Five Dead Herrings by E.J. Russell

“Will you take the case or not?” Lachlan asked, not a speck of pleading—or hope—in his tone. Clearly, he expected Mal to turn him down.

Mal tapped his steepled fingers against his lips, his eyes narrowed as he glanced between Lachlan and me. Alarm crept down my spine like phantom spiders. When Mal got that look, it didn’t bode well for somebody—I just wasn’t entirely sure who that somebody was.

“Quest Investigations will take the case—”

“Thank the Goddess,” Lachlan muttered.

“But there are conditions.”

He gave Mal a disgusted look. “Why am I not surprised? With you, there’s always a catch.”

“Funny,” Mal said with a grin, “that’s what I always say about druids. But you know what I’ve found?” He leaned forward and jabbed a finger at Lachlan. “Sometimes getting caught is the best thing that can happen to you.”

Lachlan paired his eye-roll with a long-suffering sigh. “Fine. What are your conditions?”

Mal’s gaze slid to me. “As it happens, Niall’s unavailable right now for reasons I can’t go into.” He assumed an expression that I’m sure he thought was earnest and reliable, but the glint in his eye was a dead giveaway. He needed to take lessons from Zeke. “Privileged client information. You understand.”

“Naturally.” For a water-natured being, Lachlan could sure dial up the dry comments.

“Hugh will take the lead on this. He’ll accompany you back to the boat and scope out the crime scene.”

I sat up straighter. A case of my own? One that wasn’t 100% surveillance? Yes!

Lachlan frowned. “What about Wyn? Aren’t we going to question him?”

“We are not,” Mal said, smirking when Lachlan bristled. “However, I am. You will not be present.”

“But—”

“Have you had much luck with him yet?”

“No,” Lachlan said sulkily.

“If you were there, you’d probably stick your big flipper in your mouth as normal. Wyn will be more likely to open up to another Welsh fae when a stroppy selkie isn’t glaring at him from the corner.”

“Fine,” he grumbled.

“Excellent.” Mal slapped his hands on the table and stood. “Hugh, can I speak with you outside for a moment?”

I scrambled out of my chair while Lachlan peered at both of us through narrowed eyes. “Secrets already?”

“Not about you.” Mal grinned. “Well, mostly. Drink some tea. Eat a scone. Try not to terrorize the staff.”

I followed Mal into the corridor. Once the door was closed, his cocky grin disappeared and his forehead wrinkled in very uncharacteristic worry. I glanced at the closed door. “Is there something about this case that I—”

“No!” Mal huffed a breath. “Sorry, mate. It’s just that their royal fae majesties have gotten their knickers in a twist because we’ve not found any of the Disappeared, which was the whole reason for this company’s existence.”

I frowned. “You’re still looking, though.” I didn’t have to ask. I knew. Niall spent more time than his bard boyfriend appreciated tracking down leads with his prior contacts among the sketchier Unseelie fae. Mal and his druid husband did the same on the Seelie side. “It’s not as though we haven’t solved other cases.”

He ran his hands through his hair. If I’d done that, I’d have looked like a scarecrow coming off a three-day bender. Mal just looked charmingly tousled. “I know. But we’re heading on toward Calan Gaeaf.”

I translated—Calan Gaeaf equaled Samhain equaled Halloween, more or less. “So?”

“So any fae who’ve been making their way in the Outer World with no help from the court or contact with Faerie would have had a tough road and might have…let’s say strayed from the straight and narrow? Herne and his pack of Cwn Annwn ride out that night on the Wild Hunt, seeking their rightful prey in traitors, oath-breakers, and conspirators. Herne isn’t a particularly discerning bloke and his hounds take their cue from him.” Mal winced. “Not one to quibble over gray areas, Herne isn’t, and any fae who’s skirted the law might be caught in his net.”

I swallowed. “Got it.” I wondered if the feral dryads from this morning would be in danger. There was still a lot about supe law that I didn’t understand.

“Anyway, we’ve got Ronnie Purl sorted. He’s doing community service to compensate for his light-fingered escapades.”

I blinked. “Community service? Like picking up trash along the highway?”

Mal laughed. “Not human community service. Supe community service.”

“What kind of community service would he do for a vampire?” It didn’t really bear thinking about, although I knew that since he and Rusty got married, Casimir didn’t use any living human blood hosts. There was a, er, sexual component to feeding, and Casimir was nothing if not faithful to his husband.

Mal waved one hand as if batting my words away. “Not Cas. He doesn’t care, as long as he gets his coat back. Ronnie’s other victim demanded a bit more than the return of stolen property, however, so he’s working off his debt with twenty hours of volunteer labor.” Mal snorted. “As it happens, I’ll be able to check in on him. His other target was Pierce Martinson.” Mal grinned wryly. “Not the smartest tool in the shed, our Ronnie. When he’s scampering about pilfering pretties, he should aim at more forgiving blokes like Cas.”

I frowned at that. “So only nice people should be crime victims?”

