The Fairyland Murders

by J. A. Kazimer

  “Yeah?”

  “This is bad, Blue. Real bad,” she said. “The second call was to the police.”

  “Any idea what it was about?”

  Silence filled the line.

  “Belle?”

  She swallowed hard. “According to the cops who contacted us shortly after they arrived at the vacant pay phone, the caller had screamed once and then the line went dead.”

  “Thanks, Belle,” I said and then hung up, wondering what the hell the twins had gotten me into. From the look of the small rust-colored puddle on the ground under the phone, the answer wasn’t one any of us would like.

  CHAPTER 5

  After hanging up with Belle, I grabbed the Fey Train to Easter Village and the first mysterious number called from the pay phone. The number to a clothes store, Belle had said. When I arrived I wasn’t so sure. A group of well-endowed mannequins dressed as wicked witches and slutty princesses sat in the window. Either I’d found the latest drag queen hot spot or a costume shop.

  One could never be too sure in the Village.

  I opened the door, stifling a sneeze as a year’s worth of stale air filled my nostrils. Not a drag queen shop, then; too much dust, not enough glitter.

  “Welcome to Barry’s Costume Shop. How can I help you?” asked a small man with furry, catlike ears affixed to his bald head with what looked like electrical tape.

  Beat staples, I supposed.

  I shrugged, doing my best impression of an unassuming and nonthreatening guy with bright blue hair and a matching goatee. Not too surprisingly, the cat man backed up a step, but his shopkeeper smile stayed firmly in place. Guess the costume business wasn’t much better than the PI one.

  I squinted at the name tag on his lapel. “Barry, a friend of mine . . . Isabella . . . she called you two days ago, around eight at night. She might’ve rented a costume. . . .”

  His once warm smile slipped a few degrees. “No refunds.”

  I grinned, reaching in my jacket pocket for my wallet. “Of course not. I just need a little information. That’s all.” I pulled out a wad of bills fortified mostly with lint. Thankfully, I’d stopped at an ATM on the way here, pulling enough cash for a small bribe. A very small bribe. “Can you help me with that, Barry?”

  He nodded slowly, his eyes on the cash.

  Sometimes bribery was an art, a game of wits versus greed. Other times it was easier than flagging down a passing pumpkin coach. Barry apparently fell into the latter half, and after palming nineteen dollars and seventy-five cents, he was eager to please. “Yes, of course I remember her.”

  “Good. Good.” I smiled. “What can you tell me about her call?”

  He rubbed his bald head. “Well, she had quite a voice. Husky, with a hint of vulnerability.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Why did she call you?”

  “Oh,” he pursed his lips. “She needed a costume, of course.”

  I swallowed back a sharp retort. “Of course. What kind of costume did she want?”

  “I don’t recall offhand, but she needed it right away.” He ran his finger over his lip. “For a party, I think.”

  I tilted my head. “A party?”

  “That’s what she said.” He smiled. “She even gave me an extra twenty to deliver it by five yesterday afternoon.”

  “Wait,” I said, bubbling with electricity. “She gave you her address?”

  He frowned. “How else would I have delivered it to her?”

  Good point. “So you saw her yesterday? When you delivered the outfit?” which meant up until five o’clock yesterday Isabella Davis was safe and sound and the blood at the pay phone wasn’t hers. Relief filled me.

  He shook his head. “She told me to leave it on the stoop.”

  I frowned. “And you did? Weren’t you worried it would get stolen?”

  “Of course not.” He grinned. “No one steals from a church.”

  “A church? She asked you to leave the costume at a church? Don’t you find that a little strange?”

  “Not in my business.”

  I glanced around the shop, noting the large selection of whips and fairy wings. “Guess not. Do you remember what church you delivered it to?”

  “I wrote the address down on her receipt. Let me look for it,” he said as he crossed the shop and vanished into a back office.

  An array of colorful wings, hats, and at the very back of the store, rows and rows of fake fairy wings filled the aisles. One pair in particular caught my eyes. They were bright pink with silver and gold glitter, like something a kid might make during arts and crafts.

