Five Dead Herrings by E.J. Russell

When I got back to the office, every light was on, as if it was the middle of the regular workday instead of approaching three AM. Zeke was sitting at his desk, fingers blurred with the speed of his typing as he peered at his monitor through his bespelled glasses.

Pro tip: That’s a sure way to identify demons—they’ll always wear glasses. Their eyes were configured for lightless Sheol, so banging around here in the Upper World is impossible without a vision spell, and nobody’s figured out how to bespell contacts without making them disintegrate. So if you see someone wearing glasses? Could be a demon. Just saying.

Zeke smiled at me as I trudged through the reception area. “Hello, Hugh.” His smile faded. “You look…” He blinked, and then his eyes widened. “Oh, Hugh. What have you done?” He bit his lip. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have peeked, but you’re so tired it just…fell out.”

Crap. The other thing about demons? It’s really hard to keep a secret from them because their raison d'être is to make deals with humans for their souls. So guilt, longing, need? Yeah, they can read those just like a freaking tweet. Of course, considering all the stuff I had going on, it was more like a doomscroll.

“Mal in?”

Zeke nodded. “Niall too. There’s been a bit of fuss around tonight’s events.”

Fuss. That was one way to put it. “Should I go in?”

He gave me a pointed look. “You’d better. Before they come to you.”

“Right.”

“I’ll bring coffee.”

I shot him a thumbs-up as I trudged past his desk and down the hall toward the bosses’ offices. I heard rumbly voices from the one on the right—Mal’s—so I knocked on the half-open door and walked in.

They stopped talking at once. I smiled weakly and tossed Lachlan’s pack onto the loveseat in the corner, although I was more careful with my camera bag, setting it gently on the glass-topped coffee table with the gnarled wooden base that made it look as if it was growing out of the floor. Ugh. Could a dryad possess our coffee table? It didn’t bear thinking about.

I turned to face my bosses. “Uh, hi.” They stared at me stonily, arms crossed like freaking fae bookends. “So I guess we need to talk about some stuff, huh?”

“You think?” Mal carded his hands through his hair. “When I sent you to interview Wyn, I told you to keep Lachlan away.”

Surprise made my breath catch, but the relief that followed released it again. They didn’t know about the break-in? About me letting Lachlan go? “Y-you did. I finished documenting the latest vandalism and left while he was selkied up, presumably headed out to sea. I have no idea how he found out where I was going, let alone that he planned to show up.”

“You—”

Niall nudged Mal in the side. “That’s fair. I’m not sure you could have kept him away, boyo, so don’t take the piss out of Hugh.”

Mal scowled. “All right. Fine. But when he left the Martinsons’ place, why didn’t you stick with him?”

“I wasn’t supposed to tail him. I was supposed to interview Wyn. Besides, he made it pretty clear he didn’t want me around. He’s the client.” I shrugged. “And I’m human. It’s not like I could violate his wishes.”

“Also fair,” Niall said. “But you must have made some kind of impression on him. It was you he called from St. Stupid’s, not Mal or me or even the office.”

I blinked. “I assumed he’d tried and didn’t get through. He, ah, didn’t call you first?”

Niall shook his head. “You were his first thought.”

The warm fuzzies were back, although given what I had to confess to my bosses, sheer terror was doing a bang-up job of beating them off with a really big stick. “Oh.” I licked my dry lips. “Probably because I’d just spent the afternoon with him and he knew you weren’t available.”

They exchanged glances and then shrugged at almost the same moment. Mal turned his cobalt gaze on me and I tried not to squirm. “What did you talk to him about in the hospital? Did he give you any information about the attack?”

“Not exactly.” I drew out the word. “But he asked me to retrieve something for him. Something that was stolen.”

Mal’s perfect eyebrows drew together. “Why in blazes did he ask you to do that?”

I glared at him, because this was something that still bugged me about the way the supe community worked. “Maybe because you lot don’t have anything like detectives or police. All you’ve got is…is…” I flung my arms out. “Us. Quest. Since I was the one you fobbed him off with, who else was he going to ask?”

Mal had the grace to flush. “Yeah, sorry about that, mate. Bryce is always on me about how I need to separate my personal feelings from my professional responsibilities.”

“Let’s face it, Mal.” I took a breath because I could almost see a pink slip dancing in front of my eyes. “You didn’t think he had a case, did you? You thought it was nothing but a nuisance. That he was nothing but a nuisance. So you assigned your least effective employee to babysit him.”

“Now hold on there, mate—” Mal said.

“You’re not our least effective employee,” Niall said at the same time.

“No? Who would that be, then? Zeke?”

Zeke, who’d just walked in with the coffee tray, stumbled to a halt, the spoons clinking and mugs wobbling. “What?”

Niall pinched the bridge of his nose. “We are not having this conversation.”

Zeke stared at me, wide-eyed. “What conversation?”

“The one where they try to convince me that I’m not here because the council couldn’t figure out what else to do with me,” I said acidly.

Mal uncrossed his arms and pointed at me. “Now that is not true. If you must know, I petitioned to have you work for us.”

