His Fairy Share

by Meghan Maslow

  His Fairy Share

  Meghan Maslow

  Copyright © 2020 by Meghan Maslow

  All rights reserved.

  Cover Design © 2019 by Lou Harper https://coveraffairs.com/

  Edited by Carla Coupe and Lauren Weidner. You can find Lauren at: laurenweidner@counsellor.com

  This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except where permitted by law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of author imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Sign up for Meghan’s newsletter for exclusive content and to learn more about her latest books at https://www.meghanmaslow.com/

  Created with Vellum

  Dedication

  “Holy hellacious hairy hydras! Cups of creamy kitty cat kisses! I loved your swift, droll, clever, imaginative (and quite profane) narrative of Twig Starfig's adventures in BFMOF . . . . Twig's father issues, his sexual/romantic issues with Quinn, the plethora of fairies, elves, mythological characters, multiple metamorphoses, the quest for the horn (and the steamy sex) all propelled the narrative forward without a slump. I enjoyed it immensely, dear Meghan - no wonder you have a sequel printed! Well done!”

  Jim Link

  This is my all-time favorite review of By Fairy Means or Foul (Book 1, Starfig Investigations). It’s a quote from my neighbor, Jim Link. In 2018, he found out through our neighborhood grapevine that I’d written a book. Jim was EVERYONE’s friend. Always a kind word for us all . . . and a bad joke or two. He approached me during my usual morning walk (okay, neighborhood gossip session, lol) and said he wanted to show his support by buying my book. I admit, I was a little taken aback. Jim was an erudite septuagenarian who I’m pretty sure had never read a romance novel before. I explained that I was flattered, but wanted to make sure he understood that there would be no behind-closed-door sex in my book. He straightened his spine and replied, “I’ve lived over seventy years, I hardly think a little gay sex will be a problem.” So, I gave him the buy link, though I offered to gift it to him. He wouldn’t hear of it. Insisted that showing his support meant he’d “buy my own copy, thank you very much.” It still makes me smile to hear his voice in my head as he said that. So, he bought it. I didn’t actually expect him to read it or at least not to read very far into it. But he did. And once he finished, he sent me the review above. It makes me smile.

  Every. Single. Time.

  Jim passed away December 23, 2019 and it broke my heart. He touched so many lives and meant so much to our neighborhood and town. It just won’t be the same without him. So, it seems fitting to dedicate the third book in my series to him.

  Jim, you will be missed. Thank you for your kindness and for believing in me. And most especially for making me laugh. You are so loved. Rest in Peace.

  Your grateful neighbor and friend,

  Meg

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Connect with Me

  Also by Meghan Maslow

  1

  “That’s not Principal Turtlebottom,” Twig whispered urgently in my ear, our breath puffing in the frigid air.

  “Shh.” No, no, no. Not happening. La la la. Normal day. No drama. I pulled my cloak tighter around me, fighting a shiver. From the cold or his pronouncement, I couldn’t say.

  Turtlebottom, an elderly brownie and principal of the soon-to-be-opened Effin Zuk United Academy—or Zuk U, for short—droned on to the crowd, apparently unconcerned about Twig’s fidgeting at the side of the stage, or the audience huddled in their seats because of a lack of heat lamps in the room.

  Turtlebottom’s speech seemed endless. My toes felt like icicles from standing in one spot too long. Twig didn’t appear to be the only City Council Member bored out of his skull. The other three non-Alphae members of Lighthelm’s City Council stood nearby in the newly-built auditorium, each pretending interest in the proceedings while rubbing their hands together for warmth. The resident centaur and Hoofarian guild member on the Council leaned his torso on the handle of an oversized pair of ribbon-cutting scissors like a staff. Probably so he wouldn’t fall asleep.

  The bejeweled scissors had to be five feet tall. Overkill if you asked me, but I guess it would make it easy for all four CCMs to cut the ribbon together. The Elder excelled at pettiness and the one-upmanship of those in power. Twig excluded, naturally.

  “Quinn, I’m telling you, it’s not him.” Twig nudged me.

  “You’re not getting out of the ribbon-cutting ceremony,” I whispered back. “Don’t even think about it.”

  The new Zuk U heralded a big step forward for the poor families of Effin Zuk, on the edge of the red-lamp district. The academy, a hulking monstrosity of rock and iron, lay on land formerly occupied by Joyville Prison for the Magically Insane. While the academy’s design integrated much of the original structure, they’d added new components—and removed prison bars—to make it ‘child friendly.’ Naturally, only Twig and the non-Alphae Council members found time in their busy schedules to trek to the lower east side.

  “Wizard, I’m serious.” Twig nodded toward the small, hastily constructed stage and the elderly brownie practically swimming in his ceremonial robes. “That guy is not Turtlebottom.”

