Five Dead Herrings by E.J. Russell

That night, right after full dark, I stood with Mal outside the Martinsons’ closed gates, swamped by a little too much deja vu. There were differences of course, chief among them the giant wreaths of black roses on each arm of the gates and on the front door of the mansion. I glanced sidelong at Mal. While Jordan wasn’t bouncing nearby, itching for adventure, the wicked smile on Mal’s face was nearly as alarming.

“You’re sure the council believed us?” I asked for about the fifth time since Mal had returned to the office, the parchment with the official decree rolled in his hand.

“Enough to delay Martinson’s demand for Lachlan’s trial in absentia.” He flicked the decree with one finger. “This’ll keep him busy for a while, justifying his blackmail attempt on poor old Ronnie.”

I had my doubts about that. Ronnie was right—money could buy a lot, and I doubted the supernatural community was any more immune to corruption than the human world. Given Wyn’s experience with domestic abuse at Reid’s hands, there were quite a lot of unfortunate parallels. My rose-colored notion of a wondrous magical world populated by fairies and unicorns was getting more tarnished by the day.

Supes, it seemed, weren’t all that different from humans: just as prone to be selfish, greedy, and unscrupulous. They simply had additional tools at their disposal to achieve their ends.

Mal sauntered over to the security pad and pressed the intercom button.

“Who is there?” The speaker was female, so unless the Martinsons had additional staff lurking around, it was probably Eleri, the thorny maid.

“Mal Kendrick, here to see Pierce Martinson.”

“I’m sorry, but Mr. Martinson is in seclusion, mourning the tragic death of his son.”

“I understand,” Mal said, not sounding the least sympathetic. “However, this cannot wait. I have a decree from the supe high council that requires his immediate attention.”

“One moment.”

Mal winked. “That’ll toss a few logs on his fire.”

“If you say so,” I muttered. I rubbed the back of my head. I was pretty sure my headache had more to do with too much coffee and not enough sleep, but if Pierce could lob magical mickeys like baseballs, who’s to say he couldn’t target Mal or me?

Mal shot me an amused glance. “I know what you’re thinking, mate. Offensive magic takes preparation. And the SMA is keeping a lookout.”

“SMA?”

“Supernatural Monitoring Agency. Run by sphinxes. Buggers never sleep. If they detect any sketchy weaponized magic at this location, my brother will be here quicker than you can say Bob’s your uncle.”

“Assuming the SMA hasn’t been compromised,” I retorted. Mal’s eyes widened, and he seemed honestly surprised. “What, you assume they’re incorruptible?”

“They’re sphinxes!”

“And I seem to remember some jerk claiming that being an angel made anything he did okay, so maybe a little skepticism might be a good thing.”

“So you’re saying…”

“Watch your back, Mal.”

He grimaced. “Bloody hell. Wish I’d brought Niall with me after all.”

“Hey! I’m decent backup.” I tapped my jacket pocket. “Emergency beacon ready to engage. Zeke stocked me up on FTA tokens for a quick—” A clump of fir needles plopped onto my head. I brushed them away. “Argh! Lousy dryads.”

Mal smirked at me. “I don’t doubt your good intentions, mate, dryad feud aside. But you’ve been inside Martinson’s house. Inside his workroom without his permission. That makes you vulnerable to him and”—his expression turned apologetic—“a liability to our mission. You’ll have to say outside.”

A vine snaked across the ground toward my foot and I dodged to the other side of Mal. “Great. Out here. With the plants.”

“Stay in the middle of the lawn and you should be grand. No trees to dump on you. No vines to bind you. Pretty sure grass can’t do much damage.”

I peered through the gates. Despite how closely the gardeners had shaved the lawn and how aggressively they’d trimmed the hedges, everything was looking decidedly shaggy. Hadn’t Ronnie said that the plants fought back? “Somehow that doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“Relax. The dryads are just throwing a little tantrum. They’ll settle down soon enough or…” He leaned over and directed his words to the vine. “I’ll have a word with Bryce.” The vine curled in on itself and disappeared beneath the bushes. He clapped me on the shoulder. “There you go. You should be fine now.”

“Great,” I muttered, just as the gates swung open.

Mal grinned at me. “Looks like Martinson’s accepting what’s good for him.” He pointed toward the center of the lawn. “Wait for me there.”

“Are you sure?”

“I was the Queen’s bloody Enforcer for two hundred years, mate. Trust me. I can take care of myself.”

I had to be content with that. I took my place on the lawn, well away from the hedges which rustled rather menacingly—unless that was just the chill breeze that had suddenly kicked up. When the front door opened, a long rectangle of golden light fell over the steps and driveway, casting Mal’s shadow halfway to the fence. When the door shut behind him, it was ridiculously dark. All the drapes in the mansion were pulled tight, not a bit of light leaking through, and the lights lining the driveway suddenly winked out.

“Wonderful,” I muttered, wrapping my arms across my chest. The lights must be motion sensitive, and with the moon still behind the treetops, unless I wanted to dance the conga across the lawn, I had to make do with starlight.

I wished for one of my night vision camera lenses, or for Zeke’s ability to see in the dark. Hmmm… There was a thought. If they made glasses for demons like Zeke or AJ so they could see in the sunlight, could they make the reverse for me? Like night vision goggles only without the funky green outlines? Maybe if I—

A footstep sounded on stone from the other side of the house. Wait. If somebody had walked out onto the patio, why hadn’t the lights come back on? I squinted through the dark, trying to make out something, anything. Was the darkness next to the house somehow more dark? Was it moving?

I listened hard. Could it be more dryad shrubbery shenanigans? It didn’t sound like leaves rustling. It sounded like…

The moon peeked over the trees, bathing the grounds in wan light, and I could finally see. But what I could see made no sense whatsoever.

Because the person advancing toward me across the lawn, barefoot and wearing black trousers and a black turtleneck, was Reid Martinson.