Whiskey Ginger_Phantom Queen_Book 1

by Shayne Silvers

  I didn’t want him getting involved.

  No matter how good his intentions were, Jimmy was still a Regular. What he’d done the day before—grabbing the briefcase because he didn’t believe me—was a prime example of that. At first, I’d seriously considered letting him help; Jimmy was trained, strong, and solid backup…if I were going after your average, everyday criminal. But I honestly had no idea who or what I was up against, and the fact that Jimmy was a Regular who could throw down with the best of them only made things worse; in a dangerous situation, he’d do what he’d been trained to do: fight. Except he wouldn’t be taking on meth heads or drug dealers, he’d be up against nightmarish creatures, or worse—men and women who looked normal, but could kill you in ways only nightmares could account for.

  I’d seen it happen before.

  During the Lollipop case, I’d seen a beat cop—a bald, bulky veteran—put six rounds into his target, center mass. It should have been enough to stop practically anyone, but it hadn’t. The woman, a zombie so recently deceased that her make-up gave her cheeks a rosy sheen, had kept right on walking. The cop’s screams still woke me up some nights.

  In the end, I left Jimmy sleeping in my bed because I knew I’d end up babysitting him—whether he wanted me to, or not—and I didn’t have that kind of time. Or patience.

  A pissed-off Jimmy I could handle.

  A dead and dismembered Jimmy, not so much.

  I stood outside Christoff’s pop-up bar forty-five minutes later, dancing in place a little to stave off the cold. Ryan had called the night before and left me a voicemail telling me to come see him as soon as I could, making it sound urgent. Fortunately, I’d planned to do that anyway, now that I had the briefcase; I couldn’t get it open, but maybe Ryan could.

  Hank—the grouchy bouncer from before—answered the door, the handle of a mop slung over one shoulder. He’d shaved, which made him look younger, but also less homeless. I eyed him, warily, wondering if he was going to give me any trouble.

  “You could have just told me, you know,” he said, holding the door open.

  “Told ye what?” I asked, passing by him.

  “That you were dating Ryan. I wouldn’t have been such a jerk if I’d known. I thought you were one of those girls who think they can get whatever they want because they’re pretty.” He blushed. “I mean, well, you know what I mean.”

  “I—” I began.

  “Quinn!” Christoff yelled from the top of the stairs, his upper body halfway out the doorway to the office. “You have to convince Ryan to stay. I do not know how I can replace him. And so soon! He will listen to you.”

  “What—”

  “That’s enough, Christoff,” Ryan said, entering from the back with a case of beer. He gestured Hank over, who simply shrugged at me and took the case from him. Ryan brushed dust off his slacks and waved at me to follow. “Come on back. We’ll talk.”

  Hank flashed us a knowing smile. “Have fun, you two.”

  Yeah, I so wasn’t about to let that rumor circulate.

  “You,” I barked, pointing at Hank, “I am not datin’ Ryan, and wipe that smirk off your face before I deck ye.” Hank’s eyes widened, but at least he wasn’t smiling anymore. I whirled, glaring first at Christoff, then at Ryan. “Ye see, this is the first I’m hearin’ about Ryan goin’ anywhere. Which is why he and I are goin’ to have a private conversation where no one can hear me yell at him. Isn’t that right, Ryan?”

  Ryan coughed and shifted his attention to Christoff. “If I don’t make it back, it’s because Quinn MacKenna murdered me. Make sure I get justice.”

  “Of course,” Christoff said, sagely. “You will have nice funeral, and no one will ever find body.”

  Ryan blinked. Christoff smiled, held out his hands, and shrugged as if to say, “What else can I do?” I winked at the old man as I followed Ryan out back. He mimed catching it and putting it in the pocket of his vest.

  And they say chivalry is dead.

  Chapter 29

  The warehouse door creaked open, and Dobby poked his enormous head out, blinking away the morning light. He saw us approaching and started to perform some motion with his arm, but Ryan ushered him inside before he could finish.

  “Ryan?” I asked.

  “What?”

  “Why is Dobby salutin’ like a Nazi?”

