The Fairyland Murders

Book 1: Deadly Ever After

by J.A. Kazimer

Genres: Mystery

Synopsis

Blue Reynolds knows the darker side of New Never City—the side that's hopped-up on fairy dust and doesn't care if your house gets blown down. Rent's due and his PI business is all but make believe. But even Blue shudders at having to chase after Isabella Davis, a freckle-nosed redhead five feet tall on her tip-toes. . .if you don't count the pretty pink wings.

Izzy is tough, and sneaky, and not too thrilled with the idea of being the new tooth fairy. The last six have been most gruesomely extracted. But Blue has a feeling that whoever is killing the tooth fairies is worse than your standard big bad psycho. The fairy council is hiding something. The Shadows are moving out into the light. And Blue is saddled with a shocking power that could take out half of New Never City. . .

67,600 Words

Release date: December 1, 2014

Publisher: eKensington

Print pages: 220

Sample

Of all the fey PI firms in all the kingdoms in all the lands, these twin hairless fairies had to walk into mine.

Of course I knew why they were here.

“My rent’s not due for two days,” I said, propping my feet on top of my worn desk. It groaned under the weight. Not that another forty-eight hours would matter in the scheme of things. I’d still be a few hundred short of meeting my monthly office space rent.

The PI biz wasn’t what it used to be.

And it used to be pretty damn bad.

Hell, I only had one case in the last month and I’d yet to see a penny from it. Of course, I hadn’t quite solved it either. But I would. Blue Reynolds, PI, always gets the job done. Eventually.

“Blue,” Peyton, the taller of the two fairies, said as he hefted his tiny pants. They rose an inch, showing off a pair of green and white kids’ socks. “We ain’t here for the rent. We want you to do a job for us.”

I leaned back farther in my chair. “Nope.”

Frowning, Peyton consulted with his twin brother, Clayton, in a hushed whisper. They argued for a second, finally nodding in apparent agreement before facing me again. In unison they shot me equally creepy and earnest smiles.

A lesser man might’ve found their pixie-shaped faces and wistful plea cute. Not me. I’d dealt with fairies too many times to fall for their adorable act. In general, fairies were winged devils; these two were in particular.

“Please,” they said. “For us?”

Again I shook my head. This time with greater emphasis, so much so that the bones in my neck popped. I tilted my head back and forth, working out the kinks, as the twins regrouped.

“Come on, Blue,” said Clayton, the shorter brother. Shorter was relative since neither he nor his twin stood more than two feet tall. “It’ll be a piece of cake.”

“You said that about the last job.” I kicked off my combat boot and wiggled four toes through the hole in my sock. “I still haven’t found my toe.”

Peyton winced, but Clayton, true to his demonic nature, giggled. “Guess he didn’t go running wee, wee, wee, all the way home like we figured.”

“Funny.” I slipped my boot back on, crossing my arms over my chest. “The answer’s no.”

“It was an accident,” Peyton snapped. “The gun slipped.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Come on, Blue. We need you on this.” Clayton paused, as if sucking on a lemon. “You’re our only hope.”

“What’s the job?” I asked, though I knew better. With these two, whatever the job was, it would be degrading, dangerous, and illegal.

All well within my expertise.

“Find our half-fairy niece.” Clayton began to pace, his tiny legs and wings in motion. “She disappeared a week ago.”

Sounded easy enough, but something nagged at me. “What’s her other half?” A thousand half-fairy combinations rushed through my mind. After all, spending the next week searching New Never City for a fire-breathing dragon fairy didn’t hold much appeal. Then again, I needed the dough. I was down to my last bottle of whiskey and I’d run out of deodorant a week ago.

Peyton ducked his head. “Human. She’s half human—”

“I’m going to pass, but thanks for dropping by . . .” I scratched the indigo stubble on my chin and waited for their final, desperate offer. It wasn’t long in coming.

“We’ll pay double your standard rate,” Clayton said with a grimace, as if paying, let alone paying double, got his greenish wings in a bunch.

“Triple,” I said. Clayton’s pink cheeks grew red, but I wasn’t finished just yet. “Plus expenses.”

“That’s robbery!” Peyton sputtered, spittle flying from his plump lips. Clayton shushed his brother with a glare. Clearing his throat, he leaned forward as if to intimidate me, a man ten years younger, four feet taller, and at least a hundred and fifty pounds heavier.

