Monster

by Jennifer Blackstream

  Werewolves had keen senses, and even in human form, they could scent a chipmunk in the underbrush. But pixies had a gift. A gift for being unseen, unsensed. They were tiny, and unlike most creatures with natural glamour, they could partially mask their scent. Liam wasn’t searching specifically for a pixie, so he never had a chance.

  Blake and Liam reached for their weapons. They hadn’t seen the speck. I opened my mouth to call out a warning, but before a sound left my lips, Liam stumbled, eyes widening as he found himself with a face full of blue pixie.

  “What the—?” he sputtered.

  “Why is there a dog on my tree?” the blue pixie demanded. Her cerulean eyes twinkled like shards of sapphire, glowing faintly with her temper.

  “Peasblossom, you haven’t introduced us to your friend,” I said, stifling a smile.

  “Violet, this is my witch, Shade,” Peasblossom said. “Shade, this is Violet.” She pointed at Liam and Blake. “And the other two bigjobs are Liam and Blake.”

  Violet was six inches in height, the same size as Peasblossom. Her hair matched her eyes, and she wore a dress made of new leaves, so pale a green they were almost yellow. She gave Liam and Blake a once-over. She did not look impressed.

  “The dog,” she repeated. “Why is it on my tree?”

  “Her name is Sonar,” I told Violet. “She’s looking for a bullet—”

  “A bullet!” Violet shouted as if she’d forgotten about the incident until this second—which she probably had. “That’s right! Someone shot my house.” She stared at Liam’s gun, now hanging at his side. “You!” She threw out an arm, pointing at the weapon in question. “Come to shoot my house again, have you?” She zipped upward, flying tight circles around Liam’s head. “I’ll give you such a beating!”

  None of the three werewolves seemed capable of a reaction beyond staring in shock and dismay at the angry pixie. She darted down and bounced off Liam’s head in what would be a vicious kick by pixie standards.

  Liam looked at me. His face was blank, but there was something in his eyes. A very clear plea for assistance.

  “Violet,” I said, stepping forward, “Liam did not shoot your house.”

  Violet ignored me, darting down to stomp on Liam’s head again. “He’s got a gun, hasn’t he? And he’s here. Returned to the scene of the crime!”

  I’d bet money when she said “scene of the crime,” she referred to her house being shot, not the murder. It was also apparent she hadn’t actually seen Liam, but rather was making assumptions on his presence and his possession of a gun.

  “He has a gun too,” Peasblossom said, pointing at Blake.

  Violet paused in midair, her attention zeroing in on Blake’s sidearm. She narrowed her eyes. “Was it you?”

  Blake blinked, tension seizing his body as if he had to fight to not take a step back. “No.”

  Sonar sat on the ground, keeping her distance from the pixie’s house, but angling her nose in its direction. Liam noticed her attention and focused on the tree for a moment before taking a steadying breath. “Miss—Violet, I assure you, I didn’t shoot your house, and neither did my detective.”

  “Liar!”

  She stomped on him again, and the muscle around his eye twitched.

  “Can you describe the person who shot your house?” Liam asked, taking a pen and notepad out of the front pocket of his shirt and clicking his pen with unnecessary dramatic flair.

  Violet landed on his head, looking as though she wanted to give him a final stomp just in case. “Well, he was a bigjob.”

  Liam scribbled on his notebook, and I wondered if he’d written “bigjob.”

  “Did you see this person, or are you making inferences based on the evidence of what happened to your home?”

  The pixie crawled closer to his forehead, clinging to his hair and leaning down to get a better view of his notebook. “I didn’t see him. I’d have given him what for if I had, believe you me.” She leapt into the air, using his skull as a springboard. “Look at what he did to my house!”

  All three werewolves moved closer to the tree, examining the damage. The bark had been chipped away in a section the size of a half-dollar, surrounding the small, dark hole with the golden brown of naked wood. The bullet’s point of entry was close to the knothole that led into the home the pixie had made for herself in the tree. Liam flipped his notebook to where a ruler was printed on the back cover. He held it up to the hole. “Small caliber, probably a .40.” He looked down at Sonar. “Any blood?”

