“Cast the tracking spell,” he ordered her. “This is the way it’ll be. I’d rather have you do it but if you won’t, I’ll go back to Fluttershire with a new jug of honey and hire another fairy who will.”
Her shoulders slumped and she hung her tiny head, defeated. After a moment, she nodded.
“Okay. But please…be careful.”
Remy swallowed the acrid saliva that had pooled under his tongue. “Yeah.” He woke his phone and held it up for the fairy to examine the photo.
Riley straightened and made a sweeping motion with her arm. A faint silver-blue glow appeared around the screen and faint, sparkling traces erupted from the sidewalk ahead, weaved into the nearest alley, and ran up a tall building near the end of the passage.
He inhaled and his nostrils flared. “Let’s go,” he said.
Tenor Extended Stay Hotel, Queens, New York
“Yes,” Riley said, “this is where the trail ends. I’m sure of it.” Her little face frowned. “I don’t like the look of this place, though. Or the feel or smell of it.”
Remy parked across the street—far enough away to be inconspicuous from the motel but close enough that he could keep an eye on his rather nice, expensive vehicle.
“Well,” he remarked, “this is a crappy neighborhood. It’s not supposed to look, feel, or smell good.”
He looked around. Two of the streetlamps were broken. Most of the nearby businesses were vacant, and it sounded like a couple was having a colorful argument in the tenement down the road. Potholes pitted the street but no gang members loitered around, at least.
“You know,” he added, “it’s almost charming, really. That bus tour place ought to sell tickets to come through here. ‘See New York the way it was back when they made Death Wish 1.’ I bet they’d make a ton of money.”
He rolled the passenger side window down. “Riley, do me a favor and fly out for a while. Scout the area, find out which room our friend is in, if there’s any security we’ll have to deal with, if there are any local pricks we’ll have to deal with, that kind of thing.”
“Okay,” she replied. “I’m glad you’re at least being—what’s the word?—strategic about this.”
He smiled coolly. “It’s the best way to be about things when your goal is to kick some ass.”
The fairy floated out and was quickly lost to sight.
While she did recon, Remy glanced into the back seat. A picnic basket was not the only thing he’d brought today. There was also a zipped duffel bag, mostly hidden under the passenger seat.
It contained a few items that he had borrowed from Taylor. Things that would help persuade their friend in the motel room to come along quietly.
He reached back and, after a struggle, dragged the bag into the passenger seat. Once he’d unzipped it, he selected a Taser, a loaded .357 Magnum, and a police-style nightstick. Superhuman speed and strength or no, it was only one guy, after all, and the idea was to apprehend him rather than kill him.
Unless absolutely necessary.
Remy shoved the Magnum down the waistband of his pants at his back. It was a smaller, snub-nosed model, so it fit although it was a little awkward. That weapon, being lethal, would be saved as a last resort or possibly for serious intimidation. If he struck the bastard with the Taser and held the club over him, that ought to do the trick without the need to resort to blowing his head off.
A tiny, iridescent form fluttered toward him, the dragonfly wings reflecting the lamplight in flashes of bright gold. When the fairy was almost upon him, he pressed one of the switches to open the window for her and closed it once she floated in.
“Okay,” she said breathlessly. “I looked everywhere. No one else is around. Everything outside seems to be safe.”
Remy nodded. “Good. I don’t feel like dealing with a horde of appetizers before we get to the main course. Now, point out which room he’s in.”
Riley hesitated and bit her lip as she glanced to the side. “Remy…the aura coming off that room gives me a really bad feeling. I don’t think this is a good idea.”
He’d been about to open the car door and step out but he stopped, mostly in annoyance that she now tried to have this conversation again.
“We’ve already been through all this, Riley.” He sighed. “With the element of surprise, plus help from you, we—”
“There’s powerful magic coming out of that room,” she protested. “Dark, evil power. I’ve only smelled or felt anything like that twice before, and both times, I flew away. Maybe he isn’t the source of the power, but much of it has rubbed off on him. Please, let’s think about trying something else.”
Remy scowled and a tremor of tension rippled through his body. He refused to back down now when his chance to redeem himself was right across the street.
And yet, part of him had to consider that the fairy knew what she was talking about. Something else went through him then—an old, time-honored response to stress, to uncertainty, and to any sort of negative emotion or personal setback whatsoever.
The desire to get high.
“No,” he snapped. Riley probably thought he was speaking to her. In fact, he’d spoken to himself as well. “We will not run away. I’ll go first and you follow and offer help if you think I need it. Really, this can’t be that hard, can it?”
He opened the door and eased his legs out onto the pavement, the Taser in his right hand when he closed the car. The nightstick hung from his side and the Magnum remained secure in his rear waistband.
The fairy drifted upward and allowed him to pass beneath her as he walked briskly but without hurrying toward the motel.
The office appeared to be locked for the night. There was a security light on but no one in sight and when he approached, he saw a Closed sign on the door. That was good. It meant no one would pester him as to what he was doing there with a collection of weapons.
Unless one of the other guests tried to intervene.
