A Girl’s Best Friend (Moonlight Detective Agency Book 3)

by Isobella Crowley

Ignoring his attitude, Remy strode through the snow, the werecat trailing him.

  Conrad appeared to be in the midst of a speech to try to pacify the humanoid felines who had all but surrounded him.

  “…but really, catnip is no different from a pig’s ear, when you stop and think about—”

  “Pig’s ear?” one of the werecats snarled. “Disgusting! Typical dog treat. And we’re vegetarians.”

  Remy hurried up and put his arm around the werewolf’s shoulder. “Ha, Conrad and his catnip. He loves the stuff, really, and that’s only his way of making a joke. He’s one of those people whose eye doesn’t twinkle when he’s being facetious. Pay him no heed. Anyway, we have to go. Enjoy the rest of this lovely winter’s day.”

  He waved and led his companion through the narrowest gap between locals, noting that most of their faces had relaxed due to his intercession. Riley drifted along behind and above them.

  Once they were out of claw’s reach, Conrad, wiping sweat from his brow, gasped. “Thanks.”

  “For what?” he asked.

  “You…well, you saved my ass, sir,” the werewolf admitted. “I thought they were about to pounce on me.”

  “Oh.” He removed his arm from the man’s shoulder. “Well, an incident involving you dead and six werecats mauled would have caused problems I don’t feel like dealing with. But you did save my ass at the warehouse, so you’re welcome anyway.”

  The fairy floated downward. “I might have been able to handle some of them, but yeah, things were getting ugly.”

  Remy waved a hand. “Next time, I won’t bring him. For now, though”—he turned to Conrad—“we need to get ready for a party. Tomorrow, but still.”

  “Certainly,” the lycanthrope wheezed. “Anywhere but here. Oh, how are your allergies, by the way?”

  He remembered to sniffle. “Fine.”

  Chapter Eight

  Melrose, the Bronx, New York

  It had taken a good twenty-four hours for Remy to get back into his party-boy persona from the bad old days.

  Not only had it been necessary to call some of the stupidest of his friends—or, rather, people he used to consider friends—but he’d also needed to spend time getting back into the proper headspace. Moronic self-destruction, arrogance, and debauchery were things he had attempted to leave behind.

  It was easier than he’d expected. After all, it had only been a few months. And he’d gone and gotten drunk only two nights prior.

  Crammed into an Uber, they’d crossed the Harlem River. All four of them—Remington, Conrad, Justin, and Craig. The latter two were reliable types when it came to partying.

  “Shit, ass, and fuck,” Justin remarked. “I left my e-cigs in my room.”

  Craig piped up. “Driver! Do not go back under any circumstances. I refuse to be seen in public in the company of some guy who vapes.”

  Justin extended his middle finger in front of his friend’s face. “Shut up, Craig. You’re simply pissed because you accidentally gave five dollars more to a charitable write-off than you meant to and were afraid someone would think you were a nice person.”

  The other man looked out the window at two women and made an obscene pantomime at them. “Aw, but I am a nice person,” he protested.

  The driver, for his part, merely chuckled in a slightly uncomfortable fashion and kept his hands on the wheel.

  Remy smiled, laughed as needed, and offered commentary every few minutes. That was all it really took to fit in, for now. At some point, he would be expected to do something suitably ridiculous to live up to the David Remington legend, most likely, but the time was not yet right.

  Conrad, meanwhile, had basically kept silent, aside from a few awkward smiles here and there. As Justin shifted to talking about scoring some Molly, heedless of how their driver might react, he turned and peered at the werewolf’s face.

  “Saaayyyyy,” he drawled, poked the man in the chest, and tried not to smirk too hard, “you’re not straight-edge, are you? If so, I have no idea what you’re even doing here.”

  The lycanthrope cleared his throat. “I have a drink now and then but that’s about it.”

  “Goddamn,” Craig marveled. “An occasional drink. We have a baller here.”

  Remy wagged a finger. “Now, now. He’s my chauffeur so I can’t have him getting too fucked up. This is his night off, obviously, or he’d be driving, so he might end up having two drinks.”

