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

by Isobella Crowley

  Remy’s hands went to his tie. “I see. Where’s Alex?”

  “At an undisclosed location, albeit nearby. I can fetch him if need be, but for his own safety, it would be best not to.” The butler grew more attentive to the situation although he still tried to hold back from sharing Remington’s concern.

  “Well, Presley,” he snapped, “Moswen, whom Taylor has been locked in this little Cold War with for a while now, is now on the verge of heating things up for a full invasion. And the cartel head, this Grayhammer guy—the biggest fucking dwarf I’ve ever seen, and who happens to be immune to Riley’s magic—is also gearing up to wipe us out.”

  Presley nodded, alert but neutral.

  “If,” he went on, “we don’t rejoin Taylor, all these sons of bitches will soon be able to divide and conquer us. Or one faction will kill us while the other overwhelms Taylor. If we’re especially unlucky, they might even ally with each other and attack us with a pincer movement. We need to do something, even if she said not to.”

  The butler raised a hand to his chin and his eyes went distant for a moment. Finally, he stood and seemed much younger and fitter than he had mere seconds before.

  “You’re right, Mr. Remington,” he admitted. “At the very least, we should be aware of Ms Steele’s whereabouts and condition.”

  “Yes!” Riley interjected. “I couldn’t do anything to that dwarf. He had four rings on his hand that were enchanted with very old, powerful magic and a hammer that was bewitched with something even worse.”

  The butler nodded. “I know of a place deep in the city where Ms. Steele sometimes goes when she needs to lie low for a time. I’d wager there’s a good chance she has gone there. Let us make ready to depart and I will personally escort you.”

  Remy stood and smiled. “Now, we’re talking. I always knew you had it in you. When was the last time you went out on the town, anyway?”

  “Oh,” said Presley, “the last time I had to drive you out of trouble, I believe.”

  Abandoned Subway Tunnel, Lower Manhattan, New York

  “So, Wonder Boy,” Remy inquired and smacked Conrad nice and hard on the shoulder, “it’s good to be back in the field, isn’t it? You had what, a few hours to relax? I hope you got some sleep. We all appreciate having you here as backup muscle, though, really.”

  The man half-smiled in a way that looked slightly forced. “Thank you, sir. I…ah, was able to rest a little. Technically, I am working beyond what I was contracted for, but we can always discuss overtime pay with Taylor later. After we find her.”

  “True that,” he replied, although he almost winced. He’d have to find out if Taylor was paying the werewolf out of her own pocket or from the agency’s budget. It seemed important since, after all, the company was what put money in his pocket.

  Still, Conrad had more than earned his fee.

  Presley turned his head in his direction. “Do please keep your voice down. Conrad and I can hear well enough to know when someone is coming in time, but it would be better to converse at a lower volume.”

  “Oh, right.” He drew his hands back to his chest and pretended to look abashed. “So sorry.”

  They walked on between the rails of the old subway. The only illumination came from a faint orb of soft silver light that Riley had conjured and kept afloat ahead of them. It was entirely for the human’s benefit since she and the lycanthropes had no trouble making their way in the dark.

  Once Remy had prevailed upon Presley to join them, they had all agreed that it would be wise to pick up Conrad on their way to Taylor’s safe house.

  “It helps,” he had pointed out and coughed under his breath, “to have you along, Jeeves, since that way he knows it’s really serious. And not only, you know, me being an asshole or something.”

  The old man had offered no objection to this logic. “Mm, yes, quite right, sir. He has worked very hard lately to keep you from death.”

  Once they’d procured an electrified baton for Remy to use as a sidearm, they had driven to the younger werewolf’s residence to cajole him into accompanying them. It would be, hopefully, one last extra job before things calmed again.

  To his relief, Conrad’s townhouse turned out to be on the Upper East Side, virtually on the way to Lower Manhattan. He’d been afraid that the Ivy League bastard might live way the hell out in the Hamptons on Long Island or some such place. They didn’t have that kind of time.

