E J Stevens - [Ivy Granger, Psychic Detective 01]

by Shadow Sight (epub)

  Looking at the shellycoat directly, his (I was now going with he, since, ahem, that wasn’t a metal detector he was swinging around) glamour melted away to reveal a bipedal creature with large eyes, dark, slimy skin dotted with green and yellow spots, and elongated limbs. Kaye had remarked that a shellycoat looked a bit like a humanoid salamander wearing a bumpy turtle shell, and I had to agree.

  A pale bulbous belly peeked out of a gap in his cloak, making me wonder what shellycoats ate. I should have asked Kaye, but I had been too tired to think straight. I hoped that whatever this creature ate, it didn’t look like me. It was nerve wracking enough being this close to roaring ocean waves which may conceal deadly each uisge.

  I shook my head and strode toward the shellycoat. I kept my chin up and arms splayed, palms out, at my sides to show that I was confident, but not a threat. Wind slapped at my back, whipping my ponytail against the bare skin on my shoulders.

  The cooler air felt wonderful, and I sent up a silent prayer of thanks that I wasn’t facing the shellycoat in a stifling sweatshirt or, even worse, one of Jinx’s retro rockabilly sundresses or poodle skirts. I had arrived back at the loft late last night to find that Jinx had left me a basket of clean laundry, the magazine clipping of her dream shoes set on top. At this rate, I’d end up having to buy her two pairs, but it would be worth the clean tank tops and jeans.

  “Ahem,” I said, clearing my throat as I approached. “Excuse me.”

  The shellycoat looked up from its scavenging, cocking his head to the side.

  “Yesss?” he asked. A long, thin tongue darted out as if tasting the air. “What isss it? Can’t you sssee I am busssy?”

  “Sorry to bother you, but it’s urgent,” I said. “I need to find the blaosc, the merrow message shell.” I held up a bag and gave it a shake so he could hear the clinking sound of shells within. “I’m willing to pay you for your trouble.”

  It was a gamble, but I figured that shellycoats valued seashells more than human currency. Luckily for me, there were plenty of twenty-four hour gift shops in Harborsmouth that sold touristy trinkets. I found a net bag filled with assorted shells at Sand Dollar Joe’s, where everything was a buck or less. The shells were cheap, hopefully they weren’t fake. Fae tended to take bargaining very seriously and I didn’t think offering plastic seashells would be considered a fair trade.

  A pink membrane slowly blinked over one eye, then the next, as the shellycoat stared intently at the bag I held. His hands flexed open and shut as though he were grabbing at something. Apparently, I had brought the right kind of bait.

  “Can find the blaosc, yesss,” he said, bobbing at the waist in a nod like movement. “A ssshell firssst?”

  I pulled a small, pale orange shell from the bag and set it on the ground between us. I didn’t want to touch the faerie or his coat. He didn’t seem to mind, or even notice me, as he leaned forward and snatched the shell up in one deft movement.

  He held out his cloak with one skinny arm, looking for a place to add his new treasure. I jumped back a step when a stream of water sprayed out from one of the shells, surprised to realize that, on closer examination, much of his garment was actually alive. The shellycoat’s cloak was a woven mesh of seaweed, algae, kelp, and discarded fishing nets covered in an assortment of hard shells and other sea detritus. I recognized periwinkles, sand dollars, starfish, crabs, blue mussels, and razor clams. The overlapping layers of seashells probably provided a protective barrier similar to medieval chainmail armor for the shellycoat’s delicate body.

  With the new shell firmly in place between a chunk of driftwood and a cluster of barnacles, he started humming and set off down the beach. He seemed to know instinctively when to step out of the way of incoming waves, perhaps it was fae magic, but I ended up trudging along with soggy sneakers.

  After twenty minutes of searching, the shellycoat stopped humming and started digging through a pile of debris. Brushing away a layer of dried seaweed unveiled a rose colored conch shell. The shellycoat bowed low and gestured to the shell with one black and yellow hand.

  “Is that it?” I asked.

  “Yesss,” he said.