I shifted farther back in my chair.

“Fine.” He dug into his miniature pocket. “Will you take a check?”

I could find the little bastards if they stiffed me. Not that I particularly wanted to visit Fairyland. Not without a really big gun. I agreed to take his check, watching his trembling fingers fill it out. “Don’t forget medical,” I said when he added the last zero.

A frown creased his brow. “Medical?”

“Yep.” I pointed to my missing toe. “Medical.”

“All right.” He rewrote the check and then tore it from his checkbook. He waved it in my direction, yet he was careful to keep a safe distance between us, lest he suffer from a bad electrical burn. “You do the job,” he said, “and you do it quick. We ain’t paying you to slack off.”

I snatched the check from his freakishly small hand with my gloved fingers, counted the zeros, and grinned. “So what’s the deal? How do you know your niece is missing as opposed to trying to avoid you?”

Clayton frowned, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. I had a feeling they were about as real as the vivid green of his dyed wings. “We didn’t know we had a niece till a year ago, when her dear old daddy, our saintly brother, departed this Earth.” He sniffed, and my eyes narrowed. “And now she’s gone.”

“And you want me to find her,” I said, my voice filled with questions and a hint of suspicion. So far the job seemed legal and easy enough; too legal and easy for the amount of dough they were willing to pay.

They both nodded solemnly.

“What’s the catch?”

“Catch?” Four innocent eyes shot to mine.

“Either tell me or get lost. I have other jobs to do.” “Jobs” was a bit of an exaggeration. Okay, more than a bit. My calendar was clear except for a missing object case I’d been working for the last three weeks with no luck whatsoever. I wasn’t any closer to finding the wayward “magic” pea than I was the day my recluse client, Mervin the Great, had hired me.

Unless I found the pea soon, I’d be spending my nights sleeping under a bridge with the trolls, or worse, in my hard plastic office chair.

At least the trolls smelled slightly better.

The twins glanced at each other, and in some weird sort of telepathy, they held a silent debate. While they discussed whatever fairy secret they held in their tiny pockets, I stood to stretch my legs. My office was small, so small in fact that after only two strides I had crossed it and now stood staring out the grimy window to Fairy-Second Street below.

A princess with bright blond hair, her arms full of curds and whey, glanced up at me. My eyes met hers through the glass. Heat shimmered in the air. My body tightened, growing warmer as I tried to ward off what was to come. The princess gave me a small smile. Electricity swelled within me, sending my blue hair standing on end in direct contrast to my pale skin. The hair on my arms rose, dancing back and forth.

Thunder cracked in the distance.

The princess stepped away, startled. She glanced up into the window at me, at my dancing blue hair, screamed, and ran away.

I shrugged, patting my hair back in place as the electrical current inside me dimmed to a controllable voltage.

“Okay, Blue,” Clayton said. “We’ll tell you the whole sordid tale. But you gotta promise you’ll keep it to yourself. If anyone else finds out . . .”

“Sure.” As I walked from the window, I crossed my fingers behind my back. Whatever the fairies had to say must be big if they wanted my silence.

“She ain’t only our half-fairy, half-human niece.”

I frowned, fearing I wasn’t going to like the answer to my next question. “What else is she?”

“She’s the next Tooth Fairy.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“And she’s been kidnapped.”

“Isabella’s an ugly duckling, Blue. She doesn’t take after our side of the family, that’s for sure,” Peyton offered when I asked for a description of his half-toothier niece.

Clayton quickly concurred. “Some call her gangly.” Peyton shot him a look and his twin winced. “Not to her face,” Clayton added. “We wouldn’t want to hurt her tender feelings.”

The other twin nodded. “She’s kind of sensitive.”

I wasn’t quite sure I believed the twins had a relative—at least not one who acknowledged either of them, let alone a kidnapped niece with a fetish for molars.

But if they did, and she was kidnapped, the outcome could be very bad. Seven Tooth Fairies had been brutally murdered over the last year by a faceless killer known only as Jack the Tooth Ripper, the last one just over three weeks ago, leaving the Fairies without a dentin collector. Until now. If what the twins said was the truth and their half-fairy niece was next in line to become Her Toothiness, she could be victim number eight. I wondered if they suspected as much. “Who do you think kidnapped her?” I asked.