  The lycanthrope had answered the door in a blue bathrobe and looked like he was about ten minutes away from going to bed. Presley had taken him aside and after only five minutes of quiet discussion, he’d dressed and followed them in his own car.

  From there, they’d proceeded to the edge of Chinatown, parked a block away from the semi-hidden entrance to a system of abandoned subway tunnels, and slipped in when no one seemed to be looking.

  At first, he had been tense and kept his hand on the shock-baton dangling from his belt. He expected an ambush at any moment. Or, worse, to stumble across Taylor’s corpse.

  Presley had noticed. “Patience, sir. We have a good half-mile to go yet, at least, and one or two twists and turns to navigate. I can detect her scent in this direction, which obviously suggests that she was well enough to continue.”

  “Okay, then.” He had shrugged and breathed deeply. “If you say so.”

  For a few more moments, they’d proceeded in silence. Now, already, the quiet had grown uncomfortable. The tunnels weren’t overly narrow—they’d been designed to accommodate a train, after all—yet the stuffy air and oppressive blackness all around them instilled a sense of claustrophobia beyond anything he was used to.

  The only question is whether I should continue to harass Conrad or, instead, should I ask Riley how she’s doing and go from there? I doubt I’ll get much verbiage from either of them, but anything would be better than all this quiet.

  He was about to speak when Presley beat him to the punch. It took a second to realize that the old butler was addressing Conrad.

  “Mr. Warfield,” he began, “if I may ask, what is your assessment of the freelancer lifestyle? I must say I’m curious how well it agrees with you at your present age.”

  Conrad chuckled before he answered. “And I must say it agrees with me quite well. I’m not that young anymore, of course, but it’s still nice to not be completely tied down yet. I feel that my skills are well-established and that I’ve cultivated a decent professional reputation at the same time. Finding work has not been too difficult.”

  “I see.” The old man nodded gently as he continued to lead them through the rusty, sepulchral depths. “That is pleasant to hear, although if I may be so bold, I might suggest you consider a different course of action soon.”

  “Oh?” The other man was politely respectful to his elder but sounded a tad skeptical.

  “You see,” Presley elaborated, “while the education we receive from the academy is perfectly well-suited to freelancing, in truth, it is geared toward long-term, gainful employment because centuries of experience have taught us that this is the most beneficial outcome.”

  Remy found his curiosity piqued. “The academy? Is that a euphemism for what we call ‘higher education,’ or is it some kind of werewolf thing?”

  Conrad glanced at him. “It’s a werewolf thing, sir.”

  “Ah.” He wasn’t much surprised.

  The butler resumed his spiel. “Once a young man has had the opportunity to travel and gain experience, there comes a time when he’s no longer quite so young and what his soul really needs is meaning and connection. For us, the best way to achieve this is to put roots down with a master or mistress as I have done with Ms Steele.”

  “Well,” said Conrad, “Taylor is all yours. Perhaps I’ll consider it, though, if I meet someone else.”

  Remy realized that he still knew next to nothing about Conrad’s juicy former affair with Taylor. Part of him didn’t want to know, but he couldn’t help at least wondering if traces of their old feelings still r
emained.

  It could affect our work, he told himself, confident that this was the sole and only reason for his interest. And the way things are going lately, I might not have another chance to ask.

  “So,” Remy interrupted, “about Taylor. You guys were in an…intimate relationship, right? That’s what you told me the other day. It came as something of a surprise. How would you say that affects your current…uh, course of action?”

  He was legitimately curious about this, but if asking the question in front of Presley and Riley embarrassed Conrad, he didn’t actually have to answer it.

  “Oh,” the man replied, “ah, yes…”

  He realized that he’d caught the lycanthrope off-guard. However, neither Presley nor Riley seemed to react much. It occurred to him that the butler probably already knew about this, given how long he and Taylor had been acquainted.