  Sonar barked once. Near as I could deduce, that meant yes.

  Liam looked into the hole. “It doesn’t seem to have gone straight through. Where is the bullet now?”

  “Gunderson took it out,” Violet told him.

  “Gunderson?” I echoed.

  The pixie landed on Liam’s notebook, staring down at what he’d written with a critical eye. “Yes.”

  “Who’s Gunderson?” I asked.

  “A dwarf,” Blake answered. “He’s an artisan of sorts. His shop’s not far from here.”

  Liam started to close the notebook, then remembered the pixie was still standing there.

  “That’s right,” Violet said. “I knew he’d get that bit of metal out for me, and he did. Didn’t take him a minute. And he said he’d help me fix my tree if I wanted. Good man, that Gunderson.”

  “What did he do with the bullet?” Liam asked.

  She sniffed. “I don’t care. At least it’s not in my house anymore.” She pressed her hands to either side of her head. “It was giving me a headache.”

  “I have just the thing for that.” I unzipped my pouch and dug around for a minute—or two.

  “This could take a while.” Peasblossom perched on my shoulder and patted the space beside her. Violet tilted her head, then accepted the invitation and sat next to Peasblossom.

  The werewolves took turns examining the bullet hole and the surrounding area as I found mail that should have gone out last week, a set of D&D dice, and a handful of index cards. Finally, I found what I was looking for. “Here.”

  Violet’s lips parted as I handed her the honey packet, humorous reverence stealing over her as she hugged it to her chest. Peasblossom fidgeted, looking from Violet’s honey to the pouch. I considered telling her she couldn’t have any until she ate her dinner, but that just seemed cruel. And she was helping. I gave her a honey packet as well. A second later, Violet vanished, and if the sound of surprise from Blake was any indication, she’d darted into her house.

  “I guess she’s done with us,” I said.

  Liam put his notebook away and looked at Blake. “We’ll head to Gunderson’s and see if he has that bullet. You head to the station and check and see if any of our suspects have a .40-caliber weapon registered in their name.”

  Blake nodded, and he and Sonar headed in the direction we’d come.

  “Gunderson’s shop is just on the outside of the park,” Liam said, gesturing with his thumb as he moved away from Violet’s tree.

  I nodded and fell into step beside him. Now that we’d found the bullet hole, and were close to having the bullet to go with it, I had a vague sense the case was nearing a solution. If Stephen had shot Oliver, we’d be able to trace the bullet to his gun. If it wasn’t a match, then it would be the closest we’d come to dismissing the werewolf as a suspect since the case started.

  I wouldn’t be sorry to see this case end. And I hoped it ended with someone who wasn’t Stephen. If I wanted to continue as a private investigator, then a friendly relationship with the police was desirable. Certainly, avoiding friction was to be preferred. On that note…

  I cleared my throat. “You told Blake about my deal with Mother Hazel.”

  “Yes.”

  I waited, but he offered nothing more. Irritation bit at my nerves, but I pushed it down. Stay calm; stay friendly. “Why?”

  “Because it is relevant.”

  Again I waited, and again he said nothing. I curled my hands into fists.
>
  “You cannot still believe I’m here to pin this murder on Stephen?”

  Liam didn’t stop walking, or even slow down. “I don’t know why you’re here. Why did Mother Hazel insist you take part in this investigation when it’s clear you aren’t qualified to do so?”

  My temper flared. This again. Every time I thought we’d moved past it, every time I dared to believe we’d reached a peace in our working relationship, he said something to make me realize I was still the unwanted outsider. My palms warmed with the promise of rising magic. “Excuse me?”

  “You interfered when I tried to question Anthony Catello. If you hadn’t, then I could have had him at the station, being questioned by experienced investigators.”

  “I interfered with Mia Tyler as well, and if I remember correctly, I’m the reason you got in at all.” I pressed my palms flat against my legs, trying to wipe away the nerve-tingling urge to call my magic. It was unsettling how often this happened now, my temper calling to my magic. I hadn’t had this trouble before… I frowned. When had it started?

