs. Trey and I were going to have it out—I’d known that since he’d started working with us over a year ago. Maybe now was as good a time as ever.