by Wendy Owens
“Why’s that?” I ask in a defensive tone. “She’s a very helpful Crim. I’m not sure what I’d do without her.”
“Oh, no. I knew she would be,” he quickly clarifies. “It’s that I can’t believe that someone I know would be matched with Josiah Crown’s granddaughter. My parents still talk about your parent's wedding.”
“What?” It’s like all of the air has been pulled from my lungs when I hear his words.
“Yeah, I mean your mother basically chose not to be a Magistrate when she married your father. It was a huge deal. The whole kingdom had a tizzy, as my mom would say,” Peter explained.
I force a smile. “Would she now?”
He went on to tell us how Queen Boru had been gracious enough to still offer a wedding of the court since Joe had been of such great service to the crown.
My mother.
My father.
They were more like characters in a storybook, the way he spoke of them. To me, they were never more than people who occasionally floated into my dreams and then back out. It felt surreal to hear them talked about in such a way.
“I’m so sorry about what happened to them,” he offers.
My hand goes to my mouth, and I force myself to cough to distract myself from the wall of tears that’s pressing against the back of my eyes. Damn it! Why does this still make me emotional? They were nothing to me. A memory I never got to have in real life.
“Then to hear that Josiah’s half-breed granddaughter became a Phoenix. Let's just say the Fae world has been completely abuzz since your arrival.”
Peter instantly lost his original appeal. Half-breed, huh? This wasn’t the first time the term had been used to describe me, and I'm quickly becoming tired of it.
“You sure do like to share stories don’t you?” I ask as I feel my left eye beginning to twitch.
“Excuse me?” he asks, narrowing his brow in confusion.
“Stories of me, stories of your friends,” I was ready to unleash on him for what he had done to Piper. How his eagerness to share, his stories had led to her being torn from the arms of her family. A family where she had a mother and father, unlike me.
“What’s going on out here?” Piper asks in a forced sweet tone, placing the glass of water on the table in front of Peter.
“I’m not sure I know,” Peter says, glancing between us apprehensively.
Be good, Tynder, you’re not here to torment him about outing Piper as a witch. You have a crime to solve. I sit up, creating a little more space between us, and attempt to soften my line of questioning. “Oh nothing, our friend here is just sharing some fascinating stories with me. Why we’ve asked you here, though, is because I want to know if you’ve heard any stories about the attacks in West Brook?”
“Who hasn’t?” He seems crossed between excited and nervous as he begins to look around the room. Somewhere inside me, I didn’t expect the guy to know something, but it’s clear by his body language he does.
“Really?” The question desperately squeaks out from Piper’s lips.
I lean in close, placing a hand on his leg. I can feel his heartbeat quicken through my fingertips. I watch him as Piper and I wait for him to answer. I think I might compel him, but decide to wait out of respect for Piper.
“Just gossip,” he insists, swallowing hard. He’s definitely nervous, perspiring so heavily now I can smell the wolf in him.
“Of course you’ve heard about it,” I attempt to comfort him, hoping he will share everything with me if he feels safe with us. “I mean, after all, it was a real bloodbath. I would doubt anyone who said they hadn’t heard about it.” I see a sweat droplet roll down his forehead. He’s too nervous to not know something. I feel sorry for Piper, but only for a split second. If he’s hiding something, she’s better off without him.
“Right,” his voice cracks, and he avoids looking at me. “Everyone has heard about the killings.”
I grip his chin and force him to stare into my eyes. “Peter, you seem nervous.”
He pulls away. “Nervous? No … Is it hot in here?”
“Extremely.” I smile. “So, why are you nervous?”
“What? Me? No, what are you talking about? Why would I be nervous?”
“I don’t know. Why don’t you tell us?” I press, getting angrier as we continue this conversation.
“Your eyes, they’re glowing yellow,” he gasps in fear.
