Two offerings - the first
Mar. 26th, 2006 12:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrThe second of two gen stories, but this also means I've only got two left in the series ^__^
329: Phil's Case
Phil made a face at the door as it closed behind Chris and Doug.
Men.
What do you mean you work here?
You’re still too new.
You’re 100% human, it isn’t safe.
Some other time; when we have an easy case. Maybe.
On and on and on. Honestly. Phil rested her chin in her hand and played idly with a gold pen, frowning at the top of Doug’s desk. She answered the phone often enough stupid Chris could at least give her a desk of her own. Then again, the jerk apparently hadn’t noticed she’d been doing most of his office work for the past six months.
Did they think she showed up everyday just for her health? Certainly not her sanity. Phil rolled her eyes and leaned back, resting her knee-length, spike-heeled red leather boots on the corner of Doug’s desk. Her skirt, red silk overlaid with cream lace, slid down her legs a few inches.
At least they were out of her hair. The peace and quiet, plus no Chris, would give her a chance to study the books his mother had lent her – books on witchcraft, alchemy, black magic, and the various abnormals inhabiting the human world.
‘Normal’ generally referred to humans who had no clue the abnormals existed. In her city the normals and paranormals were roughly divided by Sable’s hotels. ‘Paranormal’ referred to both those humans involved in some way with abnormals, and the abnormals. Everything south of the hotels and right up to the river tended to be populated by paranormals. If there were normals at all on the south side, it was largely believed that they weren’t paranormal yet. This had once been the case with her. The two words were frequently interchanged, the only real point being ‘not normal’ – as in not properly a part of the human world.
Abnormal referred to all nonhuman creatures – demon, imp, vampire, werewolf, goblin, gremlin, and so many others it made her head hurt. She wondered, sometimes, how she’d managed to skip all the lesser abnormals and had gone straight to being possessed by a demon.
Why so many of them preferred to live where they didn’t belong, she hadn’t quite figured out. The general impression was ‘better, much better,’ which seemed adequate as answers went. For the time being.
Opening her leather satchel, which she’d dropped on Doug’s desk the minute the imp was gone, she fumbled around for a book on abnormals and technology.
Most books on the subject, like this one, were hand written or typed and poorly bound. This one was hand-written and poorly bound, making it an all around fun read. On technology.
Rather, the glaring lack thereof. Funny how she’d never noticed that the technology she saw whenever she traveled outside the city wasn’t present in the city. Abnormals and most technology just didn’t get along. Some stuff, like ovens, refrigerators, would often work. But not much beyond those basics. Everything else went funky, went bad, and went into the garbage. Unless, like Chris’s SUV, it was kept long enough that it learned to run on magic. Or, like Sable’s hotels, were made to use magic – something the visiting normals never noticed.
So she knew all that, had known it, but that didn’t make her fit to start trying the whole detective thing. She was only fit for fetching coffee, answering the phone, and harassing them.
Typical office girl.
Jerks.
Closing the book with a snap, Phil gave up on studying and just let her mind wander. What were their other reasons for not letting her do anything?
Vampires. She wasn’t immune or otherwise protected against what they could do. Nobles and tenants – those vampires living within a Noble’s realm – were safe enough. Peasants, those vampires that refused to pledge fealty, were far more vulgar. They weren’t, in fact, much better than goblins. Their victims usually wound up dead, the opinion being that humans were food and nothing more. As opposed to Nobles, who saw humans as more than food. But all used their beauty to hunt; over the centuries, it had proved the most effective method.
Chris and Doug talked about it as if it was a remarkable way to go about things. Hello, did they think she dressed well to impress herself? She was confident, not narcissistic. Looking good went a lot further than looking bad. If she were a vampire, she’d prefer charming to scaring her dinner too.
Men.
Phil stood up and settled her skirt back in place, then reached up to make sure her hair, tightly French-braided and wrapped in a tidy but cute bun, was still neat. Smoothing the front of her silk blouse, she pondered whether or not to bother with her coat for the two blocks round trip for coffee.
The door opened almost soundlessly. But all of Sable’s money and Chris’s continued efforts could not make the door stop creaking completely. She’s asked him once why he didn’t just replace it, but that had gotten a typical man response if ever she’d heard one – a lot of bluster and nonanswers that basically amounted to getting a new door would be like giving up. Men. “Can I help you?” Phil asked the woman pleasantly.
Her visitor was an old woman – abnormal, but Phil could not sense more than that. But at least she could sense that much. A month ago she wouldn’t have known a normal from a paranormal. The old woman wore a faded blue and yellow shawl over her thin shoulders, a dark blue floor-length dress, and wielded her cane more like a weapon, though it also looked like she could barely do so. “This is the detective agency?” she asked, voice croaky, but otherwise clear.
“Yes, ma’am, this is the White Detective Agency,” Phil replied. “My name is Philippa, I’m the detective on duty right now.” Small lie, couldn’t hurt. It would allow her to get information for Chris and Doug, and maybe then they’d let her help more. “Please, call me Phil. Take a seat, and tell me how we can help.”
The cane rapped sharply on the floor, once, twice, thrice as the woman gave her a sharp look with green eyes that were far from old and feeble. “Don’t you try to sweet talk me, girlie. Are you a detective or not?”
Phil smiled. “Yes, ma’am. No more sweet talk.” Just like her grandma had been. “I’m in training.”
“Any good?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Phil rolled her eyes “Plenty good when the boys aren’t around to tell me otherwise.”
The woman nodded, understanding completely. “I suppose we’ll see, but you look all right to me. Bit fancy, but that’s okay I s’pose.”
“Why not take a seat?” Phil said and scooted over the deep leather chair usually in front of Chris’s desk. Pulling open the top right drawer of Doug’s desk, she helped herself to one of his notebooks and one of the cinnamon candies he was always hoarding. Flipping the notebook open, she grabbed a pen. “Now, ma’am. What’s your name?”
“Lorna Stephens. I live on Peach Avenue, in the apartment building of the same name. Number 302.”
Phil nodded. “And what’s the problem?”
“I’m being harassed,” the woman said. “But I can’t catch the thing doing it. Driving me mad, and it keeps breaking stuff. I want you to figure it out.”
“Of course,” Phil said, breathing a secret sigh of relief. This didn’t sound too hard. Exactly what she needed to prove she could handle being a detective. She could do this, and then Chris would have to shut up and let her help. “Start at the beginning,” she said. “And tell me everything. Every detail helps, so leave nothing out.”
The woman nodded, as if approving Phil’s words, then began to speak. Phil wrote as fast as she could. The woman certainly seemed to leave nothing out.
“Wonderful,” Phil said with a smile. “I wish all our clients were as thorough as you. I will see to this at once. Am I accompanying you back, or shall I meet you elsewhere when I’ve resolved the matter?”
Another nod, and this time the woman gave a gentle smile. “You’re a good girl. I’ll be waiting at my sister’s.” She rifled in her purse a moment, then pulled out a small, pale green business card. “You can call this number, or come to the shop when you’ve gotten rid of whatever it is.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Phil tucked the card away in the pocket of her blazer as she slid it on. It was the exact color of her skirt, though they hadn’t come as a set. Crossing the room, she shrugged into a waist length wool coat of a much darker red, wrapping a cream scarf around her neck. “Shall I walk you to the café?”
“No, dear. I should be fine.” The old woman patted her shoulder. “Thank you very much. I had no idea someone like you worked here; I might have come sooner.”
Phil smiled, for once not certain what to say. It wasn’t often anyone thanked her for anything but a good time, and she had not had one of those since Chris had saved her from a demon.
