Witch Boots on the Ground Read online

  They had the means, and they had motive. If they could see that Horace would never repay his debts, then they might off him. People had gone missing who owed them a lot before. Based on rumors it was likely that they took them to work in their mines to endlessly work for amethyst to repay their debt. It was possible that they tried to take him, and things got out of hand. If the fairies have a werewolf on their payroll, things might have gotten out of control, especially this close to a full moon.

  “Let’s wait for Alan,” I said. “We should follow through with the mafia theory first, don’t you think?” I asked. It felt like we were going down too many different paths to give enough attention to any one of them.

  “Well, I think we should look into every theory. I don’t want to ignore one and then lose what little evidence we have.” Henry had a good point. “I’ll put some other officers on the girlfriends for now.”

  Henry went to speak to some of his officers. I sat at his desk, waiting for Alan to come back. Winnie had gone to get coffee long enough ago that she should have been back by now. She must have needed more time to cool off. In addition to being worried about Barry, she was also dealing with her family being upset with her for not going on vacation with them.

  I played around with some of the papers on his desk. I didn’t want to read any of them, they weren’t my business. If someone sat down at my desk and rifled through my papers I’d be upset. Even so, I couldn’t help myself from one of the pages capturing my attention. It was an analysis of the fabric that had been found at the scene of the crime. They had matched it with an apron from the coffee shop.

  Henry hadn’t seen the report yet. Based on the timestamp it had been tested while he was in interrogation. My heart sunk; this was physical evidence that could be linked back to Barry. As many times as I had seen Horace in the coffee shop, he had never donned the apron that he made his employees wear. I doubted that Horace was the type to lower himself to ever put on the uniform. I pushed away the urge to hide the report. The results were incriminating, but hiding them was incriminating for both Barry and me.

  “I’m back,” Alan cawed landing on the report. It was just in time. Even though I logically knew I should take the report, my hands were moving to fold it up.

  “What did you find out?” I asked, jumping. I tried to hide what I had been doing, but Alan eyed me suspiciously. He looked down at the papers and then back at me knowingly. “Shush,” I said before he could judge me.

  “Did you find anything out?” Henry said coming up behind me.

  “I heard the fairy boss and some of her henchmen talking about Horace,” Alan said. His superpower had come in handy again. “They don’t know who did it.”

  “So it wasn’t them?” I huffed, disappointed.

  “It could have been. They mentioned sending some muscle after Horace to get him to start repaying his debt. Gemia was the name, they said she might get a little too intense and killed him. If not her, then mentioned there was someone new in the area,” Alan explained. “Not a werewolf, but something else.”

  “Gemia is a real piece of work. She’s a werewolf, been on the payroll for a while for the fairy mafia. We’ve brought her in half a dozen times for intimidation and assault but we’ve never been able to make it stick,” Henry banged his fist on the table. “She’s quick to anger at the best of times and this close to the full moon, I can see her losing it.”

  “That sounds promising. We’ve got to get to her before the mafia do though,” I said. If they hadn’t ordered the hit, then Gemia might have just moved to the top of their list.

  “What about this newcomer? Anything else?” Henry asked.

  “They didn’t say much,” Alan shrugged his wings up. “They didn’t know much. Just said that it wasn’t a werewolf.”

  “Then what is it?” Henry wondered. I wondered too, but first thing first, we needed to find Gemia.

  Chapter Eight

  GEMIA WAS EASIER TO find than I’d expected. Henry and a few other detectives had brought her in more than once. They knew her normal routines and hang out spaces. I should have known it would've been simple to pick her up. Too many criminals kept to their routines, their safe spaces. It was always easy to know where they were. Just because it was easy to find her, it doesn’t mean that it would be easy to get her to talk.

  “I’m not going to talk.” She crossed her arms leaning back in her seat and chuckled. Gemia looked nothing like a thug. Like a werewolf but a sexy one in her too tight sequined dress. It was her expression of pure disdain that gave her away. “You can ask all you want.”