“Goddess, no. Nobody should be a victim. All I’m saying is witches aren’t the only ones who should worry about natural consequences.” Mal's smile turned wry. “Anyway, sorry to saddle you with yon grumpy git.”

“I don’t mind.” I couldn’t stop my own grin. “It’s my first solo case that’s not just surveillance.” My grin faded. “Isn’t it?”

Mal waggled his hand. “Yes and no. I’m not convinced there’s much going on other than malicious misdemeanors. There may not be anything to discover since Wyn was spotted that first time.”

My heart sank. “So this is a non-case?”

“Maybe. But it’ll give you practice documenting a crime scene even if it’s irrelevant. Think you’re up for it?” He peered at me, no doubt picking up on my disappointment. “If you’d rather not—”

“No! I mean, yes. I want the chance. Even if Lachlan doesn’t want to press charges, he’s owed the truth and an apology, at the very least. Just because he’s a big man doesn’t mean he can’t be hurt.”

Mal tilted his head, his blue eyes shrewd. “He’s not Ted, mate,” he said gently.

Shame made my beard itch. Did everybody know about my crush on Ted? Well. Yes. They did. Because I’d admitted it in open court while under the Queen’s truth spell. “I know. But he still deserves justice.”

“Just don’t go giving him more credit than he deserves for decency.” Mal rubbed the back of his head. “I’m not sure he’s got much. Although you might have a care.”

“A care about what?”

Mal’s grin took on its usual wicked glint. “Unleash your nosy parker superpowers on selkies and you’ll find out. Back in the day, his sort were known to be especially irresistible to humans. Although the only thing I find irresistible about him is the irresistible urge to kick him in the arse.” He strode off down the hall.

Irresistible? Was that why I kept having inappropriate reactions to him? Not because he reminded me of Ted, but because of his species characteristics? Clearly I had some research ahead of me.

And no, not the hands-on kind of research. Or lips-on. Or— Gah!

I raced upstairs to fetch my gear from the fourth floor conference room. Jordan was gone, the silvery blanket folded neatly in his chair. I sighed at the remains of my telephoto lens. If I was documenting the scene at close quarters, I wouldn’t need it, but I hated to be without my full kit. I grabbed my camera bag and jacket and ran back down to the second floor.

When I walked back into the room, Lachlan was slumped in his chair, a scone in his hand, although he seemed to be crumbling it onto the plate rather than eating it.

“So,” I said brightly, and then winced at my tone. I wasn’t a Disney tour guide, for crying out loud. “Are you ready to head back to your boat?”

He nodded glumly and stood, slinging his pack over one shoulder. “Might as well get it over with.”

I’d like to say that wasn’t the usual attitude of any man when faced with spending time with me, but I’d be lying. My smile turned into a clenched-teeth grimace. “You’re out at Nehalem Bay, didn’t you say? There’s a regular FTA stop above Dewton, not far from where I live. We can pick up my car there—”

He scowled at me. “FTA?”

“Fae Transportation Association.”

“Never heard of it.”

“The new king started it as a way to give fae new employment opportunities.” I pulled one of the bespelled oak leaves from my pocket. Sheesh, it was starting to crumble around the edges. I needed to check in with Zeke and get a new supply. I was running low anyway. “One of them will escort us through Faerie. Saves a lot of time. That’s how I commute to work every day.”

He shook his head, sending his long hair flying. “Not bloody likely. I’m not about to dodge through Faerie, beholden to some supercilious git like Mal Kendrick.”

“Mal isn’t—” I cut off my indignant reply. Clearly Lachlan and Mal had history, and if I’d learned anything in my year with the supes, it was that stepping into old feuds was never a good idea. Besides, I only had another two months to go before my probationary year was up and I didn’t want to jeopardize it by antagonizing a client, especially my first solo—more or less—client.

Who attracted me more than I wanted to admit, thanks no doubt to his selkie mojo. But that was magic for you—cool, but also inconvenient.

“It would more likely be a duergar, a trow, or—” I remembered Jordan’s illicitly upgraded app. Was that in use by anybody other than him and his werewolf friends? “Well, not one of the high fae, anyway.”

Lachlan snorted. “Too good to toddle about with the likes of us, are they?”

I wanted to argue, but he had a point. Some of the high fae were still in denial about the news that “high” and “greater” didn’t mean “better.” It just meant taller and/or larger. “It’s really the most efficient way to travel.”

“Maybe yes, maybe no. But I’m not doing it. Besides, my truck is parked down the street. I’m not about to leave it here.”

I sighed. Looked like I was in for an uncomfortable couple of hours in close proximity to Lachlan. I couldn’t very well just say I’d meet him there. I had no idea where there was. Besides, he was my client. I could use the drive to find out more about the case.

I wasn’t thinking about learning more about him. No. Of course not.

As I followed him down the stairs and onto the Pearl District sidewalk—not perving on his shoulders or his butt, even though they were right there—I was intensely grateful that I wasn’t still under that lousy truth spell.

Because if I was, I couldn’t keep lying to myself.