“We both did,” Niall said, a little less testily “The same way we petitioned for Zeke. You’re both here because we want you here. You both bring things to Quest that the two of us”—he cast a sardonic glance at Mal—”meatheads that we are, don’t. To be honest, the whole notion of Quest Investigations was a way for the King and Queen to put their least law-abiding citizens to work in a way that would keep us out of mischief.”

Mal snorted. “Wouldn’t put it past their manipulative majesties to have maneuvered us into hiring both of you in the first place. Maybe they reckoned you’d keep us in line. Give us somebody other than ourselves to think about.”

Well, that was an interesting take. I hadn’t known exactly why Mal and Niall had formed Quest. It was already in place by the time I’d had my little run in with the tribunal. I cleared my throat. “Well, in that case, there’s probably more you should know about the, er, events of the day.”

Mal took the tray out of Zeke’s hands and set it on the coffee table. “In that case, why don’t we all settle in with a cuppa and hear all about it.”

“What, me too?” Zeke squeaked.

“Couldn’t do without you, mate. Although…” Mal retrieved the coffee tray and handed it back to Zeke. “Maybe get us set up in the small conference room. I promised Alun hourly updates. I’ll join you after I chat with him.”

I rubbed my chest, which had tightened at Mal’s words. He and Niall might say they trusted us, but Mal clearly didn’t want us on the call with Dr. Kendrick. He must have caught something in my expression because his changed from resigned to exasperated.

“I can tell what you’re thinking, mate, and no, it’s not because you’re not trustworthy enough to be in on the call.” He winced, gripping his nape with one hand. “But it’s not well pleasant getting reamed out by my brother with my entire team listening in, yeah?”

Niall pushed himself off the desk where he’d been perching. “I’m going to the loo.” He whisked out of the room as if he had Zeke’s demon super speed.

Mal laughed. “Smart man, Niall O’Tierney. He’s been given the rough side of Alun’s tongue before and isn’t keen to repeat the process.” He gestured to the door. “Go on. We’ll join you presently.”

I collected the pack and my bag, but slowly. I didn’t feel right about letting Mal bear the brunt of Dr. Kendrick’s anger and frustration. Especially when I had information I hadn’t disclosed.

“Mal. There are some things you should—”

Mal held up both palms. “Hold it right there, mate.”

“But I—”

“Nope.” He took my elbow and hustled me toward the door, but let Zeke rattle out ahead of me. “You’ve had a day, and no mistake. I can tell that much. But I can also tell you’re conflicted about whatever it is.” His smile was kind, something few people expected of brash Mal Kendrick. “If you tell me about it now, I’ll have to pass it along to Alun. I’d rather hear it all first so we can strategize.” He chuckled. “An admirable man, my brother, but he has a little trouble with nuance, if you take my meaning. Now go.”

I nodded and stooped to gather my bag and Lachlan’s pack

“And Hugh?” I turned back, and this time Mal’s expression had moved beyond kind and into pitying. “Remember. Brodie’s not Ted, mate.”

My stomach tumbled. “I know.” I lifted my chin. “But he’s our client. And we owe him the best job we can do. We owe him the truth.”

“Aye.” He gripped my shoulder, which was still littered with pine needles. “But you need to be ready if that truth condemns him. We’ve had a run of luck with our cases so far, but one of these days, one of our clients will be guilty as all the hells. Someone’s got to break our winning streak.”

I met his gaze steadily for maybe five seconds before I turned away and trudged down the hall, hearing his office door close behind me.

The little conference room at the end of the hall was smaller than either Mal or Niall’s office—hence the Little Conference room—although it was bigger than my cubby on the third floor. Before you judge Mal and Niall for being stingy, let me be clear: They’d offered me a larger spot, but after years in newsroom bullpens, a succession of cramped apartments, and my current little house, I felt more comfortable in a smaller space.

Zeke was already arranging the coffee service on the round oak table in the corner where windows looked down over the Pearl District streets. “You know,” he said, “this is the same view I used to have from my quarters upstairs.”

I jerked my head up to stare at him, which was why I completely missed the credenza and sent Lachlan’s pack tumbling to the ground, the damning overcoat bursting out of the still-open zipper. I cursed under my breath as I set my camera bag down. “You lived here? In this building?”

Zeke nodded as he arranged a coffee mug at each place, the handles at precisely four o’clock. “When I worked for Supernatural Selection, under the Sheol work-release program.”

“I knew you’d been in the program.” I gave up trying to stuff the coat back in the pack and tossed it over the back of one of the extra chairs Zeke had positioned at the table. “But it must have been a little claustrophobic, living at the same place you worked.”

Zeke smiled his sweet smile. “It was, a little. I used to stand at the window and dream about being able to go outside.”

I stared at him. “Hold on. You were imprisoned in this building?”

He shrugged. “It was better than Sheol.” He rolled his eyes. “Anything was better than Sheol. It was before Hamish”—his voice made Hamish sound like paradise—”and there were still rules. So many rules.” His smile returned even wider. “It’s so much better now.”

