Five Dead Herrings by E.J. Russell
Jordan opened the door sloooowly, but it didn’t creak any more than the well-oiled gates had, and we snuck inside. The room—a suite, really, with a king-sized bed, a sitting area tucked into a bay window, and an ensuite bathroom which, just from the glimpse I got of its marble tiles and free-standing clawfoot tub, was bigger than my kitchen and dining room put together.
The place was gorgeous, even in the dim moonlight shining in through the windows, its carpets thick and plush, its ceilings high, and its walls notably devoid of formerly living wildlife. Nevertheless, there was something about it—a coldness maybe, which was pretty ironic since we were burgling a fire mage’s house—that raised the hair on my arms.
While I was goggling at how the other half lived, Jordan darted over to a tall, ornately carved wardrobe and opened its mirrored door.
“Here it is!” he called, hefting the pack out by one strap.
“Jordan,” I whispered urgently, “keep it down. Do you want to be discovered?”
He winced. “Oops. Sorry.” Then he grinned, although it wobbled as he glanced over his shoulder. “I don’t like this place. Can we go now?”
I stared gloomily out the window at the closed gates. “That’s debatable.”
If even Jordan was uneasy, I didn’t want to waste any more time inside. I took the pack from him—no sense tempting fate more than we already had—and gestured for him to precede me. I closed the door softly behind me and followed him down the corridor, but when he reached the stairs, he froze like a hunting dog scenting game.
He turned toward me, wide-eyed. Someone’s here, he mouthed, jerking his thumb at the ceiling.
Right on cue, a board creaked above our heads. I wasn’t about to find out if it was Wyn or Eleri. I held a finger across my lips and shooed Jordan onward, and for a wonder, he got the message and crept soundlessly down the stairs. I wasn’t quite as lucky—one stair creaked loudly under my foot halfway down and I froze, wishing heartily for the plush carpet from the bedroom suite.
When nobody thundered down the stairs after me, though, I unfroze myself and tiptoed down the rest of the flight. I really didn’t want to cross that workroom again, but what choice did we have? It was the only door we knew for certain was open.
I didn’t take a full breath until we were outside. Jordan was about to sprint across the patio, but I held him back, checking above us for any lights that might indicate a watcher in an upstairs window. But no telltale rectangles of light fell across the lawn. That was either a good thing or a bad thing—good, if it meant the person upstairs faced away from this side of the house; bad if they were on this side of the house, because it was much easier to see out from a darkened room than a lighted one.
But again, we didn’t have much choice. So we both raced for the fence and pushed behind the aggressively trimmed hedge, doing enough damage that the gardeners wouldn’t thank us the next time they arrived to bushwhack the plants into shapes not found in nature, but not enough to be too obvious to a casual observer.
Luckily for us—and the plants—there was enough of a gap between them and the fence that we could edge our way along, our backs to the rough stone, without making more ruckus than an elk stampede, although since I couldn’t sling Lachlan’s pack on my back, it whacked against my knee at every other step. Either his seal skin was lumpier than it had looked, or he carried other stuff in here. Probably rocks by the weight.
We made it to the gateposts without raising an outcry, but then we faced the other problem.
The gates.
“Uh oh,” Jordan said. “Now what?”
I took a deep breath. “This is why we need to consider the consequences of our actions and make a plan before barging forward.. Never go into someplace unless you know how you can get out again.”
He bit his lip. “I guess that would be a good idea, huh?” He rose on his toes and peered over the hedge. “We could just wait here until one of those cars comes back. I mean, they have to come home sometime, right?”
“In theory. However, I expect they’d notice if somebody scampered behind the car to dodge out of the gates. It’s different from the other direction—they’re not here to see us. But when they come in, well, here they are. We’d be hard to miss, especially if the car that comes back first is that town car. It probably takes five minutes just to clear the gates.”
Wait a minute.
Rich people—or the Martinsons specifically—didn’t strike me as anyone who’d want to trouble themselves to actually punch a button to open or close their gates from the inside. In fact, the reason they’d been standing open earlier today was probably so they wouldn’t be bothered by the dang things opening and closing—and possibly setting off an alarm—when the gardeners were mucking around in the underbrush.
I popped my head above the hedge to take a look and aha! Just as I thought. A discreet little unit about one and a half town car lengths from the gate that probably contained a motion sensor. To activate it, I’d need to emerge into the open, at least for a little while, but it beat the alternative—aka parking ourselves behind the bushes and hoping we didn’t get nabbed at some unspecified future moment when one of the Martinsons decided to come home.
And incidentally, if I had my choice about which one to face down? I’d pick Reid. Yeah, he had a hair-trigger temper and although we were roughly the same size, his weight was proportionally distributed more to muscle mass than mine was, but the only other advantage he had over me was money, and that made a lousy weapon in a fist fight.
Pierce, on the other hand, could probably set me on fire.