Ever since that night, the paranormal had been her life. It had started as a crush on Chris, but rapidly faded to something else entirely. Which was just as well, as even she never stood a chance against Sable Brennus.
Chris couldn’t dress well to save his life, but he did have excellent taste in men. Though she suspected that good taste had forced itself upon the recalcitrant detective. Someday she’d get Doug to give her the details.
Shaking away the errant thoughts, Phil walked the old woman to the corner, then turned east toward Peach Avenue. A mere block and a half up from Lorna Stevens’s address was Star Road, the dividing line between the north and south sides of town and the street on which all of Sable’s hotels lay.
Phil pondered what she knew of the case as she walked, pulling her scarf up to cover her head, shivering in the cold. Her breaths were white puffs in the chilly, early winter air.
At least the reports had said there was only a chance of snow, instead of sleeting like it had been all of last week.
Something was wreaking havoc in the woman’s house. Knick-knacks went missing, only to reappear in odd places around the apartment – under the sink, in the flowers on the windowsill, in the fridge…Other items, mostly dishes, were broken and the pieces scattered. But Lorna had been unable to figure out the source of the problem. Phil bit her lower lip, thinking.
Nothing came to mind – at least not any of the creatures she was familiar with. That could prove problematic, though if the worst it did was break dishes and hide trinkets, then it probably wasn’t a creature she had to worry too much about.
Her thoughts scattered at the sound of a mewling scream, and Phil paused at the end of an alleyway. At the far end, against the wall of what she knew was the back of a bakery – they made the best cinnamon rolls on the planet – were three paranormals. Two of them were drop dead gorgeous and on the south side that usually meant only one thing: Vampires. The third was less attractive but certainly not hard on the eyes; he could be anything. Phil cursed her lack of skill.
But more pressing was what they were doing; which near as she could see was torturing the poor little creature in the hands of the blonde-haired vampire. What it was, she didn’t know, but its pitiful scream had turned into the most heart-breaking sobs she’d ever heard. “Just what are you boys doing?” She asked, using the tone of voice learned from her father. It had sent more than a few scurrying from the boardroom in terror, and was the reason for at least five resignations.
The men did not seem more than faintly amused.
“I said, what are you doing?” Ignoring the voice that said going into the alleyway would be stupid, Phil stalked toward them, heels clicking on the pavement. Her breath misted as she added more steel to her voice. “I thought the likes of you were more interested in humans, not…” she eyed the thing in the vampire’s hands, oddly entranced.
It was the cutest thing she’d ever seen. It looked like a tiny gargoyle, with a flat, squashed-looking nose and the biggest blue eyes she’d ever seen. They looked too big for its face, which was currently covered in tears and snot. Its skin was similar to Doug’s, but with a bit of a greenish cast to it. It had tiny claws on its miniature hands and feet and wore a tiny sleeveless shirt and ragged pants. But the wings – the wings were beautiful. Translucent, colored like a misty rainbow. They made her think of faerie wings, as they’d been portrayed in the picture books she’d read voraciously as a child.
And these jerks were making it cry. Phil curled her hands into fists and leveled a gaze on the three men – then realized they were watching her with no small amusement.
Oh shit. Vampires. She wasn’t immune.
But the creature…
“We do prefer humans,” the second vampire, a pretty boy with nut-brown hair and blue-green eyes, said in a lazy drawl. “And you’ll do quite nicely, pretty little thing that you are.”
Phil knew she was being drawn in, could feel the vague fuzziness taking her over as she locked onto how beautiful he was. But she’d also dated more assholes than she liked to count, and it saved her. “Pretty little thing? Go to hell.”
The vampires and their cohort laughed, and in that moment the creature they’d been harassing raked his claws across the arm of the blonde vampire. Screaming in shock and pain, the vampire threw it. The creature fumbled for a split second, then suddenly Phil found her arms full.
But she didn’t stop to figure it out, merely held on, turned ,and ran.
She could hear them following her, and on this side of town no one was going to interfere in the business of peasant vampires…and whatever the other creature was. Suddenly she didn’t want to know. Hopefully she wouldn’t do something stupid – like break a heel. Only the fact that she always wore high heels allowed her to run in them. “Oh shit oh shit oh shit—“
In front of her a door flew open as a young man stepped of a store. Phil barely slowed down enough to make the sharp turn into the store, but was forced to slow as she realized she was in a cluttered antique shop. Weaving her way through the chaos, her eyes flicked to the window – the three were right outside – then to the back room. Blowing past the polite-looking old man at the counter, Phil ducked into an even more crowded back room and hid behind an old bureau.
The place was dim and dusty, and there was a faint odor of mold. Phil wrinkled her nose, but so long as they didn’t find her she’d gladly sit in a vat of rotten eggs. What had she been thinking? Would the shop keeper give her up? Would she get him hurt? No wonder Chris always bitched about his cases, if he had to deal with unrelated problems like this whenever he went out somewhere.
Then again, Chris was a consort. If something annoyed him, he could just set it on fire or whatever. She doubted he’d ever been in a situation like this. Though right now, she just hoped she’d live to get into another mess.
To keep from trembling, Phil focused on the creature in her arms. All the reading she’d done and the hundreds of pictures she’d looked at, she didn’t recall this one anywhere. She definitely would have remembered the wings, if nothing else. The creature really was cute. It should have been ugly, and certainly the snot smeared across its tiny, pudgy face wasn’t attractive…but she still didn’t think anything could be more precious. “Shh…” she soothed quietly, murmurs barely audible. “It’s all right now. I won’t let those stupid jerks hurt you.” Suddenly it occurred to her that they had been hurting it, and gingerly Phil began to look it over. But even the wings seemed all right, if slightly…wrinkled. She wanted to touch, but wasn’t sure if that would hurt it or not
“You’re a mess,” she said with a smile, and fumbled around in her coat for a handkerchief. In the old days, she would have had a purse, but walking about the south side it was easier when there weren’t extraneous things to keep an eye on. Far too many creatures liked to steal, and most of them just for the hell of it. Murmuring more soft assurances, Phil wiped the creature’s face clean and carefully rearranged its skewed clothing.
Voices broke the silence of the back room. Phil tensed and hugged the creature close, feeling it tremble in the hollow between throat and shoulder. Uncertain where to touch it, she carefully ran a finger up and down the narrow space between its wings. “Shh, baby. It’s okay.”
Bite hurt. Sorry.
“What?” Phil whispered, then bit down hard on her lip to keep from screaming in pain.
The creature had bitten her!
Sorry sorry sorry.
“Why?” She whispered, more hurt by the fact it had bitten her than the bite itself.
Can’t hurt now. Bite fix.
“Miss! Miss!”
Phil whirled as the shopkeeper found her, trying to stand but tripping instead, banging against an old bookcase before landing untidily on the floor. Muttering a few choice curses, Phil ascertained the creature was okay before clambering to her feet. She set her clothes to rights, frowning at the dust that had accumulated on her skirt. “Bother it.”
“Are you all right?”
“What?” Phil’s head jerked up, and she looked in chagrin at the shopkeeper. “Yes, I’m fine. I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to just barge in like that; I was a bit panicked.”
“Understandably so,” the shopkeeper said gently. “But I ran them off; not the first time I’ve had hooligans like that running amuck. You look as though you could use some rest and a cup of tea, and I am happy to offer you both if you’d like.”
Tea sounded wonderful, even if she was more of a coffee drinker. Phil dredged up a smile. “Thank you. I apologize for my behavior. Tea sounds wonderful, but I’m afraid I’m in the middle of a job.”