I have legitimate reasons. I’m a professional private investigator, after all. And since the preternatural is involved, well, Taylor can probably cover it up if anything gets out of hand.
Riley must have pointed toward the room he was looking for since a faint silvery glow emitted from one of the doors at the far end of the motel. He walked casually toward it and stopped when he was only a few feet from the edge of the window.
The occupant had pulled the curtains all the way shut, so he wouldn’t see anyone pass. A faint glow behind them, though, confirmed that their target was indeed in his room. All that was left was the door.
The fairy fluttered ahead and now hovered above the entrance. Remy caught her eye and pantomimed turning a door handle. She nodded and made a motion with her hand. A few sparkles erupted from the latch as it silently unlocked itself.
Remington stepped in front of the door and took a deep breath. The memory of how easily he’d had his ass handed to him on the edge of Times Square returned, unbidden and unwanted, and he pushed it out of his mind.
The only decision now was whether to say, “Freeze,” or make some other authoritative or even heroic kind of comment, or merely to fire the Taser immediately. Now that he thought about it, shooting first would be a smarter course of action.
He stretched his left hand out and thrust the door open.
About a second passed in which he took in the scene before he acted.
The room was essentially a studio apartment, small and dumpy, its main floor dominated by a bed that barely qualified as a double. On the far side of the room, almost directly across from the door and beside what was presumably the bathroom, was a creaky little desk, at which a man sat in a swivel chair.
He swung to face the intruder. “Hey!” he exclaimed. There was no time to get a good look at his face, but he was blond and average-sized, and his bright blue eyes looked familiar.
Remy aimed and shouted, “Don’t move!” even as he began to squeeze the trigger.
The man launched upwards, as quickly and forcefully as if gravity had b
een canceled or as if he were made of metal and someone had turned on a giant magnet in the ceiling.
“Fuck!” the investigator exclaimed. Everything happened too fast. He eased his finger off the trigger, suddenly on the verge of panic.
This wasn’t supposed to happen like this, goddammit! He cursed himself. How am I already screwing it up?
He swung the weapon upward. The man had already scuttled across the ceiling and now dropped directly on top of him, his average-looking face contorted in rage and cornered-animal fear and his hands outstretched like claws.
Remy stumbled to the side, half-fell and half-rolled along the wall, and realized a split second after he’d moved that he should have backed away and bolted from the room. Instead, he was now trapped within it.
The man thumped onto the floor, roared, and spun on his feet toward his uninvited guest. His jaw slack, Remy aimed his Taser and fired.
The twin darts rocketed out to strike the man in the chest. He was about three feet away and while the attack slowed him a little, it didn’t stop his charge.
His hands pounded into the investigator’s chest and shoved him into the opposite wall.
“Urgh!” Remington grunted and pain seared through him when he collided. The wall behind him shook and he was reasonably sure he’d cracked at least two ribs.
The blond man hunched over and clutched his own chest. His muscles vibrated and sparks erupted from his body. Veins stood out on his neck and temples and his teeth clenched and scraped against each other.
Remy took a step forward and tried to pull the nightstick from his side. A sharp pang of agony ran from his chest to his right shoulder and he froze in place.
His adversary yanked the two electrified barbs attached by their copper wire from his chest and threw them aside. He stood, his body heaving as he breathed. It was almost as though he had swallowed the electricity within him and digested it.
He glared at his opponent with blue, blazing hatred.
“Crap.”
A small, silvery form flitted behind them both and now floated near the ceiling.
“Remy!” the fairy cried.
The man pounced. Remy flung himself to the side, onto and over the bed, and he wasn’t sure if it was Riley’s intervention or merely some distortion of his consciousness, but it seemed that the blond guy moved in slow motion.
He barely evaded the charge. Even slowed as he was, his enemy’s hands closed around air only inches from his legs as he toppled backward and rolled himself to the other side.
“Nice try!” the other man barked.
Remy spun off the bed. He wobbled and jerked clumsily, his ribs still jabbing at him, and tried to pivot toward his foe. One hand fumbled for the Magnum and relief almost overwhelmed him when he found it was still there and hadn’t slipped out during his impromptu gymnastics.
Briefly, he saw Riley flail her arms as she tried to concoct a new spell to interfere with whatever the blue-eyed man’s next move was. The force or entity that empowered him must have made him immune to magical sleep effects.
His hand closed around the revolver’s hilt. In the next second, his adversary grinned savagely, grasped the bed, and flipped it up toward him.
He had no time to react and was in shock, besides. The bed’s quilt-lined top suddenly careened into his face.
Again, he was hammered against a wall. This time, he screamed, but the bed thumped into him and muffled the sound. There were only darkness and stuffiness and blunt-force impact.
Riley’s small voice called somewhere from the other side of the room and sounded faint and distant. “Leave him alone!” She seemed almost strangled with dismay and frustration.
As Remy fought to keep himself coherent, he struggled forward and pushed against the upended piece of furniture. The mattress slouched off it and began to weigh on his legs.
The other man took a couple of quick steps across the floor and delivered another powerful blow in Remy’s gut.
With a yelp, he collapsed against the bed and realized his assailant had punched through it to strike him in the abdomen with the debris as well as his fist. He felt sick like he might spit blood.
