My office was still in one piece. A good sign, and given the business I worked in, not necessarily a guarantee.
Vance and I approached the two-storey building that had become the site of the business I ran alongside my best friend, Isabel, weaving through the crowds walking back and forth from the local shopping district. Mostly witches or plain old humans, though we did see a few mercenaries, recognisable by their scars and visible weapons. And the fact that they usually saw my sword and crossed the road to avoid me.
“I can’t imagine why they keep doing that,” I said to Vance after a mercenary had nearly walked headlong into an oncoming bus in an effort to keep from crossing my path.
“Nor me. You look so friendly and approachable.”
“Look who’s talking.”
We made an odd pair, even I’d acknowledge that. Vance was nearly a foot taller than me and his tailored, expensive clothes made him stand out in almost any crowd. He’d left his long coat behind, but he carried a powerful aura which drew the eye even of those who didn’t know him as the head of the Mage Lords. It was impossible to ask him to tone it down, because he didn’t seem to realise the effect was there half the time. As for me, I lived in leather and denim and wore my sword, Helena, strapped to my waist at all times, even at Vance’s cottage by the sea. Monsters didn’t take holidays, after all.
“Number eighteen, right? There’s blood on the porch.”
“Of course there is.” I rolled my eyes. “Someone couldn’t wait to ruin my day.”
Given that Vance and I had been away for two weeks, I’d half-expected to come back and find the place swarming with undead and other nasties, but the nice-looking brick building was in the same condition in which I’d left it. All the shitty jobs I’d taken over the last few years had finally paid off. Using a combination of savings and the money Isabel had inherited from the former witch coven leader, Francine, we’d purchased new premises on the upper floor of a converted Victorian house, with Isabel’s new flat on the ground floor. It was twice as big as our last rental and a dramatic improvement in every department. Granted, the bar had been low, since our last flat had had holes in the ceiling and no working heating system. Not to mention the monstrous fae waiting to pounce as soon as a gap appeared in the iron wards.
While Isabel had been fine with running the business solo for a couple of weeks, I’d left a notice up in the window telling anyone with faerie-related problems to go to the mages for a temporary discount because the resident faerie killer was on holiday. Isabel could handle most cases alone, but I’d asked her to call me immediately if a Grey Vale-level threat presented itself. We’d had no calls, but Vance was right about the bloodstains on the doorstep. A small, feathered body accompanied them.
“Oh, someone left a dead crow for me. How considerate.”
I’d bet my sword it was one of Larsen’s cronies. My former employer wasn’t best pleased with my change in fortunes, and Larsen’s low-key resentment had led to several of his highest-ranked mercenaries attempting to take out our business. Unfortunately for them, they hadn’t reckoned on the tripwire spells Isabel had built into the walls. I’d seen a pair of them hobbling down the high street shortly after one of those incidents, struggling to walk around the fist-sized boils they’d inconveniently developed in the crotch area. More’s the pity.
Nobody intending harm could bypass the wards without being blown sky-high, but I guessed dead birds didn’t fall into that category. I reached to remove the crow, but its corpse disappeared in a flutter of black feathers and a faint rush of wind.
“Where’d you send it?” I asked Vance.
“Larsen’s porch.”
“Ha.”
Vance’s ability to displace objects frequently came in handy for both of us. He could also move people, though his range didn’t stretch as far as the other side of the country. We’d had a long drive home, made longer by the damage the faerie invasion had inflicted on the roads. Motorways had turned into swamps, country lanes had sprouted forests, and we’d had to take an hour-long detour around a sleeping giant that had decided to take a nap right in the middle of Spaghetti Junction.
That aside, I hadn’t minded a few more hours in Vance’s company. I’d been looking forward to seeing Isabel, but not so much to the frequent attempts on my life.
Erwin the piskie flew out the window as I dug in my bag for my key. “Ivy!” he screamed delightedly.
I unlocked the door. “Hey, Erwin.”
“Missed you!” he proclaimed.
“You wouldn’t have liked the coast. Too much sand.”
I stepped into the hallway and wiped my boots. Amazingly, I’d only got a little mud on them, not blood. Well, that wasn’t strictly true, but Quentin had insisted we take an entire suitcase of cleansing spells with us, correctly assuming that I’d maintain my typical habit of getting blood on my clothes at least once a day.
“Isabel’s still using him as a security guard?” Vance stepped in behind me. “You should consider hiring someone to stand outside. I know your wards are strong, but…”
“But I have a lot of enemies, I know.” I kicked off my boots and peered approvingly into the living room off the hall.
Gone were the days when we’d had our entire lives crammed into a single room adjoining two cupboard-sized bedrooms and an equally tiny bathroom. Now Isabel had the entire floor to herself and she’d moved all her witch paraphernalia into a single room she’d designated as her workshop rather than leaving them strewn all over the flat. Mostly. I still had to step around a chalk circle in the doorway in case it doused me in glitter.
