And preferably my species.
“Because that’s what you are,” Dobby replied. “And I think that because you never come to see me on Tuesdays. The drink specials do not interest you, and you only visit when it is convenient.”
I winced. I wanted to argue, but he was right. It wasn’t Dobby I was avoiding, per se, but the responsibility Ryan had shackled me with when he left. As far as I was concerned, Dobby was an out-of-sight, out-of-mind problem; so long as Christoff didn’t call with bad news, I could go about my day without giving him much thought. Visiting meant acknowledging that, at some point, Dobby might not want to stock shelves or take inventory. That, one day, he might want to use his newfound knowledge and substantial power to cause a ruckus in my city.
I had no idea how I’d stop him, if that happened.
He chuckled. “That was not a critique, my lady. I’m content with where I am, for now. I appreciate you putting me under your protection. I was merely explaining my reasoning.”
I decided to move on, ignoring the “for now” portion of Dobby’s response before I developed an ulcer. “I’m goin’ to New York City.”
“What for?”
“It’s a job,” I explained. “For Othello.”
“Ah, yes. The woman you mentioned, but did not want me to meet.”
“T’wasn’t that I didn’t want ye to meet,” I insisted. “It’s that I promised Ryan I’d keep you under the Chancery’s radar. I trust her, but it might put her in a tough position, knowin’ you’re here. She has a friend in the Chancery. Someone relatively high up, I t’ink.”
“The Chancery.” Dobby nodded. “Yes, the young Fae mentioned them to me once or twice. He always seemed concerned about how they might react once I was discovered, but I reassured him that, so long as I was under your protection, they posed no threat to me.”
I sincerely doubted that, but didn’t feel like contradicting him. “Well, I still don’t want ye gettin’ into trouble, ye hear?” I said.
“Of course not, my lady.”
“Good.” I sighed. It worried me that Dobby thought I would be able to protect him if the Chancery came knocking. At this point, I wasn’t entirely sure I’d be able to protect myself. That was the problem with the Fae: their magic was unpredictable. Ryan’s illusions, his grammarie, had never blinded me to reality—but that didn’t mean I was safe from the other Fae that lurked out there. A creature like Paul wouldn’t have to hit me with magic to take me out—a tree would be more than adequate. “Well anyway,” I said, “it’s time for me to be goin’.”
“Would you like me to come with you?” Dobby asked.
“Oh, well, I—”
Dobby held up the Ring of Gyges, an artifact I’d stolen from a vampire rock band at Ryan’s request, which gave its wearer the ability to turn invisible. It was especially handy—no pun intended—in Dobby’s case, since it meant he could slither around in his shadow monster form without panicking the masses. I realized he was suggesting I let him tag along, my very own invisible monster bodyguard. I shook my head. “No, I t’ink I can handle this one on me own.”
Dobby nodded, then cocked his head a bit, as if listening to a frequency only he could hear. “Have you begun to use it, then, my lady?”
I arched an eyebrow. “Use what?”
“Your magic.”
Chapter 6
I would have immediately demanded answers, but—before I could so much as blink—the sneaky little bastard slipped on the ring and disappeared faster than I could say “Bilbo Baggins.”
“Oy!” I yelled. “Get back here!”
It was possible the spriggan was simply blowing smoke—his memory did tend to make him say weird things at inappropriate times. But, as perhaps the oldest Faeling I’d ever met, it made sense he might have encountered someone like me before—surely, I wasn’t the first of my kind? I felt silly for not confronting him about it sooner. The next time I saw him, I vowed I’d make him talk, invisibility or not. I wasn’t sure how one could coerce a spriggan, but where there’s a will, there’s a way.
If all else failed, I could always try shooting him.
“Ye better be ready to talk when I get back!” I belted.
I left the warehouse, returning home to finish packing; I had a few more fashion decisions to make before the flight in the morning. Fortunately, without my gun and gear I had plenty of room for clothes. Unfortunately, I felt naked without it.
Life’s a bitch like that, sometimes.
