Five Dead Herrings by E.J. Russell

Ineedn’t have worried about exposing my inappropriate attraction during the drive, because by the time we were halfway to the Coast Range, Lachlan hadn’t spoken more than a dozen words to me, despite my attempts to initiate conversation. I finally gave up, pulled out my phone, and used the time to research selkies.

I sent a couple of emails—one to Dr. MacLeod, who, as a druid, was actually supposed to know this stuff, and one to Tanner Araya, a young werewolf who was Dr. MacLeod’s student and unofficial assistant. Tanner was helping Dr. MacLeod trace the history of supernatural species from original source documents and interviews.

Both of them responded almost at once, Dr. MacLeod because he was just that efficient, and Tanner because he was so freaking excited about his project and loved talking about it.

From what they said, most of the commonly accepted lore about selkies wasn’t too far off the truth. However, Mal’s warning to me about their attraction for humans—and vice versa—differed vastly by gender on both sides of the species line.

It seemed a female selkie was far more likely to be the victim of a human man who stole her seal skin and forced her into unwilling wifehood. The instant she found her skin, though—often through unwitting assistance from her children—she was out of there.

On the other hand, in stories with male selkies and human women, the human actually chose to initiate, er, contact as well as maintain it. Although the resulting relationship tended to be nurturing and mutually agreeable, the male selkie didn’t spend a lot of time on land and never made any promise that he would, which the human woman appeared to either accept or else blithely ignore during the courtship phase. However, he never coerced her by anything other than his personal charm and attractiveness.

I glanced sidelong at Lachlan. Attractiveness? Oh, yeah. Charm? Not so much.

The truck started the climb up the Coast Range, so I hurriedly clicked on another of Tanner’s links before I lost the cell signal.

“What’s your name again?” Lachlan asked.

“Matt,” I said absently, absorbed in another selkie tale.

“Matt? That’s not what Kendrick called you.”

My head shot up at the growly suspicion in Lachlan’s tone, and I realized what I’d said. Heat rushed up my throat. This was my first solo case, and I couldn’t even remember to give the client a consistent name. Way to build trust.

“No. He calls me Hugh. It’s kind of a joke. When I first started working for Quest, our clients kept referring to me as the human. Mal started calling me Hugh just to back them into a name rather than an epithet. My real name is Matthew. Matt. Matt Steinitz. But you can call me Hugh.”

“Bollocks to that,” Lachlan growled. “Your name’s Matthew, so that’s what I’ll call you.”

I wanted to protest—I kind of liked having the demarcation between my old life where I only dreamed of supernatural beings and my new life where I was surrounded by them. Besides, only Ted called me Matt, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to blur that line any further. But the way Lachlan pronounced Matthew sounded almost like he was smooshing both names together: MattHugh.

I guessed I could handle it.

“All right.” My voice was a little gruff. “Did you have a question?”

“If you work for Kendrick and O’Tierney in Portland, why are you living in Dewton? Bit more than a wee commute, isn’t it?”

I patted my jacket pocket. “I use the FTA. Besides, a lot of my assignments are surveillance”—all of them actually, until now—”which could be anywhere. I’ve got a regular FTA driver now. A duergar.”

“Duergar?” Was that admiration in Lachlan’s tone? “Wasn’t aware they did anything other than drink and brawl.”

“Things have changed. Frang’s a good guy. We’ve arranged a time for him to show up at the spot I told you about in the hills above the town each morning.” It was outside a cave Ted used to shift in before he got married, in the days when he and I had breakfast together regularly. “I bring him doughnuts from the diner and he never sneers at me for being human.”

Lachlan snorted. “Not a very high bar, that, is it, lad?”

“It’s not one many are willing to clear,” I said ruefully. “In fact, I’m not sure most supes realize the bar even exists.”

“And that,” Lachlan said as we rolled into Dewton, “is why I live where I do. Shirking my royal responsibilities.” I could practically hear the air quotes in his tone. “Bloody supes need to get over themselves and accept that the world has changed.”

I swiveled, leaning against the window so I could look at him, his big hands competent on the steering wheel, his gaze sharp as he slowed down to drive through town.

“But isn’t that why you should interact with your…your subjects more? What if they need help? I mean, sure, some of the supes I’ve met have been jerks, but not all humans are exactly prizes either.”

He glanced at me, his lips quirked in a smile, and my heart did another weird sideways hop. “Never said they were.” He returned his attention to the road. “Everybody’s got the potential to be an arse, lad, and most folks are willing to live up to it in full.”

“But shouldn’t you give them the benefit of the doubt? Doesn’t everybody have the potential to be good, too?”

Lachlan headed out of Dewton—it wasn’t that big—and toward the turnoff to Nehalem Bay. “Are you one of those glass-half-full blokes? Because in my experience, the glass is bloody empty most of the time.”

Wow. If anything could prove to me that Lachlan wasn’t Ted, that statement did it. I’m not sure Ted believes a person could be anything other than confused, let alone downright evil. Apparently Lachlan had the opposite view. Although…

“When you say the glass is empty, do you mean you think people are inherently evil? That being good is the exception rather than the rule?”

