Winterstruck: an urban fantasy supernatural crime thriller

by Sara C. Walker

  Powerful. Like fae royalty.

  And it scared the crap out of me.

  I pressed my forehead to the cold glass and called Magnusson, but ended up leaving him a voice message that detailed Hammond's presence and described the one in the fur coat. I hoped he got the message in time to get here before Hammond left the restaurant. I would hate to be this close to him only to have him slip away.

  I called Oshaun too, but ended up leaving her a message as well. I also told her about my conversation with the patrol cop about Wheeler and possible faerie trauma.

  What was the point in having cell phones if people weren't going to answer them?

  I glanced out the doors at the empty street, and with a shudder, turned to return to Luke and his parents, who were no doubt starting to wonder where I'd wandered off to.

  The host stepped in front of me, blocking my access to the dining room.

  "Do you have a reservation?" His accent was French. His attitude...needed adjusting.

  "No—"

  "We are all booked, miss," he said with a sniff.

  Was he for real?

  "I just came down to use the phone. I'm with the Thomas family. You seated us earlier. We're celebrating." I waggled my diamond-decorated ring finger.

  "I have no memory of that. And as I said, we are all reserved." He wrinkled his nose.

  "Look, go upstairs and tell my fiancé and his parents that I'm here." All I could do was stare at him as he stood there in his tuxedo with his hair gelled smooth and shiny to his head, prattling at me with his fake French accent. The name tag pinned to his chest said his name was Stuart. His eyes shone, reflecting the light.

  "That would be a violation of their privacy," he said.

  My jaw dropped. "Are you kidding me?"

  He shrugged a shoulder. "How do I know you didn't wander in from the street?"

  "I'm not wearing a coat! That's how!"

  He shrugged again. "Tous le meme chose…"

  My French was a little rusty but…

  "That—that's not—that doesn't even make sense in this context! Drop the phony French. You're terrible at it. Now let me go to my table or I'll have you arrested."

  He narrowed his eyes. "You can't do that."

  I leaned across his podium, matching his narrowed eyes with a sneer of my own. "Try me."

  Even narrowed, his eyes continued to sparkle. Wait. Was he acting under his own volition—or had he been influenced by faerie? Spelled? Glamoured? Call it what you want, some fae could influence the minds of humans.

  I scanned the tables on the main floor. Hammond still had the blonde woman with him, seated right next to three feet of open flames. A big grin spread between Hammond's rosy cheeks, firelight dancing in his eyes as he gazed at the woman seated across from him.

  He was still there, so it wasn't as though he'd paid Stuart to keep me busy while he snuck out the back. Something about that fire, my headache, and Hammond was setting off alarm bells in my mind.

  Magnusson was on his way. Hopefully.

  I went past Stuart. I heard him call out behind me. His shout alerted Hammond. The smile on the fire faerie's face never wavered as he turned to look at me. Not one bit. It was as though he'd been smiling at me all along. I went straight over to his table.

  The woman looked up abruptly, startled to see me. Was she pleading with her eyes? Or was that a trick of the light? Whatever it was, the look was there and then gone. She turned adoring eyes on Hammond once again.

  I pulled over a chair from a nearby table.

  "Are we enjoying our dinner?" I asked casually, surveying their plates. His was half-eaten steak and salad. Hers was untouched.

  Hammond held fast to both the woman's hands and the sleepy grin on his all-too-smug face. Kind of like the Cheshire cat in a sunny window.

  I was missing something here. Something else was going on that was just beyond my perception.

  Hammond was even better looking in person than imagination could have supplied to the blurry surveillance footage. He had skin that I was sure would be warm and smooth to the touch. His dark hair begged to have fingers run through the silky curls. When he smiled, he displayed straight, white teeth, dimples in his cheeks, and an almost boyish charm. Seeing him now in the firelight, his beauty was so perfect, so painful, I could have wept. He glowed with the eternal fire of the sun. And like a naïve maenad, I wanted to bare my body and soul to him, that I may know a taste of his warmth. That he may chose me to share his fire with—

  "Stop that," I demanded. My voice sounded hollow and flat, but surprised me nonetheless.