Later that evening, I headed over to my aunt Desdemona’s house—our house, once. Dez wasn’t really my aunt, but my mom’s best friend. When my mother died giving birth to me, Dez had taken me in and raised me as her own. She’d been kidnapped only a few weeks ago, so lately I’d tried to make more of an effort to see her. Fortunately, she seemed to have moved past it in the last week or so.
I was glad to see her recovering so quickly, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t keeping an eye on her; sometimes trauma like that lingered, and I wasn’t about to let her suffer alone. After all, it had been my fault she’d been taken in the first place.
“Hey, Dez!” I called as I came in, towing my luggage behind me. Dez had promised to give me a ride to the airport in the morning so I wouldn’t have to bother with booking a hotel or calling an Uber. I hadn’t wanted to inconvenience her, but staying with Christoff and his family hadn’t seemed like an ideal situation, Othello had already flown back to St. Louis, and Jimmy hadn’t returned my latest call.
I needed more friends.
“In the guest room, Quinn!” Dez called down from the second floor. I set my luggage aside and marched up the stairs, ignoring the slight twinge that plagued the knee I’d injured while taking on Academy Justices on behalf of a backstabbing skinwalker. I’d like to say that such occurrences were rare, but I had too many scars in too many places to make that stick. I’d considered letting a doctor give me a once over, but I was more than a little afraid she’d come back with a diagnosis that included grave looks and statements like “shouldn’t be upright” or “requires immediate surgery.”
I found Dez in her workshop, which she insisted on calling the guest room, even though overnight visitors were exceedingly rare. I was surprised to find it remarkably free of its usual clutter, a queen-sized air mattress blown up in the corner, smothered in decorative quilts. Dez smiled when I entered. “I know t’isn’t your old bed, but I hope it’ll do for tonight.”
I hugged her. Dez was one of the very few people I felt comfortable enough to do that with; it was better to keep most people at arms-length, in my experience. “It’s lovely, t’anks.”
Dez pulled back from the hug and studied my face. “Ye seem tired. Everythin’ alright?”
I considered giving her the skinny on my business trip to New York, but decided against it. I didn’t want to worry her needlessly. Besides, if Othello’s read on the situation was correct, I might not even be gone that long; I merely needed to find whatever it was the broker wanted in exchange for the seed and make a trade. Simple.
Yeah, right.
“Everythin’ is fine, Dez. Just gettin’ back into the swing of t’ings. Ye know how it is.”
Dez flicked her eyes over my face once more before shrugging. “Suit yourself. If ye want to talk, ye know I’m here.” She raised herself up on her toes and kissed my cheek lightly. “I’ll let ye get settled in.”
I waited until she left before collapsing on the air mattress with a gleeful whoop. I lay there for a few minutes, studying the walls. Dez had painted over them since I’d moved out, trading the soft shade of purple for a neutral beige. My posters were conspicuously absent; Jim Morrison’s mugshot, Jimi Hendrix’s afro, Freddie Mercury’s mustache—all gone. I closed my eyes, remembering all the mornings I’d woken up and risen, bleary-eyed, and punched the play button on my stereo, blasting guitar riffs throughout the house.
Small wonder the posters were missing.
My phone rang. My eyes shot open and I fumbled for it,
prying it free from my jacket to glance at the caller ID. It was an unknown number, but the area code was familiar. I went ahead and answered, ignoring that nagging voice in the back of my head that told me not to.
Telemarketer PTSD—it’s a thing.
“This is Quinn MacKenna,” I said.
“Hey, Quinn! It’s Tanya. From the dojo.”
“Oh, hello, Tanya.” Tanya was a teenager, probably 16 or 17 years old, who trained with me at the Kenpo dojo across town. I hadn’t been by since I hurt my knee, but my absence shouldn’t have surprised anyone; I was known for popping in whenever I felt like it. The perks of being a third-degree black belt, I guess.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but Sensei mentioned you called to tell him you were going out-of-town. To New York City, right?”
“Aye,” I drawled. “Why do ye ask?”
“Well, I—I was hoping…I mean, I wanted to know if you could do something for me while you’re there?”
