Five Dead Herrings by E.J. Russell

“I-I’m sorry, sir,” Zeke murmured. “I didn’t mean—”

“Stand down, Brodie, you arsehole.” Mal patted Zeke’s shoulder. “Don’t mind him, boyo. He’s a mite tetchy about his little satchel.” Mal jerked his chin at Brodie, whose chest was heaving in a very distracting way. “Got your skin in there, do you?”

My pen fell from my suddenly numb fingers. “S-skin?”

“Ah, bugger.” Brodie wiped one hand over his face, the other arm still clenched around his pack. “Sorry, lad,” he said to Zeke with a grimace. “And sorry about the fish earlier. I’ll clean it up.”

Zeke smiled shakily. “No need, sir. I’ve already taken care of it.” He glanced at Mal. “If there’s nothing else?”

“Nah. It’s all good. Thanks, mate.”

Zeke hustled out of the room as if his feet were on fire—and considering he’d lived in Sheol for most of his centuries-long life, he probably knew exactly how that felt.

Mal stared pointedly at Brodie until he retrieved his chair and sat down again, the pack in his lap. “Now. Suppose you tell us the whole story. Starting with why in all the bloody hells you’re carrying your skin around in a fecking knapsack?”

Brodie hunched over the pack. “I had a little…disagreement with the coastal witches’ collective. Until I get it sorted, they’ve rescinded the protection spells on the boat. I can’t risk leaving my skin there.”

Mal snorted. “If your boat’s physically accessible for the first time, no wonder you’re getting bombarded with the world’s smelliest catch. You’ve probably pissed off any number of people who’d like to smack you with a sturgeon.”

“They were herrings.”

“Whatever. The point is your winning personality hasn’t endeared you to many.” Mal lifted an eyebrow. “Or any, for that matter. What makes you think Wyn’s responsible?”

“Because the first one didn’t show up until I told him the sundering would have to wait until we had a counseling session with your brother.”

I jotted another note. “Couple's therapy?” In addition to being the Faerie Queen’s champion, Mal’s brother, Dr. Alun Kendrick, was a psychologist serving the supe community. “Was that your way of trying to work things out?”

“Not my idea,” Brodie replied. “It’s a new requirement Their Majesties have put in place.” He wrinkled his nose. “They claim they want to give their subjects tools, options, and support. We could have agreed to waive it, but I…wouldn’t.”

“Why did you refuse?” I blurted. I half expected Brodie to ignore me. A lot of our clients did—they didn’t feel like they owed a human anything, not even courtesy. But he actually looked…embarrassed?

“Talking with Dr. Kendrick seemed little enough to ask for a step this final. I made a promise when we wed that I’d be with Wyn forever, care for him forever.”

Did you promise to love him forever?A guy that big could do some damage to a vulnerable partner, and if he was angry about the split—and about the cheating—he could be setting Wyn up. Because Brodie didn’t seem like he was particularly heartbroken. Although maybe he could hide his heart really well under all those muscles.

I tore my gaze away from his face before I could see the answer to my question and scanned my notes. I started to sketch out a timeline. “When Wyn asked for the divorce—I mean, the sundering—was that the first inkling you’d had that he was unhappy in the marriage?”

The silence after the question was louder than a shout. I glanced up to find Brodie scowling fiercely at the table.

Mal gave me a seriously, dude? look. “I believe the first inkling was when he cheated with Reid Martinson.”

I winced. “Ah. Right. Um…when was that?”

Brodie heaved a sigh. “Right after the solstice. Pierce Martinson hosted a big party at his house for the holiday. We were invited, but I had a five-day charter scheduled. Wyn was supposed to crew for me. He wanted me to cancel the booking, kept staring all moony-eyed at the invitation as if it had come from the Queen herself, but we needed the money. We had a big fight.” He glanced up at me from under lowered brows. “He may have brought up his disappointment that a king was living like a peasant.”

I stabbed my pen into the paper with a little more force than necessary. I was starting to get a very unflattering picture of Wyn. A marriage is supposed to be a partnership. Why didn’t the whiner help instead of throwing guilt around and making Lachlan feel like a failure?

Lachlan. So now my mind was on a first name basis with him? I needed to get a freaking grip. He was married. He was a supe. And he may or may not be a manipulative user, so there was that.

I clutched my pen harder and schooled my voice into what I hoped was a neutral tone. “What happened then?”

“I…apologized.”

Grrr. “For what?”

“For not being able to give him what he needed. What he deserved.”

I’ll tell you what he deserved. A quick kick in the pants. “Did he apologize to you?”

Lachlan’s eyebrows reached for his hairline. “Why would he?”

“Because he— Never mind. Did you cancel the booking?”

“I couldn’t. Not without penalty, and like I said, we needed the money. But I told Wyn he could stay ashore and go to the party if he wanted.”

I almost didn’t need to hear what happened next. I could guess. Little Lord Whiner toddles off to the fancy party in the big mansion and sees the life he could be leading if he wasn’t tied to a hardworking guy with no ambition for anything more than a decent life. It probably wouldn’t have been tough for Reid to get into his pants, no kicking required.

But if I wanted to make the jump from surveillance to full investigator, I needed to ask the hard questions. “Is that when Wyn slept with Reid?”

Lachlan nodded morosely. “The first time. He confessed at once. Said he wasn’t even sure why he’d done it and promised it wouldn’t happen again.”

