Witch on the Case: La Fay Chronicles 3

by Carter, Mina

  It was remarkably similar to the city’s standard police uniform, circa 1880s, and helped them stand out from the mortal police force. Since most rank and file tended to be Shifters, norms could see them occasionally. They usually mistook them for cosplayers or one of the “Ripper events” that often took place in the city, even though they were nowhere near Whitechapel. Even now, the watchman on the end of the alley was fielding a trio of camera-wielding tourists.

  “Sorry, sir, private event. I’m afraid I can’t let you in.”

  “Oh, their costumes are so adorable. James, you absolutely must get a picture with the policeman.”

  Daffi tuned out the conversation as she focused on the officer in front of them. Taking a quick breath in, she smiled. Dog Shifter for sure, but she couldn’t pick out what breed.

  “Sorry, miss, private event,” he rumbled, a hint of growl in the back of his throat. Old English sheepdog, she decided. Had to be with a voice like that. “Can’t let you in.”

  “Daffi McGee, MPI,” she said, injecting authority into her voice and unleashing a glimpse of the resting bitch face. He straightened up with a frown as she flashed him her badge.

  “MPI?”

  “Magical Private Investigator,” she replied, hoping beyond hope that whatever the hell Garlick had done would pay off. “I understand there was a murder here last night? I’m here to investigate.”

  “Oh…” He squinted at her badge and then blinked in surprise and straightened up. “Yes, ma’am! Of course, please go through. I’m afraid the body has already been removed but old Jack who lives down this street saw it just after. He’s still around if you want to question him.”

  “Very well, thank you.” She smiled as she tucked the badge away in her pocket.

  It was all official looking with a fancy seal and everything. She’d studied it earlier when Garlick had handed it over, telling her he’d had them officially listed as PIs. It was a seal she’d seen before… the La Fay. No wonder the watchman had looked like the queen herself had arrived. No one wanted to piss off the La Fay, not now two of Morgan’s daughters had been found.

  “There’s an actual witness?” Garlick asked, trotting in front of her in a crisscross manner so she was forced to practically salsa down the road toward the taped-off scene.

  She paused to look at where Sybil had been found. It was a small entryway between two of the buildings, a magical sigil on the stonework above. She pursed her lips. The killer had to be magical then. No norm could even have seen that entryway, much less dragged Sybil into it.

  “Maiden’s might and crone’s sight,

  Let me see where Sybil put up a fight,

  Show me what is shielded by time,

  So I can solve this awful crime.”

  She murmured, calling her magic. White sparkles filled the air in front of her, spreading out to fill the small entry. An image built up. Sybil appeared in spectral form, eyes wide as she looked over her shoulder. A look of recognition and surprise washed over her face and then a large black shape overwhelmed her from behind like a giant black cloud. When it cleared, Sybil lay on the ground in the entry, eyes closed and a permanent smile across her throat.

  Dammit. She hadn’t really expected the reveal spell to give them anything, but if they were going to do this properly, they needed to work on a process of elimination. So far they knew Sybil had been killed by a magical being, probably a witch, and one powerful enough to conceal their identity from prying eyes. And, more importantly…

  “She knew her killer.”

  Oberon grunted in agreement.

  “Nice to see she could actually smile,” Garlick commented with a sniff. “Didn’t think she had it in her.”

  “Garlick!” she hissed, shooting him a glare. “You can’t say things like that!”

  “Why not? She was a miserable cow.”

  “Cow?” Oberon asked with a frown. “Was she a bovine Shifter? I thought she was a witch?”

  Daffi slid him a sideways look. Then she realized he was serious.

  “You poor, poor boy,” Garlick sniped, chuckling as he trotted up to the magical impression.

  “Okay. Killer used a shielding spell so we can’t get an impression this way. We’re going to need to talk to Jack the Kipper.”

  “Agreed” Daffi straightened up.

  “Jack the Kipper? Don’t you mean Ripper?” Oberon asked in confusion as they turned, heading toward where another watchman was talking to a small bundle of tatty clothes. It resolved into a small, odd-looking man holding a fish.