  I squinted. “Then who is he, and why is he delivering a speech to the assembled parents, kids, and community members?”

  “I don’t know.” Twig leaned forward to see Turtlebottom better, his long hair brushing against my cheek.

  I refrained from reaching out to feel the silky locks slide through my fingers. In his humanlike form Twig’s hair ran a deep midnight blue, identical to the scale color in his dragon form. Though now wasn’t the time to wax poetical about my familiar. I had a crisis to avert.

  “I thought you knew Turtlebottom.”

  “That’s just it, I do.” He rubbed at his chin, frowning so obviously that I elbowed him in the side. At over 7 feet tall, and all of it muscle, Twig intimidated even on his best days.

  “He’ll notice you glowering.”


  “That would be normal. I detest him. And he feels the same.”

  According to Twig, his dad hired Oliver Turtlebottom as one of a string of tutors when Twig first came to the Elder Realm as a teenager. Turtlebottom didn’t last long. But whatever happened was enough that Twig didn’t forget him. My half-dragon, half-fairy—and full badass—mate had a looong memory.

  “When we arrived did you notice he put a zing-pop mint in his mouth?” Twig added.

  “A mint?” I felt a headache coming on. We drew trouble like blood drew vampires. It must be something about the wizard-dragon combo. And we simply didn’t have time for drama today.

  After the ceremony, we needed to finish packing for our upcoming trip. We had to check on our housemate, Bill, since he seemed determined to self-destruct. No time or energy to get caught up in some bizarre missing person case.

  This couldn’t be happening.

  “Yeah, but the Turtlebottom I knew thought sucking on mints in public was the height of vulgarity.” Twig tapped his lip, considering.

  Crap, this was so happening.

  I gave myself a moment to take a deep inhale and let it out slowly. “So based on that, you’ve concluded that Turtlebottom is what? Mind Controlled? Dead? Kidnapped?”

  “Not sure. Did you notice when we took our place he smiled at us?” Twig’s hot breath on my ear sent a shiver down my spine.

  I groaned. “Smiled?”

  “Mmhmm. The old goat would never do that. In the two months he tutored me,” Twig snorted, “he never once smiled. And, even when he practically genuflected to my dad each morning, he never came close to cracking one. The guy’s as pleasant as a gargoyle with a toothache.”

  “Maybe he’s changed? It’s been more than a decade, right? People change.” Even I didn’t believe my words.

  “The real question is what’s this guy after.”

  “Come on. The CCMs are being called to the stage to cut the ribbon.” I started to move toward the podium with him, but he shook his head. Damn dragon was always trying to protect me.

  I huffed, but remained on the sidelines. I loathed showing up in the newspapers anyway. I swear, the media was 99% gossip, 0.3% news, and 0.7% letters to the editors complaining about one of the other two categories.

  “After you, ladies,” Twig said to the CCMs from the Icarus and Neptune guilds. The Hoofarian CCM then followed Twig to the podium, wrestling the oversized scissors up the rickety steps. Ah, the glamorous life of a public servant.

  The audience applauded politely, the bundled up kids arranged on the front row bleachers, followed by equally covered parents and staff. A few reporters squeezed in front next to the kids, garnering dirty looks from the parents.

  This academy was a long time coming, even if not ideal. A pet project of the non-Alphae members on the Council, they’d spent the last two terms garnering support and funds to convert the prison into a school. Only after Twig joined the nine-person Council did money trickle out of the city coffers to furnish and staff the academy so it could open.

  I wouldn’t have noticed the slight stiffening of Turtlebottom’s form as the Council members approached if I wasn’t looking for it.

  All the non-Alphae members. Together. On one stage.

  Oh, burn me! This so wasn’t good.

  “Twig!” I shouted, calling forth my magic. It responded by filling me with energy that made the hair on my arms stand on end.

  At the same time Turtlebottom threw back his robes revealing a necrolight amulet. Necrolights were rare and very illegal. It destroyed lifeforces. A one-time-use weapon, it would take down anyone within a ten-foot radius. That meant all the present City Council members and maybe a few kids in the front row.

  I couldn’t protect them all. I needed to trust my dragon to be okay.

  “Necrolight amulet, run!” I shouted as I dove toward the children. I threw up a magical shield, hoping the amulet didn’t have the power to punch through it.

  “Too late,” Turtlebottom crowed, his hands going to the amulet to activate it. “MEAF!”

  The Council members froze.

  All except Twig.

  Snatching the ceremonial scissors from the centaur’s hands—and without missing a beat—he snipped off Turtlebottom’s head. Blood sprayed. The crunching of bone could be heard over the audience’s screams. When Turtlebottom’s head hit the stage with an audible thump and rolled over the edge, all noise cut off for a few tense seconds.

