A new story in the Case Files of Owan Craig, a series of urban fantasy novellas set in 1920s NYC.
"So I guess I'll just make another pot of coffee, shall I?"
I looked up from the paperwork on my desk at Roe, who was standing at the little cabinet we'd wedged between her desk and the door. She shook the percolator at me, and from the rattle of the inside I could tell it was empty.
"Coffee," I repeated quietly. Then it was like an electric light popped inside my head. "Oh! Coffee. Sure, that sounds swell."
Roe smirked. "Sounds like you definitely need it. Or maybe you should go home and go to bed, boss."
I rolled my eyes as I turned back to scanning through the newspaper I held. Technically, I wasn't sure we were allowed to have the percolator or the hot plate in our little office, but the landlord hadn't yet said anything about the smell of coffee drifting down the hallway morning, noon, and night. And with the hours we'd been pulling lately, we both needed it.
Not that we'd done anything all that interesting. I tossed the paper to the desk, dislodging a few more thin sheets of newsprint, and sighed. Rent was okay until the end of the month, but I was pretty sure Roe would appreciate being able to eat. I knew I would.
"No leads?" Roe asked.
I grunted.
"I know that sigh." She turned around and leaned against the cabinet, brushing a curly lock of copper hair behind a pointed ear. "It's the 'how many lost puppies do I have to find this month to pay the bills' sigh."
I chuckled at that. Roe and I had only been partners for a few months—ever since she'd quit her job at a fae speakeasy that we'd both then helped to shut down—but she already had me pegged pretty good.
Several loud knocks sounded on the outside of the door.
Roe stood, backing away from the door and glancing at me. I frowned. Anyone could see the light through the small window in the door, sure, but our hours were clearly stated on the door. It was near midnight—who would be disturbing us at this hour?
I stood and started to open my mouth to call out when I spotted a thin silver glimmering stream of glamour coming through the keyhole in the lock.
"Roe!" I called, yanking open the side drawer of my desk.
Roe ran for her own desk.
The door slammed open just as I yanked my gun from the drawer. Three sidhé stood on the threshold of the room. Two of them were fae that I didn't recognize. One, I knew immediately. He had a pale, unnaturally shaped face, with his nose so wide and flat against his face it could almost be called a muzzle. And when he grinned, his mouthful of jagged teeth revealed him as decidedly not human or even fae.
"Evenin', Mr. Craig," he said.
"What do you want, púca?" I demanded.
He grinned broader.
Púcas—shapeshifters who changed to a horse or a dog or a panther—were fairly uncommon around here. Maybe there were more in other countries. The first time I'd met this one, he'd driven his claws through my shoulder to try to keep me from escaping his boss. The last time we'd met, he'd been delivering a threat—and a promise, that as long as I kept my nose out of Niall Byrn’s business, he would keep his goons away from me.
Seeing the púca now broke that promise.
I tightened my grip on my gun even more. "I said: what do you want, crowbait?"
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Roe's hand slowly reach for the purse sitting on her desk.
A ring of steel told me the other two goons had drawn weapons, probably knives.
The púca seemed unconcerned. "Niall wants to see you," he said.
Niall Byrne. Fae mob boss, smuggler, and someone neither Roe nor I wanted to see again.
I barked a laugh. "Sure, Niall wants to see me. Niall would probably love to help me find a nicely sized pair of concrete shoes and take me for a ride in the harbor."
The púca glanced around the office, his dark eyes glittering. "This is a nice place you have...well, for a private dick, anyway. Shame if it all...went away."
I laughed again. "Save the threats, horse-face. Niall and I had a deal. I've stayed out of his business, kept my nose clean. It's all been okay on my end. So you'd better remind your boss about it being okay on his end too."
The púca sighed. "And I'd hoped we could do this the easy way tonight."
He made a motion like he was tossing something at Roe. She yelped and ducked, and I spun around, lowering my gun to try to intercept...nothing. I had just enough time to flinch as something hit me in the neck. I dropped my gun, but too late—the thing had wrapped tightly around my neck and was squeezing.
I gasped and staggered as my vision went dark.
"Owan!" Roe caught my arm and kept me upright, though barely. "What did you do to him?"
My hand went to my neck. The rough surface of metal links met my fingers. I leaned heavily against the corner of the desk, my blood boiling. Damn púca had tricked me.
"Okay Roe," I said quietly, my voice strangely rough, even though the necklace had loosened a little now. "What's the damage?"
Roe bit the inside of her lip and glanced over at the púca.
He gestured at her. "Go on. Enlighten us, please."
Roe's ear tips flushed red before she turned back to me. Her hand pressed against the side of my neck, and my pulse jumped a bit more, pounding against her fingertips. I wondered if she'd noticed.
"It's a relic," she said quietly. "A cursed chain of some kind. I can see the ogham on the links.”
Roe was training to be a curator—one of the few who study and understand relics, the ancient fae artifacts imbued with glamour. And she was a damn good one too. I wanted to question her, just to give myself a few more moments of hope, but I knew I couldn’t insult her like that.
I glared at the púca.
“As I said. Niall wants to see you.” The púca grinned.
I stood and grabbed my hat from the coat rack. “Well then. Let’s not keep him waitin’.”
Thank you for reading! If you’re enjoying The Case Files of Owan Craig and don’t want to wait to read it week by week, it is available in ebook or print form on Amazon!
Excited to read more! Well met Fae. 🥰
I enjoyed The Last Word. This new one also holds the promise of good fun. I remember reading a comment that said your work was like Harry Dresden, without the toxic masculinity thing. That rings true.