“Maybe I’ll try and lure away one of Larsen’s people.”
“Thought I heard your voice.” Isabel, my best friend, came out of her workshop and smiled at me. She wore her usual bright, flowery attire that exposed the glyphs shimmering beneath her dark skin, designed to retaliate if anyone attacked her. Her arms were also dusted with the usual chalk stains from the time she spent creating spells, and bangles lined her wrists, lined with tripwire spells. As the leader of the local witch coven, she’d inherited her fair share of enemies to add to the faeries who wanted to ruin both our lives, but despite her unassuming appearance, few would underestimate her.
“How was your holiday? Wait, don’t answer. It’s written all over your face.” She grinned at me. “It’s been so calm I figured you took the monsters with you. Unless you want to tell me you made it through a whole fortnight without stabbing anything?”
“Almost.” A smile tugged at my mouth. “Okay, I might have done it once or twice.”
Isabel rolled her eyes. “Of course.”
“Three times,” Vance added.
“Traitor.”
He flashed me a grin. You might think the mutual teasing would have got old after two weeks alone together, but that was how our relationship worked, and frankly, I’d never been happier.
“Is everything all right here?” I joined Isabel in the living room, taking a seat on the comfy new sofa. She’d inherited that from Francine, too, and two matching armchairs.
“Yeah,” said Isabel. “Kind of. There’s one thing, but you won’t like it.”
“As long as nobody’s dead, we’re all good.”
“Well,” said Isabel. “Yes. Someone is, actually.”
“Damn. Really?” It wouldn’t be anyone we knew, otherwise she’d have told us right away. “Shifter? Half-faerie?”
“Mercenary,” she said. “Larsen called this morning. I think he wants to hire you.”
“You’re kidding. Right?”
Her mouth twisted. “From what I gathered, the case is too complicated for any of his mercenaries to handle.”
“You mean complicated as in the solution doesn’t involve stabbing someone?” More than that was beyond most mercenaries. “So it wasn’t him who dropped a dead crow on the doorstep?”
Isabel grimaced. “Someone did that? Ugh. Probably Gregor.”
“Fucker.” Gregor and I had a longstanding animosity which would no doubt one day end with me pitching him headfirst into the canal. “Did Larsen tell you the name of the person who was killed?” I’d never been friendly with most mercs, but there were some I’d developed a tolerance for back when I’d raided trolls’ nests on a weekly basis and occasionally needed a partner for backup.
“I think he said the mercenary was called Liam Harlow.”
I’d hoped it wouldn’t be a name I recognised. Liam had been one of the few good guys. “Murder?”
“Most likely, according to Larsen. He didn’t give details. Said I was to tell you to call him back. Also, he doesn’t want the mages involved.”
“Figures.” Larsen was under the impression that Vance had seduced me away from my former job taking on freelance cases for him. In reality, I’d quit because Larsen’s mercs had screwed me over, and I certainly didn’t miss always being given the shittiest jobs with the worst pay and the highest mortality risk. Now I split my time fifty-fifty between helping the mages and dealing with independent clients alongside Isabel, deflecting Larsen’s attempts to sabotage us by lowering his rates and sending his mercs after our clients. After all that, Larsen had some nerve asking for my help. He must be desperate.
“What d’you reckon?” I asked Vance. “Want to head over there now? If a faerie is behind this, it’s best to find out sooner rather than later.”
“You’re right.” He sounded a little annoyed, probably because we’d been back all of ten minutes and already had clients queuing at the door. Or ex-employers, as it were. Really, a straightforward murder was child’s play compared to some of the other crap we’d dealt with over the past few months. Our break had been sorely needed.
At Vance’s command, the living room vanished, to be replaced by the less appealing sight of the entryway to the local mercenary guild. The building was as dingy as ever, with the smell of stale cigarettes mixed with the coppery tang of old bloodstains nobody had ever bothered to wash out of the carpet. A short, balding man glared at me from the front desk, stubbing out his cigarette in the nearest plant pot. Its occupant was long dead.
“You,” said Larsen. “Ivy Lane.” His gaze shifted to Vance and his eyes narrowed. “Mage Lord.”
“Larsen. I’m told you wanted to see me about a murder. Since most of your freelancers take on similar cases to the one you’re offering, I’m curious to know why you think I’m the person for the job.”
He discarded the cigarette. “Because the killer wasn’t human.”
“Neither is half your clientele.” Larsen was part shifter himself, technically, but could no more turn into a wolf than into a tree. More’s the pity for him.
“No, but a wild animal couldn’t have got the jump on Liam. Not a normal one, anyway.”
Put ‘wild animal’ and ‘not normal’ in the same sentence and I could see why he’d arrived at ‘faeries’.