I could tell Tanya was exceptionally nervous, which was odd. She’d always seemed assertive, especially for her age. Maybe it was me. “Somethin’ like?” I asked, trying to sound gentle.
Tanya took a deep breath. “It’s my sister, Terry. She came by the dojo once or twice to pick me up, but I don’t know if you two ever met.”
“Aye, I remember.” Tanya’s sister was sort of hard to miss. The slightly older girl had one of those face and body combinations that made most women inexplicably catty—smooth, sun-kissed skin, a megawatt smile, and Victoria Secret Angel proportions.
“Oh, good. So, the thing is, Terry left two months ago. My, uh, well she and my mom had a fight. Terry decided she didn’t want to go back for her second semester at college and that she wanted to move to New York City. Mom wasn’t happy.”
I chuckled. “Tanya, I can’t go draggin’ your sister home against her will.”
“That’s not what I’m asking,” Tanya snapped. I heard her fight back a sniffle and felt the hairs on my neck stand up. Something wasn’t right. “She wanted to try and make it out there, I get that,” Tanya continued after taking a deep, calming breath. “Mom understood, too, even if she didn’t like it. Terry got a place and things were okay. She and mom were talking again. Then two weeks ago she said she’d finally gotten a big break, and that she’d tell me more about it soon. Except she didn’t. She disappeared.” Tanya’s voice cracked and I could tell she was on the verge of tears.
“So ye want me to check in on her while I’m there?” I asked, gingerly.
“No, we’ve already tried that. Mom flew down there a few days ago, but no one has heard from Terry in weeks. Money’s tight, so Mom had to come home. There’s a detective in charge of her case who might know more. Maybe you could talk to him? At least let us know if they’re really looking? They won’t tell us much, but I remember you said you knew a few policemen…” Tanya drifted off, then spoke again, softly. “Mom keeps saying Terry will pop up soon. I’m sure she’s trying to make me feel better. I…I’d rather know the truth.”
I paused for a moment before responding. “Listen, I’m not sure what I’ll be able to do that isn’t already bein’ done by the police, but,” I added, before she could break down on me, “I’ll do everythin’ I can to find out what they know. Ye have me number, so if anythin’ changes—let’s say she calls ye in the next few days—ye let me know, alright?”
“Oh, of course. Thank you! If you find her, can you do something for me?”
“Are ye sure ye want to keep pilin’ on the favors?” I asked, teasing.
“Put her in a finger lock until she calls home.”
I laughed. “See, it’s times like these that I’m glad I’m an only child.”
Tanya chuckled, but then her voice grew somber once more. “She and I aren’t really into any of the same things, but she’s always been there for me, especially after our dad died. She picked up the pieces for all of us, really.”
“I’ll do me best to find her,” I reassured Tanya once again, praying that—when and if I found her sister—she’d be safe and sound, and breathing.
If I was being honest with myself, I’d never considered New York City an inherently dangerous place. I mean it had its shadier aspects, like any city—the thieving gangs who floated around Times Square looking for easy marks, the crazies who stalked the subways, the hipsters who ruined brunching. That didn’t necessarily mean something awful had happened to Terry. Two weeks, after all, was a relatively short span of time. The fact that a detective was looking for her, however, didn’t bode well. Good thing I had an ace-in-the-hole when it came to tracking down missing persons.
“Thanks, Miss MacKenna,” Tanya said, again.
“It’s Quinn,” I corrected. “And don’t mention it.”
I’d called Othello immediately after getting off the phone with Tanya. She’d been surprised to hear from me so soon, but when I filled her in on the situation she’d been more than happy to help. I fed her Terry’s full name and last known address, which I’d gotten from Tanya in a text, and Othello said she’d get back to me as soon as she found anything.
“See,” Othello said, “I told you. Good heart.”
“Aye, well don’t go advertisin’ that to me customers. I prefer ‘em to t’ink otherwise,” I replied.
“Oh, that’s right! I’d forgotten. What do you charge? You’ll have to send me an invoice for expenses and such.”
I shook my head before realizing Othello couldn’t see it. “Don’t ye worry about that,” I insisted. “Consider this me repayin’ ye for the briefcase affair. Besides, you’ve seen me bank account. I’m not exactly hurtin’ in the funds department.”