The old man nodded, eyes huge behind thick glasses. He was dressed in faded black slacks and a black and grey checked shirt. They hung on his tiny frame, almost looking as though they weighed more than he did. His hair was tufts of gray, obviously brushed to hide as much of his baldness as possible. “What did you do to make two vampires and an ogre so angry?”
“Ogre?” Phil repeated faintly. “Uh-oh.” It looked as though she’d been very, very lucky. Ogres didn’t have a taste for humans, but they weren’t opposed to beating one up if they were told. It must have been under the control of one of the vampires.
“New to this, love?” The old man asked gently. She loved most old men. When they called her darling or baby or love, they either meant it as an endearment or knew how not to sound like they were being an ass.
Phil made a face. “I guess I couldn’t have made that more obvious if I’d tried.”
“Were they after you or the pixie? If you’ll pardon an old man his curiosity.”
“Pixie?” Phil looked at the bundle cradled in her arms. “Is that what you are?”
Pixie! Jester!
“Is…is it normal for me to hear him in my head?” Phil frowned. “Or have I lost my mind?”
“They’re telepathic.” The old man gently grasped her upper arm and guided her through the back room and up a flight of stairs. Phil went, though part of her mind was screaming about how she obviously hadn’t learned her lesson with the vampires. “Seldom do they choose to talk to anyone, though. And they aren’t quite as…developed as other paranormals.” He gave her an amused smile. “I am guessing you don’t know what that Bite is either. You should thank your pixie and see what sort of fruit is his favorite.” He pushed her into an old armchair that smelled like room freshener and dust.
“Um…I really have to be going,” Phil said. “I have a case to solve, and the woman is counting on me…what do you mean my pixie?”
“Tea doesn’t take long,” he said, and patted her hand before vanishing into what must have been the kitchen.
Phil touched her neck, frowning when her fingers came away bloody. But beyond the initial chomp, it didn’t hurt at all. “Have I just been cursed or something?”
Laughter spilled from the kitchen, and a moment later the old man reappeared with a small tray laden with teapot, cups, a small plate of sugar cookies, and tiny bowl full of fat green grapes. “Here we are,” he said and set the tray down.
“Umm…” Phil tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “Would it be rude of me to ask what you are?” She hesitated, then frowned at her lap. “I’m afraid I still can’t tell.”
“All it takes is practice,” the old man said. “And you’ll have an easier time of it now that you’ve been Bitten. My name is Mortimer; I’m a brownie. You, my dear, have been given a Pixie Bite.” He chuckled and held a grape out to the pixie, which grabbed it and eagerly began to eat. Phil smiled, enchanted by the way the small thing ate something bigger than both its hands.
A brownie. That explained why the old man – Mortimer – was so nice. Phil relaxed, realizing she was in no danger. “So what exactly is a pixie bite?”
“Pixies are fairly harmless creatures. They’re rather childlike, really. Small pranks, meant in fun, are the worst they’d ever do. They like to tease, and they also like to help. I would be willing to bet, if the vampires were after it, that it probably stole a shiny trinket or put something in their hair.” He chuckled as it held its hands out for another grape and motioned for Phil to feed it.
Phil did so, and listened raptly as Mortimer continued to explain.
“Pixies are also quite powerful – not magically, of course, though their magic is nothing to sneeze at. Their greatest asset is their resistance to things. Vampire beauty, siren calls, enchantments, curses…they’re immune to all of it. No one knows quite why, they simply are. And they can pass that immunity on by way of a special bite. A Pixie Bite.” Mortimer laughed. “It’s like being bitten by a snake but with a completely opposite result. Panacea instead of venom.”
“So he bit me? And now I’m immune to all that?” Phil stared. “No way.”
Mortimer laughed again and urged her to drink her tea. Phil did so, but reflexively. “You must have done him a huge favor.”
“The vampires and ogre were hurting him,” Phil said, absently rubbing the top of the pixie’s head. A thought occurred to her. “Jester. I think that’s what he said.” She looked down at the pixie. “Is Jester your name?”
Pixie Jester!
Now that she was growing used to the voice in her head, she could hear that it was sort of sing-song and a strange mix of mature and childish. “Thank you, Jester. You will have to tell me what you like to eat.” She looked at Mortimer, asking silently.
“They’re fond of fruit. Each has its favorites, obviously.”
Berry! Berry! Blue! Black! Raz! Straw! Cran! Lots Black!
Phil couldn’t help but giggle and picked Jester up to hug him. Tiny hands hugged her back, claws catching in the wool of her jacket.
On the wall, the clock chimed three. Phil jumped, them leaped to her feet. “Oh! I really must go! I’m so sorry – how can I repay you?” She looked unhappily at Mortimer, wanting to stay but needing to go.
Mortimer smiled and stood. “I would be honored if you’d come and visit. I don’t have many guests anymore.”
“I’d love to,” Phil said, and meant it. “Thank you for everything. Tomorrow? Around lunch?”
“That would be splendid. Good luck with your task.”
With a last thank you and a wave, Phil flew down the stairs and back out of the shop. She looked warily around, but saw no sign of her would-be assailants. “Come on, Jester. We have an old lady to help.” Humming softly, Phil strode quickly down the street toward the apartment building she sought. “Here we are. Peach Avenue Apartments. Now we go up.” Using the key Lorna had given her, Phil made her way into the building and up to the third floor.
The apartment was cute and a little overwhelming, something out of a supermarket magazine. Phil shook her head and stepped further inside, laughing softly at the profusion of ruffles and patterns, gaudy lamps, and too many trinkets to count.
How the heck had Lorna noticed anything was missing? If the old woman felt like it, she could open up her own shop. Then Phil thought of her own room and the closet of nearly-equal size. She would notice in a heartbeat if someone had so much as breathed on her clothes. So she had no room to talk. Laughing at herself, Phil began slowly to examine the apartment.
“So what do you think, Jester?”
Smell funny.
“Oh?” Phil sniffed the air, but smelled only roses – probably from a candle or potpourri oil.
Smell funny thing. Jester squirmed from her arms like a restless kitten and flew into the air. He zipped back and forth across the living room, through the dining area into the kitchen, then back across the living room and vanished into what was probably the bedroom. A couple of minutes later, he reappeared and flew across the room to settle on Phil’s shoulder, one small hand curling into a bit of her braid to keep from falling. He pointed his free hand toward the bedroom. Funny thing.
Wondering what on earth constituted a funny thing, Phil took a deep breath, smoothed her thoroughly wrinkled skirt, then made for the bedroom.
It was just as opulent and ridiculous as the rest of the house, done in such a profusion of lemon-cream that Phil thought she might throw out anything of that color in her closet. “So where’s this funny thing?” She examined the room more closely, eyes finally settling on the long dresser. Made of dark pine, with a mirror so covered in painted daises there wasn’t much by which to see a reflection. The top of it was covered with more knick-knacks. Tons of them. All sizes and shapes.
Frowning thoughtfully, urged on by Jester’s restless Funny! Funny! Phil began to poke more closely at them. A pair of porcelain swans, made to curl lovingly into each other. A family of foxes, a man with a fiddle, a bouquet of flowers on which perched a delicate faerie…tons more, and she almost missed the one tucked back in the corner. It was remarkably dark and plain compared to the others. It was a statue of a gargoyle, and if it hadn’t been so small, Phil would have sworn it had been stolen straight from a cathedral roof. It was dark gray, and the edges had been smoothed with age. Phil reached out to pick it up, then thought better of it.
Funny funny funny!
