I awoke sitting in a wooden chair, my wrists tied to the arms and my ankles bound to the chair legs. I tipped my head back and blinked hard. I sat in a corner of what looked to be a warehouse, surrounded by stacks of wooden crates and boxes. There was a small open space around me, with a desk and wooden filing cabinet to one side, like someone used this as an office in a pinch.
"Hey, boss-man, he's awake!"
I glanced right, where the voice had come from. Two men sat on overturned crates, using a third as a table to hold their cards and a lantern. Another lantern hung near the desk.
"Hey, boss!" One of the guys got up and disappeared behind the stacks of crates.
The other ignored me and proceeded to pick up his buddy's cards and look through them.
I looked down at my wrists. Rough hemp rope pinned them securely to the chair arms—they had pushed up my sleeves, not even leaving me the wiggle room that fabric could create. I twisted my hands anyway and cringed as the rope bit into my skin.
The echo of footsteps brought my head up again, and I watched as two goons with actual swords slung at their sides stepped into the little space. Following them was a tall, slim fae wearing his curly dark hair in a ponytail.
Behind him was Eric, bruises on his face and his arm in a sling.
My heart sank to my feet.
"That him?" the taller fae asked.
Eric spat and stalked forward. "Think you're smart now, wise guy?" His fist cracked against the side of my head.
The blow knocked me to the side, rocking the chair. I tasted blood at the back of my mouth, but I shook it off and straightened. "Shame ya couldn't do that earlier tonight."
Eric drew his fist back again. And yeah, I'm not ashamed to admit that I cringed a bit. Stars burst in my vision. My head snapped to the side, and this time I stayed there. My temple throbbed in a growing headache. If he kept this up, I was gonna pass out again.
"That's enough, Eric," the tall fae said.
"But—"
"I don't need to repeat myself, do I?"
The fae's calm, cool voice sent a chill down my spine.
Eric stepped away from me, head bowed. He nodded to his boss, then turned and left the room. At a nod from the tall fae, one of the swordsmen followed Eric. I heard the sching of metal on leather, then the sound of ripping flesh, a strangled gasp, and a limp body hitting the floor. The swordsman came back into the room, cleaning blood off his blade.
He'd just ordered Eric killed. Just like that. I closed my eyes as shivers spidered down my back. Then I firmly pushed my fear to the back of my mind. I'd deal with it later. Now, I needed a cool mind.
The tall fae walked past me and settled on the desk, his ankles crossed as he studied me. His gloved fingers slowly tapped out a rhythm on the desk's edge.
I straightened up. "Hi. I'm Owan Craig. I'd say I'm pleased to meet you, but …" I shrugged, tried to lift my hands.
He snorted. "Yes. Owan Craig, private investigator. And I'm Niall Byrne, as I'm sure you've already guessed."
"I had a sneakin' suspicion, yeah."
Niall crossed his arms. "Care to explain why you beat up one of my men at the Howler tonight, Mr. Craig?"
I shrugged again. "Didn't like his tone toward one of the waitresses."
"Ah yes. Roe Gillam." Niall glanced at the two goons who stood by their abandoned card game. "Eric's ex-girlfriend, isn't it?"
The taller of the two men shrugged. "To hear it, boss, they're still together, she's just bein' cagey."
Niall rolled his eyes. "All this trouble over a skirt." He eyed me. "What's your score in this fight?"
"Nothin'. Giselle just asked me to help out."
Niall laughed. "And out of the goodness of your heart, you agreed? She didn't even tell you who he was, did she?"
I shook my head.
Niall nodded, smiling. "Good. I appreciate you being forthright. It'll make this a lot easier." Niall went around to the back of the desk and opened a drawer, began slowly moving aside the contents. "Do you know what my biggest import is, Mr. Craig?"
I shifted in my chair. "Not particularly. I mean, a guy in my line of work can't help but hear things, but I'd just as soon keep my nose clean and outta any gangster's business. 'Less, of course, I get hired to be nosy."
His nostrils flared, and for a second, I thought that my usual banter—be sarcastic, let the bad guys know that I knew their dirty laundry, be flippant—wasn't gonna work on this guy. Maybe I'd read him wrong. Maybe it annoyed him too much.
Niall laughed, and I sagged in relief, feeling like my limbs had gone to gelatin.
Niall plucked a long, thin bundle, wrapped in white muslin cloth, from his drawer, closed it, and walked around to stand in front of me again. He picked at a knotted string around the bundle.
"I import elfwine, Mr. Craig. You're familiar with that, surely?"
"Sure." I was bluffing. I'd heard the term, but I'd always thought it meant liquor so fine that the fae could've made it.
Niall clicked his tongue against his teeth. "And here we were being so honest with each other. That's really such a silly thing to lie about." He paused in unwrapping whatever it was in his hand and looked up at me.