  “Nope… Kipper,” Daffi murmured. “He’s a bit of a local celebrity. Stalks people and slaps them with his fish.”

  Oberon’s eyes narrowed. “Is that a euphemism for his…?”

  “Nope.” She grinned as she shook her head. “Literally a fish. He keeps getting arrested for it. Apparently carrying a fish with intent is still illegal in the city, some old bylaw or other.”

  She smiled broadly as they approached the watchman and his companion. “How’s it going, Jack?”

  Jack the Kipper was a small fae of unknown origin. He was a regular on her way home, often walking with her to the nearest tube station for “protection.”

  “Miss McGee! I was so worried about you. When I saw… last night… I was so scared it was you!” He almost fell over himself to get to her but then pulled up sharply when he spotted Oberon.

  His face went pale and he bowed low. “My king.”

  Daffi’s eyes widened. “You recognize him?”

  Jack straightened, his cheeks reddening as he thrust his fish away into the depths of his tatty overcoat. “Of course, Miss McGee… every fae alive would know Oberon, our king.”

  His gaze darted nervously between the two of them. “I’m here legally. I have papers and everything to prove it.”

  “We’re not here for that,” Daffi reassured him, patting one of Oberon’s thick, treelike arms where he’d folded them over his chest.

  “Look less threatening,” she hissed at him out of the corner of her mouth. “We need to question him, not frighten him half to death!”

  Oberon grunted and relaxed. “Indeed,” he offered. “My queen-to-be merely wishes to question you about the dead girl so we may find her killer and exe—” Daffi tightened her hand on his arm and he corrected himself. “So we may bring them to justice.”

  “Queen?” Jack squeaked. “You’re getting married?”

  “Yes.”

  “No…” she said at the same time.

  At Oberon’s questioning look, Daffi sighed. “Maybe, after we’ve talked a lot about it…” She dug her elbow in his ribs when he grinned. “…a lot!”

  “That was not a no,” he leaned toward her to murmur.

  “It was also not a yes,” she hissed back at him. “Now, can we please focus on the matter at hand?”

  Either that or she was going to end up jailed for throttling an infuriating hot as hell fairy… king. Crap, that would be regicide. Wouldn’t it? Or did it count if he wasn’t her king?

  She focused on Jack. “You saw what happened?” she prompted gently.

  “No, no, no.” He shook his head but then stopped. “Yes. Well… I saw someone running off. Then I found…” He jerked his head toward the entryway.

  “Was worried it was you. But I never seen that witch before. The one that got killed.”

  “Uh-huh,” she nodded as she made notes in a small book she pulled from her pocket and was forced to hide her smile. Look at her getting all detective-ish. “And you saw someone running away?”

  His head bobbed like a nodding dog ornament. “A witch, in black.”

  “Gee, that’s helpful,” Garlick muttered sarcastically. “That describes like… ninety-nine percent of witches.”

  Daffi ignored him pointedly. “Which way did she run off? Did you get a look at her?”

  “She ran off that way.” Jack waved down the road, almost slapping Oberon in the face with the fish that had reappeared in his hand. The fae king
ducked just in time, his eyebrow raised. Daffi bit back her snigger. Being slapped in the kisser with a kipper was not something she’d had on her to-do list today.

  “Didn’t get a good look at her, just her back,” Jack admitted. “She were about your height, Miss McGee, with long white hair.”

  Daffi froze for a second and then smiled before snapping her notebook closed. “Excellent, thank you, Jack. Make sure to stick around just in case we need to ask you anything else. Okay?”

  The little fae grinned, already eyeing up the copper on the other side of the street, fish in hand. “Right-o, Miss McGee. I hope you catches the witch what done it. Cheerio.”

  “Cheerio, Jack.”

  Daffi turned and walked off, ignoring the sound of dead fish meeting face and the startled cry that came after it.

  “So,” Oberon rumbled as they left the alley. “What are you thinking?”

  She sighed, shoving her notebook into her pocket.

  “I think someone is trying their best to frame me.”

  9

  “Fucking greenie twat,” Oberon muttered as a hag cut right across their path, almost tripping them right on the steps of the museum. “Watch where you’re going! My bride nearly tripped.”