I shrug. “Yeah, that happens sometimes. Call it my truth detection powers,” it’s true, it does happen, though I haven’t quite figured out why. It’s got something to do with my Phoenix abilities; I’m just not sure what.
“This is why you brought me here?” Peter cries, looking over at Piper. She looks guilty, as if it was wrong for her to ask him here.
“Why did you think we asked you here?” I laugh.
He looks at Piper again, then at the floor, “I don't know.”
Could it be? Did he think Piper was asking an old flame over? Perhaps he did still carry a torch for her.
“There’s nothing to be scared of, we just need some help,” I assure him.
“Well, I’m not sure why you would need my help. I don’t know anything. What do you want from me?” he cries, now panicked.
“I want to know what you know about the West Brook Killer,” I answer firmly.
“I told you, I only know what everyone else knows, what’s in the news,” he answers, but his eyes tell me that’s not true.
“Why are you lying to me? Are you protecting someone?” I press.
“Tynder,” Piper yelps her plea.
Peter leaps to his feet, making his way around the coffee table and backing up toward the door. “I have to go,” he whimpers.
In a flash, I’m on my feet and standing by the door. Piper isn’t speaking. I’m sure her suspicions of her precious Peter have been aroused as well. I grab his arm. His bicep is large, and I wish I had reconsidered the combat training Nash has been offering me. He’s young and inexperienced, but I’m not certain I could take him in a hand to hand fight.
“Not so fast,” I snap.
“Look, I don’t know what you want from me, but I’m not your guy,” he insists.
“How can you be so sure if you don’t know what we want?” I question.
“Peter, if you know something, Tynder can keep you safe.”
“Yeah, just like her Grandfather was safe?” he snarks.
His words don’t strike me like I think he intended. “So you do know something?”
“I didn’t say that!” He’s frantic now.
“Answer the question Peter,” I demand forcefully.
He looks out at the darkened street apprehensively. “I don’t even know anything, but—”
“But what?” Piper whispers.
He looks at us, his gaze dripping with fear. “I shouldn’t even be here.”
“What do you mean?” Piper asks.
“If someone sees me here, I’m dead …”
“Who would see you?” I continue.
He doesn’t answer me.
“Then why did you even come?” I demand.
His head jerks around wildly. “I didn't know this was why you called me here. If I had known, I wouldn’t have come!”
“Peter!” Piper exclaims.
“Yeah, he’s real innocent Piper,” I gripe in frustration.
“I didn’t do anything!” Peter shouts before sucking in a deep breath. I watch as he attempts to calm himself. He seems to be losing the battle.
“Has someone threatened you?” Piper interjects.
“No ... I just can’t be here,” he pleads. “I really need to go.”
“This isn’t going away,” I warn. “We’re not going away.”
“Please, you’re going to get me killed,” he hisses.
“And what will happen to you if I tell the queen you haven’t been cooperating with the investigation. Or maybe I should say something to Lord Ardack?” I threaten.
“You wouldn’
t,” he gasps, and his eyes go wide at the mention of Lord Ardack’s name. I’m not sure if I’ve hit a nerve because Lord Ardack is dirty, or because he’s afraid of him because he’s an Alpha.
Piper assures him, “Yes, she would. She most absolutely would. That’s why you have to trust we’ll help you.”
With a heavy sigh, his body goes limp as he pushes past me and leans against the arm of the sofa, his head coming to rest in his hands. “Fine,” he breaths out the word as he thinks over my threat.
“Well?” I ask impatiently, tired of toying with this guy.
“I really don’t know much,” he repeats.
“You never know, the slightest thing could help,” Piper adds.
Peter sighs, the continues. “Eclipse, ever heard of it?” he asks, looking up at both of us.
“The club in the Warehouse District?” I confirm.
“Yeah, that’s the place. Meet me there at eleven-thirty tonight, and I’ll tell you everything I know, but I’m not sure how much it will help,” he says sounding doubtful.