  I don’t like touching strange objects, but I didn’t have much choice. Kaye said that my skin would have to make contact with the shell in order to activate its magic. Hopefully the shell, and its former inhabitant, hadn’t born witness to anything too heinous.

  I knelt in the sand and lifted the shell to my ear. It was warm, rather than cool to the touch, and seemed to vibrate with its own energy. There was definitely powerful magic at work here.

  “Hello?” I asked.

  “Who disturbs our slumber?” a woman asked. Her voice seemed bubbling and unreal, as if piped up from the depths of the sea and carried on the waves.

  “Ivy Granger, ma’am,” I said. “I’m sorry to bother you, but it’s an emergency.”

  “The merrow are not 9-1-1,” she said, haughtily.

  Great, this was off to a fabulous start.

  “I think your people may be in danger!” I blurted. “Please don’t go.”

  “We are listening,” she said.

  I wasn’t sure if that was the royal we or if I was on speakerphone. Do magic seashells have that feature? An image of wild sea faeries swimming around a shell and listening to my voice, made me want to giggle. I bit my lip and tried to think.

  “Do you know who the each uisge are?” I asked.

  “Yes, vile creatures,” she said. “Why?”

  “A local pack of each uisge have attacked the kelpie king who rules the waters near Harborsmouth,” I said. “They stole his bridle.”

  “This kelpie king, does he have a name?” a man’s voice asked.

  Huh, maybe I really was on speakerphone.

  “Yes, I was told his name is Ceffyl Dŵr,” I said.

  A high pitched burbling filled the shell and I had to pull it away from my ear. The merrow were definitely upset.

  “Are you certain?” a young woman’s voice asked.

  “Yes,” I said. “His people have hired me to find his bridle. I think I’ve located it, and the kelpie king, but the each uisge are powerful…and I am not water fae.”

  “…Ceffyl a slave,” a woman said.

  “We cannot let this go on!” a man shouted.

  “The merrow will not fight,” a woman said. “Our people believe in peace and the sanctity of life. Senseless killing would make us as bad as the each uisge.”

  “…but it’s Ceffyl,” a young man said.

  “We could be next,” an older man said. “These each uisge must be stopped!”

  I waited for the voices to calm down before speaking again.

  “I know that you are an honorable people and that you will not enter into a war lightly,” I said. “But I see no way to rescue the kelpie king, or defend the fae and humans living in Harborsmouth, without your help.”

  “Ceffyl Dŵr is an honorable king,” a woman said. “We will listen to you.”

  I told the merrow what I knew of the each uisge, what they had done so far and what I feared would happen next.

  “We don’t have much time,” I said.

  “Yes, we will come,” a woman said. “This pack of each uisge must be stopped. The merrow and our kelpie friend are not playthings to be enslaved and tortured. We will help you retrieve Ceffyl Dŵr and his bridle, and we will fight. If we are too late for a rescue, then we will make the each uisge regret ever entering this world.”

  The shell went ominously silent. I stood and brushed sand from my pant legs, frowning at the dark circles where saltwater had soaked into my jeans from the damp ground. I had planned to take the shell with me, but a jolt of electricity struck my hand as I tried to take a step away. The shell fell from my hand and landed in the pile of debris. As I watched, the seaweed and sand swallowed the shell back into the very fabric of the beach.

  “Wasss it the right ssshell?” the shellycoat asked, shuffling forward.

  “You couldn’t hear us talki
ng?” I asked.

  “It sssounded like you were sssinging underwater,” he said.

  Interesting, the shell must have some kind of privacy barrier. I had worried about the shellycoat eavesdropping. With his large eyes and slender arms he wasn’t overly threatening, but looks could be deceiving, especially with the fae. I had seen him move with terrific speed and it had to take incredible strength to carry that shell covered cloak. It was best to be careful.

  “Yes,” I said, reaching for the bag of shells. I didn’t want to tell him too much, like about the kelpies, merrow, and the upcoming battle, but he deserved a warning to stay clear of the water. “Um, you may want to be careful around the ocean for awhile. There have been each uisge hunting the waters around here.”

  “Ah yesss, they mussst be the onesss resssponsssible for the liversss,” he said. “Very tasssty.”