Jester’s voice made her think of a child given an entire bag of sugar. Phil wracked her brain for all that she had been taught, most of it by Glenys. Humans couldn’t do magic, not really. Unless, like Chris, they had a connection to a magic-using creature. Alchemy and white magic were the closest they got. Alchemy was a bad idea, and white magic practitioners – white witches – believed that nearly all magic was a bad idea. But even white witches would use certain spells to identify magic when it was too weak for them to simply feel it. Glenys had been teaching her a few of the simpler spells over the past couple of months. Taking a deep breath, Phil brushed a finger over the statue’s nose as she murmured the words of one of those spells.
On the dresser, the gargoyle shimmered with a faint blue light. “I did it!” Phil cheered. Then comprehension dawned. “She must not be a magic-using paranormal if she didn’t realize one of her figurines was enchanted. So what to do?” Phil bit her lip, shoulders sagging as she thought. On the bright side, at least the case wasn’t hideously complicated like several of Chris’s tended to be – no matter how often he bitched about how boring most of them were. “Should I take it? Destroy it?”
Inside no no. Outside! Play!
Phil frowned, puzzling over Jester’s simplistic speech. “It…wants to be outside?”
Stuck inside. Wants out!
That was easy enough to figure out. Ownership was a serious matter to paranormals. Many of the ‘lesser’ paranormals usually wound up in service to the stronger, or even other lesser. Imps were a prime example of this. If Lorna, whatever she was, didn’t know the gargoyle was enchanted – in this case either a spirit bound to the statue or a statue given life – then she also couldn’t know she was its master. But bought and paid for, and Phil bet it was a recent acquisition, meant she did indeed own it. If she had placed it in her house, then it couldn’t leave.
And had been trying, as best it could, to tell her it wanted out. Phil smiled and patted the creature’s head. “I’ll let her know. Just behave until she gets back, all right?” She reached a hand up to touch Jester. “What does he say?”
Be still if can go out. Not still long.
“That will do.” Nodding, pleased with herself, Phil let herself out of the apartment and hit the street, thrumming with energy and pride.
But not even a dozen steps away from the apartment building, rough hands grabbed her and then Phil saw stars as her forehead connected with brick wall. “Shit!” She turned around and glared at three all too familiar faces. “Bastards,” she hissed. “Go the fuck away.”
“Give us back the pixie, and we promise not to drag your death out,” the blonde vampire said. Phil snorted – she knew a liar when she saw one. She glanced at the other two, not liking her odds. Fuck.
Scary scary scary!
Phil held Jester close, feeling the way he trembled against her, and scrambled to think of something that might help them both. But as she watched the vampires, who must be giving her a moment to consider her options, she realized that what Mortimer had said was true – they struck her now as nothing but good looking men.
Which meant they were nothing more than assholes. If they were going to suck her dry, they were going to get a fight first. “Sorry, the pixie is mine. He says you’re too goddamn ugly.” Phil braced herself.
Nothing happened. One minute they all looked ready to kill her, and the next they just…fell over.
“I hate peasant vampires,” Chris snarled. “What the fuck is so hard about staying a tenant?” He made a face at the unconscious vampires. “I should torch them all, including that ogre.” Shifting his ire to her, he simply glared.
The man really needed to learn how to dress, but for all that his clothes were an eyesore, the rest of him made it pretty clear why the resident demon lord had seen fit to make Chris his consort. Chris was blonde hair, blue-eyed gorgeous, especially when he scowled. He shoved strands of hair from his face and waited impatiently for her to speak.
Phil grimaced and stepped away from the unconscious paranormals, reaching up to take Jester from where he clung to her neck and bundle him in her arms. She kissed his tiny cheek and murmured softly, then turned to face Chris. “What are you doing here?”
“I stopped by the Green Teahouse for something to drink,” Chris said dryly, “and an old goblin stopped me to say she was most impressed with my newest detective. Imagine my surprise. I came here to make sure you hadn’t gotten yourself killed. You’re nothing but trouble. Why the hell do you have a pixie?”
“They were hurting him,” Phil said, and pointed to the vampires and ogre. “He was crying; I couldn’t just walk past…” She hugged Jester close. “Besides, he Bit me. I think that means I get to keep him.”
Chris heaved a long-suffering sigh. “I think this story is going to require copious amounts of alcohol.”
Phil sniffed. “Only because you’re always such a grouch.”
Demon loved. Lots magic. Not funny.
Phil smothered a laugh, but it earned her a glare anyway.
“What?” Chris snapped.
“Jester says you’re not funny. And that you’re demon loved.”
It was the hardest thing ever not to burst out laughing at the way Chris’s cheeks turned pink at the mention of being demon loved. Honestly, it really was sad she’d never had a chance. But she’d given up that battle long ago. He was cuter with Sable anyway.
“Whatever,” Chris finally managed. “Are you all right?”
“A little tired, and my feet are killing me. Do you know how hard it is to run in these shoes?”
Chris looked at her high-heeled boots and snorted. “You could try wearing practical shoes.”
“Practical shoes,” Phil retorted, “will be burned if I see them anywhere near my feet. I don’t waste my money on practical.” She sniffed. “Unlike some people.”
“Right. No discussing clothing. Have you caused enough trouble for one day, or did you want to go find a troll and pick a fight? Maybe piss off a faerie?”
Phil pretended to think for a moment. “No, I think I’m good. I need to go to tell the old lady that I figured out what was wrong.”
“Oh?” Chris’s brows went up. “What was wrong? In fact, just tell me everything.” He motioned for them to start walking, and listened without interruption as Phil explained all that had been occurred. “Probably just made to come to life,” he said finally. “I bet it was to amuse a child or something at one point and then just changed hands several times. I never knew a goblin to collect things before. Huh.”
“She’s a goblin?” Phil stumbled to a halt. “She could have eaten me?”
“Doubtful. A few goblins, like her, actually avoid eating humans ninety nine percent of the time. If they eat any, they try to choose criminals. Something like a weird religion with them, but don’t ask me more about it.” Chris sighed, and it sounded as though he were giving up. “You’re going to get yourself killed one of these days if something isn’t done with you. Honestly, hired by a goblin, attacked by vampires and an ogre, bitten by a pixie – what the hell kind of upbringing did your father give you?” He ran a hand through his hair. “Just do what I say, all right? Doug too, because I really don’t feel like putting up with your father if I get you killed. I need a drink.”
It took a moment for his words to register. When they did, Phil stumbled to a halt. “Wait. You mean. I can. You’ll actually let me help? With cases?” Shrieking in delight, sending Jester into the air in a surprised panic, Phil launched herself into Chris’s arms. “Thank you thank you thank you!” She kissed his cheek. “I’ll be as good as you and Doug, just wait and see.”
Chris hugged her awkwardly back. “Probably, if only so my mother can say ‘told you so’ for the next ten centuries.” He rolled his eyes. “Now let’s get back so you can talk to the goblin and wrap the case up.”
Phil laughed and gave Jester a gentle hug as he settled back in her arms.
“I swear to god if that damned pixie tries to steal or hide anything, I will pin it to the wall by its wings.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” Phil said with an offended sniff. “He says demon loved not funny anyway.”
Chris glowered at them both, and grumbled all the way back to the office.
329: Phil's Case
Phil made a face at the door as it closed behind Chris and Doug.
Men.
What do you mean you work here?
You’re still too new.
You’re 100% human, it isn’t safe.
Some other time; when we have an easy case. Maybe.
On and on and on. Honestly. Phil rested her chin in her hand and played idly with a gold pen, frowning at the top of Doug’s desk. She answered the phone often enough stupid Chris could at least give her a desk of her own. Then again, the jerk apparently hadn’t noticed she’d been doing most of his office work for the past six months.
Did they think she showed up everyday just for her health? Certainly not her sanity. Phil rolled her eyes and leaned back, resting her knee-length, spike-heeled red leather boots on the corner of Doug’s desk. Her skirt, red silk overlaid with cream lace, slid down her legs a few inches.