  "Stop what?" he asked innocently, the smooth sounds of his words rushing over my body like rivers of golden sunshine.

  "Stop spelling me with your energy." I said it like this was a normal thing that anyone could do, as if this was a normal man, in a normal place, doing a very normal thing. As if.

  I turned my attention to the woman across from him, but his spell was still on me in the way the heat was still there when you step under the shade of a leafy tree in full summer. Hot, but not as intense. It wasn't easy to turn away from him. I had a strong suspicion he was weak from the cold, and if he'd been at full strength, it'd already be too late for me.

  She wore a low-cut white blouse and black slacks. Her blond hair was rolled up and pinned at the back of her head. Her shoes were high heels, but sensible. Her name tag identified her as a waitress of the restaurant. Her name was Marissa.

  "Stop spelling her," I said, keeping my eyes on the faerie-struck woman. The thing about faeries is they crave attention. They need it. It is their addiction, their weakness.

  "She loves me," he murmured. Intimate. Confident.

  She appeared almost content; her eyes glistened with unshed tears, adoration written all over her face.

  "Does she now?"

  "They all do."

  I looked at him then, at the way he watched her. He believed what he was saying. He believed she loved him. He wasn't just saying it to piss me off. To him, her love was real. Even if he was the one creating it within her.

  I needed to get these people out of here.

  18

  The wine steward arrived and refilled their glasses with burgundy. The man never said a word to me or about my being there. Didn't even ask me what I wanted. He merely plucked a glass from another table, filled it, and placed it in front of me. I noticed that his hand trembled slightly as he set down the glass, and when our eyes met, a moment of clarity passed between us.

  He'd noticed something unusual about Hammond.

  It happened sometimes for humans. Some had excellent fae sense. That was how Magnusson had known to recruit me. We relied on these humans with "the sight" to do our jobs, to report these unusual occurrences. To point us in the right direction, like this guy was trying to do now.

  In that moment, I tried to let him know I understood and that everything would be okay. But I failed. I know I failed. If this was a lower-echelon fae like I was used to dealing with, things would have been fine. But this was all new territory for me. And it was not fine. It was on the verge of slipping out of control.

  I had no idea what the wine steward saw when our eyes met.

  I hoped he might have the sense to believe that what he was feeling was real and that he might act on his feelings and call the police.

  "I trust you'll enjoy this vintage, sir. It's from one of our finest Burgundy vineyards," the wine steward said.

  Hammond, enraptured with his date, stroked her hand with his thumb, staring at her with those eyes, and seemed not to notice the anxious wine steward.

  "It's fine, thanks," I said, so he could leave and not make himself another of Hammond's victims.

  He backed away, slowly. "Very good."

  The window for Magnusson to arrive and capture Hammond was slamming shut. I needed to formulate a plan to get everyone out of here.

  "Hammond," I said, watching how the firelight sparkled in the crystal as I swirled the blood red liqu
id. "If you love her, let her go."

  He frowned slightly. "If I let her go, how can I show her my love? How will she return her love to me?" He reached across the table and stroked her cheek. She shivered.

  "You could trust her," I suggested, and sipped the fruity wine. "If Marissa is meant to be yours, she will come back to you. She will want to be with you. That's called dating."

  I surveyed the room. There were four fire alarm pull stations within sight, but none of them close by.

  He smiled but didn't say anything.

  "Relationships should be mutually respectful," I continued. "You wouldn't like it if she controlled your every thought and emotion, would you?"

  He continued to stroke her cheek. Marissa took his hand and nestled her face into his palm.

  "Or you could let her go, and trust me." I wished I had my coat and my gun so I could slip my hand into the pocket and grip cold steel. I felt defenceless, naked, exposed.