  Then, several kids burst into tears and pandemonium broke out.

  Twig grinned, gave me a thumbs up, and then snipped the ribbon in two.

  Why? Why did this always happen to us?

  “Why does this always happen to you?” Elder Bureau of Investigation Agent Hatharal Leotoris stomped a dusting of snow off his highly polished boots. He approached us like a half-starved harpy that had found its next meal.

  Twig turned toward Leotoris. “Ah, Leo, what brings the EBI to Effin Zuk? Slumming it?” He grinned at the willowy elf, who was wrapped from head to toe in navy EBI winter gear.

  Did I mention that my dragon liked to push buttons?

  Leo didn’t appear fazed by Twig. He’d already had several run-ins with us when we’d been suspects in a couple of grisly dragon-related murders a few months back.

  “CCM Starfig, I’d say it’s a pleasure to see you again, but since you just beheaded a brownie in front of a bunch of kids, I don’t feel that’s true.” Leo didn’t smile, though I’m pretty sure he struggled to keep a straight face. For an EBI agent, he was an okay guy. “Not the ribbon cutting anyone expected, that’s for sure.”

  “I miss your lava java, Leo. No one gets the good stuff like you. Sure you don’t want to share where you buy it? My wizard could use a warm cup of java about now.” Twig slapped the elfin detective on the shoulder. Leo must have been expecting it because he didn’t even stumble under Twig’s strength. Impressive, believe me.

  “Are we even having the same conversation?” Leo looked to me. “Nice to see you again, Quinn. You were supposed to keep this guy out of trouble.”

  I raised a brow. “Are we in trouble, Agent?”

  “Did you not hear the part about beheading a guy in front of a host of witnesses?” He pointed over his shoulder at the EBI evidence techs swarming the corpse on the stage.

  “I did,” I acknowledged. “That doesn’t answer why you’re the agent in charge. Coincidence? Hmm, I think not.”

  “It shouldn’t come as a surprise that anything Starfig-related gets tossed my way. Twig’s father made sure of that.” If he felt disgruntled, he didn’t let it show, though he readjusted his EBI sash over his heavy woolen cloak as if it could protect him from all things Starfig. Good luck with that.

  “Did you figure out who he is? Because that guy wasn’t Turtlebottom,” Twig said.

  Leo’s gaze sharpened and he pulled out a tablet and quill. “Explain.”

  Twig told him about the mints and smiling.

  “Smiling, really?” He shook his head, though he continued scribbling notes, a paper-thin pair of gloves covering his slender fingers.

  “That’s what I said. Turns out he was right.” I shrugged, tucking my hands into the fur-lined pockets of my new forest-green wool cloak and stamping my feet to keep the circulation going. As much as Twig’s intuition drove me crazy, it was spot-on more times than not. It saved our lives on more than one occasion.

  “I’ll send agents to his house. Hold on.” Leo approached another EBI agent and they put their heads together. He wasn’t Leo’s normal partner. The guy nodded, then called over two female agents. Naturally, all elves. Why the EBI hired primarily elves had yet to be explained to me. Maybe I’d ask Twig about it sometime.

  The agent pulled out a bespelled badge, waved his hand over it, and the three disappeared with a loud pop. Other agents interviewed the crowd, while Special Wards and Tactics—SWAT—had already secured the perimeter. Guess this was a big deal. Which meant the newspapers. And that meant we could
expect an angry dressing down from Twig’s dad.

  In the meantime, Twig and I refused to huddle with the other CCMs who’d been rounded up and put under guard. Sad to say, a necrolight was hardly the scariest artifact we’d faced.

  After Leo talked to the evidence techs, he returned.

  “You were right.” Leo lowered his voice. “It’s a doppelganger.”

  “A doppelganger?” Wow, those weren’t common. They remained heavily regulated in the Elder because of their habit of killing and subsuming their victim’s identity and appearance. They’d be executed on sight in the Hominus Realm, where I grew up. Not that they were easy to spot, because, well, doppelganger.

  “These MEAFer freaks are getting out of hand,” Twig grumbled.

  “You didn’t say he’s a MEAFer.” Leo scribbled something in his tablet.

  Ugh, the ‘Make the Elder Alphae Forever’ folks were so deplorable.

  “He screamed it as he went for the amulet.” Twig rolled his eyes. “Another group who can’t do acronyms for shit. They could have been ‘Make the Elder Great Again’ and made their acronym MEGA. That sounds a little better than MEAF, don’t you think?”

  I chuckled. “Don’t give them any ideas, dragon. They’ll want to hire you to write their slogans.”