  Conrad laughed it off and after a moment, Remy’s friends grew bored with harassing him and moved on to talk about pills, escorts, and so forth.

  The investigator glanced out the window and up. He thought he could barely make out a tiny, fluttering shadow moving through the corridors of light alongside the streets. He’d instructed Riley to follow their car discreetly but casually and regroup with them once they arrived at their destination.

  As they drove through the South Bronx, their headlights illuminated long tracts of graffiti and the driver glanced at them before returning his attention to the road. “Say…uh, what is this place I’m taking you to, exactly? This isn’t some kind of…um, illegal establishment, is it?”

  Justin and Craig cracked up in snorting fits of laughter at that.

  Remy had to be the responsible one in this instance. “It’s only a party,” he told the young man. “A…house party or block party, basically. Ignore these guys, they like being edgy.”

  “Hey!” Craig snapped. “I take offense to that.”

  He ignored the protest. “People go to parties all the time, do they not? What happens afterward is none of your business, so no need to worry.”

  The driver shrugged. “Okay, fair enough.”

  Moments later, they arrived. Although the neighborhood wasn’t the best, the mostly empty apartment building in which the party would take place was surrounded by empty lots, so at least they’d have some privacy.

  Only one of the attendees lived there. The party’s organizer, Antony, simply rented several adjacent rooms. From what Remy had gathered via the usual chatter, this wasn’t something the landlord would normally have agreed to, but the man had greased his palm with a couple of Benjamin Franklins on top of the “rental fee” and, therefore, made a convincing sales pitch.

  Remy gestured to the nearest curb. “Drop us off right here. There’s no need to go to the door.”

  The man did so. They all piled out of the vehicle, finalized the transaction, and watched as the driver pulled hastily out and sped off. The investigator also noticed the fairy descend toward them, pleased that she hadn’t fallen behind or gotten lost. He knew Justin and Craig wouldn’t be able to see her, anyway.

  “Right,” Craig proclaimed, “let’s go endanger the integrity of our nervous systems.”

  “Fuckin’ A,” Justin agreed.

  Light streamed from one of the side doors. Given how cold it was, it was partially closed, but a doorman doubtless stood within. The assumption was correct.

  “Hi,” he said as they stepped through and were immediately confronted by a grim-faced individual who, although only of middling height, rippled with tattoos and muscles. “We’re on the guest list, don’t worry.”

  After a couple of minutes of haggling, the doorman let them in. Remy made sure to keep the door open long enough for Riley to slip in while the man was checking Justin out. Since this was a mixed-species party, he might have been among the initiated and therefore able to actually see the fairy.

  They proceeded down the hall and up the stairwell. Most of the action would take place on the third floor. “So,” he informed his companions, “I heard there might be a couple of…uh, midgets here, and they’re among the benefactors of this fine event, so try to restrain yourselves from being total douches. For all our sake.”

  “Damn.” Justin sighed. “I suppose we can try.”

  From what Maps Cat had said during a phone call earlier that day, the attendees would be mostly human but a few “passing” preternaturals would be among them—those who resembled morta
ls enough to evade serious suspicion.

  This, Remy knew, meant a few dwarves, possibly a gnome, a few lycanthropes, perhaps a vampire or two, and maybe a couple of shapeshifters of one kind or another. Gremlins or zombies were unlikely to attend. They tended to stick out.

  They reached the third floor and were engulfed almost immediately in the crowd, which represented the majority of what New York had to offer. Voices buzzed and mercifully drowned out most of the awful night-core tune some asshole had put on whatever mix was being used as background music. Remy hoped that the next track would be something more palatable.

  And he could smell the drugs.

  As the four of them mingled, he took a bottle of beer out of a public-domain cooler and planned to nurse it through most of the evening. He couldn’t risk getting too drunk, let alone high. But carrying an adult beverage around would act as functional party-camouflage.

  Almost immediately, there was dissension in the ranks.