  He laughed warm and soft, but it quickly became wild, frightening, mesmerizing. My pulse quickened; my palms became sweaty.

  "Trust? You?" He laughed again. "You don't even know what you are."

  Ah, I finally had his attention. "I know exactly who I am."

  Inwardly, I smiled to myself because I knew what he was doing. I knew he was trying to get under my skin, to irritate me, to distract me or make me angry enough to get up and leave.

  But I had news for him: it wasn't working.

  "Do you?" he said, throwing my words and tone back at me. "Mirrors see only what's on the surface, not what lies beneath."

  Now he was devolving into crazy talk? Did I miss something?

  "Is that so? And what lies beneath?" I asked, feeling a punchline coming on. More like a butt-stroke to the head.

  His feral eyes glittered with delight. "No one knows. There's a rumour the Spring sovereign knows but isn't saying. You've met the esteemed ruler of the Spring court, haven't you? Isn't she delightful?"

  He sounded sarcastic, but it was lost on me.

  "Oh, you haven't met her?" he said, reading my expression. "And I thought someone in your position would have, of all people. I'm sure your boss has met her, then. You'd think he would have at least told you about her." Not breaking his hold on the woman's hands, he leaned closer to me, resting his other forearm on the table to do so.

  "You should ask your boss about the delightful Spring sovereign." He reached out a hand and cupped my cheek. "You'll be surprised, I think. But you'll know to ask the right questions, won't you?"

  His touch burned on my face, hot and uninvited—and intimate. I stumbled back, knocking over my chair. What the hell game was he playing?

  Here, a few steps away from the table, I could feel his power swirling around the room, like a soft tornado of warm air. The electric lights flickered like candles in a draughty room.

  Shit.

  All this suave and charming sophistication was an illusion. He'd been using this time—all this time, sitting here—to absorb energy from that enormous fireplace.

  His battery was nearly refilled, and he was batshit crazy. I had a nasty feeling he was about to unleash a maelstrom of fire on the room.

  Heart pounding, I realized it might be time to leave. Evacuate the building.

  "Fine," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "Do what you want with her. I'm leaving. You can walk out of here when you're ready. Enjoy your meal."

  I meant to get to the fire alarm pull station.

  Hammond laughed, a silent giggle that shook his shoulders, but couldn't be contained. It spilled out of his mouth in wild cackles.

  I felt more than saw every person in the restaurant turn and stare. Every conversation came to a stop. Every breath held.

  "You think this is funny?" I challenged, letting my anger slide into my voice. There was a lot of people in this place and they were all in danger.

  "Can I help it if you amuse me?" His opal eyes sparkled like the fire-lit crystal.

  He snapped his fingers. The elegant white tablecloth burst into flames. He snapped again and every cloth on every table on every floor lit on fire.

  The restaurant erupted in chaos.

  Alarm bells erupted. The sprinklers came on, but they did nothing to quell the flames. The fire burned despite the showers of water.

  The intense, sudden heat burned my eyes; smoke tickled my nostrils. People shrieked and ran for the exit, including Hammond's date, but I held my position.

  I wasn't necessarily the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree, but I did stubborn really well.

  Hammond pushed back his chair, making like he was going to leave.

  "Don't move," I tried to say. Big mistake. As soon as I opened my mouth, my lungs filled with smoke, giving me a coughing fit.

  Ignoring me, he got to his feet.

  "I said, 'Don't move,'" I choked, gasping.

  The flames didn't even make him blink. He didn't shrink from the heat. He just smiled, not even noticing the roar of the fire as the wooden tables crumpled to the hardwood floor.

  "Time to run," he said. He didn't have to shout over the roaring flames and ringing fire alarm. I heard him just as easily as I’d heard him before.

  Run!

  And I did. It wasn't the fire that frightened me, or the crazy orange light in his eyes. I ran because when he told me to run, his lips never moved.

  I heard him inside my mind.

