Five Dead Herrings by E.J. Russell

If anyone ever asks you whether you want to sit in on a supe tribunal, your first instinct will probably be heck, yeah! because supes, right? At least, that would have been my first instinct before, you know, I was forced to sit in on a supe tribunal because I was subpoenaed (via Dr. Alun Kendrick’s broadsword) to testify in a trial that would either condemn the man I loved to possible death or else allow him to marry another guy.

Yeah, good times, that.

This time, the tribunal wasn’t quite as uncomfortable. Yes, I had to testify, but only in the fact-finding phase, since I was the lead investigator on the case. Luckily, my testimony cleared the man I—okay, I wasn’t willing to say loved because one unrequited love affair per lifetime is enough, thank you very much. Let’s say the man I found very attractive despite him being a grumpy cuss who was still technically married to one of the most beautiful men I’d ever seen, since said man was still MIA and therefore unavailable for the sundering ceremony that might make said grumpy cuss possibly available.

Whew.

Yeah, so anyway, by the time all the testifying and judgment passing and whatnot was over, both Martinsons—Reid hadn’t succeeded in murdering his father or Mal, as it turned out, thanks to quick action by the FTA impromptu emergency response squad—were stripped of their rank and possessions, their magic nullified, and consigned to an extremely long stint slinging scrap metal at Govannon’s forge, the supe community’s version of a maximum security prison, located in the literal underworld, policed by an elder god, and with bonus hard labor.

As for me, I got slapped with a reprimand for breaking into the Martinsons’ house. Given the outcome, however, they just extended my probationary period by another six months instead of…whatever else they did with humans who screwed up. We, uh, managed to downplay Jordan’s participation and keep him off the tribunal’s radar.

Lachlan was cleared of all the charges that the Martinsons had trumped up against him in absentia. He never made it to the tribunal chamber because the Martinsons had staged the Cridhe na Mara just outside the bay to support their accusations, and apparently the human Coast Guard had issues with leaving your boat anchored in a shipping channel with nobody aboard. Go figure.

He’d wired Mal the full payment for Quest’s work on the case while I was being deposed by a very intimidating sphinx, so I didn’t get to say goodbye. Probably for the best, all things considered. Like I said, one unrequited love affair per lifetime is enough.

Zeke had coffee waiting for us when we got back to the offices—me, Mal, Niall, and, surprisingly, Eleri, who’d been instrumental in revealing some of the less savory activities going on in Pierce’s workroom.

And no. You really don’t want to know about those. I didn’t want to know about those, because there are some images that just don’t belong in anybody’s mental attic.

Mal and Niall had immediately taken off again, but Eleri settled onto the loveseat against the wall in Mal’s office and inhaled the heavenly steam. “Mmmm. Druid-blessed coffee beans.”

“How can you tell? Thanks, Zeke,” I said, accepting my own mug from him.

She gave me an indignant glare. “I’m a dryad.”

“As if that explains everything,” I muttered.

“Well, it does,” Zeke said. “Dryads have an affinity for anything plant based, whether it’s still growing or not.”

“Thank you,” Eleri said. “At least somebody around here knows their butt from their elbow.”

I scowled at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You could have avoided that extra six months of probation if you’d just told me you were looking for Lachlan’s pack. You knew I was working against the Martinsons.”

I choked on my coffee. “I knew no such thing. When I saw you at their place, you were creating the equivalent of Sleeping Beauty’s bramble hedge between Lachlan and Wyn.”

She rolled her eyes. “I was blocking Reid from Lachlan, you ninny. And it wasn’t a bramble hedge. I was manifesting a tree of heaven. Which you should have recognized, considering you’d spent hours staring at one.”

I narrowed my eyes. “How do you know I was staking out that tree?”

She took a sip of coffee and smirked at me over the cup rim. “I was there, of course.”

“So that was you! What were you all doing out there anyway?”

The smirk disappeared. She gazed into her cup and mumbled, “It was our book club meeting.”

“Book club?” I snorted. “What was this month’s selection? The Wind in the Willows? War for the Oaks? Fire and Hemlock?”

She shuddered. “Ugh. Don’t mention fire. Especially not at this time of year when everything’s so dry.”

“Why hide way out there anyway and incur the suspicion of your stick-up-his-ass clan chief?”

She lifted her chin and glared at me. “It’s not really a book club. That’s just our cover. We were meeting to discuss how to move against Martinson. Since the clan chief is so root-bound that he refuses to take any action, we have to sneak around behind his back to get anything done.”

“I can understand you all chasing me to begin with—you didn’t know who I was and Jordan peed on your tree. But why keep harassing me afterward?”

Her expression turned mischievous. “Because it was fun? Besides, you have to admit it turned out for the best, since we were on site and ready to roll when Reid tried to stage his little coup.”