Understatement. Man, if I ever started feeling sorry for myself again, all I had to do was think about what Zeke’d had to endure. Not saying it would make me never whine again, but it certainly put things into perspective.

I made sure to give Zeke the chair with the view out the window. We’d just gotten settled when Mal and Niall walked in. Mal had the expression on his face that he usually only wore when his coffee had gone cold.

Niall, who was never one to let sleeping dogs—or fae—lie, grinned at him. “Good chat with your brother, then?”

“Shut it, O’Tierney,” Mal growled as he dropped into a chair. He wrapped his hands around his steaming mug—Zeke’s coffee serving skills were truly supernatural—and inhaled, his expression clearing. “Ah. Got some of David’s coffee beans again, have you?”

Zeke chuckled. “I’m bypassing the middle man now. I’ve got a standing order with his Aunt Cassie.”

Niall picked up his own mug. “How’d you arrange for the archdruid of the entire region to supply our office with coffee beans?”

Zeke shrugged. “I asked.”

Mal eyed the tray, which held the carafe, the cream pitcher, and a bowl full of raw sugar lumps. “Ask for a few scones, next time we’re here at the devil’s hour.”

“Devil’s hour?” I took a sip of my own coffee, gearing up for an extremely awkward confession.

“Three AM.” Mal glanced at the clock over the credenza and winced. “Although we’re past that, too. Bugger. Bryce will not be happy with me.”

“Actually,” Zeke said, “I have a standing order in with Wonderful Mug. The scones will be here in an hour.”

“They deliver at four thirty?”

Zeke doctored his own mug. “They open at five. I just piggy-backed our order on their daily bakery delivery.”

Mal blinked. “So that’s why we always have pastries on in the morning.” He beamed at Zeke. “You are truly a wonder, mate.”

Zeke ducked his head, his pale skin blotching with red. He was cute as a button, but his blush wasn’t exactly elegant.

“Now, Hugh.” Mal’s expression sobered. “I understand your interview didn’t go as planned.”

I winced. “Not entirely. Wyn claimed he was only responsible for the first fish. Lachlan believes him.”

“Said so, did he, after he showed up and bolluxed up the interview?”

“Not exactly.” I took a huge gulp of coffee, burning my tongue.

“Later, then? At the hospital?”

“Um…”

Mal narrowed his eyes. “Maybe you should tell exactly when you had this little chat with our client, otherwise known as supe enemy number one.” He nodded at Zeke. “For the record.” Zeke nodded and pulled a tablet from apparently thin air. Maybe he kept it in a dimensional pocket, a Sheol storage specialty. Since the Realm Accords, the C-suite demons were making a killing marketing those spells to other supes, but as a demon himself, Zeke manipulated them naturally.

“I saw him in the woods, by Ted’s cave.” I dropped my gaze to my mug, but the coffee looked like a huge dark eye, staring back at me accusingly. I pushed it away. “After Pierce Martinson took Reid’s body away, and the SMTs drove off and Dr. Kendrick left,” I said in a rush.

“Hold on.” Niall leaned forward. “Are you saying you spoke to him after the murder? He accosted you? Bloody hells, Hugh, why didn’t you set off the emergency beacon? That’s what the bloody thing is for.”

“He said he didn’t do it!”

“That’s what they all say, mate,” Mal said. “But fact is, we’ve got one body in hand and another in the bush. Or ocean, as the case may be.”

“He says Wyn isn’t dead. He’s alive. But he doesn’t know where.” I swallowed thickly. “He, um, gave Wyn his truck and an FTA voucher so he could get away.”

Niall muttered something under his breath, and Mal scrubbed both hands over his face. “Grand. Our only witness is in the wind, not to mention the prime suspect.”

“Lachlan promised he’d turn himself in after thirty-six hours.”

“And they all say that too! Hugh—”

“He promised. On the heart of the ocean. He doesn’t break his promises.”

“That’s true,” Zeke said. “Selkies don’t, not when they swear on the ocean. If he said he’d turn himself in, he will.”

Mal sighed resignedly. “Well, at least he can’t have gone far, not if he gave Wyn his truck. He can hardly jaunt into Faerie, or they’d nab him first thing. Ah, bugger.” He winced and pushed out of his chair to pace across the room. “He could slip on his bloody seal skin and be off into the water and we’d never find him.”

I screwed up my face and my courage. Time to cop to the break-in. “Actually—”

Mal barked a laugh. “I hope you counted the silver, Zeke.”

Zeke glanced from me to Mal. “What? We don’t have any silver. Do we? Do I need to count it?”

“Just an expression, mate.” Mal gestured to the coat flung across the chair. “Since Ronnie Purl’s been here, you can bet that something’s gone walkabout if he was left unsupervised for five minutes.”

Zeke’s brow wrinkled. “Ronnie wasn’t here. Why do you think he was?”

Mal jerked his thumb at the coat. “Because that’s part of Ronnie’s restitution, return of which is keeping him out of nick. That’s Casimir Moreau’s cashmere coat.”