CHAPTER 29
We left Penelopee and together Izzy and I maneuvered around a pile of news equipment, dodged a fire hose, and ran up the street, away from the bright lights of the paparazzi.
Four blocks up Izzy pulled to a stop. Her gaze shot to mine, and what I saw in them sent a shiver up my spine. “Glad we didn’t draw any attention to ourselves, you know, with our subtle exit.”
She had a point. I wasn’t a bodyguard. Hell, I was a human lightning bolt responsible for nearly killing all three of us. And why? Because I’d foolishly believed I could overcome a curse. I would never be free. What happened in the elevator had been some sort of fluke, probably brought on by adrenaline and fairy-dust intoxication. It meant nothing, I repeated in my head until the rush of nonelectrical heat and disappointment faded.
She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. That was out of line.”
“No it wasn’t.” I closed my eyes. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. I promised to protect you and I nearly killed you. Maybe you should find another—”
“Oh hell no,” she blurted out. “You are not getting out of this that easy.” She smashed her finger to my lips when I started to argue, wincing as a spark of electricity shocked her this time. But why not in the elevator? I wondered. What had changed?
“Not another word,” she said.
“Just tell me this—”
“No.”
I ignored her, asking the question that had been bothering me since I’d seen her photo at Fairy Central. The question I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer to. “Izzy,” I began, “what do the fairies have on you?”
She lowered her gaze to the ground, her cheeks heating from either the chilly morning air or embarrassment, I wasn’t sure which. “It doesn’t matter. Once they have what they want . . .”
“And what’s that, Izzy?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Fine,” I lied. “But you can’t honestly believe they’ll let you go back to your,” I curled my fingers into air quotes, “real life.”
“I just need a little more time, Blue.” She reached for my arm, but I jerked away before she made contact. I couldn’t bare her touch right now. Not when my senses were still reeling from our kiss in the elevator. “Can you trust me a little longer?” she asked, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Please?”
I knew it was stupid. Dangerous even.
But I slowly nodded.
Fingers crossed behind my back.
After our brush with death I wasn’t taking any chances. Our first stop was my office for extra ammo for my really big gun, as well as a few other provisions, including the half-empty bottle of whiskey in my desk drawer. Much to my surprise, Izzy insisted on grabbing the New Never City history books she’d been reading. I shrugged. A little light missing magic pea research couldn’t hurt. Not if I kept Izzy occupied while she stayed locked inside my apartment for the next week.
But now, a few hours later, finally tucked into my apartment safe and sound with a pink-winged fairy, I watched as day settled into night with an odd feeling of dread. I swirled the whiskey in my glass. So much had happened in the last couple of days: Barry’s murder, the fairies’ stockpile of teeth, and the Shadows. I had nothing but questions without answers.
And yet one question stood foremost in my mind.
Who wanted Izzy dead?
The sooner I figured out the who the sooner she would be out of my life. The sooner I could go back to the way things used to be. To my lone-wolf lifestyle. To being a cursed electrode who would never be able to touch Izzy—not the way she deserved to be touched—unless it was a fluke.
None of this was new. I never was and never would be a nine-to-five, husband-and-father sort of guy. I was better off alone. Always had been. My own parents had known as much when they left me on the steps of the orphanage when I was six months old.
I shook off the wave of self-pity and refocused my attention on Izzy. Not on her exactly but on who wanted her dead.
The obvious answer was a fairy. Henrick was my number-one winged suspect at the moment. For some reason even though Izzy claimed to want nothing to do with her fairy brethren, Henrick saw Izzy as a threat to his toothy reign. What better way to ensure his place in history than to remove the competition?
Only one problem with that scenario, though.
Henrick had purple wings.
The fairy-dust junkie had claimed he saw a green-winged fairy following Izzy the night she ordered her nun’s habit from Barry. And the bit of costume-shop wing I’d found at the twins’ apartment was also green.
Unless Henrick had worn fake wings the night he followed Izzy and then planted the piece of green wing at the twins’ place to throw suspicion off himself.
He had to know he’d be Detectives Locks’s and Rabit’s top suspect for the Fairyland murders once he became the Tooth Fairy. So why not cast the suspicion on someone else for the killings? Someone with a vibrant shade of green for wings.
I took a sip of whiskey and glanced at Isabella over the rim of my glass. The alcohol burned a nice numbing path down my esophagus and into my stomach. “Tell me about the night you were attacked at your apartment.”
She shrugged. “What’s to tell? I was asleep and then I wasn’t. There was a dark figure standing over my bed.”
I frowned, leaning forward. “Like a Shadow?” Had they tried to kidnap her more than one time? And why? What good would holding Izzy do? As far as the Council was concerned, she was fairy non grata until she agreed to collect teeth.
“Kind of, but not a Shadow shadow. A solid form. I’m sure of it. I screamed and lashed out, kicking and punching, until I was able to get away.”
“Could you identify him?”
She shook her head.
“Was he tall? Short? Fat?” I frowned. “Have a set of wings? Come on, Izzy. Give me something.”
“I don’t know!” Her eyes blazed, turning indigo in color. “It was dark. I was half asleep. . . .” She paused, tilting her head. “There was one thing. . . .”
“Yeah?”
She shook her head. “It’s probably nothing.”
“Let me decide that.” I leaned closer to her. “Even the smallest clue can solve the biggest of cases.”
“He smelled like denture cream.”
“Denture cream?”
“I know it sounds crazy.”
Rubbing my chin, I considered her description of the attack. Something just didn’t sit right. “You weigh, what, a hundred pounds?” Her gasp told me I’d guessed a little too close for her comfort. I quickly moved on to make my point. “What kind of man let’s a hundred-pound chick best him?”
“Hey,” she said, stabbing her finger at me, “I’m scrappier than I look. And I have damn good wings.”
My gaze fell to her breasts, concealed under a tight tank top. “Wings. Right.”
“Now that I think about it,” her tongue poked from her mouth, “I’m fairly sure he had a pair too.”
“Who?”
She rolled her eyes. “Try to keep up.”
“Right,” I said with a laugh. “Our bad guy.” Again it came down to a pair of wings. “Anything else you remember?”
She shook her head. “It’s your turn to answer a question for me,” she said, grabbing the glass of whiskey from my hand and downing it in one gulp.
My body heated at the near contact, a bad sign. Izzy was affecting more than my investigational abilities. I cleared my throat. “That ointment in the bathroom was there when I moved in.”
She laughed. “Good to know, but not the question I had in mind.”
I sighed. “Fine. I’ll answer one question.”
All the laughter left her face and she grew serious. Too serious. Whatever she was about to ask would change our relationship. I wasn’t sure I was ready for that.
She grabbed my hand, clenching her fist as a current rocked her body, but she didn’t let go. I tried to pull away. She wouldn’t let me. Instead, she squeezed my hand tighter. Her skin felt hot, so hot I worried I was doing her serious damage.
“If you could have the very thing you want more than anything else in the world,” she said, her voice soft, “but it would cost you your soul, would you sell it?”
I thought of my curse. Would I sell my soul for the truth? For freedom from what I was? I didn’t have a ready answer, which was good since Izzy wasn’t finished with her question.
“Or would you do the moral thing,” she paused, her eyes on mine, “giving up everything, maybe even your life, for what was right?”
I relaxed, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips. The electrical voltage churning inside me quieted to a mere hum. “That’s kind of a chicken-or-egg question, Izzy.”
She dropped my hand, pushing to her feet. “Just answer it.”
“It depends.”
“On?”
I slowly stood, our faces now inches apart. “I guess we’ll find out.”