  “Beautiful, aren’t they?” Barry asked, appearing at my side, a piece of paper in his hand. He waved it at the pink wings hanging on the wall. “Those are our top sellers during Pride Week.”

  “I’ll bet.” I shot him a small smile. “Did you find what I need?”

  “Oh yes.” He shoved the paper into my gloved palm. “My records are impeccable, unlike my memory.”

  My fingers curled around it as my eyes scanned the receipt, taking special note of the type of costume Isabella had ordered. I smiled. “Thanks.”

  “Anytime,” he said, bowing low. “And if you’re ever in need of a costume, please think Barry first.”

  “You can count on it.” I glanced down at the paper again. A quiver of heat rushed through me, the same kind of electricity I always felt when I was about to solve a major case.

  CHAPTER 6

  Standing on the darkened street, I lit a cigarette and examined the stained-glass windows of the old rectory in front of me. The church appeared lost in the revamped city block, abandoned to the wilds of Peter Peter Pumpkin Eateries and Wish Upon a Starbucks in the gentrified part of New Never City.

  I longed for the old city of my youth, a place with a fairy dust–addicted princess selling her wares on every street corner. Now you had to walk at least two blocks for a blow job.

  I finished my smoke, scanned the street one more time, and then headed for the church. As I approached, the faint sound of bells tickled my eardrums.

  Fearing a lightning strike for being this close to a place of worship, I took a deep breath and softly brushed my knuckles against the wooden door. I stepped back and waited.

  And waited.

  Thunder rumbled in warning overhead.

  I glanced at the sky, then knocked on the door again, this time with more force. Up the street a dog barked, but still no one answered. But the tinkle of bells stopped, leaving only the crackle of electrical power and thunder circling me.

  Through the stained-glass window someone watched me. I could feel their stare. It radiated through me like a bolt of lightning. My heart sped up, sending a rush of adrenaline through my body. The ends of my hair began to dance with energy, and before I could stop it, indigo flames shot from my fingertips like a princess licking a light socket.

  With a supreme act of will, I controlled the electrical power surging through my body, squelching it with a combination of patience and deep-breathing exercises.

  The half a flask of whiskey I’d drunk earlier helped too.

  Once my tantrum subsided, I pounded on the door loud enough to wake the troll in the alley, who, by the looks of him, was sleeping off a billy goat binge. The troll rolled over, burped, and fell back to sleep. I raised my fist to knock again when the door flew open.

  “Yes?” A woman stood in the doorway, her skin glowing in the light of hundreds of candles lining the rectory’s archway. She wore a black and white veil over her head that covered most of her face and a full-length black nun’s habit with a slim white collar.

  My gaze followed the gold chain hanging around her neck into the soft folds of her habit, where it rested between her breasts. I barely made out the outline of what looked like a cross in the forbidden valley.

  Sweat pooled in the shallow of my back.

  The nun stared at me, tapping her foot, her face growing more suspicious with every second that passed in silence. Who could blame her? This ne
ighborhood wasn’t the nicest. And I was a blue-haired guy who looked more like a thug than a parishioner in need of the good word.

  “Can I help you, son?” she asked, her voice low and deep. I smiled at her use of the word son, since she looked at least five years younger than my own thirty years. Not that I could see much of her beneath the habit and veil.

  Clearing my throat, I waved inside the church. The sweet smell of incense floated over the threshold, and I shivered as hundreds of memories flashed through my mind. Memories of Sister Francis’s stern glare, of hours spent sitting on hard wooden benches, of flames rising into the night sky and the burnt plastic stench of an artificial baby Jesus as he lay melting on his bed of straw.

  I shook off the memories, focusing on the job at hand. “Excuse me, Sister,” I said, sounding much like a little schoolboy. “I’m looking for the Tooth Fairy.”

  The nun laughed but sobered quickly when I didn’t join her. “There are no fairies here. Tooth or otherwise.” Her voice quieted as her forehead wrinkled. “We don’t serve their kind. Sinners, the lot of them.”