At least they were out of her hair. The peace and quiet, plus no Chris, would give her a chance to study the books his mother had lent her – books on witchcraft, alchemy, black magic, and the various abnormals inhabiting the human world.
‘Normal’ generally referred to humans who had no clue the abnormals existed. In her city the normals and paranormals were roughly divided by Sable’s hotels. ‘Paranormal’ referred to both those humans involved in some way with abnormals, and the abnormals. Everything south of the hotels and right up to the river tended to be populated by paranormals. If there were normals at all on the south side, it was largely believed that they weren’t paranormal yet. This had once been the case with her. The two words were frequently interchanged, the only real point being ‘not normal’ – as in not properly a part of the human world.
Abnormal referred to all nonhuman creatures – demon, imp, vampire, werewolf, goblin, gremlin, and so many others it made her head hurt. She wondered, sometimes, how she’d managed to skip all the lesser abnormals and had gone straight to being possessed by a demon.
Why so many of them preferred to live where they didn’t belong, she hadn’t quite figured out. The general impression was ‘better, much better,’ which seemed adequate as answers went. For the time being.
Opening her leather satchel, which she’d dropped on Doug’s desk the minute the imp was gone, she fumbled around for a book on abnormals and technology.
Most books on the subject, like this one, were hand written or typed and poorly bound. This one was hand-written and poorly bound, making it an all around fun read. On technology.
Rather, the glaring lack thereof. Funny how she’d never noticed that the technology she saw whenever she traveled outside the city wasn’t present in the city. Abnormals and most technology just didn’t get along. Some stuff, like ovens, refrigerators, would often work. But not much beyond those basics. Everything else went funky, went bad, and went into the garbage. Unless, like Chris’s SUV, it was kept long enough that it learned to run on magic. Or, like Sable’s hotels, were made to use magic – something the visiting normals never noticed.
So she knew all that, had known it, but that didn’t make her fit to start trying the whole detective thing. She was only fit for fetching coffee, answering the phone, and harassing them.
Typical office girl.
Jerks.
Closing the book with a snap, Phil gave up on studying and just let her mind wander. What were their other reasons for not letting her do anything?
Vampires. She wasn’t immune or otherwise protected against what they could do. Nobles and tenants – those vampires living within a Noble’s realm – were safe enough. Peasants, those vampires that refused to pledge fealty, were far more vulgar. They weren’t, in fact, much better than goblins. Their victims usually wound up dead, the opinion being that humans were food and nothing more. As opposed to Nobles, who saw humans as more than food. But all used their beauty to hunt; over the centuries, it had proved the most effective method.
Chris and Doug talked about it as if it was a remarkable way to go about things. Hello, did they think she dressed well to impress herself? She was confident, not narcissistic. Looking good went a lot further than looking bad. If she were a vampire, she’d prefer charming to scaring her dinner too.
Men.
Phil stood up and settled her skirt back in place, then reached up to make sure her hair, tightly French-braided and wrapped in a tidy but cute bun, was still neat. Smoothing the front of her silk blouse, she pondered whether or not to bother with her coat for the two blocks round trip for coffee.
The door opened almost soundlessly. But all of Sable’s money and Chris’s continued efforts could not make the door stop creaking completely. She’s asked him once why he didn’t just replace it, but that had gotten a typical man response if ever she’d heard one – a lot of bluster and nonanswers that basically amounted to getting a new door would be like giving up. Men. “Can I help you?” Phil asked the woman pleasantly.
Her visitor was an old woman – abnormal, but Phil could not sense more than that. But at least she could sense that much. A month ago she wouldn’t have known a normal from a paranormal. The old woman wore a faded blue and yellow shawl over her thin shoulders, a dark blue floor-length dress, and wielded her cane more like a weapon, though it also looked like she could barely do so. “This is the detective agency?” she asked, voice croaky, but otherwise clear.
“Yes, ma’am, this is the White Detective Agency,” Phil replied. “My name is Philippa, I’m the detective on duty right now.” Small lie, couldn’t hurt. It would allow her to get information for Chris and Doug, and maybe then they’d let her help more. “Please, call me Phil. Take a seat, and tell me how we can help.”
The cane rapped sharply on the floor, once, twice, thrice as the woman gave her a sharp look with green eyes that were far from old and feeble. “Don’t you try to sweet talk me, girlie. Are you a detective or not?”
Phil smiled. “Yes, ma’am. No more sweet talk.” Just like her grandma had been. “I’m in training.”
“Any good?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Phil rolled her eyes “Plenty good when the boys aren’t around to tell me otherwise.”
The woman nodded, understanding completely. “I suppose we’ll see, but you look all right to me. Bit fancy, but that’s okay I s’pose.”
“Why not take a seat?” Phil said and scooted over the deep leather chair usually in front of Chris’s desk. Pulling open the top right drawer of Doug’s desk, she helped herself to one of his notebooks and one of the cinnamon candies he was always hoarding. Flipping the notebook open, she grabbed a pen. “Now, ma’am. What’s your name?”
“Lorna Stephens. I live on Peach Avenue, in the apartment building of the same name. Number 302.”
Phil nodded. “And what’s the problem?”
“I’m being harassed,” the woman said. “But I can’t catch the thing doing it. Driving me mad, and it keeps breaking stuff. I want you to figure it out.”
“Of course,” Phil said, breathing a secret sigh of relief. This didn’t sound too hard. Exactly what she needed to prove she could handle being a detective. She could do this, and then Chris would have to shut up and let her help. “Start at the beginning,” she said. “And tell me everything. Every detail helps, so leave nothing out.”
The woman nodded, as if approving Phil’s words, then began to speak. Phil wrote as fast as she could. The woman certainly seemed to leave nothing out.
“Wonderful,” Phil said with a smile. “I wish all our clients were as thorough as you. I will see to this at once. Am I accompanying you back, or shall I meet you elsewhere when I’ve resolved the matter?”
Another nod, and this time the woman gave a gentle smile. “You’re a good girl. I’ll be waiting at my sister’s.” She rifled in her purse a moment, then pulled out a small, pale green business card. “You can call this number, or come to the shop when you’ve gotten rid of whatever it is.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Phil tucked the card away in the pocket of her blazer as she slid it on. It was the exact color of her skirt, though they hadn’t come as a set. Crossing the room, she shrugged into a waist length wool coat of a much darker red, wrapping a cream scarf around her neck. “Shall I walk you to the café?”
“No, dear. I should be fine.” The old woman patted her shoulder. “Thank you very much. I had no idea someone like you worked here; I might have come sooner.”
Phil smiled, for once not certain what to say. It wasn’t often anyone thanked her for anything but a good time, and she had not had one of those since Chris had saved her from a demon.
Ever since that night, the paranormal had been her life. It had started as a crush on Chris, but rapidly faded to something else entirely. Which was just as well, as even she never stood a chance against Sable Brennus.
Chris couldn’t dress well to save his life, but he did have excellent taste in men. Though she suspected that good taste had forced itself upon the recalcitrant detective. Someday she’d get Doug to give her the details.
Shaking away the errant thoughts, Phil walked the old woman to the corner, then turned east toward Peach Avenue. A mere block and a half up from Lorna Stevens’s address was Star Road, the dividing line between the north and south sides of town and the street on which all of Sable’s hotels lay.
Phil pondered what she knew of the case as she walked, pulling her scarf up to cover her head, shivering in the cold. Her breaths were white puffs in the chilly, early winter air.
At least the reports had said there was only a chance of snow, instead of sleeting like it had been all of last week.
