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CHAPTER 10

Two days later, I found myself sitting in the interrogation room of the regional office of the Monster Control Bureau, staring across a plain steel table at the biggest man I’d ever seen in my life. He wore a scowl on his ugly face and his gigantic fists looked more comfortable punching things than filling out paperwork. He sported a dark suit and one of those clip-on ties that were all the rage. I wasn’t sure how he found a suit big enough for those shoulders. His hands were massive and looked perfect for choking the life out of someone.

I don’t intimidate easily. I especially don’t get intimidated by regular humans.

This dude wasn’t regular.

There was a second agent in the room who did almost all the talking. He was also seated across the table, with the big one next to him. Agent Travis Stewart acted like a decent enough sort, though I’d seen too many movies with scenes similar to this. Stewart was the good cop, and the scowling hulk to his left was the bad cop. Stewart might have been handsome in his youth, but stress and time were treacherous bastards, and now he looked worn down, getting wrinkled and grey. I’m pretty sure the unintroduced agent had never been considered handsome. Scary would be a more apt description.

“Chloe Mendoza. Part nagual, part human. United States citizen, naturalized in 1935.” Stewart read from my file. “Looking good for an old woman.”

“Thank you.”

He continued “PUFF Exemption earned by voluntary service on Special Task Force Manticore during World War II. Interesting. What’d you do there?”

“That’s classified,” I said sweetly.

The big one grunted. It sounded like an agreement.

“You were later granted the Israeli equivalent to a PUFF Exemption. I didn’t know that was a thing. How’d you end up there?”

“I liked the weather.” There was no reason for me to volunteer any information on how I ended up in Israel in the first place, or what I’d done afterward. I suspected there were elements within the US intelligence community who might have an inkling, but apparently the spy department didn’t talk to the monster hiding department. Earl knew why I’d gone, and for him I might give some details about some of the ops I’d participated in that led to my recruitment by the Kidon. But these guys? Screw them.

“Some people in my office have insinuated you might be working as a clandestine foreign agent.”

“You got me. I’ve infiltrated Pasadena to steal America’s cutting-edge secret technologies, like linoleum. Come on, Agent.”

“I’m trying to help you, Ms. Mendoza. Your interference in an MCB internal affairs investigation may have cost the lives of two agents,” Stewart said as he opened another manila folder and began flipping through pages. “Special Agent in Charge Orwig, as well as Agent Jacob Latrell. Agent Erin Beesley is still in the hospital.”

“Is she going to be alright?”

“She’s awake, but will have a long recovery, and might be looking at a medical retirement. Time will tell. That’s three capable agents removed from the equation, with no good explanation for why a PUFF Exempt creature who has spent the last few decades working for a foreign power was even there. So explain to me why I shouldn’t just turn you over to Agent Franks for a more thorough interrogation.”

So that’s the big guy’s name. “It wasn’t my fault. We were after something else when we ran into Beesley.”

“What, pray tell, would that be?” Stewart asked, leaning back in his seat.

“A werewolf, which I’ve repeatedly reported to the MCB. Then I spotted the Fey.”

“Fey don’t just waltz around letting anybody see their true form,” Stewart pointed out.

He was a sharp one. I’d have to be careful around him. “I saw through her glamour.”

He went back to the first file. “That wasn’t disclosed as one of your abilities when you applied for your exemption. You realize withholding information on an exemption application is a serious offense, right?”

“I’ve never seen a hag before. This was a new experience for me.”

“You’re lying,” Franks growled.

I blinked at him, surprised, as that had been the first time he’d uttered a word the entire time we’d been here. The menacing aura around the guy compelled me to be a little more forthcoming.

“I’ve learned I can see through some creature’s illusions, sometimes, if I’m really paying attention,” I clarified, striving to sound more honest and less combative. It wasn’t like I’d known I could see through that level of glamour before the hag showed up. “Since we were looking for the werewolf, I was definitely using all my senses to find her. That’s how I spotted the Fey. I’ll be happy to update my exemption paperwork with that detail.”

“Of course, because you’re a proper law-abiding mostly human citizen . . . So why wasn’t this potential new werewolf not on your original report to us?”

“I don’t know why Nicole wasn’t on your report, because she was on mine. That sounds like an MCB problem. And when I told Beesley about it afterward, she sounded surprised. My take is that someone in your LA office left that part out on purpose, and maybe, just maybe . . . Naw. You don’t want to hear my crazy theory.”