“That’s what we’re paying you good money to find out. If you’re not up to it . . .” Peyton said, his eyes on the teeny check in my hand. My fingers curled around the paper. “I’ll find her.” Alive or dead, I added silently. “You can bet on it.”

“Good,” he said with a nod. “Then we’ll leave you to it.”

And with that, the twins hefted up their tiny pants and left my office, the stench of cabbage and fairy dust trailing behind them. Tinkles of demonic laughter followed them down the hall and out of the building.

Damn it, the winged devils had duped me.

They sure as hell knew more than they were letting on, and that could only mean one thing. I was in serious trouble. I glared down at my foot with its missing toe.

When would I learn?

An hour later I had downed half a bottle of whiskey, for purely medicinal purposes. Who knew what sort of diseases those two carried? And then I picked up the phone, dialing a number I’d sworn never to call again, a number that often haunted my nightmares.

Oddly enough, the first three digits were 666, the mark of the beast, which fit Little Bo Peep to a T. “What?” Bo’s overly sweet voice answered.

“Hey, Bo,” I said. “It’s Blue.”

“Blue?”

“Blue Reynolds.”

“That name doesn’t ring any bells.”

“Bo.” I rubbed my fingers over the bridge of my nose. “I said I was sorry about . . . well, you know.”

“Sorry?” Her voice rose two octaves, nearly blowing out my eardrum. “You electrocuted my entire flock. I hire you to find them and next thing I know, the neighbors are enjoying a nice rack of lamb. From my sheep!”

I grinned. Add enough BBQ sauce and the damn things could’ve passed for tough chicken.

But Bo wasn’t finished listing my multitude of sins. “And then after we . . . you never called.” She blew out a harsh breath, as if deflating under the weight of my failings. “What do you want, Blue?”

“I have some information . . .”

“What makes you think I care?”

I bit my tongue. “Have you heard anything about the Fairies lately?” Little Bo Peep, for all her talk of tending her sheep, spent an abundance of time tending another flock, one filled with rich politicians and gangsters. She knew exactly where the bodies were buried because she’d put them there.

She snorted. “Stay away from those winged bastards. Fairies aren’t the forgiving kind. They’ll cut your bluish heart out.” As opposed to Bo Peep, who, a year ago, had hired two thugs to kneecap me in a dark alley. Since I walked without a limp, Bo held more than a wee grudge.

I sighed. “Too late.”

“What’s going on?” she asked, sounding interested for the first time since our conversation started. “Do you know something about Jack the Tooth Ripper?”

As much as Bo wanted revenge for her fried flock, she wasn’t stupid and, more importantly, at heart she was a businesswoman. And any leverage when dealing with the Fairy Council would pay dividends. And the biggest influence would be catching the fairy serial killer.

“I might know a little something about something,” I lied, reeling her in. “But there’s a price.”

Her sigh echoed through the line. “I expected no less from you.” She paused for a moment. “Let’s get it over with. How much?”

I thought of my cramped office, my even smaller apartment, and the large hole in my sock, not to mention the nearly empty bottle of whiskey in my bottom drawer. It would be so easy just to name a price, to sell what little untarnished piece of my soul still existed. But I needed something else more. Something I’d longed to have for over two decades. Answers. The kind kept locked in dark places. Places a guy like me could never access, not without the right sort of pressure. “You know what I want, Bo.”

She gave a bitter laugh. “You ask too much.”

“I ask for what I’m due.” My fingers gripped the phone tighter. Sparks flew from my fingertips, melting the plastic beneath. “No more. No less.”

“Nothing good will come from it, Blue. Just let it go.”

“I can’t.”

“Don’t I know it.” She hung up, leaving me holding a half-charred receiver to my ear. I cursed, throwing the phone against the wall. A large phone-shaped chunk of plaster fell to the floor. Taking a deep breath, I tried to calm the rush of violence and heat filling my body. I hated the way I’d let her get to me. But she had information I needed. More than needed.

What she knew could possibly save me from my electrified curse, a curse I’d had since birth without any clue how or why it happened.

If only I could find a way to pry the information out of her.

