by Lyra Evans
“Which unit?” Niko asked, slamming his door and making his way across the courtyard toward the building.
“705,” Starla answered, but her voice was rather distant. Niko stopped and found she was still standing by the car. He walked back toward her.
“What are you doing?” he asked, and she shook her head.
“I’m going home,” she said. “I gave you all I got. Took you to his place. No reason for me to stay.”
Cobalt came up by Niko’s side. Niko glanced at him; he was still unreadable. “What if we have more questions? What if there’s something about the Woods in there? We need you to identify—”
Starla waved him off. “You’ll find me if you need me, I’m guessing,” she said, walking toward the street. “But I’m hoping this is the last time I see you.”
Niko felt his chest tighten. “If you wait, we can take you home,” he said, hoping that might sway her.
But she shook her head again. “And risk being seen with a cop?” She snorted a laugh. “Come on.” She stopped just before the sidewalk, turning back to him to wave. “See you around, Kiki. Or not.”
Niko watched her go. He wasn’t aware of how tense he was until he felt Cobalt’s hand on his shoulder and jerked violently away. Cobalt held his hands up in surrender, and Niko exhaled loudly, shutting his eyes. He needed to get a grip on himself.
“She will be all right,” Cobalt said, illogically.
Niko gave him a flat look. “I’m not worried,” he said, but the arch of Cobalt’s white eyebrow suggested he didn’t believe Niko. Niko brushed him off and moved toward the building again. “We need to wake up the landlord.”
He pushed his way into the building, taking in the small vestibule quickly. The tiles were brown linoleum with a faux-marble pattern on them. The walls were brown-ish though it was difficult to tell if it was their colour or simply the effect of years of dirt and wear. The inner doors of the vestibule that led to the elevators were made of wire mesh glass, a product no longer used in safety glass because it wasn’t actually stronger. The crack along one side of the base of the glass panel was indication enough of that. The locks on the door, however, were hardier, and though Niko was sure he could get through them, he decided it would be simpler to wake the landlord via the intercom system.
Pushing the numerical code marked for the landlord, Niko buzzed. And he buzzed. And again. Cobalt stood near the glass door, studying it and the locks with an intensity that unsettled Niko. On the fourth buzz, Niko held the button down, counting out the seconds in his mind. Finally, the buzzing stopped, and a voice broke through on the crackling speaker.
“Fuck off,” it swore. “Do you know what fucking time it is?”
“Police, open the door,” Niko said, too tired and annoyed to try the more polite route. He also hated being sworn at.
“Poli—fuck, fine. I’m coming.” The intercom clicked off and rather than open the door remotely, the landlord eventually shuffled out of a side corridor and pushed open the inner glass door manually. Noticing, perhaps, their fetish gear, he immediately said, “I need to see some ID.” Niko pulled his badge out and displayed it for the man. He was older, balding, and had a similarly stooped build to his buildings. He tightened a dark brown robe around his bony frame and nodded them both in as he held the door open. “What’s this about?” Again, he looked the two of them up and down, silently questioning their choice of clothing, but Niko ignored that. This was not the most inappropriate thing he’d been forced to wear while working.
“We’re investigating the murder of one of your tenants,” Niko said, studying the entrance and elevator bay. There were mailboxes to one side in a small room,
“I didn’t hear anything about a murder,” the landlord said, looking both alarmed and exhausted. “No one’s died on these premises since—”
“He wasn’t murdered on the premises,” Niko said, then added, “that we know of. He was, however, a tenant. Apartment 705. We will need access to all properties associated to that, including locker and mailbox if applicable.”
The landlord blinked at Niko, then his eyes passed to Cobalt. He seemed momentarily stunned, more confused than anything else Niko had seen so far, and then he turned his attention back to Niko.
“Can I see that badge again, Officer…”
“Detective,” Niko corrected, pulling his badge one more time. “Detective Spruce.”
He nodded once, studying the badge more closely. Then, with a heavy sigh, he pulled out a ring of keys from his robe pocket. “Indy’s dead, is he?” He shook his head. “Poor kid. He was a good one.”