  The hag didn’t slow, flipping the bird over his shoulder before he disappeared into the crowd on the street.

  Daffi and Garlick pulled up point black and both swung eyeballs in his direction.

  “You can’t say things like that,” Daffi said bluntly.

  Oberon blinked. “Why not? He’s a twat. He cut us off.”

  “Yes,” Garlick pointed out. “He’s an utter twat, but you can’t call him a greenie twat. We do not discriminate based on skin, fur or any other color. Or, come to think of it, sexual orientation or preferred gender identification.”

  Oberon nodded and then lifted on his toes. “Oi! Twat! Watch where you’re fucking going!” he yelled and then looked at them.

  Daffi nodded in approval, patting his chest. He learned quickly. That boded well for any future relationship. Then her eyes crossed as she realized… maiden’s tits, was she actually considering a relationship with him?

  Shaking her head, she started up the steps and pushed through the rotating doors.

  “Hey, Dave,” she greeted the Shifter on the ticket desk. “Three visitor passes please.”

  Dave blinked, surprise showing on his face, and then a genuine smile creased his lips. “Hey, Daffi. Didn’t expect to see you back so soon. Heard about what happened with herself…” He jerked his head upward, toward where Whipsnide’s office was on the second floor. “Sorry you were let go.”

  “Thanks, hun, means a lot.”

  And she was surprised to find it did. When Whipsnide had thrown her out, she’d felt like that was it… her entire life revolved around the museum, and it had felt like they’d all turned their backs on her. So the welcoming smile from Dave meant the world.

  Then Oberon growled and ruined it.

  “Who are you?” he demanded, slamming his hand down on the counter. “And why are you smiling at my wife-to-be?”

  “Hey, man, chill!” Dave backed up, hands up in surrender. “I’m Dave Eastaughffe. I work… worked with Daffi.”

  Daffi sighed and put her hand on Oberon’s arm, holding her other out for the tickets. Dave reached forward just enough to put them in her hand before retreating a safe distance while eyeing the pissed-off fairy nervously.

  “Meg said you had a new boyfriend… she didn’t say he was quite so—” He swallowed nervously, the last word emerging as a squeak. “Large.”

  “I’m large all over,” Oberon growled, not breaking eye contact with Dave. “And don’t you forget it.”

  “I’m not sure if he’s threatening him,” Garlick muttered from ankle level, “or coming onto him.”

  “Neither,” Daffi said firmly, yanking at Oberon’s hand until he was forced to follow her. Good, the last thing she needed was a jealous boyfriend running around threatening any guy who so much as looked her way.

  “Behave yourself,” she warned him in a furious undertone. “Or by the Crone, I will turn you into the authorities. Understand me?”

  He looked contrite and nodded quickly. If she turned him in, he’d be held by the authorities and then taken back through to Fae. Since he was here illegally, the chances of him getting a visa to come back were minimal to “a snowball in hell’s chance,” even for a king of the fae.

  “I’m sorry.” He looked so much like a kicked puppy she felt sorry for him. “I… was jealous,” he admitted. “You smiled at him. You don’t smile at me… and I’ve offered you a crown and everything.”

  The little admission let her see beneath the self-assured mask for a second, and she froze, seeing the doubt and uncertainty there.

  “I won’t turn you in,” she relented with a sigh. “Just behave yourself, okay? No growling at other men, even… and I mean it… even if I smile at them.”

  He nodded and then grinned. “If you smile at other men, but don’t smile at me, that means I am special anyway.”

  For the love of… “Yeah, handsome. You’re special. You’re certainly special.”

  He grinned so she didn’t clue him in and turned at the sound of footsteps. A polite smile crossed her face as Ms. Whipsnide marched toward them, trailed by Sergeant Abberline.

  “Security! Security!” she called out, her voice sharp and strident at the same time, kind of like a shrill foghorn. Daffi winced and resisted temptation to shove her finger in her ear and wiggle to make sure she hadn’t busted an eardrum.

  Dave quickly shoved a security hat on and ran to her side. “Yes, ma’am! How can I help?”