Stewart sighed and crossed his arms. He was half the size of Agent Franks but looked fairly tough and had clearly been around the block a few times. “Let’s hear it.”

“The MCB failed to notice that a series of cougar attacks and missing persons cases, spanning years, had werewolf written all over them . . . because somebody in this regional office didn’t want it noticed. None of your agents ever went to check it out.”

“How do you know we didn’t?”

“Because if the deputy who had made it his life’s work to catch the damn thing hadn’t been talked to, then either nobody has, or you guys really stink at your job. Beesley—who strikes me as honest and nosy—looks into it, and next thing I know we find her tailing her supervisor . . . who just happens to be on the arm of a nefarious, mind-controlling, string-pulling, fairy-tale creature. What a coincidence. Somebody suspicious might think the LA MCB is compromised by monsters. Including the MCB, which is why you two out-of-towners are here to investigate them.”

“What makes you think the two of us are from out of town?”

“Because if that was local”—I gestured at Franks—“Beesley wouldn’t be so overworked trying to intimidate witnesses.”

Franks grunted what sounded like an agreement. Stewart had to grant me that one. “We’re from Washington. Is there anything else you want to tell us about this theory?”

“No. That’s pretty much it.”

Franks scowled but said nothing. Stewart clearly wasn’t buying it, but I wasn’t lying. I was leaving some things out, but that’s different from lying. Stewart looked to Franks, like he was a giant ugly polygraph machine, but Franks nodded, and that seemed to satisfy Stewart I was telling the truth. I wasn’t sure what was going on in Franks’ brain but the hamster in the wheel must have been getting tired.

“I can neither confirm nor deny any internal MCB issues, but Agent Franks and I look forward to getting this matter cleared up.”

Probably meaning they were going to see who other than Orwig had been tainted by the forces of evil, and then remove them. Permanently. I actually felt a little bad for the other local agents, because Franks struck me as a shoot first and don’t ask questions kind of guy.

“Good,” I stated. “Since there’s probably a baby werewolf running around getting ready to rampage at the next full moon we really need to find, can I go now?”

“Oh, there’s just one last small thing to clear up,” Stewart said. I tried not to grumble too loudly as he continued to flip through his notes. “What is your relation to the Court of Feathers?”

I blinked. How did the MCB know about those clowns? “None. Well, I mean, I know who they are . . . ”

“Are you, or have you ever been, a vassal of the Court?”

Well, that was weird. Time to be honest. I shook my head. “No, never.”

“Have you had any contact with them recently?”

“Uh,” I swallowed, suddenly nervous. “They contacted me.”

Stewart looked up from his notes. His expression could be best described as bland. It made every hair on my neck stand up in alarm. “Go on.”

“They sent a messenger, who claimed to warn me that something—not them—was threatening this city.” My eyes drifted back over to Agent Franks, and I couldn’t help but wonder how many different ways he could rip someone’s arm off and beat them to death with it. I coughed and continued. “A so-called dark master. We’re investigating.”

“Why do they care?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why you?”

“Distant cousin, I guess.”

Franks grunted again, and from his unblinking glare I couldn’t help but think he wanted to use me as a hand puppet. Which was a mental image I didn’t need dancing around in my head.

“If any member of the Court of Feathers reaches out to you again, you are ordered to report any and all contact to the MCB immediately.” Stewart’s tone was cold and flat.

I opened my mouth to speak but stopped after Franks grunted, and that time I could have sworn it was an angry grunt. Swallowing, I meekly nodded.

My PUFF Exemption gave the MCB leverage they could apply on me whenever they wanted. Israel was similar, but at least there once you earned your exemption they treated you like a human being, and not just some expendable thing they could bully and threaten. I hated this part. I felt my temper begin to rise a little and squashed it, hard.

“Since Agent Beesley’s down and your SAC is dead, who exactly would I report to?”

“Me.” Agent Franks crossed his arms and I swear his biceps made the seams of his jacket beg for mercy. The guy probably ate barbells for dinner.

“Agent Franks and I will be in town until a new Special Agent in Charge of Los Angeles is assigned.”

“Okay, goody,” I muttered, really not looking forward to working with tall, dark, and brooding.

* * *

It took over three weeks before everything was cleared up with the MCB. Agent Franks was a bastard but unless I screwed with him, he pretty much left me alone. Since I didn’t have a death wish and nobody from the Court tried to contact me, I was only required to call in weekly, which consisted of me talking and him saying little to nothing until he got bored and hung up on me. My guess was he really hated dealing with this petty stuff, so I tried to keep the calls short and to the point. It seemed like he preferred it that way. Or not. I didn’t know or particularly care.