It was true. While I didn’t always give off the classiest vibe—I’d grown up on the fringes of Southie, after all—my tastes were expensive. Aside from the sexy AmEx Black card I used to routinely rack up outrageous bills at Nordstrom and Saks, I didn’t really flaunt my wealth; I used public transportation, I sought out dive bars, and I hunted for bargains.
Truthfully—despite my spending habits—I had a lot more money than I knew what to do with. I couldn’t hold a candle next to Nate Temple and the rest of the billionaires out there, mind you, but my invoices regularly hit six figures. It was like Othello said: the more priceless the object, the more people were willing to pay.
How much would you pay to breathe fire? To make others fall for you? To cure a loved one? To fly?
Exactly.
“Nonsense,” Othello insisted. “I was teasing you about the briefcase before. How about gadgets? I’ve been doing some very interesting things with nanobots recently.”
“Nanobots?” I chuckled. “No, I t’ink I’m alright.” But then a thought occurred to me—one that should have done so much sooner. “Actually, I am eager to get me hands on a wee bit of information.”
“What is it?”
“I want to know how to cross into Fae.”
Othello was silent on the other end of the line.
“Oy, did ye cut out?” I asked.
“No, I’m here.”
The silence stretched. “Would ye be willin’ to look into that for me then?” I pressed.
“First, I want to know why you want to cross over. Then I need you to tell me why you reached out to me,” she said, tersely.
“For the same reason I called ye about Terry,” I replied, confused by her current attitude. “You’re me best chance at findin’ answers I can’t find on me own. Why?”
“Suspicious timing, that’s all,” Othello said, sounding somewhat mollified. She sighed. “I don’t know how to cross over, but I know someone who does. If you return with the seed, he may be inclined to help you. But he’ll want to know your reasons, I can promise you that. You won’t be able to dodge him when he asks about your intentions.”
“I wasn’t dodgin’ ye, Othello. It’s just…personal.”
“I understand. We all have our secrets. Good luck tomorrow, and say hello to your driver for me, when you get to the airport.�
� She hung up. I stared down at my phone, so excited I hardly registered Othello’s clipped goodbye.
I might have found a way into Fae.
After years of searching, my desire to cross into the Fae realm had become a pipe dream of sorts—that extended vacation you always meant to take but never had the time or money for. I’d asked Ryan to find me a way in numerous times, but he’d always refused to help. I’d even briefly considered entertaining the lesbian overtures of a headless horsewoman named Cassandra—she’d casually slipped me her digits before opening a gateway to Fae—but I couldn’t commit to kissing a floating head, no matter the gender.
I flopped back on the bed and did a little dance of excitement, ignoring the brief flash of guilt I felt for not telling Othello everything. I hadn’t lied to her or anything—my reason for wanting to go was personal. It was also a bit embarrassing. Filling her in on my dad’s absence in my life and my dream of discovering once and for all where I belonged felt too cliché—I could practically hear Disney’s Hercules theme song playing in the background on a tiny violin.
To take my mind off it all, I mapped out the route from JFK to the precinct where Detective Ricci—the man in charge of Terry’s case—worked. He might be able to give me an idea of where to start, depending on what they knew, if anything. Between Othello, myself, and the NYPD, I was confident we’d be able to give Tanya some answers—though perhaps unwelcome ones.
Despite all that, I went to sleep with a smile on my face.
Chapter 7
The flight into New York was uneventful. I strolled through John F. Kennedy Airport, trying not to bump into the several hundred other passengers herding towards the arrivals gate. I’d forgotten how congested New York City could be, but for some reason it bothered me less here than it might have anywhere else. While Boston was in my blood, I’d always had a special place in my heart for Manhattan. Here, everyone was weird—standing out from the crowd was the point. Here, no one batted an eye when I towered over them, or asked me to parrot their words in my “funny” accent. In fact, in New York, people rarely spoke to or looked at each other at all; eye contact and conversation were reserved for people you actually cared about.
Cosmopolitan Page 4