  “It’s in your best interest to talk to us,” I said with a shrug. “If you don’t want to, that’s fine. Makes no difference to me. We’ll just go ahead and charge you with murder.” It wasn’t true in the slightest, we had no proof she did it, but I wanted to see her reaction. This time it was Henry and I in the interrogation room. Winnie was great a questioning, but with Barry on the line we thought she might go overboard.

  “Murder?” She looked up surprised. “Who am I supposed to have murdered?”

  “Horace Bugglebee,” Henry said as he slapped the gruesome photos of his corpse in front of Gemia. She didn’t flinch, or shy away from them. If anything, she looked intrigued and interested by the gore she could see. I might even say she looked proud, if I thought she was guilty. “Sound familiar to you?”

  “No,” she said looking away from the pictures. Her expression had given her away though. “Never heard the name, and I can’t possibly know who he was based on that pile of mess in those pictures.”

  “Does this help?” I asked sliding an identifiable picture of Horace over to her. She picked it up and laughed. Gemia threw the image back across the table.

  “No, it doesn’t.” She was pleased with herself. Whether she had done it or not. This entire thing was amusing to her.

  “Then why do we have intel that you were sent after Mr. Bugglebee to shake him down?” Henry took the picture and put it back into the folder. “He got a little behind in payments, owed a lot. Did he refuse to pay when you beat him for the money? Did you get a little too mad? Temper got the best of you and you killed him.”

  “I didn’t kill him, okay?” She was getting a little rattled. It didn’t take long in my experience. Hired muscle had allegiance to themselves and not much else. She’d flip if we could convince her it was in her best interest. If she knew anything it would be. Had she been hired, then we might even be able to take down the fairy mafia.

  “But you did rough him up?” I asked. “The boss gave you an order and you obeyed.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she repeated.

  “I think you do,” Henry said. He sounded kind and understanding now. Trying to play the good cop. I was fine with it, too angry to have played good cop. “I think your bosses expect a lot from you, and for not much in return. I think that you went to Horace Bugglebee to scare him and got more than you bargained for.”

  I tried not to scoff. From the way Gemia hungerly admired the photos of his dead body, she was a psychopath at best. If she didn’t do it, she admired whoever did and wished that she had. Yes, it was best that he played the good cop.

  “I don’t know him.” Her face was set in a stubborn line and her arms crossed. “Never seen him before.”

  “Okay, well, I guess we’ll just have to charge you with his murder,” I responded, pulling cuffs from out of my pocket. Based on what Henry knew of Gemia, she’d fall for the rouse hook, line and sinker. She wasn’t the brightest bulb. From what Alan heard at the fairy headquarters, we did have enough to book her. Not for the murder, but at least assault.

  I went around her and stood her up as though I were going to place the cuffs on her. I moved slower than normal to give her the opportunity to tell us something. Either that would incriminate her further or clear her name. I’d take either at this point. From what we knew, she was likely the last person to see Horace Bugglebee alive. Aside from who kill
ed him that is and if it wasn’t her, then she might have seen who it was.

  “Fine!” She yelled fighting against me slightly to stay seated.

  Chapter Nine

  “YEAH, SO I ROUGHED the guy up a little,” Gemia leaned back in her chair with a self-satisfied smirk. She made a show of looking relaxed but spoke a bit too loud and fidgeted a little too much to make it work. I didn’t blame her. Ratting out the fairy mafia is not something any hired thug would do in their right mind. Unless, of course, the alternative is doing time. I stepped back but kept the cuffs out...just so she wouldn’t forget.

  “It wasn’t a big deal,” she continued, “I’ve done worse for less.”

  Henry’s eyebrows shot up. She was baiting him, bragging, knowing that we cared too much about the matter at hand to pursue past infractions. Seeing his reaction, she showed a wide, wolfish grin of polished white teeth.

  “How about you skip to the part where you tell us why we shouldn’t book you for the murder of Horace Bugglebee?” I said, getting impatient. She snorted.