With the full moon approaching, we all suspected our werewolf would be making an appearance. Assuming there weren’t some half-eaten bodies out there nobody had found yet, we’d gotten lucky the last time. I figured Nicole had driven herself out to Death Valley or someplace equally secluded and stuck around there for three days during the last full moon. That was my assumption since there hadn’t been any gruesome unexplained murders. Nicole had done the world a small favor by hiding from us so well.

If she could keep that up long term, and leave mankind alone, I’d be rooting for her. Experience demonstrated that almost never worked out.

We’d kept up our club-hopping search. Only now our primary target was a werewolf and our secondary, a hag. Stewart wasn’t exactly forthcoming, but he did tell me that there’d been no sign of Orwig’s lady friend since the incident. Still, Melanie enjoyed herself, since we were footing the bill.

The nightclub we’d seen the hag outside of went out of business two days after we’d spotted her. That sort of thing happened all the time in Hollywood, but it meant we were starting from scratch. Beesley had said she was supposedly some kind of model from Europe, but you’d be surprised how often nonsense like that got tossed out about mysterious pretty ladies in LA. Half the self-proclaimed European countesses here were actually girls from Ohio or Kentucky who’d tried to make it as actresses and failed.

It had been an interesting couple of weeks. The nightlife side of the city’s culture was a cocaine-fueled, nonstop party that would have made Dionysus blush. It was drastically different from what I saw in the daylight. America had changed a lot since I’d left, with a big chunk of society getting disillusioned and saying to “hell with it” thanks to Vietnam. This country was so changed from the one I’d left that at times it was barely recognizable as the same place.

Los Angeles was the epitome of this attitude. The problem was, I didn’t know if this growing disgust at the culture was because of how much things had changed, or if the nagualii was influencing my opinion, hoping to turn me into a vengeful killing machine. I really hoped it was the former. If the nagualii was beginning to influence my emotions too much, I was going to have to talk to Earl.

The odds of me enjoying said talk were about zero.

After Lizz and I had nearly gotten killed, Rhino had decided that search parties of three would be safer than pairs. I’d disagreed, as three groups would cover more ground than two, but Rhino had been adamant. Since his leg was still in a cast, he got to bitterly stay at HQ manning the radio and answering the phone, so I think the decision was mostly to help him feel like he was still useful and in command. I really felt for the poor guy.

That night it was me, Lizz, and Melanie working as a team. We were all dressed to the nines, three single ladies out on the prowl. Or at least, that’s the image we were trying to project. If anybody had checked they would have been surprised to discover the amount of weapons a woman could pack.

Cruising through West Hollywood, we weren’t just looking for suspicious activity. This was Southern California, after all. There was a lot of stuff that could be considered suspicious if one didn’t know any better. There were street performers who looked like monsters, monsters who were actual humans, and everything in between was out and about. There was so much pent-up energy in the city I was surprised it didn’t explode. Hunting for something suspicious would have turned me into an alcoholic in short order. Or a chain smoker, like Earl.

We didn’t even know if the hag was still here, or if she’d just been passing through. Fey were ugly but they were fascinated by beautiful things. The lore about hags said they liked to prey on and torment pretty people, and the only other place we’d seen her had been a club, and there was no shortage of pretty in places like that. The problem was, if the others ran into her while out looking for Nicole, they might not even know. I seemed to be the only one immune. Judging by how Lizz had perceived her, her glamour was good enough to fool even somebody experienced.

We passed a few clubs where the crowds didn’t seem big enough to warrant closer inspection. For all we knew, Nicole could be a thousand miles away by now. Our best guess for the hag was, being Fey, she’d want the best-looking specimens, which meant bigger crowds and better men to choose from. If the club wasn’t packed, it wasn’t popular, which meant the hag wouldn’t get whatever it was looking for. Fey were creatures of habit and rarely changed their methods. If the hag was hunting, it wouldn’t change despite knowing we were onto it. One of the few perks about going after something of this caliber.

That night, we stayed close to the area we’d spotted the hag the first time, hoping that she might stick to familiar territory. Just because the original nightclub was now shuttered didn’t mean she’d move to an entirely new location. Alex had suggested this, because from his reading whenever Fey were hiding among humans they were prone to be just as territorial as any natural predator.