I picked up a broken pencil from my desk and tapped my chin with it, replaying our conversation. Bo Peep kept her cards and her sheep close to her abundant chest, but she had let something slip.

Or rather she hadn’t let it slip.

Apparently, no one besides the twins either knew or cared about the kidnapping of a half-human, half–Tooth Fairy. That meant one thing: Either the twins were setting me up, a definite possibility knowing those two, or the Tooth Fairy’s kidnapping was being kept hush-hush for a bigger reason.

Not that my speculation mattered one way or another. If the Tooth Fairy were still alive, I would bring her back to the tiny arms of her loving family.

Or die trying.

Scratch that.

The twins’ check didn’t cover funeral expenses.

Once my anger receded after my talk with Bo Peep, I pulled out my laptop, dusted it off, and hacked into New Never City’s records, searching any files for Isabella Davis, better known in certain winged circles as the Tooth Fairy-to-be.

According to New Never City, Isabella Davis was twenty-six years old, five feet tall, and until a year ago had lived uptown, working at a public relations firm.

No criminal record, not even a speeding ticket. Kind of surprising since the fairies I knew had rap sheets longer than their bodies.

No current address on file.

Not for over a year.

It was almost as if Isabella Davis were a ghost, and a lame one at that. I heaved a sigh. The sooner I solved this case the better; then I could go back to not solving my one and only other case. Yep, I was living the dream.

Ignoring the niggling feeling in the back of my brain that something didn’t add up, I checked Isabella’s credit report. She’d made only one purchase in the last year. An eight-hundred-dollar purchase charged on the first of this month.

For rent, I’d bet my life. I picked up my charred phone, dialed the credit card company, and waded through mechanical voice prompts until a squeaky, high-pitched, real-live human picked up.

“Your business is important to us. How can I help you today?” she asked with an affected sincerity that didn’t mask the boredom in her tone.

I cleared my throat. “Yes. Hello . . . I was looking at my bill and noticed a charge for eight hundred dollars. I’m not sure what it’s for. Can you look it up?” I paused, infusing my own voice with artificial honesty. “Please?”

Without the tiniest bit of suspicion, which explained the growing rash of identity thefts around the city, she rattled off the name of a corporation.

Never Never Inc.

A quick Google and two phone calls to the corporate Never Never headquarters later, I had an address for a single-room apartment in one of the worst sections of Fairyland rented under the name I. Miller. Not really original, but fairies weren’t known for their creativity. Or wit. Or general hygiene.

Except when it came to their teeth.

Those winged guys loved to floss.

Shaking my head, I jotted down the apartment address for I. Miller. It was as good a place to start my search as any. Hell, maybe I’d get lucky and find Her Toothiness inside and hung over after a week-long bender.

Like most of my other clientele.

I grabbed my jacket, locked my office (not that I had anything worth stealing), pulled on a pair of leather gloves—double layered not only for my pleasure but mostly so I didn’t accidently shock innocent strangers on the street—and jumped on the Fey Train for a quick trip downtown.

I. Miller was in for some blue-haired company.

When I arrived at the address for I. Miller, I double-checked the street number. The only building still standing in the rundown block was a flophouse above a fairy-dust shooting gallery. Graffiti from the local Big Bad Wolves gang filled the brick exterior, warning anyone in the immediate area of the dangers of huffing or puffing other gangs’ wares.

This was no place for a half fairy, especially one as ugly, gangly, and dull as Isabella Davis supposedly was. Something was very wrong. What made a seemingly happy half human, half fairy go from uptown public relations to seedy decaying downtown in less than a year? What was she hiding from?

Or more importantly, who was she hiding from?

Not my problem, I reminded myself. The twins had hired me to find her. That was all. Once I did, the job was done. I’d move on to another case, if I ever got another one, and one day I’d find what I sought most. Sadly, from the moment I’d entered the flophouse, what I wanted more than anything was a good hot shower.

Holding my breath, I walked up three flights of urine-stained stairs until I reached a flimsy door marked with a small brass plaque labeled 307. The very same room rented to the mysterious I. Miller. I knocked on the door. No answer. Not a great sign when trying to find the person living there.

Taking a set of lock picks from my jacket pocket, I scanned the corridor. The buzz of a television down the hall tuned to a reality show where desperate peopl. . .