  Riley, meanwhile, merely looked tired. She was likely saving her strength for whatever lay ahead and couldn’t be bothered with drama right now.

  The werewolf found his voice and came up with a proper response to go with it. “Well, what happened between us was never anything too serious, to be perfectly frank, and…ah, it’s over now, anyway. I suppose we might qualify as ‘old friends’ but my business with her, and by extension with you, is strictly professional at this point.”

  Presley nodded. “That is the impression I had. It is useful to be able to remain professional, young sir. Never lose that quality if you can help it.”

  Remy suspected that Conrad was mostly telling the truth but he couldn’t be certain. Again, the image of the two of them together physically threatened to manifest in his brain, and he shut it down quickly.

  “Well,” he went on, “Taylor never struck me as the romantic type, so I was a little surprised to hear about that. You didn’t break her heart and make her like she is now, did you? Isn’t there an old Pat Benatar song about that sort of thing?”

  “No,” the man stated. “Again, it was some time ago. And there truly wasn’t much to it, sir. A brief fling, is all. Those kinds of things happen. Whatever minimal feelings that either of us might have had have dissipated since then. If I’d thought there were still emotions involved, I would not have agreed to this job.”

  Remy cocked an eyebrow. “Okay, then. I believe you, actually.” He did, too. For all his overly well-mannered way of speaking, he did not seem the type to outright lie about things.

  “Thank you,” was the lycanthrope’s only response.

  “Yes,” Presley added, “the ability to remain objective is absolutely paramount if an academy graduate expects a truly successful career.”

  The investigator began to examine the details of the subway’s floor as his attention waned. A dull conversation between two werewolves about institutions and concepts he’d never heard of could only hold his interest for so long.

  His gaze wandered to Riley. Although she had kept pace with them and maintained her orb of light, something about her was noticeably droopy.

  Her wings flapped in a halfhearted, slow manner, and it seemed she constantly sagged in midair and had to correct her trajectory to keep from sinking toward the floor. Her arms dangled and her head hung.

  Like Conrad—and, for that matter, Remy—she’d had almost no time to rest since the day’s earlier search and the fight with Grayhammer, not to mention her subsequent bender.

  And since he’d taken her away from the mall, no one had paid much attention to her.

  “Riley,” he said.

  “Yes?” She perked up a little.

  “I wanted to say thank you for helping us out, even when you could probably use a break,” he continued. “I mean that. Also, you look tired. Why don’t you ride on my shoulder for a while instead of flying? It won’t be a problem.”

  She smiled, less brightly but with more warmth than usual. “Okay.” Her tiny form fluttered and landed above his right arm, then leaned against his neck. “You’re very comfortable, you know.”

  He smiled. “I do know, thank you very much.”

  Five minutes passed, during which their conversations trailed off and ceased altogether. They passed through an intersection in the tunnels and cut across a platform to another tunnel. It ran parallel at first, then curved gradually away in another direction.

  Trepidation began to rise slowly in all four of them—an urge to know exactly what had happened and to move on with the next step in the process.

  Suddenly, both lycanthropes stopped in their tracks.

  “Whoa,” Remy exclaimed when he almost walked into Conrad’s back.

  The young werewolf ignored him. The older, meanwhile, had dropped to his knees. The investigator stepped around Conrad and squinted at the floor as Riley brought her light-ball around to illuminate it.

  His mouth fell open. They’d stumbled into what looked like the aftermath of a low-level terrorist attack.

  A section of the metal rail had been ripped up from the floor and was twisted halfway into the air. Dust, pebbles, and general debris lay in heaps. It wasn’t difficult to see where it had come from as long gashes and spiderweb cracks scarred the walls.

  There was blood everywhere. Even he could smell that it hadn’t been spilled long before.

  “Whose blood is this?” he asked.

  The werewolves were already sniffing around. The butler stood. “Some of it is Taylor’s,” he stated. “Not all but some. She may be badly injured. We are not far from her sanctuary. We must hurry.”