“Why can’t you tell us now?” I move forward and give him a small shove for good measure.
“It’s better if you see for yourself,” he explains, and now I’m even more intrigued.
“You better not try to ditch us pup, because I’m damn good at tracking down people who don’t want to be found,” I warn.
“Tynder!” Piper yells.
“What?” I shrug. “I’m just saying, he wouldn’t want a league of Heralds on his ass.” This is an empty threat, as I have no authority whatsoever over the Heralds, but he doesn’t know that.
He nods in the affirmative, avoiding my gaze, and a second later, he walks out the door.
I look at Piper and roll my eyes. “A real winner you got there.”
“Why do you have to be like that?”
“Like what?” I shrug, return to the couch and prop my feet up on the table, satisfied with a job well done.
She huffs and turns toward the entrance to the living quarters, leaving the barely drunk glass of water on the table. Leaving a mess, that’s not like her, she must be upset. I shrug, confident she’ll get over it.
Five
Now that’s what I call a Party
Beams of light dance across the night sky, wildly crossing paths. I pull on two bunches of my hair, tightening my ponytail, trying to look at Piper without being obvious. She’s watching me, and my eyes quickly dart away before she catches my eye. She’s been delivering me the silent treatment so I can tell she’s still pissed about how things went down with Peter. I’ve considered apologizing, but then I always remind myself that isn’t something I do. It would be better for Piper to learn that sooner rather than later.
If I look back over my life, I can honestly say I’ve never had a close female friend. I have never seemed to click with people of the same gender, and I’m perfectly okay with that, truth be told. Maybe it was because my grandfather and Desmond raised me and I never saw myself needing anyone else. Piper is the closest thing I’ve ever had to a girlfriend, and even if I hate to admit it, I enjoy having her around. Nonetheless, the phrase ‘I’m sorry’ is not a part of my vocabulary, and I’m uncomfortable saying it.
The hover cab halts abruptly in front of the club and begins lowering to the ground so we can get out. It rumbles as it slowly stops moving and I grip the edge of the seat, my knuckles turning white. I regret allowing Piper to choose our transportation.
Exiting the cab as quickly as I can I sigh a breath of relief as soon as I feel the earth under my feet once again. A line wraps around the block of the unassuming building. The ground feels like it’s shaking from the music that can be heard blaring inside. Piper moves in behind me after settling the tab with the cab driver.
“Are you going to stay mad at me all night?” She doesn’t reply to my question as we enter the building. “You’re angry and ignoring me over some long lost puppy love,” I grumble.
She sighs loudly. Loud enough that I can hear her over the music that is getting louder as we walk deeper into the building. I reconsider my policy on no apologies.
“Come on,” I turn around and grin at her, blinking my eyes rapidly. “You know you want to talk to me.”
“I’m not doing this with you,” she tries to dismiss me.
“Doing what? All I did was ask—” She doesn’t wait for me to finish my statement and begins to push her way through the throng of people. I do my best to keep up with her while offering the closest I can come to an apology. “Come on, Piper. I’m not perfect.”
A hand wraps around my waist from the side and jerks me to a halt. “Damn, baby, all of your imperfections sure look good to me.” The man with his hands on me shouts at me over the music. I look at him, shock clearly spread across my face. He’s touching me. And was that supposed to be a pickup line? Who in the hell does this guy think he is? I briefly debate if I should kill him where he stands and what the repercussions might be. He’s human. The rules in Fae world are clear. Human kills aren’t illegal, as long as the queen sanctions them. The last thing I need right now is an investigation, but for this guy, I might just make an exception.
“Does that actually work on women?” I ask, my brows narrow with a look of contempt as I turn to see his face.
He grins, and he’s so close I can smell the overwhelming peppermint breath spray that is bursting from his mouth. “You tell me.”