  “You want to call off your girlfriend?” Gemia sneered, looking at Henry but nodding toward the cuffs that dangled from my crossed arms, “I’ll talk, okay? Just calm down.” She huffed and closed her eyes.

  “I was called in to...remind our friend Mr. Bugglebee that he had fallen behind on some payments. That was it, promise. No killing. The guys that hired me specifically said no killing. A slash here, a broken arm there...like I said, not a big deal.”

  Henry frowned. “You realize you just confessed to assault?”

  Gemia smirked and shrugged, “Hey, it sounds like you’ve all got better things to do than go through the paperwork of charging little ol’ me for giving a deadbeat some bruises.”

  As much as I didn’t like to admit it, she was right. Murder was rare enough in Nikatomia that this case alone would tie up local law enforcement for weeks. And it didn’t seem like we were getting any closer to our suspect. Despite her attitude, every word of her confession had rang true. There was still a killer to deal with...and Barry to exonerate.

  “Who you should be looking for,” Gemia continued, another toothy smile creeping up the sides of her face, “Is that big fella that got there just as I was...heh...wrapping up.”

  “You saw someone else that night,” Henry leaned forward, intrigued, “Did he interact with Mr. Bugglebee at all?”

  Gemia nodded. “I was in a bit of a hurry at the time, so I didn’t bother getting a good look. But I got the feeling he was there for the same reason I was.”

  “What was that?” I asked, clenching my teeth. I saw Henry’s frown deepen. Neither of us liked where this was going. Gemia, on the other hand, seemed to relish our discomfort.

  “Well,” she cocked her head, “I say ‘he’, but I suppose I mean ‘it’’. Couldn’t tell who or what it was from where I was standing. Might have been a man, but maybe not. Might have been human...then again, maybe not.”

  “Werewolf?” Henry asked, his tone solemn. I watched his face carefully, trying to discern what he was thinking.

  “Possibly,” Gemia chuckled, “Whatever it was, it made quite a bit of noise. Snarling, biting, tearing...” I shuddered, not wanting to imagine whatever horrible thing it was that had mauled Mr. Bugglebee.

  “That’s enough,” Henry said suddenly, “Vana, do you have any more questions?”

  “I do, as a matter of fact,” I said, uncrossing my arms. I let the cuffs rattle a bit for good measure. Gemia eyed them warily. “What do you know of a newcomer?”

  Chapter Ten

  GEMIA, AS IT TURNED out, knew about as much as the fairy mafia thugs had about the newcomer. Which is to say that she knew nothing useful.

  “At this point, I have no choice but to place Barry Berry under arrest,” Henry said, once we had joined up with Winnie and Alan in the station breakroom.

  Winnie, who had been pretending to sip on a cup of the bitter, lukewarm station coffee, made a noise of protest.

  “You can’t,” she cried, throwing up her arms. A bit of black coffee sloshed out of her cup and splattered on the floor.

  “You might not understand,” she pointed accusingly at Henry, “Because you’re from the normal realm, but werewolves don’t go crazy with the moon here. And even if they did, Barry wouldn’t...Barry would never...” She trailed off, voice breaking.

  “We know Barry, Detective Henry,” I said, moving to put a hand on Winnie’s shoulder. She was shaking. “He wouldn’t do something like this. I’m sure of it.”

  “He wouldn’t hurt a fly,” Winnie muttered, “Literally. One time we were at the coffee shop...there was this gnat or beetle or something that kept buzzing around everyone’s head. We kept trying to swat it but it was too fast. Barry....he just laughed and got an empty cup and caught it. Then he let it go outside.”

  She sniffed and glared at Henry. Alan fidgeted on my shoulder.

  “Barry always makes my espresso special,” he cawed softly, “Two shots, dark roast. Normal cups are hard for me so he pours it into a little vial that I can fit my beak into.”

  That bird and his caffeine addiction. I made a mental note to watch how much he was imbibing next time we visited the coffee shop. At least I hoped there would be a next time.