“You knew him?” Cobalt asked, and the landlord shuffled by them toward the mailboxes.
“A bit,” he admitted. “Not enough to know anything about what happened to him,” he added quickly. “He was just always very polite. Paid his rent on time. And when his friends went past due the first time, he came and paid their rent too. Not many in this neighbourhood do that.” He stopped by one of the boxes, marked 705, and slid the key in. Popping the box open, Niko moved around to peer inside. Disappointingly, there was nothing there. No mail at all.
“He paid his friends’ rent?” Niko asked.
The landlord nodded. “The first time, anyway. But they kept going past due, week to week, and I guess poor Indy couldn’t keep up with that and his own rent. I had to list those apartments again. Couldn’t bear that many unpaid bills, you know? I still gotta stay in the black, no matter how nice the kids were.”
“Are those apartments still available?” Niko asked.
Shaking his head, the landlord said, “’Fraid not. Lots of turnover in these buildings, so it’s not unusual to get people moving in for only a couple weeks at a time, then new people come in. Indy’s is still his, though. Paid for a few weeks ahead of time, so his rent isn’t due for another little while.” He sighed again. “I guess I’ll have to list that one now too.”
“The apartment might be a crime scene,” Niko said, noting a small set of business cards on the table in the entrance with the landlord’s number. He took one. “As part of our investigation, we’re going to have to seal it for forensics. You won’t be able to list it until we’ve collected all the relevant evidence.”
The landlord gave Niko a long look but nodded eventually. “Right, right,” he said. He led them back to the elevator bay and up to the seventh floor. The corridor of the seventh floor was much the same as the foyer and the elevator—all in varying shades of brown and beige, old and worn in—but the corridor had the added detail of smelling strangely like corn chips. Indigo’s apartment wasn’t far down the corridor, and the door was locked when Niko and Cobalt found it. The landlord slid the key in and turned. He made to step forward into the apartment when Niko stopped him.
“For forensic purposes, it’s best if we go in alone,” he said. “To preserve the scene. You understand. You are free to return to your apartment now, or you can wait out here in the hall if you prefer.”
The landlord deliberated, but considering the hour, he seemed more interested in sleeping than in protecting the rights of his tenants. So he shrugged and shuffled back to the elevators.
“The door locks behind you when you close it, so don’t get locked out,” he told them as he left. “If you’re going to have cops running up in here, make sure they bring the right paperwork with them. My tenants get skittish.”
Niko nodded, though the landlord wasn’t looking at him. Holding the door with one hand, he peered into the darkened apartment, trying to get a sense of whether there might be someone inside. He didn’t have his weapon on him, so Niko would have to make do with magic alone should it come to that. He turned to Cobalt and nodded, gesturing for him to follow Niko in.
Making his way inside, Niko scanned every corner, every wall, clearing the rooms one by one with Cobalt at his back. They passed through the apartment quickly, given that it was essentially one massive room and a bathroom. The main room served as a bedroom, living room, and kitchen
all in one. There was a small refrigerator, counters, sink, and an apartment sized stove against the corner of the far wall. In front of that was a table large enough for two with mismatched chairs. A double bed nestled into the corner diagonally opposite the kitchen, next to the bathroom door. The simple duvet cover was slightly rumpled and partially pulled back, but otherwise it seemed rather neat. The only other furniture was a green couch that had seen better days and a television on a stand against the main wall of the apartment. The outer wall was mostly windows, curtained with ancient fabric in what might have once been cream. Next to the couch was a trunk-cum-side table. An abandoned water glass sat atop it, along with a notepad and pen.
As Niko let his guard down slightly to examine the room, it became clear that what was designed as a crash pad had turned into a makeshift case room. The television was surrounded with papers, news articles, and handwritten notes taped to the wall. There were marks on various pieces circled or crossed out in dark marker. There were sticky notes with questions scribbled across them, then also crossed out, or sometimes reworded. Niko stood in the centre of the notes, staring up at them and trying to make sense of the chaos.