  Liam shook his head. “You still don’t understand. Do you think we only question witnesses who are eager to talk, that we only interview suspects who volunteer to come down to the station? People shut us down all the time, sometimes because they’re guilty and sometimes because they don’t want to get involved. I’m trained to work around that. I know how to make people talk to me.”

  “So do I. And I did.”

  Liam opened his mouth, then snapped it closed. When he spoke again, his voice was calmer, more even.

  “Listen. Don’t take this personally. You want to be a PI; I understand that. I understand the desire to get justice for victims, to see bad guys put away. And everyone needs to start somewhere, so don’t think I’m judging you because of a lack of experience. But please understand: this isn’t just any case. Stephen isn’t just an officer under my command; he’s a part of my pack. I’m his alpha, and it’s my job to protect him.” He faced straight ahead, tension pulling his shoulders tight. “And if he’s committed a crime, it’s my job to punish him.”

  He looked at me then, and the intensity in his gaze almost made me stumble.

  “You want me to accept your help, really include you in this investigation? Then help me understand why Mother Hazel wants you here. Why now? Why this case? Does she think Stephen did it? Does she think I’ll look the other way because he’s my wolf?”

  “She didn’t say anything to make me think she had anything but the utmost respect for you and your professionalism,” I said.

  “Then does she think it was someone else? Does she think I’m not capable of finding out who did it?”

  I ran a hand over my head and down my hair, curling the end around one finger. Getting frustrated wouldn’t help anyone. Liam was frustrated enough for the both of us anyway. “I don’t know why she sent me. I don’t know what’s special about this case, why she chose this case to base her deal off.” I hesitated, then admitted, “But you’re right to wonder. Mother Hazel does nothing without a reason.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  I stopped walking. “But neither do I. Do something without a reason, I mean.” I looked at Liam, trying to catch his eye. He refused to stop or even pause, just kept walking. I gritted my teeth and followed. “And I have no reason to want Stephen punished for a crime he didn’t commit. I don’t want it to be him.”

  Liam didn’t look at me, and he still didn’t stop, but he nodded. I couldn’t think of anything else to say, nothing that might reassure him. I let the distance stretch between us, but stayed in his peripheral vision. His energy hummed against my senses, and the last thing I needed was to find myself leaning on him again in a moment of distraction.

  I turned that thought over in my mind. I’d never reacted to shifters this way before. There’d been no urge to lean on Stephen, though his energy was less, a dryer in the middle of a cycle and more like a bonfire. Most likely because of the impending collar. Blake’s energy had been quiet the few times I’d stood close to him. So was it shifters in general that I felt the urge to be close to? Or Liam?

  Neither was a terribly comforting thought, and my shoulders bowed in relief when we crossed over an access road and I saw Gunderson’s shop. The grey stone building with the red-slated roof sat at the edge of the forest, its twin chimneys bellowing smoke into the evening air. A smaller building beside it offered a view of large wood stacks through its open face. Liam pulled open the red double doors and gestured for me to go in first.

  A bell over the door announced our arrival, and a man’s gruff voice followed on the heels of the last chime. “I’ll be but a moment!”

  “Oh my,” I said.

  Artisan indeed. Shelves upon shelves lined Gunderson’s shop, each one holding an eclectic array of items, only half of which I could identify. I saw a gold chain holding an absinthe-green gem the size of my thumb, a wooden box covered with gears and wires, pocket watches of every metal and shape I could think of, and a plethora of other wondrous objects.

  “This work is breathtaking.” I ran a finger over a silver chain connected to a vial of black liquid that shone like polished obsidian.

  “It’s kind of you to say.”

  I released the chain and found a man’s face rising above the low counter, brown eyes shining and what I could see of his face over the bushy grey beard heavily creased with age. He smiled at me before ducking out of sight. I heard a trapdoor shut and a bolt slide into place, and then he straightened and put both hands on the counter. Pockets lined every inch of the leather apron he wore, each filled to bursting with bits of metal, thick glass tubes, and tools, so that he clinked when he moved.

  “Mr. Gunderson, I presume?” I asked.

  The dwarf nodded. “I am. And who might you be?”