  Ryan sighed. “Hitler documentary. Christoff insisted. I’ve tried to explain it to him, but the more I talk about why it’s offensive, the more he does it. It’s like trying to reason with a child.”

  “Dobby,” I called out, “when ye greet people, I want ye to wave like this from now on, alright?” I asked, waving my hand like a beauty pageant contestant.

  “Yes, my lady,” Dobby replied, mimicking my gesture as he hopped up on the lip of a liquor cabinet.

  Ryan glared at me.

  “What can I say? It’s me maternal instinct kickin’ in,” I said, struggling to keep a straight face.

  “Her sisters are looking for you,” Dobby sung, kicking his legs back and forth, staring off into nothing.

  Ryan waved away my baffled expression. “He does that. Listen, Quinn, we need to talk.”

  “You’re leavin’, is that it?” I asked, trying not to sound too disappointed. It wasn’t like Ryan and I were particularly close, but he’d proven himself dependable more than once, and I’d miss having him around for the occasional brunch—even if it meant dodging dirty looks. That, and as one of the very few members of the Chancery I had any contact with, he was still the best shot I had at getting into Fae, no matter how reticent he’d been in the past.

  “I don’t have a choice,” he replied, finally.

  “And why not?”

  Ryan wouldn’t meet my eyes. “It’s not important.”

  I scowled at him. “What d’ye mean it’s not important? Ye tell me right now, Ryan O’Rye, or I’ll knock ye senseless right here and ye won’t be goin’ anywhere,” I threatened.

  “Quinn, I want you to listen to me.” Ryan put his hand on my shoulder, knowing how I felt about my personal space, which meant he was willing to risk losing his hand to say whatever it was he had to say. “Save Dez. Do what you have to do. But then get out of this city and find a different gig. A Regular job.”

  “And why’s that, then?” I asked.

  “There’s a lot I can’t risk telling you, but you should know that things are changing here in Boston. The Chancery isn’t what it once was. Between that, and a friend I trust telling me that the Chancery has been keeping tabs on you lately…” he drifted off, shaking his head.

  “What would they be wantin’ from me?” I asked, perplexed.

  Ryan gave me the look you normally reserve for a child, like I was being exceptionally obtuse. “With what you do? Why wouldn’t they be interested in you?”

  I frowned, my brows kitting together. “But why? Isn’t the Chancery powerful enough without me help?”

  “In theory, sure. But that’s assuming everyone in the Chancery has the same agenda, which they don’t. In their minds, whichever side claims you will have an advantage. And you don’t want to get pulled in more than one direction, Quinn, trust me.” Ryan dropped his hand from my shoulder.

  “Ryan, ye know how me business works,” I said, folding my arms over my chest. “I don’t choose sides. Although, if I’m bein’ honest, I’d make a killin’ off a turf war.” I would, too; whenever two groups got pissed off at each other to the point that they needed arming, business boomed.

  No pun intended.

  “I’m not telling you what to do, Quinn. This is simply friendly advice. If they come after you, looking to recruit, you need to be prepared. I won’t be here to warn you. I’ve been…called back.”

  “Wait, ye mean you’re goin’ home?” I asked, taken aback.

  Ryan nodded, seeming tired, deflated somehow. “In a manner of speaking.”

  “Alright, now you’re bein’ vague on purpose,” I admonished.

  That earned me a sm
all smile. “I wish I could say more, but if I tell you anything else you could end up being targeted by the Chancery, which is exactly what I’m hoping to avoid.”

  “Why? What do they have to do with it?”

  “They don’t know I’m being called back. It’s rare for one of us to go home, especially one of the exiled. They’ll want to know how I did it, and why. And, if they don’t like the answer, they might react…poorly.”

  I’d always known to avoid the Chancery, even without Ryan’s advice, but I had to admit his take on their politics and reactions didn’t bode well. If anything, they sounded like some horrific bureaucracy, concerned more about what its members were up to than protecting them from the outside world.

  Like church, without the promise of an afterlife.