He turned onto the road that led around the bay, toward the docks along the river. “I don’t think people are inherently anything. Except lazy, perhaps. If it’s easy for them to be good, then they’ll give it a go. But as soon as it gets hard, they’ll let all those fine intentions slide in favor of expediency. Their own good will always trump the good of anyone else.”

I squirmed a little in my seat. Back when I was still working for the tabloids, either as an employee or later as a freelancer, I’d sold photographs that could have endangered the supernatural community. Heck, I could have endangered Ted, since half of the shots were of him in partial shift. I’d profited from those pictures, but that was almost incidental.

I’d taken them—I’d pursued them—because I wanted them to be true. For the existence, the wonder of magic to be true. Did that mean my own good trumped the good of supes who were trying to fly under the radar? Or of Ted, who’d only wanted a friend?

Sure, I was working for them now, but most of the community still treated me like I might explode at any moment, turn informant, and blast the news of their lives across the world. That’s why I was still on probation after almost a year. That’s why the hardliners on the council had insisted my camera had to be bespelled, so I wouldn’t be able to offer any revealing shots to my former employers.

Oh, yeah. Didn’t I mention that? Another reason why I couldn’t buy just any telephoto lens to replace the one that got dryadified was that it had to work with the restrictive spells on my equipment. Try to attach one that wasn’t up to the strain and it melted.

Ask me how I know.

But what none of them understood, apparently, was that this world, the hidden world, the hidden people, mattered to me. Even if I’d never be one of them, never truly belong, knowing that they existed was all I’d ever dreamed of.

I sighed. I just wish it felt like enough.

“So, do you think…” I trailed off, because Lachlan obviously wasn’t listening to me. Eyes narrowed, he was peering out the windshield at a small figure in a rainbow beanie and an oversized canvas coat in army green who huddled at the end of a dock where a big old-fashioned cabin cruiser was moored at the farthest slip. “Is that your boat?”

He didn’t reply, just pulled into a spot a good thirty feet away from the boat, even though there was an open place right in front of it, and threw the truck into park. He opened the door at the same time that he turned off the ignition and leaped out, practically sprinting toward the figure.

I struggled with my seatbelt, cursing when it wouldn’t release right away. Was that Wyn? Their grunge chic didn’t exactly fit Mal’s description of Wyn’s upscale sensibilities.

I squinted through the bug-splattered windshield. I had no idea how large a Corlun Dwr was, but this person was about half Lachlan’s size. Mal had called Lachlan stroppy. Did that translate to violence? If he attacked Wyn—if this was Wyn—it wouldn’t do his case any good, and I’d be responsible.

I didn’t want anyone to get hurt on my watch. Not Lachlan, and not Wyn, even if he was sending anti-love notes to his husband in the form of deceased sea life.

I finally managed to free myself from the seatbelt and practically fell off the cliff that was Lachlan’s truck, barely avoiding taking a header onto the buckled pavement. I raced for the dock, but as I got closer and got a good look at the other person, I realized they weren’t adult. True, a lot of supes looked no different from humans, but I’d never seen one who looked like a tweenager before.

Yeah, I’d seen college-age werewolves, and my friend David, who’s married to Mal’s brother, Dr. Kendrick—and is himself a magical healer, if you can believe that—told me his husband treats some younger supes, including the seven-year-old dragon shifter prince. But the community tended to close ranks around the young of all species—that’s why I’d nearly gotten lunched by the supe council for pictures of the supe elementary school that I didn’t even take—so I doubted a supe youngster would be wandering around on their own out here. Ergo, they must be as human as I was.

Lachlan, for a change, didn’t loom like a madrone full of feral dryads. It was weird. His whole aspect had changed. The way he held his shoulders—down and curved forward. The expression on his face—soft and concerned. The way he positioned himself—blocking the chilly wind off the ocean so the kid was safe in his lee.

Well. Five minutes ago I’d never have believed such a miraculous metamorphosis was possible, and I’d seen a hillside transform into animate mud monsters.

When I came staggering up, puffing a little because I really needed to up my fitness regime, the kid shrank away from me and into Lachlan’s side. Okay, so I might look a little deranged, considering I’d been goggling at Lachlan like he’d just sprouted a second head—something I hadn’t seen, but Zeke assured me was quite common in Sheol, the demon realm. Even so, I wasn’t exactly an imposing specimen. Mid-thirties, a little soft in the middle, not too tall. Nondescript brown hair and beard, although I tried to keep them neatly trimmed.

On the other hand, white male privilege was a thing, as was the power imbalance between adult and child, and the kid didn’t know me from Beelzebub. I stepped back and glanced up at Lachlan. “Everything okay?”

“Grand.” He draped an arm across the kid’s shoulder. “Blair, this is Matthew. A...friend.”

Well, that was noncommittal. Guess Lachlan didn’t want Blair to know that I was a professional snoop.

Blair’s pointed chin wobbled as they looked me up and down through overlong brown bangs mashed against their forehead by the rainbow beanie. Their gaze didn’t move above my neck, as though they were afraid to meet my eyes.