Something was wreaking havoc in the woman’s house. Knick-knacks went missing, only to reappear in odd places around the apartment – under the sink, in the flowers on the windowsill, in the fridge…Other items, mostly dishes, were broken and the pieces scattered. But Lorna had been unable to figure out the source of the problem. Phil bit her lower lip, thinking.
Nothing came to mind – at least not any of the creatures she was familiar with. That could prove problematic, though if the worst it did was break dishes and hide trinkets, then it probably wasn’t a creature she had to worry too much about.
Her thoughts scattered at the sound of a mewling scream, and Phil paused at the end of an alleyway. At the far end, against the wall of what she knew was the back of a bakery – they made the best cinnamon rolls on the planet – were three paranormals. Two of them were drop dead gorgeous and on the south side that usually meant only one thing: Vampires. The third was less attractive but certainly not hard on the eyes; he could be anything. Phil cursed her lack of skill.
But more pressing was what they were doing; which near as she could see was torturing the poor little creature in the hands of the blonde-haired vampire. What it was, she didn’t know, but its pitiful scream had turned into the most heart-breaking sobs she’d ever heard. “Just what are you boys doing?” She asked, using the tone of voice learned from her father. It had sent more than a few scurrying from the boardroom in terror, and was the reason for at least five resignations.
The men did not seem more than faintly amused.
“I said, what are you doing?” Ignoring the voice that said going into the alleyway would be stupid, Phil stalked toward them, heels clicking on the pavement. Her breath misted as she added more steel to her voice. “I thought the likes of you were more interested in humans, not…” she eyed the thing in the vampire’s hands, oddly entranced.
It was the cutest thing she’d ever seen. It looked like a tiny gargoyle, with a flat, squashed-looking nose and the biggest blue eyes she’d ever seen. They looked too big for its face, which was currently covered in tears and snot. Its skin was similar to Doug’s, but with a bit of a greenish cast to it. It had tiny claws on its miniature hands and feet and wore a tiny sleeveless shirt and ragged pants. But the wings – the wings were beautiful. Translucent, colored like a misty rainbow. They made her think of faerie wings, as they’d been portrayed in the picture books she’d read voraciously as a child.
And these jerks were making it cry. Phil curled her hands into fists and leveled a gaze on the three men – then realized they were watching her with no small amusement.
Oh shit. Vampires. She wasn’t immune.
But the creature…
“We do prefer humans,” the second vampire, a pretty boy with nut-brown hair and blue-green eyes, said in a lazy drawl. “And you’ll do quite nicely, pretty little thing that you are.”
Phil knew she was being drawn in, could feel the vague fuzziness taking her over as she locked onto how beautiful he was. But she’d also dated more assholes than she liked to count, and it saved her. “Pretty little thing? Go to hell.”
The vampires and their cohort laughed, and in that moment the creature they’d been harassing raked his claws across the arm of the blonde vampire. Screaming in shock and pain, the vampire threw it. The creature fumbled for a split second, then suddenly Phil found her arms full.
But she didn’t stop to figure it out, merely held on, turned ,and ran.
She could hear them following her, and on this side of town no one was going to interfere in the business of peasant vampires…and whatever the other creature was. Suddenly she didn’t want to know. Hopefully she wouldn’t do something stupid – like break a heel. Only the fact that she always wore high heels allowed her to run in them. “Oh shit oh shit oh shit—“
In front of her a door flew open as a young man stepped of a store. Phil barely slowed down enough to make the sharp turn into the store, but was forced to slow as she realized she was in a cluttered antique shop. Weaving her way through the chaos, her eyes flicked to the window – the three were right outside – then to the back room. Blowing past the polite-looking old man at the counter, Phil ducked into an even more crowded back room and hid behind an old bureau.
The place was dim and dusty, and there was a faint odor of mold. Phil wrinkled her nose, but so long as they didn’t find her she’d gladly sit in a vat of rotten eggs. What had she been thinking? Would the shop keeper give her up? Would she get him hurt? No wonder Chris always bitched about his cases, if he had to deal with unrelated problems like this whenever he went out somewhere.
Then again, Chris was a consort. If something annoyed him, he could just set it on fire or whatever. She doubted he’d ever been in a situation like this. Though right now, she just hoped she’d live to get into another mess.
To keep from trembling, Phil focused on the creature in her arms. All the reading she’d done and the hundreds of pictures she’d looked at, she didn’t recall this one anywhere. She definitely would have remembered the wings, if nothing else. The creature really was cute. It should have been ugly, and certainly the snot smeared across its tiny, pudgy face wasn’t attractive…but she still didn’t think anything could be more precious. “Shh…” she soothed quietly, murmurs barely audible. “It’s all right now. I won’t let those stupid jerks hurt you.” Suddenly it occurred to her that they had been hurting it, and gingerly Phil began to look it over. But even the wings seemed all right, if slightly…wrinkled. She wanted to touch, but wasn’t sure if that would hurt it or not
“You’re a mess,” she said with a smile, and fumbled around in her coat for a handkerchief. In the old days, she would have had a purse, but walking about the south side it was easier when there weren’t extraneous things to keep an eye on. Far too many creatures liked to steal, and most of them just for the hell of it. Murmuring more soft assurances, Phil wiped the creature’s face clean and carefully rearranged its skewed clothing.
Voices broke the silence of the back room. Phil tensed and hugged the creature close, feeling it tremble in the hollow between throat and shoulder. Uncertain where to touch it, she carefully ran a finger up and down the narrow space between its wings. “Shh, baby. It’s okay.”
Bite hurt. Sorry.
“What?” Phil whispered, then bit down hard on her lip to keep from screaming in pain.
The creature had bitten her!
Sorry sorry sorry.
“Why?” She whispered, more hurt by the fact it had bitten her than the bite itself.
Can’t hurt now. Bite fix.
“Miss! Miss!”
Phil whirled as the shopkeeper found her, trying to stand but tripping instead, banging against an old bookcase before landing untidily on the floor. Muttering a few choice curses, Phil ascertained the creature was okay before clambering to her feet. She set her clothes to rights, frowning at the dust that had accumulated on her skirt. “Bother it.”
“Are you all right?”
“What?” Phil’s head jerked up, and she looked in chagrin at the shopkeeper. “Yes, I’m fine. I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to just barge in like that; I was a bit panicked.”
“Understandably so,” the shopkeeper said gently. “But I ran them off; not the first time I’ve had hooligans like that running amuck. You look as though you could use some rest and a cup of tea, and I am happy to offer you both if you’d like.”
Tea sounded wonderful, even if she was more of a coffee drinker. Phil dredged up a smile. “Thank you. I apologize for my behavior. Tea sounds wonderful, but I’m afraid I’m in the middle of a job.”
The old man nodded, eyes huge behind thick glasses. He was dressed in faded black slacks and a black and grey checked shirt. They hung on his tiny frame, almost looking as though they weighed more than he did. His hair was tufts of gray, obviously brushed to hide as much of his baldness as possible. “What did you do to make two vampires and an ogre so angry?”
“Ogre?” Phil repeated faintly. “Uh-oh.” It looked as though she’d been very, very lucky. Ogres didn’t have a taste for humans, but they weren’t opposed to beating one up if they were told. It must have been under the control of one of the vampires.
“New to this, love?” The old man asked gently. She loved most old men. When they called her darling or baby or love, they either meant it as an endearment or knew how not to sound like they were being an ass.
Phil made a face. “I guess I couldn’t have made that more obvious if I’d tried.”
“Were they after you or the pixie? If you’ll pardon an old man his curiosity.”
“Pixie?” Phil looked at the bundle cradled in her arms. “Is that what you are?”
Pixie! Jester!