"How are you doing that?" I asked. "I'm a pretty good liar. Gotta be, in my business."
"No, Owan, you're really not."
"Yeah, just go ahead and insult a guy about his job, that's fine," I muttered.
He ignored my last comment. "Elfwine is distilled in Europe, by a certain monastery in the Alps where half of the members are fae. The secret was carried with them from Tir Ni-all when the paths were closed. The recipe has, from what I gather, largely unchanged since then, although I imagine its power has waned a bit along with the rest of our … abilities."
He finished unwrapping the object and held it up, twirling it in his long fingers. My stomach curled at the sight of the black blade coated in a thick, flaking orange rust.
Cold iron was a right nuisance to full fae, making them sick, burning them, and eventually killing them by collateral damage. Rusted iron? Rusted iron was poison to my kind. All this guy needed to do was cut me with that blade—didn't have to be a big cut either—and he could sit and watch my veins blacken. My heart would fail, and I would die gasping and in horrible pain.
Niall made no move toward me. He leaned against his desk, twirling the knife through his gloved fingers, eyes fixed on me.
I didn't like to admit it, but his intimidation was working. I balled my fists, feeling the sweat on my palms.
"So … there's a big market for elfwine, is there?" I asked, more to occupy my mind with something other than that stupid, twirling, orange-bladed knife.
Niall smiled thinly. "You'd be surprised at how much politicians are willing to pay to influence their opponents."
"Nah, I'm not. Sounds like the bloodsuckers."
Niall chuckled. "You know who else pays handsomely for a bottle of elfwine now and again?"
The answer hit me like a freight train. I gritted my teeth, lowered my head.
"That's right, the lovely owner of the Howler, that remarkable speakeasy you seem to enjoy frequenting even though it always gets you into trouble." He twirled the knife again. "Giselle's a smart broad, I'll give her that. She knew the type of opportunity she had when she opened the Howler. Elfwine, the drink that mimics anyone's favorite liquor and slowly enthralls them."
"Just my luck," I muttered.
"So some poor, unlucky sap gets himself enthralled and is basically doing free bouncer work for Giselle," Niall continued. He stopped twirling the rusted knife and studied the blade. "And then he's asked to take care of a nuisance for one of the waitresses, because Giselle knows who the guy works for and doesn't want to ban him for fear her supply of elfwine will be cut off, but can’t let him continue for fear it’ll give other guys ideas. What was she hoping? That it would look like some random white knight? Or that you'd kill him?"
"She should know better by now," I muttered. Stupid. All those years being enthralled, being too lazy to actually figure out how Giselle had a hold on me. Heck, now that I thought of it, part of the enthrallment was probably to keep me from askin' too many questions.
All I could be thankful for was that I'd left my gun in my coat pocket and hadn't killed Eric. Maybe that would earn me some leniency.
Niall stabbed the knife into his desk. The thud made me flinch. "The problem I face now, Mr. Craig, is what to do with you. Personally, I'd be all for letting you go. But you beat up one of my men."
"Who you just killed," I said quietly.
Niall waved the comment away. "Eric was a liability. Still, if it got out that you jumped him—"
"It won't from me," I assured him. "Look, Niall, we can deal, right? Surely there are terms we could come to."
Niall studied me for a moment, his eyes half-closed as if considering. Then he straightened from the desk and left the room, his bodyguards trailing after him.
I was left alone, feeling sick and hollow.
Even though I knew Giselle had been charming me along, I'd still thought she was my friend. Some part of me had still trusted her.
I started twisting my left wrist. The rough cord chafed and tore my skin. Niall seemed reasonable for a gangster, but I wasn't about to takes chances. I didn't want to die—not here, with a gunshot to the back of the head, or in the harbor my feet bound to a sinking chunk of cement. And definitely not with rust poison seizing up my heart.
Blood streaked my wrist and I stopped, breathing hard. Panic welled in my gut. I tried to push it to the back of my mind, tried to stay calm. I'd been shot at while in the police force, and I hadn't panicked this much.
Then again, I'd never been tied up and threatened with rusted iron either.
I'd dealt with one case a few years ago where half-fae had been killed with rusted iron. I'd seen the dark, bulging veins on their bodies. The pain and terror, frozen forever in rigor mortis, on their faces. I didn't want to die like that.
Maybe if I drank elfwine that Niall Byrne gave me, my loyalty would switch to him. Should I offer that?
I immediately felt sick that I'd even thought such a thing. Giselle might be manipulative, but better be enthralled to her than to a killer like Niall.
"Owan!" The voice was a soft hiss from above me.
Wow!!! Love this story and can't wait to see what happens next! You're writing right now, correct? Please be writing fast, like fae running from a rusty sword.😅