“But it did,” I said gently.

Another nod. “The summer was busy. Business was great. I was able to start putting aside some money to take Wyn away for our anniversary, but it meant I was gone almost constantly. When I was ashore, he was so angry that he wouldn’t even kiss me. I didn’t have the energy to fight, so I mostly slept on the boat.”

I had a hard time picturing the idiot who’d refuse to kiss Lachlan Brodie, but then I was the guy who’d been in love with a grizzly shifter for years, so I can’t exactly pass judgment on anyone’s romantic faux pas. “Were the security spells still in place then?”

He nodded. “I’d left my skin on the boat when I got back from my Labor Day booking. I’d brought back a net of mussels from the trip, since Wyn always liked those. I was going to surprise him with the vacation news. But when I got home, he wasn’t there.” He swallowed, and sorrow flickered across his face. This wasn’t a man who was angry about his partner’s betrayal. He might not be totally heartbroken, but he was definitely saddened. “I figured he was just out for a bit. The gym. Maybe one of the lakes.”

“Wait a sec. He refused to sail on the ocean with you, but he’ll hang out at a lake?” I must not have kept the outrage out of my tone, because Mal cut in smoothly.

“Wyn is a Corlun Dwr.”

Another one I hadn’t heard of. I sighed happily. Sometimes, I loved my job. “And that is…”

“Welsh water sprite.” Mal tilted an eyebrow at Brodie. “Fresh water. Not salt. To be honest, I was surprised at his original enthusiasm for, shall we say, a brackish union.”

“Don’t be an arse, Kendrick,” Lachlan growled.

Mal grinned wolfishly. “Sorry. But two millennia of practice makes that an impossibility. At least that’s what my husband says.” He winced, probably from the obvious fondness in his tone when he mentioned his own happy marriage. “Sorry. Carry on.”

“He showed up later, a little tipsy but not completely drunk.” He swallowed. “Reid was with him. They were half undressed before they realized I was in the kitchen.”

I grimaced. “Ouch.”

“Wyn didn’t even try to excuse himself. With that bastard Reid smirking at me over Wyn’s shoulder in my own blasted living room, Wyn demanded a sundering. Of course I said no.”

“Um…” I screwed up my face. “If you don’t mind my asking...why?”

“Why what?”

“Why say no? You had the evidence of his cheating right there, smirking at you. Why not cut your losses?”

He glared at me. “Because I made a promise. Just because he broke his doesn’t release me from mine. We needed to talk about it.”

“And did you?”

He snorted. “No. Reid left, but Wyn just kept repeating that he wanted the sundering. It was like he only knew the same dozen words. I decided to let him cool off a bit, so I told him he could have the apartment and I’d stay on the boat until he was ready to talk. When I got back to the boat, though, the magistra was already there, unwinding the security spells.”

“Why?”

“She claims the collective had a complaint against me for violating natural consequences by luring fish to the boat for my charters.”

“Did you?”

He glared at me, clearly outraged. “No, I bloody well didn’t. That’s totally against my principles.” He finally plonked the bag back on the table, rattling the unused teacups. “It was Reid. Had to be.”

“Well,” Mal drawled, “he certainly has the money and the spite to do it, not to mention access to his father’s bloody strong magic and influence. But would the collective act on it without a thorough investigation? Assessing an inappropriate penalty just invites a big fat natural consequence to fall on their head.”

“With enough money,” Lachlan said morosely, “anyone can be subverted. Even a witches’ collective. Even the supe high council.”

“Watch yourself, mate,” Mal said, his tone laced with warning. “Let’s not go making wild accusations. Not in front of me, anyway, seeing as how I answer to the high council.”

Lachlan fixed Mal with a steady stare. “Are you saying the council is incorruptible?”

“Hells, no. I’ve learned the hard way that everybody’s got their own breaking point. But you need something other than insinuation to make that kind of thing stick, so let’s focus on the more local issue. Let’s assume that Reid found the right leverage, or that your stellar past behavior made it easy for the magistra to believe the charges. She removed the spells. Carry on.”

“The next day’s when the first…” He made a rolling gesture with one hand as if he were looking for a good description.

“Fish flinging?” I said helpfully, although considering the fulminating glance Lachlan threw me, he didn’t appreciate my attempt to lighten the situation.

“Yes,” he growled. “When Wyn tossed the herring onto the deck—”

“Hold on a mo,” Mal said. “Wyn’s a Seelie fae. Granted, since Seelie and Unseelie are one big dysfunctional family now, things are a tad different, but this isn’t the kind of behavior the Seelie engage in. And Wyn’s a water sprite. They have a steward’s relationship with all creatures who dwell beneath the waves, blah blah blah. Why would he entice a herring into his net just to heave it onto your boat to make a point, especially since the Pacific herring population isn’t exactly burgeoning these days? How do you know it was him?”

Lachlan hunched further into himself. “A friend on the dock saw him.”

Mal’s eyes narrowed. “And you trust this friend?”

Lachlan nodded. “They’d have no reason to lie. They watch out for me, same as I do for them.”

Mal took a deep breath. “Grand. We’ve got a Welsh fae acting out of character and a witches’ collective risking a divine retribution from the Triple Goddess for defying natural consequences. Bloody hells, mate, who did you piss off?”