  Consumed by terror, I ran for the exit. Streams of people pushed to get out of the building. It was then, only then, that I remembered Luke and his family.

  Oh, God. Luke.

  I got as far as the front door and looked back, but Hammond was no longer by the fireplace. The fire lashed out everywhere now, competing for space with thick black smoke. The outline of his shape disappeared into the kitchen, the spray from the sprinkler system not even touching him, as though he wore an invisible shield.

  I lunged, trying to follow him to the back exit, but a curtain of flames flew up between us. I shrank back.

  Magnusson was going to kill me for letting Hammond bolt.

  At the front of the restaurant the flames died down, allowing the stream of patrons to flow through the exit.

  There were people back there—the people who worked in the kitchen. Would he leave them alone? Or would he kill them as he made his escape?

  I shook with terror and the need to run. People pushed past me, shouting and rushing for the exit.

  Hammond's voice entered my mind. We will meet again.

  Sweat and sprinkler water poured off me; my hair and dress were saturated. It was only by luck that I hadn't caught fire. I felt hot and dizzy from the heat and smoke. I tried again to run through the wall of flame, but I couldn't do it. Couldn't even get near it. All I could do was stand there, coughing, and watch as flaming beams fell from above.

  If I wanted him, all I had to do was go through there and get him. But I couldn't do it.

  He was getting away.

  A pair of strong hands grabbed and hauled me backwards to the outside. I fought back, not realizing what was happening, until the cold air hit my lungs, and then I collapsed on a cold bank of snow, coughing my guts out.

  I looked up and found my boss. At first, I was surprised to see him. Then I remembered: I'd called him.

  "Did everyone get out?" My voice was hoarse, my throat burned. I started to shiver.

  "Unknown."

  "Luke?" I gasped. "Did you see him?"

  Magnusson took off his coat and threw it over my shoulders. I wrapped it around me, trying to use it to shield me from the cold. He saw the flash of diamond on my finger, and frowned with disapproval. "No."

  Luke.

  He hooked his hands under my arms and dragged me to the back of an ambulance. Someone shoved an oxygen mask onto my face. Above me, in their bucket lift, firefighters smashed out the windows of the restaurant and sprayed their hoses into the towering inferno.

  The streams of smoke had blackened most of the buildings on either side.
Sirens wailed from all directions as more emergency crews arrived on the scene.

  I pushed the mask aside as soon as I could catch a breath. My skin felt dry and hot even against the cold wind. "I have to find Luke. I have to know he got out. That everyone got out."

  "You're not going anywhere right now," he said grimly. "The host was hysterical. We're waiting for him to calm down and give us a head count." Even as Magnusson talked, he watched the destruction before us, watched as humans fought with their lives to prevent tragedy.

  "Where were you?" I asked. "I called and left a message-- Where were you?"

  "Busy."

  "You should have been available. If you'd been here, Hammond wouldn't have got away—"

  "Which way? Where did he go?"

  "He went out the back."

  He didn't say anything. I didn't need to explain that Hammond was stronger now, and just as out of control. I could tell by the grim line of his mouth that he knew it.

  Magnusson took off, following his nose in search of Hammond, no doubt. As soon as he was gone, I removed the mask and handed it over to one of the restaurant's other patrons. I held tight to Magnusson's coat and went in search of Luke.

  Crowds of people were woven around firetrucks, ambulances and even a few police cars. It wasn't just the restaurant patrons and staff out here. It was also everyone in the neighbouring buildings. It was people who'd been across the street or up the street and came outside to see what was going on.

  "Julia!"

  Luke.

  I scanned the crowds for him.

  The second I spotted him, I plunged into the crowd. I wrapped my arms tight around his neck.

  "I was so worried," he said.

  "Your parents?"

  "They're okay. They're just over by that ambulance," he said. "We got out. We were so worried. You went to the washroom and—"

  I collapsed into the safety of his arms, relief washing away the worry. We stayed that way until a taxi was available to take us home.