As we passed Mann’s Chinese Theatre and turned onto North Orange Drive, something caught my eye. It was a tiny little club by all appearances, but there was a long line stretching halfway down the block. Every man was dressed to impress, but oddly enough I couldn’t see very many single women in the line. There were a few couples, though. I wondered if this meant the bouncers were letting in a lot of women and holding back the men, to keep it from becoming nothing but a stagfest. Glancing up at the sign above the door, I nearly slammed on the brakes as I saw the name of the place.

SIREN’S LAST CALL.

“Oh, you’ve got to be joking,” I growled.

Melanie, riding in the passenger seat, noticed the name and chuckled darkly. “That’s a good omen.”

“It’s worth a shot,” Lizz added. I circled around the block, looking for a parking spot. I got lucky and found a space with a busted parking meter. Lizz leaned between the front seats of the car and brushed her curly hair out of her face. I handed her one of my spare headbands from the glovebox and she slipped it on. Bedazzled, she continued. “If I were an alien bat-monster thing who seduces and eats people, that’s the sort of place I’d get drawn to.”

“That’s so morbid,” Melanie said.

“Ayup, it’s nothing but false promises and honeymoons until someone decides they’re hungry and wants a midnight snack.”

“Focus,” I told them. “We’re here to find a werewolf.”

“And let hot men buy us drinks!” Melanie exclaimed.

“And let the attractive ones buy us drinks,” I allowed. It wasn’t as if we couldn’t afford to buy our own, but for some reason, martinis always taste better when someone else is paying for them.

“Just don’t leave with any of them until Chloe can give them the once-over to make sure they’re not a Fey in disguise,” Lizz added mercilessly. “There could be a whole herd of them in town!”

“Herd?”

“Pod. Tribe. Whatever.”

It was Melanie’s turn to sigh in exasperation now. “I’m not planning on leaving with anybody, Lizz. We’re on the clock.”

“Right, right,” Lizz waved her hands in the air. “You’ve never gone home with a cute guy before, like last week?”

“I’m not a slut!” Melanie protested. “It was one time, and nothing happened!”

I must have been on a different search team that night. “What happened now?”

“Right, you guys went back to his place and . . . what? Read poetry? Studied nuclear physics? Ayup, that’s what happened.”

“It was my place, actually,” Melanie sniffed and crossed her arms. She seemed a little offended. “And we played Parcheesi.”

“Sure ya did.”

“We did!”

“Right.”

“That’s all we did!”

“No, really. I believe you.”

I gently banged my head against the steering wheel and prayed for strength. Children. They were all children. The nagualii, for once, agreed.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

As we approached the front door of the disco, I noticed many of the men in line were looking the three of us up and down with very interested expressions on their faces. Melanie, who was tall, leggy, and blond, drew most of the attention. I knew I looked exotic and mysterious, which garnered a good share of appreciative looks, while Lizz, even with her limp, cut a very striking figure with her strategically applied makeup and a very slinky red dress. Shiny bedazzlements were in, and we fairly sparkled as light danced off our outfits. The shimmering effect had been Melanie’s idea, because in theory if we were dazzling people with our clothes, they’d be less likely to notice our eyes suspiciously tracking everything around us.

It was a clever idea. The Kidon had trained me to be more subtle, relying on stealth over misdirection, not being seen at all, or if you had to be seen, be totally unnoteworthy. This was the opposite.

The bouncer didn’t even slow us down as we strolled up to the front door and skipped the line. That wouldn’t have worked if we’d gone with my original instinct, so points to Melanie there.

I overheard somebody asking one of the bouncers if “the Mistress” was going to be here tonight. Which caused me to share a nervous glance with Lizz. Normal club owners didn’t call themselves the Mistress. At least not in public—well, that might not be true. This was West Hollywood, after all. I’d heard about pleasure dungeons and other . . . things. I might be reading too much into the name, but I’d been extra paranoid lately.

The entrance led down a set of stairs, through a doorway, into a surprisingly big space. I could see a dazzling array of lights dancing across the walls and ceiling. It was packed, a sea of humanity struggling to let off steam after a frantic work week. There was an indescribable frenetic energy around everyone that made me dizzy. Maybe I was just old, but music had gotten louder. Taking a deep breath, I followed Melanie and Lizz through the buzzing room.