  Great, now I knew something shellycoats like to eat—human livers. The knowledge didn’t make me feel any better. I dropped the subject of the each uisge and tossed the remaining shells at his feet.

  “Here is your payment,” I said. “Fresh breezes and safe travels.”

  “Sssafe travelsss,” he said, distractedly.

  His attention was on the shells I had thrown. I hurried away, hoping that collecting the shells would keep him busy long enough for me to make my escape. I didn’t want to become another one of his tasty treats.

  I kept my fingers crossed all the way to the boardwalk.

  Chapter 15

  On the way to visit my new client, Mrs. Hastings, I stopped at Fountain Square. After grabbing a coffee at Higher Grounds, I found an empty bench at the edge of the concrete park. Fountain Square was a great place to people watch in the heart of the city. Even in today’s heat men and women in business suits hustled to and from work, parents walked babies in strollers, and some people even played Frisbee with their dogs as traffic roared by to the east and west. Students from the nearby college of music were playing instruments with the cases open and a girl clapping and twirling to the song let her leashed ferret climb into one of the cases where it fell asleep.

  It was a typical summer day in the square. The skyrocketing temperatures hadn’t discouraged locals from their routine, though I saw more than one person dip their hands in the cool fountain waters as they passed. My stomach twisted and I looked away.

  The worn patch on the bench, pedestrian crossing signal buttons, and greasy hand prints on lamp posts and shop windows. I couldn’t imagine touching any of these things with bare skin. Just ordering a tall latte was risky enough, though this morning it was worth it.

  The late night at Kaye’s and fitful few hours of nightmare-riddled sleep, followed by a hike to the beach and back, had left me feeling sluggish. The spike of adrenaline I’d felt as I left the beach, was long gone. I needed caffeine if I was going to meet a new client…and face the city vampires this evening.

  With a sigh, I unlaced my shoes with gloved hands. I upended each sneaker, dumping sand out onto the concrete at my feet. I was glad to have my shoes relatively sand-free, but my feet felt swollen as I tried to squeeze them back inside. My legs still itched from the bug bites and scratches I accumulated on our walk through the marsh the day before.

  If I survived my meeting with the city vamps tonight, I was taking a break to put my feet up later. Maybe I’d even take a bubble bath. Jinx would think I’d been abducted by aliens. Bubble baths were her thing, but right now I was ready for Calgon to take me away.

  I slugged back the last few gulps of coffee and tossed my cup in the metal trash bin. I considered ordering another, but dismissed the idea. Public restrooms gave me the horrors. Instead, I dragged myself up onto swollen feet and started walking north.

  *****

  Jinx had given me the directions to my new client, Mrs. Hastings. According to my phone, I was in the right place. I kept a wary eye on her lawn ornaments as I made my way up the short path to her door. The grinning garden gnomes in their bright red hats reminded me of my recent encounter with the red cap, and his nasty bloodstained dagger. I swallowed hard, remembering the carrion smell of the red cap.

  I squared my shoulders when I reached the door. Using my sleeve to cover my finger, as well as my gloves, I rang the doorbell. It was answered by a plump, white haired lady who barely reached my shoulder.

  “Hello, Mrs. Hastings?” I asked. “My name is Ivy Granger from Private Eye. Did you make an appointment with us?”

  “Yes,” she said. Her round cheeks blushed red as she nodded. “Please, come in.”

  She stepped back, opening the door wide and I lifted my hand to my mouth to stifle a gasp. The place was crawling with pookas. Every bit of chintz, silver, and china was being haggled over by the small faeries.

  Careful not to let on that I’d spotted them, I followed Mrs. Hastings through the living room, past more than a dozen pookas, and into a small kitchen. The woman spoke with a slight accent, and I wondered if she inadvertently brought the faeries here from abroad.

  It was a well known fact that the fae used to favor the British Isles where the veil between our world and the Otherworld, where faeries originate, was at its thinnest. Imagine a family’s surprise to leave an accursed home behind, only to bring their problems with them as they settled in a new land. The story was a common one.

  “Tea, dear?” she asked.

  “Yes, please,” I said.