“Is…is it normal for me to hear him in my head?” Phil frowned. “Or have I lost my mind?”
“They’re telepathic.” The old man gently grasped her upper arm and guided her through the back room and up a flight of stairs. Phil went, though part of her mind was screaming about how she obviously hadn’t learned her lesson with the vampires. “Seldom do they choose to talk to anyone, though. And they aren’t quite as…developed as other paranormals.” He gave her an amused smile. “I am guessing you don’t know what that Bite is either. You should thank your pixie and see what sort of fruit is his favorite.” He pushed her into an old armchair that smelled like room freshener and dust.
“Um…I really have to be going,” Phil said. “I have a case to solve, and the woman is counting on me…what do you mean my pixie?”
“Tea doesn’t take long,” he said, and patted her hand before vanishing into what must have been the kitchen.
Phil touched her neck, frowning when her fingers came away bloody. But beyond the initial chomp, it didn’t hurt at all. “Have I just been cursed or something?”
Laughter spilled from the kitchen, and a moment later the old man reappeared with a small tray laden with teapot, cups, a small plate of sugar cookies, and tiny bowl full of fat green grapes. “Here we are,” he said and set the tray down.
“Umm…” Phil tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “Would it be rude of me to ask what you are?” She hesitated, then frowned at her lap. “I’m afraid I still can’t tell.”
“All it takes is practice,” the old man said. “And you’ll have an easier time of it now that you’ve been Bitten. My name is Mortimer; I’m a brownie. You, my dear, have been given a Pixie Bite.” He chuckled and held a grape out to the pixie, which grabbed it and eagerly began to eat. Phil smiled, enchanted by the way the small thing ate something bigger than both its hands.
A brownie. That explained why the old man – Mortimer – was so nice. Phil relaxed, realizing she was in no danger. “So what exactly is a pixie bite?”
“Pixies are fairly harmless creatures. They’re rather childlike, really. Small pranks, meant in fun, are the worst they’d ever do. They like to tease, and they also like to help. I would be willing to bet, if the vampires were after it, that it probably stole a shiny trinket or put something in their hair.” He chuckled as it held its hands out for another grape and motioned for Phil to feed it.
Phil did so, and listened raptly as Mortimer continued to explain.
“Pixies are also quite powerful – not magically, of course, though their magic is nothing to sneeze at. Their greatest asset is their resistance to things. Vampire beauty, siren calls, enchantments, curses…they’re immune to all of it. No one knows quite why, they simply are. And they can pass that immunity on by way of a special bite. A Pixie Bite.” Mortimer laughed. “It’s like being bitten by a snake but with a completely opposite result. Panacea instead of venom.”
“So he bit me? And now I’m immune to all that?” Phil stared. “No way.”
Mortimer laughed again and urged her to drink her tea. Phil did so, but reflexively. “You must have done him a huge favor.”
“The vampires and ogre were hurting him,” Phil said, absently rubbing the top of the pixie’s head. A thought occurred to her. “Jester. I think that’s what he said.” She looked down at the pixie. “Is Jester your name?”
Pixie Jester!
Now that she was growing used to the voice in her head, she could hear that it was sort of sing-song and a strange mix of mature and childish. “Thank you, Jester. You will have to tell me what you like to eat.” She looked at Mortimer, asking silently.
“They’re fond of fruit. Each has its favorites, obviously.”
Berry! Berry! Blue! Black! Raz! Straw! Cran! Lots Black!
Phil couldn’t help but giggle and picked Jester up to hug him. Tiny hands hugged her back, claws catching in the wool of her jacket.
On the wall, the clock chimed three. Phil jumped, them leaped to her feet. “Oh! I really must go! I’m so sorry – how can I repay you?” She looked unhappily at Mortimer, wanting to stay but needing to go.
Mortimer smiled and stood. “I would be honored if you’d come and visit. I don’t have many guests anymore.”
“I’d love to,” Phil said, and meant it. “Thank you for everything. Tomorrow? Around lunch?”
“That would be splendid. Good luck with your task.”
With a last thank you and a wave, Phil flew down the stairs and back out of the shop. She looked warily around, but saw no sign of her would-be assailants. “Come on, Jester. We have an old lady to help.” Humming softly, Phil strode quickly down the street toward the apartment building she sought. “Here we are. Peach Avenue Apartments. Now we go up.” Using the key Lorna had given her, Phil made her way into the building and up to the third floor.
The apartment was cute and a little overwhelming, something out of a supermarket magazine. Phil shook her head and stepped further inside, laughing softly at the profusion of ruffles and patterns, gaudy lamps, and too many trinkets to count.
How the heck had Lorna noticed anything was missing? If the old woman felt like it, she could open up her own shop. Then Phil thought of her own room and the closet of nearly-equal size. She would notice in a heartbeat if someone had so much as breathed on her clothes. So she had no room to talk. Laughing at herself, Phil began slowly to examine the apartment.
“So what do you think, Jester?”
Smell funny.
“Oh?” Phil sniffed the air, but smelled only roses – probably from a candle or potpourri oil.
Smell funny thing. Jester squirmed from her arms like a restless kitten and flew into the air. He zipped back and forth across the living room, through the dining area into the kitchen, then back across the living room and vanished into what was probably the bedroom. A couple of minutes later, he reappeared and flew across the room to settle on Phil’s shoulder, one small hand curling into a bit of her braid to keep from falling. He pointed his free hand toward the bedroom. Funny thing.
Wondering what on earth constituted a funny thing, Phil took a deep breath, smoothed her thoroughly wrinkled skirt, then made for the bedroom.
It was just as opulent and ridiculous as the rest of the house, done in such a profusion of lemon-cream that Phil thought she might throw out anything of that color in her closet. “So where’s this funny thing?” She examined the room more closely, eyes finally settling on the long dresser. Made of dark pine, with a mirror so covered in painted daises there wasn’t much by which to see a reflection. The top of it was covered with more knick-knacks. Tons of them. All sizes and shapes.
Frowning thoughtfully, urged on by Jester’s restless Funny! Funny! Phil began to poke more closely at them. A pair of porcelain swans, made to curl lovingly into each other. A family of foxes, a man with a fiddle, a bouquet of flowers on which perched a delicate faerie…tons more, and she almost missed the one tucked back in the corner. It was remarkably dark and plain compared to the others. It was a statue of a gargoyle, and if it hadn’t been so small, Phil would have sworn it had been stolen straight from a cathedral roof. It was dark gray, and the edges had been smoothed with age. Phil reached out to pick it up, then thought better of it.
Funny funny funny!
Jester’s voice made her think of a child given an entire bag of sugar. Phil wracked her brain for all that she had been taught, most of it by Glenys. Humans couldn’t do magic, not really. Unless, like Chris, they had a connection to a magic-using creature. Alchemy and white magic were the closest they got. Alchemy was a bad idea, and white magic practitioners – white witches – believed that nearly all magic was a bad idea. But even white witches would use certain spells to identify magic when it was too weak for them to simply feel it. Glenys had been teaching her a few of the simpler spells over the past couple of months. Taking a deep breath, Phil brushed a finger over the statue’s nose as she murmured the words of one of those spells.
On the dresser, the gargoyle shimmered with a faint blue light. “I did it!” Phil cheered. Then comprehension dawned. “She must not be a magic-using paranormal if she didn’t realize one of her figurines was enchanted. So what to do?” Phil bit her lip, shoulders sagging as she thought. On the bright side, at least the case wasn’t hideously complicated like several of Chris’s tended to be – no matter how often he bitched about how boring most of them were. “Should I take it? Destroy it?”
Inside no no. Outside! Play!