  “Where’s Iggy?” Whipsnide asked sharply.

  “On nightshift, ma’am. And he called in sick. I was on rota for backup.”

  She huffed and gestured toward Daffi. “I want this woman and her companions removed immediately!”

  Dave shifted from foot to foot nervously. “For what reason, ma’am? I mean… they bought tickets and everything.”

  “I don’t care!” Her voice got higher, threatening the windows in the lobby. Several visitors looked their way, all sneky-necked with the chance of drama. “They’re banned. Sergeant, arrest them for trespassing!”

  The sergeant blinked and started to take a step forward, only to be stopped by Garlick as he pushed to the front of the group with his tail swishing in warning.

  “Actually, he can’t. Statute seven four three of the Old City bylaws give all magical residents of the city right of access to the medical records kept here during business hours.”

  The sergeant blinked and looked at Whipsnide. “He is quite correct. Those bylaws were never rescinded.”

  Whipsnide’s expression turned sly. “Ah… but they’re not. Miss McGee was evicted from her apartment last night.”

  Surprise rolled through Daffi. “How do you know that?”

  “If that’s true…” Sergeant Abberline straightened his uniform jacket. “Miss McGee, I’m afraid you’ll have to come with me.”

  Garlick swished his tail again with all the authority of a sergeant-major with his pace stick. “Hold on a moment.”

  Abberline looked down. “What now?”

  Garlick looked up at Daffi, golden eyes flicking to her badge pointedly.

  “Oh, right… yes.” She lifted it from the lanyard around her neck and handed it to him. “I think you’ll find that those registered as MPIs have right of access anywhere in the city—apart from the Tower and the Royal Mint of course.

  “And Buck House,” Garlick added.

  “Of course. It would be rude to barge in on the queen without a formal invitation.”

  Oberon blinked. “Queen? A cousin! I must send my regards and notify her of my arrival in her glorious lands!”

  “Cousin?” Abberline asked, eyeing Oberon in confusion.

  Daffi stood on Oberon’s toe to shut him the hell up. Block heels weren’t as effective as stilettoes for that
maneuver, but his small squeak assured her that she had, in fact, gotten her point across.

  “Don’t mind him,” she said quickly. “Method actor. He’s rehearsing for Richard III at the Underglobe.”

  “Ahhh… excellent. I do like a good play.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief, relaxing a little, as Abberline nodded and seemed to buy it… but only a little as the sergeant studied her badge. He handed it back.

  “Seems perfectly in order. Good luck with your investigation.”

  “MPI my broomstick, we’ll see about that!” Whipsnide snatched the badge before Daffi could take it back. “Sergeant, wait here. I’m sure you’ll soon be arresting Miss McGee for impersonating an investigator as well as trespassing, just you wait and see!”

  10

  “Seriously? You’re telling me the girl is actually a legal investigator? Surely you can do something about that?” Whipsnide’s furious voice reached through the thick wood of The Office door to assault the ears of the small group waiting out in the corridor.

  Whipsnide’s office was on the second level, the corridor a balcony that ran all the way around the entrance hall. It gave them an eagle-eye view of all new arrivals and the ticket booth/shop where Dave was currently being questioned by Sergeant Abberline. The Shifter seemed a little agitated, running his hands repeatedly through his shoulder length, surfer blond hair.

  “What? I don’t know, Duncan. You’re a moons-damned High Circle Judge. Surely there must be something you can do! Have her registration revoked! Do I have to do everything myself?”

  Daffi was leaning against a pedestal with a bust of Mother Shipton. More a seer than an actual witch, she still had a place in British Magical History. The Shipton family had patented her revolutionary foresight method, and it was currently sold as a smartphone app. Reviews varied from the truly impressive to gummy bears on Amazon level.

  She raised an eyebrow. “Anyone else think Ms. Whipsnide really doesn’t want us on this case?”

  “Indeed.” Garlick looked up from his self-appointed task of covering Oberon’s black jeans in silver fur from the knee down. The big fairy was currently ignoring him, instead watching the video on the big screen in the lobby.