“Yeah. Fortuitous.” I wondered if it was a spell, an extra penance the council assessed on me for the crime of being human: that I couldn’t meet any supe without an accompanying humiliating event. I stared into my coffee, the urge to fling something—although not a fish—warring with that awful sinking sensation I got in my middle whenever I was reminded I’d always be on the outside looking in. “Anyway, the tree of heaven doesn’t have thorns,” I grumbled.

“I was accessorizing.” She sniffed. “I was sending you a message.”

“A pretty dang obscure one.”

“A tree of heaven.” She widened her eyes in a seriously dude? expression. “It’s an invasive species. I was invading.”

It was my turn to roll my eyes. “Next time, send a text.”

“Hey, guys!” Jordan bounced into the room, his arms full of Wonderful Mug bags. “I brought scones!”

I glanced at the coffee tray, which had a full plate of scones right in the middle of it. “Um, why?”

Zeke tilted his head, a perplexed frown pleating his forehead. “You delivered our full order only a couple of hours ago. I didn’t make another call. We don’t have meetings on the schedule today, not with Mal and Niall tied up in the mage negotiations in Faerie.”

Jordan bit his lip. “Weeelll…”

I set my cup down with a sigh. “What is it, Jordan?”

He scuffed one battered trainer against the floor. “The thing is…I, um, may have had another accident with the milk steamer.”

“Again?” I checked for bandages, but his hands were clear of gauze. “Did you get it taken care of at St. Stupid’s?”

His shoulders hunched and his arms tightened around the bags. Zeke rescued them before the scones could be reduced to crumbs. “I mean, the accident was to the milk steamer. I kinda snapped the nozzle off.” His eyes widened in an earnest expression. “It’ll be okay. I mean, my pack is replacing it. But George, my boss… Well, he’s decided maybe Wonderful Mug isn’t the best place for me to work.” He smiled brightly. “But then I remembered how much I helped you with your cases and I told everybody I could work with Quest!”

I exchanged a glance with Zeke. “Did you run that past Mal or Niall?”

“Well. No. But that won’t be a problem, right, once you explain how much I helped you?”

I wouldn’t call it “help” exactly. His “help” is what got me in trouble with the dryads, and shielding him from the Martinson break-in had been the major cause of my probation extension. “I’m pretty sure you’ll need to talk to them yourself.”

“Oh. All right.” Cue the sad puppy eyes. “Is it okay if I wait in here with you?” He wrinkled his nose. “Lachlan’s in the lobby and you know how I feel about the water.”

I sat forward so fast that my coffee sloshed onto my hand. “Lachlan’s here? Why?”

Zeke handed me several napkins without a word, and I blotted my hand—and my jeans. “Probably to pick up his pack and his skin.”

I paused with a wad of coffee-soaked napkin in my fist. “Didn’t he already get it?”

Zeke shook his head. “No. I’ve got it in the secure supply closet.” Another pocket dimension, in case you were wondering, so super secure. “He was called away to deal with his boat before the council exonerated him.”

“He didn’t say anything about the pack,” Jordan said, his face screwed up so much it had to hurt. “And I would have noticed, because, you know, pack is a word I’m way too familiar with, but for different reasons.”

“Then why is he here?”

Jordan gave me the seriously dude look. “To see you, of course.”

“M-me? You’re sure.”

He laughed. “Well, duh. He said so.”

“Jordan,” Zeke said gently, “you didn’t actually mention that part.”

“Oh.” He shrugged. “Sorry?”

I bolted for the door, but Zeke stopped me with a touch on my arm. “Hugh. You should return his skin and property to him.”

“I should? Why?”

He smiled wryly. “Because you’re the human who stole it.”

I jerked away. “I didn’t steal it.”

“Well, not from him,” Jordan mumbled around a mouthful of scone.

I glanced between him, Zeke, and Eleri. “I didn’t steal it from anybody. That was Ronnie Purl.”

“But Ronnie’s a supe,” Eleri said as Zeke slipped out of the room. “You’re the only human in the equation, the only one who touched it.” She shrugged. “Selkies and humans. It’s a thing.”

“A thing.” I couldn’t identify the odd sensation in my middle. “What kind of thing?”

She just responded with another smirk. Before I could demand more information, Zeke returned and handed me the pack. “The skin’s inside.” I took it numbly and stumbled toward the door. “And Hugh?” I glanced over my shoulder at him. “Remember. You’re valued. Important. Special. What you bring to the table is unique among every human on the planet.” He grinned. “Or under it. So don’t let him intimidate you or talk you into something you’re uncomfortable with.”

Special, was I? Was that code for clueless and pathetic? “Got it.”

I shouldered the pack, those damn rocks—no, jewels, for Pete’s sake—poking into my back as I took the stairs so fast I almost missed the last step and took a header onto the floor. I caught myself in time, but I was still out of breath when I stumbled into the lobby. Luckily, Lachlan was gazing out the window, so his back was to me, giving me a chance to pull my shirt straight. The coffee-stained jeans were a lost cause.

