Five Dead Herrings by E.J. Russell

Idialed Zeke on our emergency line as I was stripping off my coat. He answered on the first ring because of course he did—demon super speed was one of the abilities Zeke’s Sheol progenitor had baked into him—not that actual baking was involved. That I knew of, anyway, but, you know, Sheol. Lava rivers and all that.

“Hugh? What’s wrong?”

“I need you to get the SMTs down to Lachlan Brodie’s boat slip on the Nehalem River, stat. Reid Martinson’s face down in the water. I don’t know for how long. I’m going in now to try to pull him out.”

“Hugh!” Zeke’s voice, usually so friendly and well-modulated, was sharp. “Do not go into that water. Do not touch Reid’s body. Stay where you are and…and do your job.”

“My job?” I barked. “What, just take freaking pictures? He might still be revivable, but not if I don’t get him out—”

“You’re human, Hugh. Matt.” Zeke’s pleading tone stopped me in the act of jumping off the pier. “And this is a supe affair. You don’t know what led to Reid being in the water and there could be…ramifications. You need to leave the situation to those who are qualified to handle it.”

I stared down at Reid’s body. The river wasn’t the most pristine—a discarded water bottle bumped against his outflung hand, a dead fish floated belly up by his foot, and a mat of seaweed tangled with his hair. It seemed wrong to leave him there.

But I wasn’t qualified. Most of the supe community barely tolerated me. I heaved a shaky breath. “There’s something else. Lachlan’s boat is missing. And I saw Lachlan and Wyn on it earlier. Lachlan and Reid had an…an argument.”

Zeke sucked in an audible breath. “I’ll let them know. For now, please document the scene.”

“Right.” I bent slowly to pick up my jacket. “Document. Because that’s my job.”

“Matt,” Zeke’s voice was gentle. If he was still calling me Matt, he was probably trying to ground me and prevent me from doing something stupid. “What you do is important. We all have our places, okay? The things we do best. The things that matter. And we couldn’t run this place without you.”

Headlights swept across the parking lot, half-blinding me, and I realized that Blair had disappeared at some point. “I think somebody’s here.”

“That will be the SMTs.”

I squinted through the glare. “In an ambulance? How did they get here so fast?”

“Local resources. We put them in place during the spread of Hrodgar’s Syndrome. Dr. Kendrick will be there soon, along with Pierce Martinson, so you might want to—”

“Get in, get it done, and get out?”

“It might be best,” he said apologetically as the SMTs jumped out of the ambulance. One of them, a tall Black man with a high-top fade and a gray parrot on his shoulder, strode over to me.

“The victim?” he asked, although he seemed efficient, not dismissive.

“Down there.”

He turned his head toward the parrot. “Zuri?” She launched herself off his shoulder and glided out over the water, circling Reid’s body, as the SMT and his smaller white partner raced for the pier almost faster than I could track.

I stood back and let them do their jobs.

“Matt? Are you still there?” Zeke’s voice sounded distant.

Aaaand that would be because I’d let my hand fall to my side, my phone still in a death grip. I winced. Maybe not the best choice of words. I lifted the phone to my ear. “I’m here.”

“I’ve checked with Mal. He’d like you to return to the office as soon as you’ve finished with the photographs. He’ll debrief with you then.”

“Got it. See you.”

I hung up and got with the program. I concentrated on the parking lot and the dock and its surroundings, because I really didn’t want to watch as the SMTs pulled Reid’s limp body out of the water.

I know what you’re thinking. Why did I call Zeke and not 9-1-1? Why not get the ME out here along with the police to investigate the…murder and take charge of the body?

Why? Secrecy Pact, remember? Supes police supes. I can understand it, you know? Can you imagine what would happen if an ME did an autopsy on a vampire? Or if a junior werewolf got picked up on a drunk and disorderly and had an uncontrolled shift in the county lockup?

The dangers run both ways, so I get it. I do. But I’d spent thirty-seven years immersed in, and sometimes skirting, the American—human American—legal system. Was it so surprising that it shook me to witness something that defied those laws?

The SMTs laid Reid out on the dock and worked over him—the two of them assisted by the parrot, who must be the first guy’s familiar. Another man had joined them while I’d been talking to Zeke, a tall white man who reminded me of the guy who won The Great British Baking Show a couple of years ago. The new guy had Reid’s hand in his, but as I watched, he laid it over Reid’s chest and shook his head. Reid’s body remained still, unmoving. The three of them sat back and stared at one another bleakly.

I edged toward them. “I don’t want to intrude, but I’m with Quest and I’ve been instructed to document the scene?”

The guy with the parrot glanced up at me and I braced myself for blowback, but he just nodded tiredly. “Of course. You’re Hugh, right? You made the call?” I nodded. “I’m Ky, by the way. My familiar, Zuri.” He gestured to his partner. “Pete.” He stripped off his nitrile glove and draped an arm across the third man’s shoulders. “My boyfriend, Ewan. Achubydd.”

Ewan was like David, then. I met Ewan’s gaze as he leaned into Ky. “No calon spark?”

Ewan shook his head again. “He’s gone.”