“Did you find anything else at the scene?” asked Vance. “Necromancy props, for instance?”
“Nothing. The manner of death was gruesome, but seemingly nonmagical in nature. That said, there’s more to some deaths than the human eye can detect.”
“Sounds delightful,” I said. “I’ll need more detail.”
“If the Mage Lord steps outside. This is sensitive information.”
Yeah, right. Now I got why he wanted me to do the job. I was, to my knowledge, the only person ever employed at the guild with the talent for seeing through faerie glamour. Although many of the guild’s clients were half-bloods, none of the mercs were. Possibly, the half-faeries were put off by the collection of iron weapons in the guild or the number of dim-witted thugs present who couldn’t tell the difference between the half-faeries and the sort of wild fae that turned humans inside-out for a joke.
“I’ll wait outside,” said Vance.
“Sure.” The quicker I got this meeting over with, the better, and if Larsen thought he could get the best of me when the Mage Lord was absent, he was laughably mistaken.
I’d arrived at the mercenary guild as a penniless sixteen-year-old fresh from the trauma of spending three years trapped in Faerie. Survival had been my first priority, and Larsen had taken advantage immediately. My first case had involved extracting fire imps from someone’s house, and he’d omitted to tell me the place was already on fire at the time. I’d toughed it out and came back to the guild with singed clothes and a cage of shrieking imps to demand payment, which he’d refused to give on the grounds that the whole farce had been a test. Which I’d passed. He’d been impressed enough to offer me a job that had ultimately turned into a ten-year-long stint of dealing with whatever bullshit Larsen saw fit to throw at me.
In his mind, I was still that kid, but he'd made a grave error in assuming my showing up here meant I’d take his attitude. I waited for him to speak, angling myself so that he had a clear view of the blade sheathed at my waist. Helena was no normal sword but a faerie artefact forged from the heart of one of their trees and imbued with magic that could destroy almost any enemy, living or dead.
Larsen’s smirk told me he’d either forgotten all of that or didn’t care. “If I knew what it’d take to get compliance from you, maybe I should have offered you a bonus on each mission in exchange for a night in my private rooms.”
One twitch of my hand and my blade was at his throat.
“I’m not trading my skills for sexual favours, you perverted troll,” I spat. “I picked Vance over you because he isn’t an exploitative dick who spends half the guild’s budget at the casino instead of compensating his employees. It’s not rocket science.”
“Jesus, Lane, I wasn’t being serious.”
“You’re fucking kidding me, right?” I didn’t remove my sword.
He coughed. “It was a badly judged joke.”
“Yes, it was. And by the way, if I hear any rumours that you’re coercing new recruits into a similar bargain, you’ll get worse than one of Isabel’s tripwire spells.”
He shifted on his feet, a flash of guilt noticeably crossing his face. So he’d definitely been sending people to sabotage our business. Prick. I didn’t think he was pressuring new mercs into trading blow jobs for bonuses—primarily because that would involve giving up some of his precious gambling budget that he thought nobody knew about—but I was doubly tempted to go ahead with Vance’s suggestion to hire one of the mercs as a security guard for our business. It might also make Gregor think twice about dropping any more dead corvids onto the doorstep.
Maybe I’d be better off swiping Larsen’s recruits than listening to him grovelling, but as far as mercs went, Liam had been a decent guy, and the circumstances of his death sounded weird enough that I wanted to learn more. “Back to the case. Did you have anyone administer a tracking spell at the site of Liam’s death?”
“We tried. The spells’ results were too muddled to see the killer.”
Might be true, but I wouldn’t take him at his word. “Does the victim have any surviving relatives?”
“No. Only an ex-girlfriend who hasn’t seen him in years.”
Not unusual for a mercenary. Most people joined the guild out of desperation, after all.
“And I can head there now?”
“If you accept the case.”
I narrowed my eyes, debating. I could always back out if it turned out he was playing me again. “Fine.”
“I’ll let the mercs watching the place know to let you in.”
How very considerate. The fact that he’d sent mercenaries and not called the police told me there was a less-than-aboveboard dimension to the case, but for someone who ran a guild ostensibly set up for the purpose of dealing with the city’s most dangerous monsters, Larsen was surprisingly cowardly.
I made for the door, where Vance waited to meet me. Behind, I heard a thump and a gasp as Larsen stumbled against the desk; Vance had displaced the air and hit him on the back of the head.
“Did you lay a finger on her?” Vance asked in a low, dangerous voice.
“Christ, no. Mage Lord. Sir.”
“Just a misunderstanding,” I said cheerily, with a warning look at Larsen that told him he wouldn’t get a second chance, and his next sleazy comment would be his last.
Once I was outside with Vance, I added, “He’s being his usual dickish self. Want to go visit a murder site?”