  “This is Mother Renard,” Liam said. “Mother Renard, meet Mr. Gunderson, the finest artisan this side of the veil.”

  “Your work is stunning.” I paused. “Do you have anything that might work against non-corporeals? Shadow creatures, perhaps?”

  Gunderson’s eyebrows went up, and he waved a hand at me. “Yes! Yes, I do— Wait right there; don’t move. I have something for you. Wait right there; don’t move!”

  The dwarf rifled in a drawer behind the counter, his movements quick and excited. “I’ve built a new device, and it would take a magic user to activate it. I haven’t been able to try it out. Drat, where is it?”

  I watched with interest as he half disappeared in a drawer that was much deeper than I’d initially thought. He crowed in triumph and hauled something out of the drawer and onto the counter.

  It looked like a bracer, the base of it supple brown leather. But the myriad metal and glass bits all over it suggested it wasn’t just a bracer. “What does it do?”

  “It stores sunlight! Only, instead of exciting the electrons in silicon cells, the photons from the sun harvested by the photovoltaic panels collect in a solar pool formed by the wearer’s own magical aura. This part here”—he gestured to a bowl-shaped gear—“will bend your aura beneath this panel here.” He pointed at a small solar panel no bigger than a silver dollar. “The resulting dimple will hold the solar energy collected by the panel. Then, when you need to use the sunlight you’ve stored, you flex your aura. The sunlight will filter through this small lens here, magnified through this lens here, and Robert’s your father’s brother, you have a beam of pure sunlight!”

  “That’s fascinating.” I took the contraption with gentle hands, careful not to jar any of the delicate gears. “How much do I owe you?”

  “Not a penny. I don’t know if it works yet. Try it, and let me know.”

  I nodded. “I will. Thank you.”

  “If I might interject,” Liam said, “I’d like to talk about the reason for our visit.”

  “Yes, yes, of course. What can I do for you, Sergeant Osbourne?”

  “You removed a bullet from a pixie’s home earlier today. I wondered if y
ou still had it?”

  Gunderson frowned, spreading his thick, stubby fingers over the countertop. “I hope it wasn’t important.”

  “Why do you say that?” I asked, though I was pretty sure I already knew the answer.

  “I added it to the smelting pot. It was a worthless bit of metal, warped beyond repair. Waste not, though, that’s my motto. It’ll be part of an invention soon.” The dwarf’s eyes took on a faraway look as his mind no doubt wandered to future inventions.

  “Well, we won’t be getting a match from that, will we?” Peasblossom said.

  Liam twitched, then caught himself. I grinned. Another gift of the wee ones. Despite their capacity for constant chatter, pixies could maintain a long silence if they wanted to. They could make you forget they were there.

  “I’m sorry, Sergeant Osbourne. I’d no idea you’d be needing it.” Gunderson shook himself out of his daydream and folded his hands over his robust stomach, looking genuinely apologetic.

  Liam’s phone vibrated, and he took it out of his pocket. His gaze twitched side to side as he read the text message, then he replaced his phone and smiled at Gunderson.

  “No harm done. If it was as damaged as you say it was, it was unlikely we’d have gotten a match anyway.” He turned to me. “Thank you for your help, Shade. And you, Peasblossom.”

  Peasblossom preened at being acknowledged, but I knew when I was being ditched. And Liam’s demeanor had brightened suspiciously fast. “It was my understanding that there was no quitting time when there’s a murder to solve?” I said, letting my suspicion seep into my voice.

  Liam stopped with his hand already on the door. “I’m not going home. I’m going to the station.”

  “Then I’ll come with you. Mr. Gunderson, do you have anything I could package this up with so it doesn’t get damaged?”

  The dwarf’s gaze darted between us, then he nodded. “Of course.”

  “Shade, there is no reason for you to stay. I’m going to my office to meet with Blake. If any of our suspects own a gun that matches the caliber of bullet we found, I need to draft a warrant, and that takes time. Besides,” he added, “you mentioned that you wanted to see the crime scene, didn’t you? You have a little daylight left—more if Mr. Gunderson’s creation works, which I know it will.”