  Craig started it. “Okay, so. Bitches, or drugs? I vote drugs.”

  “Nah,” Justin disagreed. “Bitches.”

  While they argued, to the annoyance of both of them—and Remy—a couple of girls, attractive if overly-caked with makeup, seemed to have noticed Conrad and were trying to strike up a conversation.

  The investigator barged in. “Hi,” he said. “This is Conrad, my butler and chauffeur. He’s does a good job too although, believe it or not, I do in fact know how to drive myself. It’s merely so boring.”

  The lycanthrope responded only with a smarmy smile, which the girls laughed at in a way that suggested that Remy had already been excluded from whatever thing was going on with them. Something on the back of his neck prickled and he swallowed a sudden, moronic urge to break his beer bottle over the werewolf’s head.

  Instead, he wandered a few paces away to rejoin Justin and Craig. The latter seemed to have won the debate since they now headed toward a table in a dark corner where a couple of shady-looking dudes may or may not have been selling something.

  “David,” Craig whispered, “these guys supposedly have everything. How long has it been?”

  “Uh…” he stammered, while he tried to guess whether “everything” included Snow White. “Too long, but honestly, I’m still serious about the whole booze-only thing. You can do what you want, but…” He shook his head. “I can’t afford to get high anymore.”

  The other man stared at him, uncomprehending at first and then disappointed. “Suit yourself. Me and Justin are going to get fucked up. Find us if you feel like it.” He left.

  Remy stood, awkward and alone for the moment, in the center of the crowded, bustling room.

  He noticed, though, that Conrad had shooed the two girls off. The man was a professional, he had to give him that. He strolled over.

  “Hey,” he urged and poked him in the kidney, “Wonder Boy. Have you seen Riley around? She was with us when we first arrived, but I haven’t seen her for, like, five minutes. I assume she smelled something with fructose in it and is off stuffing her face or whatnot, but…”

  The lycanthrope shook his head. “No, sir, I’m afraid not. I did see her drift up a side staircase to the right before we passed into the party area, but I interpreted my orders to mean that I should prioritize your safety over hers.”

  Remy grimaced as he adjusted his cuff links. “I mostly agree with your interpretation, but only because she has mystical arcane powers, whereas I am merely charming and talented. She can generally take care of herself. Still, let’s look for her, shall we?”

  They did not have to look for long. Almost as soon as they reached the staircase Conrad had mentioned, they heard footsteps and looked up toward their source.

  “Riley!” Remington exclaimed, caught off guard. “You…uh, failed to mention that you’d show up in…costume.”

  She smiled, blushed, and shrugged her shoulders while tittering, an act which greatly flattered her beauty. “Sorry,” she said. “I wanted to surprise you.”

  Not only had she assumed human form and size, but she had also opted to debut a new outfit—a slinky, barely decent red tube of sorts into which she had somehow squeezed herself and perhaps only with the aid of magic.

  “Well,” he remarked, “you have surprised me. Congratulations. That dress is so short that, with us positioned beneath you here, the question of whether or not we can see up it is almost a moot point.”

  The fairy blinked in confusion as she descended. “Um…thanks, I think.”

  She still didn’t completely understand the human taboo on nudity, as he recalled. Still, at least she wore panties, and the double-folded top-front portion of the garment was thick enough that she might possibly be wearing a bra.

  Conrad, he noticed, stared at her. He’d managed to keep his jaws closed, but his eyes picked up the slack and bulged with a look much like a puppy in view of a roast beef dinner being consumed on an inaccessible dinner table.

  Slowly, Remy extended his hand in front of the werewolf’s face and snapped his fingers. “It’s not polite to stare, you know,” he informed him. “Didn’t they teach you that at whatever prep school you went to before Harvard? Or butler school after that, perhaps.”

  The other man shook his head and reasserted his composure. His cheeks reddened slightly.

  “Pardon me.” He folded his hands in front of himself at the waist. “I’m concerned that she might attract unwanted attention, which we might then have to deal with.”

  “Oh.” He sighed. “I’m sure she will. That simply means she’ll draw attention away from us, though. And again, she can usually take care of herself.”