“My boy!” The tortured shout almost made me drop my camera. Pierce Martinson, with Dr. Kendrick looming behind him, hurried over and dropped to his knees next to Reid’s body. He clasped Reid’s hand to his chest and glared at the SMTs. “What have you done to him?”

“I’m sorry,” Ky said gently. “We pulled him from the water, but we weren’t able to resuscitate him. Ewan, our achubydd, wasn’t able to detect any calon spark at all.”

Pierce’s jaw worked, his eyes blazing. “Get away from him.”

Ky glanced up at Dr. Kendrick’s impassive face. “We should really transport him to United Memorial. We’ll need to—”

“No! I’ll take him. I won’t have you desecrating his body. We…we have our own traditions. Our own rituals.”

Ky waited for Dr. Kendrick’s curt nod before he stood along with the others and backed away. As the Queen’s official Champion, Dr. Kendrick is like the SAC for supe law enforcement. If he said Pierce could take the body, then Pierce could take the body.

He handed Pierce a bulky bundle that the older man unfolded and shook with a snap before spreading it on the ground next to Reid. In the lights from the ambulance, it looked blood red and had the kind of texture that I associated with velvet.

The SMTs had already removed Reid’s overcoat. Ky stepped forward as if to help move the body onto the—shroud, I guess?—but Pierce barked, “No! He is my son. No one but me shall attend him.”

Everyone, including Dr. Kendrick, stepped back respectfully.

For a lean, older guy, Pierce was clearly stronger than he looked, because he gathered Reid’s body against him and dead-lifted him onto the shroud as if he weighed no more than a baby. He folded the fabric around him, gently yet precisely, all while murmuring too softly for me to hear. Once Reid was completely wrapped, Pierce stood and made some kind of gesture over the body, which caused Zuri, who was perched on Ky’s shoulder, to fluff her neck feathers until Ewan smoothed them with a finger.

Pierce strode over to Reid’s sports car. I expected him to crack the trunk, but instead he opened the rear door. He returned to Reid’s body and dead-lifted—I really needed to find another word—it again, carrying it with measured tread to the car and arranging it tenderly across the back seat, something I could have sworn was impossible.

Yeah, I really needed to stop being surprised by supe abilities.

After he shut the door, he leaned his head on the car roof and murmured something else. Then he turned to face us. I’m not sure what I expected to see in his expression. Grief? Sure. Anger? Understandable.

What I didn’t expect to see was a glimmer of triumph amid the fury.

“I’ve warned the council. I’ve warned them multiple times about Lachlan Brodie’s instability. And you see the result!”

Dr. Kendrick eased up on his impression of a Stonehenge menhir, although not by much. “We don’t know that Mr. Brodie is responsible for this.”

Pierce scoffed. “My boy drowned. His fiancé missing. The bastard’s boat gone. Of course he’s responsible. And I expect the council to do what’s right. I expect justice. I expect Brodie form-locked and hunted on the high seas.” His upper lip lifted in a sneer. “Although he doesn’t deserve even that much of a chance. You ought to unsheathe that useless broadsword of yours, Kendrick, and behead him where he stands.”

“Mr. Martinson,” Dr. Kendrick said wearily, “we cannot—”

“I’m taking my son home for proper burial.” He glared at all of us, although his eyes narrowed when they landed on me. “I expect to hear a satisfactory response from the council. By dawn.”

He climbed in the driver’s seat and peeled out of the lot like a Formula One racer.

Dr. Kendrick’s shoulders slumped and he ran a hand through his hair. “Damn.” He glanced at the SMTs. “Thank you for your efforts. You may go now.”

They nodded to him and returned to their ambulance. Once they’d left, Dr. Kendrick turned to me. “I believe you’ve taken photographs?”

“Uh…yeah.” I wiped my suddenly damp hands on my jeans. Dr. Kendrick was one of the people who’d strongly objected to my shots when I was still working for the tabloids. Was he about to demand my camera?

But he just heaved a weary sigh. “Good. I’m not looking forward to this trial.” A lopsided smile tugged at his lips, and for a moment, despite his almost impossible fae beauty, he looked completely human. “The magicians’ faction will take this as justification for their own independent council outside of supe jurisdiction. They’ve been demanding it for centuries. Please tell my brother I depend on him—on all of you at Quest—to prevent that if you possibly can.”

“We’ll, um, do our best?”

“I can ask no more. But if you fail…” He gazed out at the moon, about to disappear into the sea. “Well, I suppose we can’t expect anything to last forever, can we?”

He strode off across the lot, and it wasn’t until he disappeared around the corner that I realized I should have asked him if there was another FTA stop closer than Ted’s cave. On the other hand, I couldn’t very well leave my Honda here.

I climbed behind the wheel, my thoughts in turmoil and my throat tight. Lachlan was probably a liar and manipulative to boot. But after I’d seen that expression on his face when he’d spoken to Blair, the one so like Ted’s, I’d never imagined he could be a cold-blooded murderer.

Shakespeare had it right. What fools these mortals be. Or at least what a fool this particular mortal could be when his stupid heart got in the way of his head.