  Remy had no objections to that. Taylor could take one hell of a beating but it looked like someone had butchered a couple of cows there. Whatever had happened, it couldn’t have been good.

  They picked up the pace to a fast trot, almost a jog, and he gave silent thanks that he’d been getting in better shape. Of course, Conrad quickly pulled out in front and, surprisingly, Presley wasn’t far behind.

  Riley offered a comment as he hustled along. “Some of that blood smelled really bad.”

  “One of Moswen’s servants?” he asked.

  “Maybe. Probably?” The fairy wasn’t operating on all cylinders, so her senses may have been dulled.

  For a moment, the two men slowed when there was a rumbling vibration somewhere up ahead.

  “It’s only a train in another tunnel, or perhaps a truck up above,” Conrad suggested. He pressed on and the others followed closely.

  “I think,” Presley added, “that someone may be following us, however. It’s difficult to tell with all the interference from the streets over our heads.”

  Remy’s spirits sank at the thought of that. “Well, let’s not waste time.”

  They’d gone only another fifty yards or so, though, when the two lycanthropes again came to a sudden halt. Before he could ask what was wrong, Presley held up an open hand for silence.

  A narrow, perpendicular corridor branched off to the right ahead of them. The tunnel definitely rumbled. It was clearer now and in fact, it sounded less like a vehicle than it did like dozens of heavy, pounding footsteps.

  “Oh, shit.” His heart leapt painfully.

  At least ten dwarves burst out of the corridor, streamed into the tunnel ahead of them, and spread into a skirmish line. All glared and brandished weapons. Their ranks were immediately swelled by two more waves of dwarves.

  The quartet froze, all knowing they needed to act but not yet sure what to do.

  Amidst the platoon of short, broad humanoids, one began to emerge slowly and towered over the others. His dark silhouette held a gigantic hammer.

  “No!” Riley cried. “We can’t fight him again. Not with all of them here.”

  A thunderous voice boomed out of the mass. “Yes, you can. And you will. Stand and fight. Fight!”

  The dwarves hadn’t attacked yet. Having cut them off, they seemed to be preparing to encircle them once all were assembled.

  Conrad whispered to his companions. “Someone is coming from behind us, too. We walked into a trap.”

  “Well,”
Remy countered, “are we sure it’s more dwarves? It might be a goddamn survey crew for all we know. Riley, go find out while we try to stall these assholes.”

  The fairy, her energy restored by the sudden danger, launched from his shoulder and darted back the way they’d come.

  He cleared his throat. “Hi, Grayhammer! Sorry about the misunderstanding earlier, ha. We actually were only trying to…uh, pay tribute or something and propose an alliance to, you know, profit-share some of the—”

  “Bullshit!” the dwarf leader roared. The investigator saw, with mounting terror, that a subtle whitish glow seemed to play about the surface of the dwarf’s skin. “You’re here to die!”

  The three men began to back away and the dwarves immediately started their advance. Glancing over his shoulder, Remy saw that Riley almost careened toward him.

  “Well, that was fast,” he said to her. “What—”

  “Moswen’s thralls!” the fairy shrieked. “They’re coming around the bend.”

  He slapped his right hand directly onto his own face. “You have to be fucking kidding me,” he mumbled.

  At least the werewolves had already begun to strip their clothes off.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Abandoned Subway Tunnel, Lower Manhattan, New York

  The dwarves advanced at a fast march but not yet a full charge, almost as if they dared the four to try to run. Their heavy footfalls and disciplined formation seemed to be as much for intimidation as anything else.

  Faintly, behind them, Remington could hear the other welcoming committee getting closer, a scrabbling, chaotic rush of bodies that tried to crawl over or around one another in a maddened frenzy.

  Riley hovered in place over his head. The two lycanthropes were already hunched and hair sprouted from their bare backs. He noticed, with a curious amusement, that Presley’s fur was a uniform milky white.