I nudged Jordan aside. “I’m going to try something. If it works and the gates open, run. I’ll be right behind you.”
Big-eyed, Jordan nodded.
I kept low, blessing my boring wardrobe that consisted of mostly dark jeans and T-shirts. My jacket wasn’t a fancy duster overcoat like the Martinsons sported, but North Face fleece was way more discreet: less fabric to flap in the breeze, which had definitely picked up, and no sheen to reflect the moonlight. It’s a good thing Jordan wasn’t still scampering around naked or he’d be a hazard on both fronts—although in his case, the articles flapping in the breeze wouldn’t be fabric.
The sensor was in two parts—a transmitter that emitted a light beam on one side and a receiver on the other. Presumably, I only needed to disrupt the beam for the gates to open. I passed my hand in front of it. Nothing. I heaved an exasperated sigh. Could it be disabled somehow? Smart enough to detect when the Martinson’s cars were on premises as opposed to out and about?
Or maybe…
I hefted Lachlan’s pack, holding it above the beam and then lowering it slowly and holding it in place. I counted in my head. One one thousand. Two one thousand. Three—
And the gates swung open.
Jordan, following instructions for a change, darted out as soon as the gap was wide enough. I kept the bag in place for another couple of one thousands, just in case, then raced for freedom. We made it—barely—out onto the street, where I had to put my head down, hands on my knees. Man, I was so not cut out for a life of crime.
I untangled my bag from the bush and then motioned for Jordan to follow me as I jogged toward the copse again. Once inside the tree screen, I turned to him.
“Listen, I want to thank you for helping me.”
He beamed. “No problem, Hugh. I—”
“But if you ever do anything like that again, I’ll…I’ll…I’ll sic Dr. MacLeod on you.”
His eyes rounded. “You wouldn’t.”
“I would. And more. The supe community might police its own, but we just broke human laws, and since the Martinsons look human, appear human, pass for human, they could call the cops on us right freaking now. And they’d be within their rights.”
“B-but they took Lachlan’s pack.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “Yeah, try explaining that to one of our officers in blue. It still counts as stealing, Jordan, even if you’re stealing something back. And since there was somebody in the house when we were there? That raises things another notch.” I blotted my damp forehead with my sleeve. “At least we weren’t armed.”
“Oh!” he said brightly, and pulled a folded knife the length of my hand out of his pocket. “I had my knife with me. I didn’t know if we’d need it.”
My knees wobbled, and not just from the notion of anyone allowing Jordan a knife. “I’m glad I didn’t know that beforehand. Now.” I looped the strap of my bag over my shoulder and shrugged into Lachlan’s pack. “I’ll return this to Lachlan. You. Go home.”
His face fell. “Don’t you need help carrying both those bags? I don’t mind.”
“Neither one of us should stay around here any longer. Please, Jordan. Go home. And stay there.”
“Okay,” he said, lower lip trembling.
“Do you need a token for the FTA?”
He perked up a little at that. “Oh no.” He brandished his cell phone. “I’ve got Hector’s app. I’m good. I can call a ride for you too, if you want.”
“No thanks. Quest covers my rides.” Besides, I didn’t want to break any more laws tonight, and I was pretty sure that app wasn’t fully sanctioned. However, I’d leave any required ass-kicking to Bryce. I pulled a rather crumpled oak leaf out of my pocket, pressed my thumb to the golden rune in its center, and murmured, “Cludo.”
The driver who showed up wasn’t my usual guy, which wasn’t surprising since this wasn’t my usual time or place. This one was a slender barefoot person with longish brown hair twined with leaves. They took one look at me and and their green eyes narrowed and their mouth pursed as if they’d been sucking a lemon. Beyond their shoulder, Jordan widened his eyes and mouthed dryad.
Terrific. Apparently my popularity with dryads had spread—probably through the literal grapevine. I heaved a sigh. “St. Stupid’s please.”
The dryad sniffed, although I doubted it was for the same reason Jordan did. Usually I try to chat with my driver on the way through Faerie—I mean, it’s only polite, right? Besides, the best way to learn about all the different fae species is straight from the horse’s—or fae’s—mouth, as it were. The dryad wasn’t inclined to chat, and that was just as well. They deposited me at St. Stupid’s and popped back through the portal without a word.
I sighed again as I headed out to the reception desk. I’d have to speak to Bryce about the general dryad hate-fest. They all practically worshipped the ground he walked on—him being an environmental science professor as well as a druid—so he’d know how I could make amends. I mean, I don’t have to have everyone like me, but having an entire supe species gunning for me was a little alarming. If the dryads ever decided to weaponize their annoyance, I’d never be sure whether my spider plant might strangle me one day.
Maybe I should stick to plastic plants for a while.
Renee was still at the desk. I smiled at her—hey, I’m a friendly guy, okay? “I’m here to see Lachlan Brodie again.”