I fucked up. His mind acknowledged the truth, on the verge of despair. This might be the end.
The bed tottered and fell toward the center of the room. As the space before him became visible again, Remy gaped. The blond man and the tiny fairy had become locked in some barely perceptible magical duel.
Silver flashes and sparks erupted from the air in front of Riley, and other flashes, like golden flames, blossomed before the strange man. Both stared, bug-eyed, and seemed to strain against some invisible element of the other’s power.
The bed crashed to the floor and he stumbled around it and along the far wall, trying to settle his aim on his foe while also positioning himself near the room’s door to flee if he had to.
He succeeded. The opened doorway and the free night air beyond were only a step or two to his right.
But with the man distracted, he had to try, one more time, to capture the bastard.
Remy drew his gun, knowing his movements were too slow after the ass-kicking he’d taken, and watched with horror as a yellowish flash seemed to engulf the whole room and Riley was driven back, squealing, through the door.
The man’s eyes almost glowed when he turned to look at Remy.
He aimed the Magnum and prepared to cock the hammer. “Okay,” he gasped, his cracked ribs and bludgeoned stomach making it hard to talk or breathe much, “hold it right there. You’re coming with us, you prick. Come along quietly, and uh—”
Faster than he could comprehend, the man cleared the distance between them and battered the gun from his hand. It struck the wall so hard the cylinder popped out and some of the bullets clattered on the floor.
For a second, they stood, three feet apart, and stared into each other’s faces.
Remy turned and ran. Or hobbled, at least. The room fell away behind him and he reached the parking lot. He staggered desperately to his car, trying not to even contemplate the odds that Mr Superhuman would catch him within the next second and snap him in two.
To his surprise, the man did not pursue him.
The seconds dragged while he got closer to the car. He collapsed against it and fumbled in his pocket for his keys as he looked over his shoulder.
Riley had again leaped to his defense and tried to stall the man with her magic once more. Sparks lit up the night.
Remy opened the car door and fell in, grunted with pain, and turned the keys. He wheeled the vehicle, opened the passenger side window, and yelled, “Riley! Get in!”
The small form darted through the window and he stamped on the accelerator. Squealing tires added to the roar of the engine and the cheap motel dwindled in the rearview mirror.
Riley floated around him as he drove through Queens and tried to calm himself enough to avoid running a red light or something similarly stupid.
“Are you okay?” The fairy certainly still cared about him. Of that, he had no doubt.
He coughed and tasted the salt of blood on his lips before he answered her.
“No.”
Chapter Sixteen
Tenor Extended Stay Hotel, Queens, New York
Alex hesitated in the open doorway, frozen in the mental chaos of indecision, and stared out into the city night. The Lincoln accelerated out of the parking lot and into the street.
Before he could make up his mind whether or not to pursue Remington and his minuscule companion, something else made the decision for him.
“Oh, God!” he cried as an incendiary bomb seemed to detonate in his chest.
Light pulsed from the brand. He wasn’t more than half a second into the punishment session when he knew this was beyond anything Moswen had done to him before. The pain penetrated to his very core.
Shaking violently, he collapsed and his fingers clawed at the floor, his brain almost entirely deprived of the ability to think. The only thing it could m
uster was a hope—or perhaps merely a need—for it to be over soon.
If it didn’t flare viciously until it killed him.
He had defied Moswen’s will to the greatest extent possible. She wanted the opposition either on her side or dead, not running around, free and defiant. Which was exactly where both Taylor and Remington were right now.
Even with the fairy’s interference, he could have killed the rich kid. He’d had half a dozen chances during their brief scuffle alone to end the bastard’s life and be done with it. But he’d held back.
Now, as he writhed on the ground in torment, he paid for that inaction. Worse, he might be paying for the secret motivation behind it.
His only chance, he’d surmised, to be free of Moswen’s enslavement was the slight chance that Taylor might still help him. It wasn’t likely, especially after the ugly fight outside the museum, but there was still a sliver of hope.
If he’d killed her human pet, though, she would never listen to him. She’d regard him purely as a threat and would probably want revenge. And so, he’d stopped himself from slaying the prick outright and tried to either drive him off or capture him instead.
Now, he regretted that decision.
“Stop!” he pleaded and spittle trailed from his mouth. “Enough! I’m sorry…”
As rapidly as it had slithered into him from the depths of hell, the agony eased and finally, vanished altogether.
He hunched over, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps, and his mind flooded with relief as a single thought pushed out all the pain and fear:
I am alive. She stopped short of killing me.
No sooner had this truth articulated itself than he realized something was wrong. Or, at least, something was different from the other times the brand had flared up.
The room was silent. The phone didn’t ring.
“What?” he murmured. “What the hell does that mean?”
If his mistress tried to read his mind right now, all she’d run into was fearful confusion. And if she had read it, she wasn’t in any hurry to provide answers.
Perhaps she felt he’d gotten the point by now—that everything would be fine provided he didn’t mess things up again. Maybe, just maybe, all he had to do was get that cat statue and all would be forgiven.
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