  Didn’t I know it. I raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment on her lack of goodwill toward all men, be they fairy or blue-haired private investigators. “This particular fairy is also half human. Her name’s Isabella Davis. Are you positive she hasn’t somehow slipped by unnoticed?”

  “Oh, heavens.” Her hand flew to her throat and she gave a slight shudder. “You’re welcome to take a look around.”

  I shook my head, taking a step backward. No way was I entering a church, not ever again. Not with the Big Guy Upstairs and His tendency to strike dead sinners who breeched His heavenly sanctuary. “Thank you, Sister, but that won’t be necessary.”

  I held my business card out, careful to avoid physical contact, afraid I’d fry her if we touched, even with my gloves on. Nunicide had to be worth at least ten Hail Marys and a good five years in hell. “If you happen to run into her, please give me a call.”

  “I will.” She smiled serenely. I nodded once and turned toward the street. “God bless you,” she called after me.

  A frisson of something much like electrical current ran up my spine. No thanks. I’d been cursed quite enough as it was to bring God into it. I turned back to say as much, catching the barest glimpse of her bare foot as the door closed.

  A slow smile spread across my face as my suspicions were confirmed. The nun wasn’t quite as pure as Mary’s little lamb.

  I pulled the collar of my jacket up and crossed to the other side of the street. I ducked into the shadows where the troll slept off his latest meal.

  “Hey, brother,” the groggy troll said. “Got a smoke?” His eyeball bulged, popping from the socket and rolling down the front of his shirt. He scooped it up and stuffed it back in.

  Never trust a troll. They’d eat their mothers if cooked right. “Sure,” I said, tossing a cigarette his way. It landed in a puddle of billy-goat goo, but he didn’t seem to mind. Lighting the smoke, he gestured to the rectory. “You a priest?”

  “Do I look like a preacher?” I motioned to my Levi’s, black leather jacket, blue hair, and the really big gun tucked in my waistband.

  Plucking his fur- and lint-caked eyeball from his skull, he wiped it on his shirt and pushed it back in his head. He took a moment to look me over and shrugged. “Never know around here. Ain’t nobody what they seem.”

  Before I could comment, the rectory door swung open and the nun scurried down the steps. Her veil flew off, sending a mess of curly hair raining down her back like amber flames. My body responded with a burst of heat. Electrical heat. Satisfaction sparkled in the air surrounding me.

  She stopped, searching the shadows. Even from this distance I could see her body tremble. Whether from the cold night air or something more I wasn’t sure. But the brief vulnerability sent a surge of desire through me. The desire to defend. To protect. To lay down my very life to keep her safe.

  I scoffed at the fanciful notion. I must’ve had more nips of medical whiskey than I’d thought, since no woman was worth dying for. Not even my dear mum, if I one day found out just who she was.

  With a shake of her head, the nun continued on her journey up the street. The sound of her glass slippers on the pavement drew attention from all the king’s horses and all the king’s men, not to mention the drooling ogre hiding in the shadows up the street.

  I followed the nun for a wealth of reasons, the least of which was my libido. It was late. The shadows were growing deeper and darker. And most importantly, I was damn good at my job.

  I kept a discreet distance between us. The sway of her hips in her habit stirred my body, and soon sparks began to rain from my fingers.

  The sister paused in midstep.

  I froze.

  She started walking again.

  Current arched through me.

  She stopped again, glancing to the right and then the left.

  “Problem, Sister?” I asked, my tone thick with sarcasm.

  She whirled around. “You!”

  “Me?”

  “Why are you following me?”

  “Why did you lie to me?”

  “I didn’t lie.” Her eyes widened with feigned shock. “I don’t know where your Tooth Fairy is.”

  I grinned, showing off all of my thirty-two snowy, shiny teeth, and marched closer to her. She tried to step back, but some kind of force held her enthralled. The closer I got to her the stronger the electrical current flickering inside me grew. In a few seconds I’d turn into a human bug zapper.

  Two seconds, to be precise.