“Lachlan?”

He spun around, and for a moment, I thought he looked as discombobulated as I did, but that couldn’t be right. He was Lachlan Brodie. The selkie king, even if he’d refused the throne. Of course, he still looked like Jason Momoa as Aquaman, a look that was really working for me today. “Ah. Matthew. Hello.”

I thrust out the pack. “You’re probably here for this.”

“Thank you.” He took it, but set it aside as if it didn’t contain the most important thing in his life.

“I’ve got a question, though.” I rubbed my damp palms down the sides of my jeans. “You said you needed the money from those charter bookings.”

“Aye. I do.”

I pointed at the pack. “Why not sell some of the bling you’re humping around in that pack? You’ve got a king’s ransom in gems in there.”

He huffed a half laugh. “That’s exactly what it is.”

“What what is?” I asked, mystified.

“A king’s ransom.” He met my gaze with what I could swear was sincerity. “They’re the selkie crown jewels.”

I could fake sincerity with the best of them, so I wasn’t buying what he was selling. Not yet. “Shouldn’t crown jewels be in a, well, crown?”

He quirked that bisected eyebrow—and apparently I had an eyebrow kink now. “Do I look like the sort of bloke who’d wear a crown?”

I tried to picture it. “Okay. Nope. But in that case—”

“The clans foist them on me, tucking them into some very inconvenient spots on the boat, hoping I’ll relent and take the throne. Which, just to be clear, is never happening.”

“Then why not just give them back?”

“I’ve tried!” His exasperation was clear in his tone. “The blighters won’t take no for an answer. Every time I send them back, they reappear with another diamond or sapphire or some other useless bauble added on top.”

“I suppose,” I said slowly, “diamonds beat dead herrings as onboard accessories.”

He snorted. “I’d almost prefer the herrings. At least they’re good to feed the gulls.” His big chest lifted in a sigh. “I’ll not take payment for a job I refuse to do, so I’m holding onto the gems in trust, you might say. And since the witches took the protections off my boat, I have to haul them about with me.” His expression turned serious. “I’m not rich, Matthew. I’ll never be rich.”

“Okay? Is this about your Quest bill, because I’m not—”

“That’s not… I was rather hoping that you… That we… That is…” He ran his hands through his hair and muttered something under his breath. “I wanted to…thank you. For everything.”

“I was just doing my job. Here at Quest, we endeavor to give our clients the best possible service.”

Another eyebrow quirk, dammit. “Do you risk your life for all your clients then?”

“I, er…” Was that interest in his eyes? “It’s never come up before. You were my first case that involved more than surveillance.”

“Is that all I was, then?” He took a step closer. “A case?”

Jeez, it was easier to hold my ground against ex-dead Reid Martinson than it was against Lachlan with that glint in his eye. “Y-yes.”

“But the case is closed now that I’ve paid in full.” He stopped a good two yards away, thank goodness, and toyed with the stapler on Zeke’s desk. “Isn’t that right?”

“It’s closed, but—” I took a deep breath. “Lachlan, are you hitting on me?”

He winced. “If you can’t tell, then I must be more out of practice than I thought.”

“It’s not that. You’re still married. And…” My throat tightened. “Wyn didn’t cheat on you on purpose. The Martinsons put a spell on him.”

“I know.”

I goggled at him. “You do? How?”

“Figured it out on the boat. It doesn’t change anything, not for him and not for me. Although…it’s complicated.”

“Uh huh.” I countered with an eyebrow raise of my own. “I’ve heard that one before.”

He uttered a muffled laugh, and his tanned cheeks turned ruddy. “Until Wyn surfaces again, we can’t officially sever the knot, so yes, I’m still married, even though our sundering is duly registered and awaiting only our joint audience with the Queen.” He moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue. “I won’t dishonor my promise. I won’t cheat. I, ah, don’t really trust myself to be alone with you.” He glanced at me from under his lashes. “Not for long. But maybe you could come on a sail with Blair and me? The poor mite needs a treat and I want to spend time with you when we’re not fighting for our lives. Get to know you better and see whether there might be something between us once I’m free.”

Although warmth spread from my belly to my heart and all the way to my fingertips—he was interested in me!—my common sense was ready to douse me in a whole bucket full of ice water. “How long am I supposed to wait?”

His brows came together in confusion. “What?”

“I mean,” I said gently, “what if Wyn never comes back?”

His eyes widened, his jaw sagging. Apparently, he’d never considered that. But then his expression cleared and that sly, glint-eyed smile was back. “Well, then, I guess somebody would have to find him.” He set the stapler back on the desk and winked at me. “And it so happens I know an excellent private investigator who’s just the man for the job.”

Matt’s career as an investigator (and his budding relationship with Lachlan) continues in the next Quest Investigations story. CLICK HERE to pre-order The Hound of the Burgervilles now!

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