Phil frowned, puzzling over Jester’s simplistic speech. “It…wants to be outside?”
Stuck inside. Wants out!
That was easy enough to figure out. Ownership was a serious matter to paranormals. Many of the ‘lesser’ paranormals usually wound up in service to the stronger, or even other lesser. Imps were a prime example of this. If Lorna, whatever she was, didn’t know the gargoyle was enchanted – in this case either a spirit bound to the statue or a statue given life – then she also couldn’t know she was its master. But bought and paid for, and Phil bet it was a recent acquisition, meant she did indeed own it. If she had placed it in her house, then it couldn’t leave.
And had been trying, as best it could, to tell her it wanted out. Phil smiled and patted the creature’s head. “I’ll let her know. Just behave until she gets back, all right?” She reached a hand up to touch Jester. “What does he say?”
Be still if can go out. Not still long.
“That will do.” Nodding, pleased with herself, Phil let herself out of the apartment and hit the street, thrumming with energy and pride.
But not even a dozen steps away from the apartment building, rough hands grabbed her and then Phil saw stars as her forehead connected with brick wall. “Shit!” She turned around and glared at three all too familiar faces. “Bastards,” she hissed. “Go the fuck away.”
“Give us back the pixie, and we promise not to drag your death out,” the blonde vampire said. Phil snorted – she knew a liar when she saw one. She glanced at the other two, not liking her odds. Fuck.
Scary scary scary!
Phil held Jester close, feeling the way he trembled against her, and scrambled to think of something that might help them both. But as she watched the vampires, who must be giving her a moment to consider her options, she realized that what Mortimer had said was true – they struck her now as nothing but good looking men.
Which meant they were nothing more than assholes. If they were going to suck her dry, they were going to get a fight first. “Sorry, the pixie is mine. He says you’re too goddamn ugly.” Phil braced herself.
Nothing happened. One minute they all looked ready to kill her, and the next they just…fell over.
“I hate peasant vampires,” Chris snarled. “What the fuck is so hard about staying a tenant?” He made a face at the unconscious vampires. “I should torch them all, including that ogre.” Shifting his ire to her, he simply glared.
The man really needed to learn how to dress, but for all that his clothes were an eyesore, the rest of him made it pretty clear why the resident demon lord had seen fit to make Chris his consort. Chris was blonde hair, blue-eyed gorgeous, especially when he scowled. He shoved strands of hair from his face and waited impatiently for her to speak.
Phil grimaced and stepped away from the unconscious paranormals, reaching up to take Jester from where he clung to her neck and bundle him in her arms. She kissed his tiny cheek and murmured softly, then turned to face Chris. “What are you doing here?”
“I stopped by the Green Teahouse for something to drink,” Chris said dryly, “and an old goblin stopped me to say she was most impressed with my newest detective. Imagine my surprise. I came here to make sure you hadn’t gotten yourself killed. You’re nothing but trouble. Why the hell do you have a pixie?”
“They were hurting him,” Phil said, and pointed to the vampires and ogre. “He was crying; I couldn’t just walk past…” She hugged Jester close. “Besides, he Bit me. I think that means I get to keep him.”
Chris heaved a long-suffering sigh. “I think this story is going to require copious amounts of alcohol.”
Phil sniffed. “Only because you’re always such a grouch.”
Demon loved. Lots magic. Not funny.
Phil smothered a laugh, but it earned her a glare anyway.
“What?” Chris snapped.
“Jester says you’re not funny. And that you’re demon loved.”
It was the hardest thing ever not to burst out laughing at the way Chris’s cheeks turned pink at the mention of being demon loved. Honestly, it really was sad she’d never had a chance. But she’d given up that battle long ago. He was cuter with Sable anyway.
“Whatever,” Chris finally managed. “Are you all right?”
“A little tired, and my feet are killing me. Do you know how hard it is to run in these shoes?”
Chris looked at her high-heeled boots and snorted. “You could try wearing practical shoes.”
“Practical shoes,” Phil retorted, “will be burned if I see them anywhere near my feet. I don’t waste my money on practical.” She sniffed. “Unlike some people.”
“Right. No discussing clothing. Have you caused enough trouble for one day, or did you want to go find a troll and pick a fight? Maybe piss off a faerie?”
Phil pretended to think for a moment. “No, I think I’m good. I need to go to tell the old lady that I figured out what was wrong.”
“Oh?” Chris’s brows went up. “What was wrong? In fact, just tell me everything.” He motioned for them to start walking, and listened without interruption as Phil explained all that had been occurred. “Probably just made to come to life,” he said finally. “I bet it was to amuse a child or something at one point and then just changed hands several times. I never knew a goblin to collect things before. Huh.”
“She’s a goblin?” Phil stumbled to a halt. “She could have eaten me?”
“Doubtful. A few goblins, like her, actually avoid eating humans ninety nine percent of the time. If they eat any, they try to choose criminals. Something like a weird religion with them, but don’t ask me more about it.” Chris sighed, and it sounded as though he were giving up. “You’re going to get yourself killed one of these days if something isn’t done with you. Honestly, hired by a goblin, attacked by vampires and an ogre, bitten by a pixie – what the hell kind of upbringing did your father give you?” He ran a hand through his hair. “Just do what I say, all right? Doug too, because I really don’t feel like putting up with your father if I get you killed. I need a drink.”
It took a moment for his words to register. When they did, Phil stumbled to a halt. “Wait. You mean. I can. You’ll actually let me help? With cases?” Shrieking in delight, sending Jester into the air in a surprised panic, Phil launched herself into Chris’s arms. “Thank you thank you thank you!” She kissed his cheek. “I’ll be as good as you and Doug, just wait and see.”
Chris hugged her awkwardly back. “Probably, if only so my mother can say ‘told you so’ for the next ten centuries.” He rolled his eyes. “Now let’s get back so you can talk to the goblin and wrap the case up.”
Phil laughed and gave Jester a gentle hug as he settled back in her arms.
“I swear to god if that damned pixie tries to steal or hide anything, I will pin it to the wall by its wings.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” Phil said with an offended sniff. “He says demon loved not funny anyway.”
Chris glowered at them both, and grumbled all the way back to the office.
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Date: 2006-03-26 06:03 pm (UTC)I can really see you turning DWtD into a book series or something. A new adventure everytime! :D
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Date: 2006-03-26 06:30 pm (UTC)Also, DEMON LOVED NOT FUNNY!
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Date: 2006-03-26 08:33 pm (UTC)NOOOOOOO!!!! *wild hysterical flailing* It cannot BEEEEE!!!!! ;;_;;
>.> On the flip side...
*_______* Love you. You're wonderful. Phil was hillarious, and Chris is still uber-yummy. ^____^
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Date: 2006-03-26 09:05 pm (UTC)And you! I LOVE this! :D Phil was just about the best kick ass female ever. ^______^ Usually, they get on my nerves, but she ROCKED! *tackle glomps* (Would never wear her boots or go detective working in a skirt, but she was totally kick ass. ^_^)
And the old lady was a goblin? *falls over giggling*
You rock. So, so much. *fangirls madly*
Demon loved...*snickers* XD
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Date: 2006-03-26 11:38 pm (UTC)Still, this should be interesting... ^^ >.> <.< >.> did i miss the story where chris and phil met though? *sigh* i get the feeling that i missed a lot of things in my hiatus from lj... *sigh*
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Date: 2006-03-26 11:52 pm (UTC)Lol. Phil is in the first story ^_~ And later in like the third,she's harassing him at his office. She sort of stuck around after that.
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Date: 2006-03-28 05:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-27 03:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-27 03:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-27 05:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-27 04:34 pm (UTC)Only two more? Alas...
^_^