  My skin exploded into a silver light. A gnome on the other side of the street yelped, but I paid him little mind. My attention was focused solely on the redhead who was now flittering around me like a moth circling a flame. Pink translucent wings, like those in Barry’s costume shop but real in every way, sprouted from her back, ripping the perfectly pressed nun’s costume to shreds.

  Barry wasn’t going to be pleased.

  “Stop it. Please.” She clutched at the torn fabric, trying, without much success, to cover her naked flesh as her body involuntarily circled mine.

  A part of me felt bad.

  A small part.

  A really, really small part.

  I shrugged. Served her right. She had lied to me and now she was paying the price. Her wings beat faster and faster as the radiance pouring off me grew hotter.

  I tucked my hand into the pocket of my jacket, pulled out a pair of black sunglasses, and slipped them on as the light intensified.

  She pulsed closer. Close enough that the scent of her filled my senses. My body reacted instantly, growing hotter under the assault.

  I crossed my arms over my chest, staring into the very sapphire, very angry eyes of the next Tooth Fairy. “So Tinker Bell, what do you have to say for yourself?”

  CHAPTER 7

  “Don’t call me—” the soon-to-be Tooth Fairy began, but her words were lost to the screech of tires. Muzzle fire flashed from the window of a speeding black car as a hail of silver slugs flew our way.

  The drive-by happened so fast I barely managed a shout of warning before her pink wings knocked me to the pavement. Bullets ricocheted around us, sounding like a chorus of pitchy dwarfs while at work.

  The bullets bounced off her wings with a tinny ping. A plume of intoxicating fairy dust exploded in the air, coating me and everything else in its path. I held my breath to avoid the full brunt of a nasty dust high. A little fairy dust went a long way. Too much and you went straight to the morgue.

  Isabella stumbled under the hail of bullets, caught herself for a second, and then toppled to the ground. Her body landed on top of mine. I grunted under the slight weight. My arms wrapped around her midsection, forcing her underneath me as another volley of shots pelted the ground near us.

  Once the would-be assassin’s car sped off into the darkness, I quickly ran my gloved hands down her body, checking for bullet holes. I expected blood, tears, and shriek
s of pain. Instead, when I pulled away I swore I heard her giggle.

  “Are you all right?” I sat up, taking a second to count my remaining toes. Still nine left. Could have been worse. The next Tooth Fairy struggled to sit up beside me, her shredded dress now embedded with grease stains, her wings dimpled from gunfire.

  Whether or not she realized it, she’d saved my life.

  Or rather her pink translucent wings had. They’d knocked me out of the path of danger and then acted like a bulletproof vest when the slugs showered us.

  I owed her my life, for as much as it was worth.

  Which at the moment, the twins’ retainer aside, was about fifty-four dollars and a collection of vintage Playfairy magazines.

  A wrinkle marred her forehead and quickly spread to her mouth. “Am I all right!” Her fingers curled into a fist, the same fist she slammed into my jacketed arm. “How do you think I am? Somebody just shot me.”

  I winced, more from her piercing shrieks than the power of her punch. But I rubbed my arm anyway. It was best not to annoy an already angry woman, especially one with bulletproof wings. “About that . . .” I paused, tilting my head to study her. “Any idea why?”

  Using a bullet-riddled light pole for leverage, she pushed herself up and brushed at her knees. “Well, let’s see.” She jabbed her finger in my direction. “My life was perfect until a year ago.”

  “Perfect, huh?”

  “It was!” She tapped her foot against the concrete in a quick rat-a-tat. “I had a . . . loving fiancé, a great job, and a kitten with a popular Tumblr page.”

  “Sounds lame.”

  She snorted. “You wish. I had it all. Then two sawed-off fairies burst into my life, going on and on about how I’m the next frigging Tooth Fairy.”

  I shrugged. We all had our burdens to bear; at least hers didn’t come with what amounted to jumper cables for hands.

  But she was far from finished. “Suddenly, my perfect life is gone. I’ve been in hiding for weeks from the fairies, who won’t take no for an answer, running for my life from a serial killer who is stalking my every move, and to top it off, tonight I’m actually being menaced by a blue-haired lightning rod.”