“This is…thorough,” Niko said, unable to settle on another word. Cobalt stood in silence next to him, in awe of the connections Indigo had apparently made.
“So many of these questions lead to dead ends,” Cobalt said, studying the web of thoughts on the wall. Niko nodded.
“That’s how these things tend to go,” he said, searching for the most useful information. There was a list of all the missing Selkies that was charted next to the locations they were last seen. Most of the locations listed were pleasure clubs of one kind or another. Within that list, there were groups of Selkies. It seemed they would go missing in couples or trios. Until only Indigo remained.
There was, of course, no indication of where Indigo went missing. Or rather, when and where he was pulled into the fold of the Woods. He was last seen at the Wand, but was that where he met whoever connected him with his friends again? Or somewhere else? And where had he been killed?
The apartment was in need of some tidying, but it was overall clean enough. There was definitely no obvious blood evidence, meaning unless someone cleaned extensively, then dirtied the place up just a bit, Indigo had not been murdered here. Niko pulled out his phone and took photos of the list of disappearance locations. Then he called up his calendar and checked the dates Indigo had listed as the last time his friends were seen. Most of the dates were Friday and Saturday nights. The only one marked differently was changed after the fact, and it seemed to line up with when Starla had run into Indigo’s friends after he’d begun his investigation.
Further on the wall was another list of locations, this time plotted on a map of Maeve’s Court. They seemed to be various businesses. One was a hotel, one was a spa and salon, another one was a restaurant. Some had little stars marked by the business name, but others had question marks. Niko took a photo of the map as well.
“What does this all mean?” Cobalt asked, his eyebrows drawn low over his eyes. He was tense, unsettled, and Niko couldn’t blame him. If he’d witnessed this kind of obsession in the home of someone he knew and cared about, he’d have been worried too. Not that Niko had many people that fit that description.
“It means he was determined to find his friends,” Niko said. “And that he was very desperate.”
Turning away from the wall, Niko searched through some of the other belongings strewn about the room. There were items of clothing here and there, though not enough to make a full wardrobe. A quick check to the bathroom indicated Indigo’s toiletries were still present. When he was pulled into the Woods—however that happened—he wasn’t given a chance to go home and pack. Or was he still allowed access to his own apartment?
Niko went back to the wall, checking the dates again. It didn’t make sense, but Indigo apparently had come back to his apartment since Starla indicated he’d disappeared into the Woods. Was it possible he had managed to duck them long enough to come back here and update his information? From what Niko knew of sex traffickers—and granted his experience was in depth but limited to one organization—it seemed unlikely that they would let Indigo out of their sight and control. Unless they believed he was in their control.
“Was Indigo a good actor?” Niko asked. Cobalt turned to him.
“He had a great many talents,” Cobalt answered. Niko’s deadpanned expression was apparently enough to prompt him to add, “He could certainly talk his way in and out of a variety of situations. He was—compelling.”
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Niko said, turning back to the evidence before him. Indigo likely didn’t have the training Niko had to be an undercover officer, but if he was that compelling, that talented, and that desperate, he may well have managed to convince some lower-level traffickers that they were in control of him when it was clearly the reverse.
But why Indigo was taking the time and the risk to chart out all his leads and progress was a question Niko couldn’t answer yet. Was it just to make things clearer for himself? Somehow Niko didn’t think so. And he’d mentioned to Starla that he intended to come back to Maeve’s Court once his friends were safe back in Azure’s Court. Did he mean to bring muscle back with him?
The notepad on the trunk caught Niko’s attention. He picked it up to find some indentations from his writing on the blank page. But more interesting than that was the quality of the paper. It felt slick, slightly plastic, and smooth as shell. Niko searched the area, crouching down to check beneath the bed and behind the trunk. He pulled back the pillows and was getting ready to move the furniture when he saw a small pocket on the side of the trunk, hidden by the frame of the bed. Pulling the trunk out, Niko found the pocket had the same quality to it that Cobalt’s iridescent bag had. He slipped a hand inside and pulled out a folded paper.