  “Fine, then,” I replied, finally. “But can ye at least tell me why ye don’t seem glad to be goin’ home?” I asked, voicing the question which had really been bothering me from the start. I mean, Ryan was always careful not to romanticize the Fae world around me, considering how badly I already wanted go, but that didn’t stop him from talking about it with a wistful gleam in his eye. “Aren’t ye glad to be seein’ your pa, at least?”

  “My father’s dead,” Ryan snarled.

  I was too stunned to speak, both by what he’d said and how he’d said it; Ryan had never snapped at me before.

  He took a deep, calming breath. “There was a…battle. Or something. I don’t know all the details, yet. All I know is there were a lot of casualties. My father got caught in the crossfire.”

  “So are ye goin’ home for his funeral, then?” I asked, gently.

  Ryan’s jaw clenched. “No, I’m going to take his place.” Ryan studied his hands before speaking again. “We all have to put in our time, remember? I still owe.”

  “How long?”

  “Thirty-four years.”

  Thirty-four years…meaning I’d be an old woman by the time he returned, assuming he did. Of course, with the time differences between the mortal and Fae realm, who knew how long that could end up being? Which meant Ryan wasn’t saying goodbye for now…he was saying goodbye forever.

  During the ensuing silence, Dobby slid to the ground, ambled over to Ryan, and took his hand. Ryan squeezed, then withdrew from the spriggan’s grasp. “My ride should be coming for me any time now. Promise me you’ll keep an eye out, Quinn? There are so many believers in this city…the walls here are thinner than they should be, and the cracks are wider.”

  I cracked a smile and ruffled his hair. “I promise I won’t fall through any cracks, if ye promise me ye won’t go and get yourself in trouble again.”

  Ryan flashed me a wry smile, which I mimicked.

  Because saying goodbye through a fake smile is easier, I think.

  Chapter 30

  Ryan escorted me back to the door, but before we got there, I realized we still had to deal with the elephant in the room. Or the spriggan, as it were. “Wait, what about Dobby? Is he comin’ with ye, or stayin’ here?”

  Dobby had disappeared behind a crate a moment ago, although that didn’t necessarily mean he wasn’t nearby, listening in. I was going to have to put a bell on him if he planned to stay. Probably something with his name and address on it, too, just in case he wandered off.

  Like a collar.

  “Oh, right,” Ryan groaned, as if he’d flat out forgotten. “Look, I asked if he wanted to come with me, but he turned me down. Said he had unfinished business here, not that he would tell me what that even meant. But would it be possible for you to keep an eye on him?”

  I sighed. The selfish part of me that refused to get a pet no matter how empty my apartment seemed sometimes was extremely against the idea. I preferred not to have to answer to or take care of anyone, if I could help it. But one look at Ryan’s face told me he’d needed the reassurance. In a messed-up way, he was asking me to look after the stray he’d found wandering the street.

  “Fine,” I replied. “But he isn’t movin’ in with me.”

  “Oh, no. Christoff promised he could stay here as long as he didn’t cause any trouble. He even promised to lock the warehouse up at night. But I didn’t want to ask too much of him. He’ll have a hard enough time finding another bar manager on such short notice.”

  “Maybe,” I said, “but at least he’ll finally end up with someone who knows how to make a decent drink.”

  Ryan’s mouth puckered.

  “Before ye go,” I said, remembering why I’d come here in the first place, “can ye take a look at this and tell me what ye t’ink?” I’d slid the briefcase out of the satchel I’d been carrying it in, filling him in on what happened to Jimmy when he’d touched it.

  Ryan had the good sense not to do the same.

  “So a Russian woman who works for a company called GrimmTech called you and told you someone would be coming to help rescue your aunt? And you believe her?” Ryan asked dubiously, after I was finished.

  “She didn’t give me much choice,” I admitted. “I mean, she knows where I live, and I’m not about to move. If she wanted to come after me directly, she could. Besides, I trust her, though I can’t tell ye why, exactly.”

  Ryan shrugged. “Well, I’ll admit I hate that you have to do this alone. But at least it’s a wizard you’ll be up against, which shouldn’t be too tough, for you.”

  “A wizard?” I asked, baffled. “How d’ye figure that?”