I move, my mouth close to grazing his; I see his tongue emerge, moistening his lips in anticipation. I fight the urge to vomit, pulling him close, my lips touching the edge of his ear now. With a heavy breath, I say, “Not. One. Bit.” My knee shifts upright in a swift motion, planting itself squarely in the crotch of his leather pants. He falls to the ground, cradling his manhood with a whimper, his friends providing him no aid. Instead, they groan because they understand the pain he must be experiencing and howl with laughter at the same time from his misfortune. My work here is done.
I walk to the back of the monstrous cavern of the building where people are dancing to the techno pumping from the speakers that are spaced out here and there, finding a spot that is quieter to stand and watch. Fingers grip my arm, startling me. I glance up to see they belong to Piper. She glares at me for a moment with a disapproving stare and then looks straight ahead as she guides me through the sea of glitter-wearing and faux-fur-clad club goers.
“What?” I protest, her disapproving look stumping me. “He started it.”
She doesn’t reply, dragging me around the corner of the warehouse into an alleyway. My legs lock, my arm slips out of Piper’s grasp, and my heart begins to race from the uneasiness that suddenly washes over me.
She spins around in a huff. “I just don’t understand why you have to start crap everywhere we go. Why can’t you just blend in?” Her voice is muffled. I can’t focus on what she is saying— the smell of iron is saturating the air.
Piper looks at me in confusion and asks, “What’s wrong with you?”
“Was this where one of the murders took place?” I gasp, the smell now choking me.
She flashes me a puzzled glance. “What? No. Why would you think that?”
I swallow hard, lifting a hand to my nose. “You can’t smell that?”
“Smell what?” she asks, her irritation with me dissipating into curiosity as she focuses on the ground trying to pick up the scent that has me so distracted.
Stars swarm my vision as the world tilts from one side and then the other. “Blood… a lot of it…” I pause, take a few steps forward, and breathe in deeply. “Who started the tilt-o-whirl? And how do I get off?” I ask as dizziness takes over my balance and my vision continues to go blurry.
Piper’s attention fixes on me, her hands grip my arms firmly. I can feel her holding onto me, but I can’t zero in on her exact presence or focus on her face.
“What’s wrong with you?” All the anger has now slipped away, and her concerned Crim voice is back.
“I’d love to know,�
�� I groan. My face contorting with disgust from the smell that is invading my nose. I add, “The smell, it’s old death. The blood isn’t fresh.”
“I can’t smell it … It could be something your Phoenix senses are picking up.”
“And the sea sickness on land?” I ask hoping she might have a Phoenix solution.
“If your powers are starting to surface it could be part of that,” she suggests.
“And where exactly do I go to turn these lovely gifts back in, because I don’t want them,” I respond sarcastically.
Her hand on my back is comforting hand, and now I honestly wish I had said I was sorry. Piper is a truly good friend.
“You’ll get used to them Tynder; it’s just going to take time,” she says sympathetically.
Snapping out of my nausea and pity party, I quickly survey the area around us, but I can’t slow the pace of my heart. “Something’s wrong.”
“What do you mean?” she says, her voice edging with alarm.
“How much do you trust Peter?”
She shrugs, following closely behind me. “I don’t know. It’s not like I know him anymore.”
“Something about this doesn’t feel right,” I persist.
“You’re the one that called him!” she shouts in frustration.
“And?” I’m frustrated, unsure how Piper went from caring Crim back to angry redhead in about five seconds. No doubt it was likely something I said, but I wish females were not such a mystery to me, especially considering I happen to be one.
She huffs as she questions me, “We asked him for help, and now you’re asking if I trust him? Jesus Tynder, you are a hot mess sometimes.”
She had a point.
“Think about it: he picked the place … he could be setting a trap for us,” I tried to explain my mistrust of Peter.
“Do you know how crazy you sound? Peter has nothing to do with what’s going on,” she said, sounding borderline hysterical.
Perhaps she’s right. Maybe I'm paranoid, but I can’t seem to shake the feeling that something is wrong—very wrong.