The note wasn’t long, but it did provide Niko with some crucial information. He turned to Cobalt and held it up. Cobalt studied the letter a moment, his eyes falling shut, his head dropping down with a heavy sigh as he finished it.
The letter read: “I know I’m not supposed to communicate with home during the Landwalk, but I have no other choice. I’ve tried on my own; I’ve done everything I can. But I can’t get them back on my own. They’re all missing. All my friends who came with me. Taken. I can’t come back home without them, but I can’t get them out safely on my own, and I don’t know who else to turn to. Please, Cobalt, I need you.”
When Cobalt opened his eyes again, their crystal irises filled with pain, Niko set his jaw. Something squirmed in his stomach, but he ignored it.
“I think it’s time you tell me the truth about your relationship to Prince Indigo.”
Chapter 12
“I don’t know what you mean,” Cobalt said, his voice calm and even. The pain in his eyes quickly faded, as though his grief came in brief waves, then washed away like the tide. Niko took in his every movement, every detail of him. And whenever a surge of feeling struck him, an impulse he couldn’t afford anymore, he locked it away in one of the boxes in his mind.
“It’s late, I’m tired, and I don’t have time for bullshit,” Niko said, and the flatness of his statement caught Cobalt off guard. He met Niko’s eyes, and after a moment’s standoff, Cobalt looked back at the wall of clues.
“I didn’t lie,” he said, as if the idea that Niko thought so bothered him most. He took his time, his gaze falling around the room. Maybe he was looking for the words, or maybe he was remembering the man who had lived in this place. There was a moment of nakedness to the looking, the searching. It was something Niko had never gotten to do—be in a place belonging to someone he’d cared for and lost. It wasn’t as though Niko hadn’t lost anyone. There was just little love in Niko’s life. “I am a Royal Guard. And he was my Prince.” Cobalt finally looked back at Niko, his head slightly tilted. “I simply didn’t specify I was his Royal Guard.”
Niko crossed his arms,
thinking on Cobalt’s words. But unless he misunderstood something significant about the role of a Royal Guard, that wasn’t the whole truth. “Not going to cut it,” Niko said. “Not when he wrote you a personal letter begging for you.” A flare of something hot and painful seared at Niko’s chest, but he pushed it aside. “Why would the prince of a Court write such a personal and desperate letter to his personal Guard? Why not to his father, the King? Or his siblings? Or even his friends still in the Court?” Niko shook his head. “It doesn’t make sense unless you’re forgetting to tell me something else.”
Cobalt remained calm, his eyes never leaving Niko now. Niko’s fingers on the letter worried at the edge of the page, wrinkling it from the pressure he applied.
“Royal Guards are hand-picked,” Cobalt said by way of explanation. “Each member of the Royal family chooses the head of their personal Guard when they come of a certain age. This person has to be trusted as closely as you might trust a family member, a lover. They are a confidant as well as defender.” Cobalt’s voice caught, just barely, on the word ‘defender.’ “Indigo chose me.” He paused, and Niko waited before pressing on with the line of questioning. It seemed as though Cobalt would answer on his own, and to salvage their working relationship, Niko wanted to let him. “I suppose I took for granted that you would know these details, though you would have no way of it. Forgive me.”
After a moment, it became clear Cobalt was done, but Niko wasn’t. He stepped closer, risking the press of Cobalt’s scent on him, the sensation of his warmth, and the slight chance it would be gone now. Now he had pushed. But it wasn’t.
“So tell me,” Niko said. “Tell me what it all actually means. Because this isn’t the behaviour of a prince to his staff.” He held up the letter again. “This is the kind of thing someone writes to a friend. Or more.”
Cobalt’s crystal eyes searched Niko’s, though Niko wasn’t sure for what. He only knew he felt a rush of something indescribable. Almost like being wrapped in a blanket after a car crash. It was a shield to allay the shock.