  It occurred to him that since the fairy had flown there and probably hadn’t levitated a bag while she was at it, she must have “borrowed” the dress from somewhere within the building. They’d simply have to hope the original owner didn’t arrive to protest.

  He reached out his hand to take hers and helped her down the last couple of steps. Once she was on the same level, he found that he could see down her dress as surely as, seconds before, he could see up it. She wasn’t wearing a bra.

  “All right.” He breathed deeply and gathered his thoughts. “Everyone needs to remember why we’re here. Snow White. Conrad, you try to find some dwarves and see what they say. Riley and I will work the humans.”

  The man nodded. “Whatever you say, sir.”

  They returned to the mass of revelers and almost at once, Remy’s plan fell apart.

  Four guys surrounded them and all stared at Riley. “Who’s this? Party favor?” one of them asked.

  Riley giggled. “I’m his date,” she explained. “Out of everyone I could have chosen, I went with him.”

  “Exactly,” Remy replied. “Look out, coming through…” He pushed through them, dragged the full-size fairy behind him, and Conrad brought up the rear.

  He kept an eye on things as they gradually made the rounds. There weren’t very many dwarves, so the werewolf stayed close. Most of the drugs that were passed around were standard.

  He did find a girl who impressed him as being an obvious junkie, but even she kept half-ignoring his questions in favor of staring at Riley and her red dress.

  When he finally pulled the fairy away from the young woman, he exhaled and pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is getting us nowhere,” he muttered. “It might be easier if I was alone…fewer distractions and what have you.”

  When he looked up, Riley was gone. She must have interpreted his half-assed comment to mean she should go mingle with the menfolk. Already, he could see her submerging herself in a circle of them, devouring their attention.

  Conrad placed a hand on his arm. “I’m afraid she’s the type who can’t be depended upon,” he suggested. “Once a girl who’s that attractive realizes the power she has over most men, no one will ever be good enough for her for more than, say, an hour at most. Often less. Something better always seems to come along and she leaps at it, knowing full well it won’t last, because she can.”


  “Thanks.” He grunted, turned away from the direction Riley had wandered in and looked sidelong at his bodyguard. “Split up but stay close enough to see me. Again, you look for dwarves and pretend to be inquiring about…I don’t know, regular preternatural shit. Try to turn up a lead. I, on the other hand, have experience with recognizing human drug dealers.”

  Conrad obeyed, and Remy drifted back into the crowd of mostly users and the clueless. One or two might point him in the right direction, but he wasn’t optimistic. He worked his way toward a room near the back of the floor and Conrad trailed about one room behind.

  Finally, he noticed a guy slouched against a far wall, who had “the look.” It was difficult to describe or explain and was rather something which his sixth sense picked up on, a cluster of subtle indicators born from over a decade of wanton substance abuse.

  He sauntered over to the man and made an effort to remain casual. There was no point in trying to be too surreptitious, especially amongst this crowd, but he didn’t want to be too blatant either. It was better for people to not specifically remember having seen him speaking to the dealer.

  “Heyyyy,” he said as he sidled up and instantly grasped the man’s attention.

  The guy was probably in his late twenties, sallow-faced and streetwise-looking, with a stocking cap pulled down over his head and a long, heavy coat. His left hand was thrust into the coat’s deep front pocket, while his right hand continuously twirled a hand-rolled cigarette which probably contained more than tobacco.

  “Hey, what’s happening,” he replied in a half-friendly, half-bored monotone.

  Remy laughed for no particular reason and sloshed a mouthful of beer into his mouth. He assumed this would help his act as a dumb hedonist with a poor understanding of consequences. “Just, you know, seeing what’s available. To be honest, I’ve tried to mostly keep clean lately but, well…”

  He trailed off when he sensed the man’s growing interest, then took a deep breath and resumed speaking. “It’s only that the same old shit wasn’t doing anything for me anymore, anyway, you know? Like, I want to feel that first-time rush again. Something completely new and different.”