She blinked up at me. “I’m sorry, but he’s checked out.“
I goggled at her. Lachlan’s pack slid off my shoulder and pulled my elbow down. “Checked out? But I thought he needed additional treatment.“ Not to mention he’d sent me on an errand that required me to break several human laws and possibly put me and Jordan in the crosshairs of an elemental mage. The least he could do was wait for me to report back. My ears started to burn the way they always did when I got angry.
Now, I’m a pretty even-tempered guy, but that doesn’t mean I’ll take everything lying down. The least Lachlan could have done was call me and let me know he’d gone. I didn’t even know where to find him.
“Matt?”
I froze. Only three people ever called me Matt. Ted, his husband, and—
David Evans-Kendrick bustled over from the elevator and gave me a hug. “You’re looking well. What are you doing here?”
David’s an achubydd, one of those magical healers I was telling you about, although a couple of years ago, he thought he was as human as I am. He’s also married to one of the scariest fae warriors in existence, Lord Alun Kendrick, who also happens to be the psychologist for the supe community.
If David was here, that explained why St. Stupid’s would allow Lachlan to leave. “I came to see a client. Lachlan Brodie. I’m guessing since you’re here—”
“Oh yes,” David said sunnily. “He’s all better.” A wrinkle puckered his forehead. “Nasty business. Not only a subdural hematoma but some kind of magical binding.”
“Binding? You mean like a curse?”
David glanced sidelong at Renee. “Let’s go somewhere and chat, shall we?” I followed him through the busy ER to what appeared to be a staff lounge, currently unpopulated, where he spun to face me. “Lachlan’s a Quest client?”
I nodded. “He was the victim of harassment and low-key vandalism.” I hefted Lachlan’s pack. “Not to mention the mugging and theft.”
David chewed on his lower lip. “I’m not sure, mind, but I think he might be a victim of more than that. Not just physical attacks, but metaphysical as well.”
“You mean magical?”
David nodded. “His injuries—hematoma, the amount of time he was unconscious… Well, let’s say they’re troubling.”
“I imagine any kind of head trauma would be.”
“Yes. If there were evidence of head trauma.”
My eyes widened. “You mean he wasn’t bashed on the head? But he had that lump.”
David shook his head. “From what I can tell, the symptoms, including the knot on his noggin, were all induced magically.”
That rocked me back on my heels. Achubyddion and witches and druids and the other medimagical staff at St. Stupid’s healed with magic, but I’d never heard of anyone doing the opposite. “Could an elemental mage do something like that?”
David screwed up his face. “Ugh. Mages are…problematic. You know how witches are constrained by natural consequences and druids by the balance of nature?” I nodded. “Mages don’t have that kind of failsafe. The only limits on them are the properties of their element.”
“So a fire mage couldn’t cause a flood?”
“Theoretically, no. Although there are work-arounds. Not so many now that the Realm Accords have granted full rights to the Host and made it illegal for anyone to summon and bind them to service.”
The Host. That’s how demons and angels were referred to now. I hefted Lachlan’s pack again. “I just…liberated this from Pierce Martinson’s house. It’s Lachlan’s. It was taken when he was attacked.”
“Holy cats!” David’s eyebrows disappeared under his bangs. “A fire mage? I don’t know exactly how he could have managed Lachlan’s injuries without leaving burns, but I suppose it’s possible. I don’t really know much about mages. They’re kinda at odds with the supe council.” He wrinkled his nose again. “Probably because they’re not allowed to enslave any poor demons anymore. Not that they were supposed to do it before, but somehow they always found a way to justify themselves.” He snorted. “They’re worse than Republican congressional representatives.”
“I really need to return this to Lachlan. Do you know where he went after you treated him?”
“He didn’t really say, but Wyn mentioned the boat.”
My stomach jolted. “Wyn? Wyn Ellis was here?”
David nodded. “He’s Lachlan’s husband, so he’s on the hospital’s emergency contact form. Why?”
“Because Wyn’s—” Gah! Client confidentiality. “I can’t say. But they mentioned the boat?” I reached for another FTA token, but my pocket held nothing but leaf crumbs. Damn. I needed to get back to the Quest offices and replenish my supply. Unfortunately, while the portal from our office could get me to St. Stupid’s with no FTA driver, the reverse wasn’t true. “Thanks for the intel, David. I’ve got to go.”
I raced out of the hospital, my phone already in my hand to call an Uber. I blinked at the time on the screen. Jeez, it was almost midnight. How had it gotten so late? I ought to be exhausted—this had been a very long and eventful day—but the adrenaline spike that had kept me going since Lachlan’s phone call didn’t fade in the ten-minute ride to Quest.
As I leaped out of the Uber and pounded up the stairs, I hoped like hell that Lachlan would still be alive when I found him.
Because I wanted the pleasure of murdering the idiot myself.