  I didn’t have any intention of drinking anything from a cup in this house, but I knew the ritual of making tea would help calm the older woman.

  “My assistant mentioned that you were missing something and hoped that we could help you locate it,” I said. “Could you tell me about the item?”

  “Well, I must be going daft, but I keep misplacing things,” she said, shaking her head. “Normally I don’t mind, but I promised my granddaughter that she could have my engagement ring when the time came. Now she’s gone and met a nice young man and…”

  “And you can’t find the ring,” I said.

  “Yes, that’s about right,” she said.

  She brought a tray laden with teapot, cups on saucers, sugar, cream, and a plate of cookies. I felt a pang of guilt that I wouldn’t be drinking any, after she’d gone to the trouble, but I made sure to busy myself with the cup so she wouldn’t notice.

  I was surprised, with so many pookas in the house, that the old woman had any nice belongings left. It wouldn’t be long before the rosebud trimmed teacups would be missing as well.

  Pookas are mischievous little faeries. Due to their antics, they are often mistaken for poltergeists. They make silly noises, get into drunken brawls with house pets, and steal anything that isn’t nailed down with iron. Pookas are insatiable kleptomaniacs.

  They are also skilled shapeshifters. Pookas can take animal form, often choosing the guise of a squirrel, rabbit, goat, dog, or bird.

  “This may seem like a strange question, our methods at Private Eye are a bit unorthodox, but have there been any stray animals around lately?” I asked.

  She nodded.

  “Oh, don’t worry, love,” she said, smiling an impish grin. “You can speak plainly. I know there are things that most people cannot see, but that doesn’t mean that they don’t exist. When I was a girl, we were all aware of such things. People forget.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief and felt my shoulders ease. It was so much easier when a client had an open mind.

  “It’s a lovely day for a stroll,” I said, winking. “Could we take a walk while our tea cools?”

  Actually, it was so hot you could roast an egg on the pavement outside. I’d rather go for a stroll in Hell, but I pretended to want nothing more than to go for a ramble around the black-topped streets of her neighborhood. Mrs. Hasting caught my wink and played along.

  “Yes, dear,” she said. “That’s a lovely idea.”

  Once outside, her impish grin returned. In fact, she looked ten years younger.

  “It’s a relief, you know,” she said. “At
my age, I expect some forgetfulness, but I was beginning to worry. When my ring went missing, I thought my granddaughter might try to put me in one of those homes.”

  “No, I don’t think you’ll need to leave your home,” I said. “Well, not permanently, anyway. But could you go visit your granddaughter for a week or so? Or stay with a friend somewhere outside of Harborsmouth?”

  “I could do that, yes,” she said. “Shall I leave as early as today?”

  “Is that possible for you?” I asked. “I could help you pack. I don’t think the pookas know why I came to visit. I can pretend to be a friend come to collect you.”

  “Ah, so it’s pookas then,” she said, nodding.

  Oops. I hadn’t meant to fill her in on all the details, but I was worried about the old woman. With a house full of mischievous pookas, and the looming each uisge threat, I’d feel better knowing she was out of town.

  “Have you heard of them?” I asked.

  “I heard stories as a girl,” she said. “Frightful little creatures, aren’t they?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I don’t think you are in any real danger, but they’re a nuisance, and difficult to get rid of.”

  “Good, then it’s decided,” she said. “I’ll surprise my sister in Rockland. I could use a holiday away from the city. It’s been miserable here in this heat.”

  We finished our walk around the block, Mrs. Hastings chatting away about her sister. Once back inside the house, we kept up our charade. The pookas didn’t seem to react, except to fuss when she put a shiny brooch in her overnight bag. I helped Mrs. Hastings pack up her things and walked her to the corner of Congress Street where she could catch a cab to the train station. She was almost giddy with excitement at her plans for a holiday.

  I helped her into the cab when it arrived and she pressed an envelope into my gloved hand.

  “Here you are, dear,” she said. “That’s my spare house key, so you can come and go while I’m away, and your fee. There’s a little something extra for relocating the…pests. If I owe you more, we can settle up when I return Friday next week.”