  Henry looked tired. “I’m know he’s your friend,” he said, voice apologetic. “But we have a victim of what appears to be a vicious werewolf attack. A victim who happened to work in close proximity to a werewolf. We have motive and we have means. I’m sorry, but he’s looking more and more like our prime suspect.”

  I put my arm around Winnie and Alan tiptoed over to rest on her shoulder. He rested his head against hers and she gave a small smile.

  “We understand,” I said, giving Winnie a stern look when she raised her head to protest, “But I would like to point out that we have not exhausted all possible avenues. There are plenty of other things that could have killed Mr. Bugglebee.”

  “The mafia?” Henry asked.

  “Bigfoot?” Alan cawed.

  “The girlfriends.” I said.

  “Our Mr. Bugglebee was a bit of a philanderer,” I explained, seeing Winnie’s look of confusion, “Henry tells me he had two girlfriends.”

  Winnie raised an eyebrow. “I assume they didn’t know about each other. If that’s not a motive, I don’t know what is.”

  “Not so fast,” Henry said. “Yes, when we did some investigating we discovered that he'd been cheating on his long-time girlfriend. And yes, the girlfriend didn’t know. But both she and his mistress have been more than cooperative.”

  “Have they now?” I asked, “Have they been questioned?” There’s a difference between cooperating and telling the truth. A good interrogation can usually clear things up.

  “They have yet to give formal statements.” Henry admitted. “But they both have solid alibis and have given our officers no cause for suspicion.”

  He had filled me in on a few of the details earlier. Bugglebee’s mistress, one Ms. Aella Umberwing, was a harpy. I wasn’t keen on upsetting a harpy, not if I didn’t have to. They have a well-deserved reputation for inflicting harsh punishments on those who upset them. I didn’t want to be counted among that number.

  Bugglebee’s legitimate girlfriend was a whole other matter. Her name was Nausika and she was a siren. Now, sirens are by no means violent or vicious. They are generally peaceful, just like the rest of us. They can be lethal, however, in their ability to be compelling. The siren song is infamous for causing seafaring men to cast aside their lives, but there is more to it than that. There is something about sirens that makes a person want to give up everything just to please them. With a few well-chosen words, a siren could turn the average human into a grateful slave. Mr. Bugglebee, it seemed, had a way with dangerous women.

  “What are their alibis?” Alan piped up from Winnie’s shoulder. I saw her eye light up for a moment with what might have been hope.

  “I haven’t read the officers’ reports yet,”
Henry said, “And it sounds like it might be worth paying them a visit to hear for ourselves. Interest you ladies in a couple of housecalls?”

  Winnie’s face flickered a bit, the ghost of a smile threatening to break through her despair. Alan bobbed excitedly on her shoulder, took flight, and landed unceremoniously on my head.

  “What are we waiting for?” he cawed.

  Chapter Eleven

  AELLA UMBERWING WAS much older than I had expected and twice as beautiful. In the normal realm, harpies are often depicted as wild, screeching women with hideous faces and cruel talons. As is the case with many normal realm artistic liberties, this depiction comes with a slew of wild inaccuracies. For the most part, harpies in Nikatomia appear almost human. Their noses tend to be somewhat beaky, their nails grow long and curved, and, of course, they all have a set of enormous wings sprouting from their backs.

  Aella was hawkish, even for a harpy, but it suited her. She was tall and broad-shouldered, with high cheekbones and deep, distinguishing lines in her narrow face. Her eyes were a glowing amber color that never seemed to blink and the feathers that fanned out from her shoulders and elbows were a deep, reddish-gold that caught the light and smoldered like a dying fire. She had welcomed us into her home with tea and biscuits and now stood, teapot in hand, fixing each of us with an unsettlingly predatory stare.

  “You're here to talk about Horace, I suppose,” she sighed. Her voice was low and colored by an accent that in the normal realm could have passed for Russian.

  Henry, seated at the edge of a plush red divan, cleared his throat.

  “Yes, Ms. Umberwing,” he said, “As sorry as I am to intrude on you during this trying time—”