I held still, my arms loose at my sides, away from my pockets, so I wouldn’t appear a threat. Blair squinted at the rather frayed edges of my black North Face jacket, and their expression morphed from terror to suspicion. “Not child services?” they asked.

Lachlan let go of Blair and hunkered down in front of them. “I promised I wouldn’t. Not without your permission.”

Blair nodded. “Okay then.”

“Matthew’s helping me figure out who’s been vandalizing my boat. That’s all.”

Blair’s muddy brown eyes blinked rapidly behind their crooked black-rimmed glasses. A tell. I’d learned that much from my time at Quest.

“Are you the one who saw the first incident?” I asked gently.

Lachlan shot me a warning glance, but when Blair gulped and nodded, he relaxed. Marginally. “I didn’t give anyone your name, Blair, so you don’t need to say anything if you don’t want to. We can handle this without getting you involved.”

“N-no. I want to. I saw the first time.” They twisted their fingers together, hampered by the oversized gray sweater that hung past the ragged edges of their jacket sleeves and extended past their knuckles. “But not this time.”

Lachlan stood slowly. “This time?”

Blair nodded again, not meeting Lachlan’s gaze. “I heard them running, but didn’t see anything but their back.” They pointed down the dock. “Over there.”

“Did you see their car?”

Blair shook their head. “It wasn’t in the lot. They ducked into the alley next to the bait and tackle shop. Their car must have been on Front Street, because I heard somebody drive away.”

Lachlan muttered a soft curse, but when Blair seemed to shrink into the collar of their jacket, he patted the kid on the shoulder. “Not mad at you, jo. Just wondering what devilment is on deck now.”

I tried to arrange my face into its most unthreatening expression. “Blair, can you tell us what time you saw this person?”

With another nervous glance at Lachlan, who was now staring at his boat as if he could discover any problem with the force of his mind, Blair said, “It was right after Lachlan drove away this morning. Around seven?”

Lachlan stopped trying to X-ray his boat with his glare. He lifted an eyebrow and looked down at Blair. “I’m not going to ask you what you were doing on the dock at seven.”

Blair dropped their gaze and scuffed one battered high top along the pavement. “I was on my way to the school bus.”

“Last I checked, the bus was the other direction and you don’t catch it until eight.” Blair’s mouth firmed into a mulish line but they didn’t reply or even look up. Lachlan sighed. “Never mind.”

I pulled a business card out of my pocket and held it out. “Blair, if you think of anything else, or if the person comes back, or if you need anything and Lachlan’s not around, please give me a call. Okay?”

At first, I didn’t think Blair would take the card, but then they plucked it out of my fingers and stowed it in their jacket pocket.

“Did you need anything, jo?” Blair shook their head, and Lachlan jerked his chin at me. “Guess we’d better survey the damage, eh?”

“Ah. Right. I’ll…get my camera.” I trotted back to the truck and retrieved my bag, taking my time to shut my door and Lachlan’s as well so he’d have a chance to speak with Blair without me eavesdropping. I didn’t think of myself as particularly intimidating, but the kid was clearly skittish around me. I tried not to take it as an insult. They probably just didn’t want to discuss anything personal in front of a stranger.

By the time I rejoined Lachlan on the dock, Blair was gone.

“So, the kid,” I said as I hurried to keep up with Lachlan’s long-legged stride. “You called them Jo. I thought their name was Blair?”

Lachlan gave me a sharp glance. “How’d you know what pronouns to use for them?”

I shrugged. “I didn’t want to make assumptions.”

“Jo’s just a Scottish endearment. Means dear.”

“Are they homeless?”

Lachlan sighed again as he led me toward the boat. “They’d be better off if they were homeless. At least then I could get them some help. But they’ve got a father, more’s the pity. He does just enough to keep child services from taking charge of Blair and has managed to put enough fear into the poor mite that they go along with the lie.”

We reached the short gangway that led to the boat’s rear deck. Before Lachlan could grab the railing, I put a hand on his arm. “Wait.”

He glanced from my hand to my face, and I let go. “Why? Whatever’s in there has had most of the day to stew. The sooner I get it out, the better.”

I gave him a glare of my own. “It’s a fresh crime scene. Or it could be. This is our chance to examine it before you clear away all the evidence.” I nodded at the railing. “Or contaminate it with your own fingerprints.”

He huffed, as if he wanted to disagree, but stepped back. “Wyn isn’t stupid. He’d have worn gloves or wiped everything down. Besides, he’s been on the boat before, so it’s not as though his fingerprints won’t be everywhere.”

Believe it or not, I can be moderately professional and diplomatic when necessary. Lachlan was the client, so if only to preserve my employment, I needed to cut him some slack—or at least not piss him off any further. I attempted a placating smile. “I get that. But it never hurts to be thorough, and courts—even the supe tribunal—are very fond of evidence. So maybe let me do my job? That’s why you hired Quest in the first place, right?”

Lachlan didn’t look at me, his gaze fixed on the horizon and the muscles tight in his jaw. But eventually he nodded and let me get to work.