  Ryan double-checked to make sure I was serious. “It’s like I told you at the park, remember? Only a wizard could take off that manacle without getting hit with the curse on it,” Ryan gauged my expression and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You weren’t listening.”

  “I was a little busy,” I argued, defensively.

  “Alright, the way I see it, whoever this guy is, he figured he could get the briefcase off the skinwalker and make his escape. Only wizards are that cocky.” Ryan held up a finger. “But, since his magic won’t work on you, you’ll have the advantage.”

  Ryan was probably right, although I didn’t have a whole lot of evidence to support that theory; my experience with wizards was pretty much limited to the one I’d met on the Lollipop case. Fortunately, he’d been the scholarly type, eager to answer any of my questions.

  I’ll admit, I’d been very disappointed to learn that wizards didn’t use wands or cast spells—they had a school, but it didn’t sound nearly as cool as the death trap that was Hogwarts. Apparently, being a wizard in real life meant having the ability to control things, like the elements or physics or whatever. Which basically made them God-damned Airbenders. Airbenders who didn’t even age like the rest of us.

  Vampires. Wizards.

  Cockroaches, the lot of them.

  “Well,” I said, finally, “I hate to admit it, but I’m twice as sorry to see ye go, now.”

  “Huh? Why?”

  “I didn’t realize ye had a brain in that head of yours. Ye took so long to say anythin’ worth listenin’ to that I assumed ye had nothin’ but that pretty face to offer,” I teased.

  “The body isn’t half bad either,” he added, snidely. “Come on, I’ll walk you out.”

  “Will it be dangerous?” I asked, trailing behind. “Back home, I mean?”

  “Maybe,” Ryan replied. “It all boils down to power, in Fae. Who can you control? What can you take? Anything you can’t control or take, you kill. Or you serve. I’m not exactly a powerhouse, so I’ll be serving. But my master is one of the most powerful in Fae, which means I’ll be safer than most. Of course, my father probably thought the same thing…”

  “I’m sorry, Ryan,” I said, realizing I’d yet to express my condolences, doing my best to sound like I meant it.

  Still, it was hard to empathize; I’d never had a father, after all—I didn’t even know his name. Dez swore up and down that my mother had kept his identity a secret, even from her, which I found hard to believe even as a child. During my bratty teens, I convinced myself that my mother had probably slept around,
and Dez had lied to me to keep me from thinking badly of her.

  Later, however, Dez confessed that my mother’s secret had caused genuine friction in their friendship; she’d considered walking away altogether, maybe even returning home, but then my mother died giving birth to me, and she’d never looked back.

  It had been tough growing up, knowing that my father might be out there somewhere, and that I might have known him if only my mother had confided in her closest friend. But then, in some ways, it felt better to think my father was alive somewhere, and that he hadn’t abandoned me—that maybe he’d never known about me in the first place.

  Or at least that’s what I told myself.

  Deep down, I could admit that I desperately wanted to find him, alive or dead. Which is where my fascination in the Fae realm had started, and—ultimately—what had led me to Ryan and his kind. I never told Ryan this, but I had a sneaking suspicion I was, in fact, part-Fae.

  I couldn’t explain why, except to point out the fact that I’d been born with this inexplicable ability to nullify all kinds of magic. Freaks like me cropped up from time to time, sure—people born with abilities out of the blue—but how many of them lived in Boston, home to the Chancery and its people? How many of them had a mysterious parent they’d never met? It all seemed like a coincidence I couldn’t ignore.

  “I appreciate it,” Ryan said. “Anyway, I should get back inside before Christoff thinks you killed me—” Ryan began.

  A peal of thunder interrupted him, so close we ducked for cover instinctually. Winds whipped, the chilly air becoming even more frigid, the clouds above us roiling, the sky tinted green—as if a tornado were moments from touching down. A wail, like the piteous scream of some dying creature, tore through the air.

  “Damn,” Ryan said. “My ride’s here.”

  And that’s when the headless horseman showed up.

  Chapter 31

  The sound of hoofbeats on stone brought us both around and, in a burst of lightning, a headless rider appeared, tearing down the alleyway on horseback, skidding to a stop only several yards away. “Oh. How touching,” the rider called out.