Inside, the melodic tone of George McCrae’s “Rock Your Baby” filled our ears. The slow, rhythmic dance beat caused our hips to sway. It was powerful, mesmerizing. I suspected if I was a werewolf sowing her wild oats, or a hag wanting to prey on the young and virile, this was the kind of place I’d want to be.

“I’ll go get us a table,” Melanie said as she slid between two men who had appeared from somewhere nearby. “You boys should buy us drinks.” And they followed her like lapdogs, not even giving Lizz or myself a second glance. If not for the real reason we were here, I might have been offended.

“How does she do that?”

Lizz was clearly annoyed. “Ugh. Because she’s tall and blond, with legs that go on for days.”

Our teammate was hot. No amount of grumbling would change the fact, but Melanie had already found us a good lookout position. The table was also on a slightly elevated spot where we could look out over the dance floor, and a few dummies to flirt with would keep away the rest of the lounge lizards.

“Overachiever,” Lizz complained as we moved through the crowd to where Melanie was already seated. She gave up the stool with the best view for me, since I was the only one who could see through the glamour of the Fey, it made sense for me to have the best seat. Unfortunately, this put Lizz with her back to the dance floor, which left her displeased.

“These are the Charleses,” Melanie introduced us to her two new loyal followers, then laughed coquettishly. Both men smiled widely, completely smitten, as she laid on the dumb blonde routine a little thick. “Can you believe they’re both named Charles? What are the odds?”

“What are we drinking, ladies?” one of them asked.

“Apple martini,” I said.

“Water,” Lizz grumbled.

I quirked an eyebrow at her. I knew she was irritated at getting ignored by the men, but I hadn’t realized just how mad she was about it. We needed to blend in. She caught my look and sighed. “Fine. Gin and tonic.”

“Charles? Would you be a dear . . . ?”

“Right away!” both Charles chirped in unison and scurried off, leaving the three of us alone for a few moments. Once they were out of hearing range, Melanie turned a basilisk gaze on Lizz.

“What is your problem? We’re supposed to be undercover!” There was no danger in anyone overhearing Melanie, since the speakers were about as loud as a jet engine. “Water? Might as well act like you’ve got a badge on you. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone thought you were a narc.”

“Just once I’d like to play the dumb blonde routine and have the boys fawn over me,” Lizz complained.

“You’re not even blonde!” Melanie threw her hands into the air. “You know what? Fine. The next time we go out, I’ll pretend to be a foreign exchange student who doesn’t speak English and you can do all the talking for me.”

“Drinks are here,” I warned them as the two Charleses came back with about a dozen drinks on a circular tray. Apparently the dynamic duo thought buying us extra at once would increase their odds of getting lucky. I didn’t think they knew what they were getting themselves into. I momentarily felt a little pity for the boys’ wallets.

The martini was actually decent, the glass chilled, and even Lizz’s mood perked up after sipping her drink. The place had the sort of je ne sais quoi that would make it very trendy and popular in a hurry.

As the night went on, the Charleses were replaced by a Mark and a John, followed by a trio of college students we didn’t even bother getting the names of, and then a tall, handsome guy I thought I recognized from a TV show who called himself Dirk. Melanie smiled, flirted, and gave out wrong numbers for them to call her—except for Dirk, who got her actual phone number and a kiss on the cheek. I had to give her some credit—she was doing her job of distracting the men while I continued my scanning. Even if Lizz wasn’t happy about it, she hid it well by pounding her drinks like a sailor on shore leave. I had no idea where she was putting it all.

I got asked to dance a few times. I always said no. You can’t really watch a crowd while you’re dancing, plus, I had absolutely no idea how. And disco was way out of my wheelhouse, though part of me was tempted to try, but it was a tiny stupid part, so I told it to shut up. Despite hundreds of people coming and going, I never saw anyone who looked like Nicole’s picture.

It was around midnight when I felt a change come over the club. It wasn’t sudden or anything, but a gradual buildup of energy that made the small hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I couldn’t see anything different and yet it was there—in the midst of the writhing bodies under the blacklights and disco ball was something I’d never felt before. It wasn’t precisely fear, but similar. A few moments passed before I finally realized what the sensation was: terrible anticipation.

At precisely twelve minutes after midnight, the hag appeared in the midst of the gyrating men and women. One second there had been an empty spot on the dance floor, the next there was a horrifying creature who was not of this world among them. The wide, bat-like face of the Fey was hideous atop the body of a withered scarecrow with a beaded dress hanging off its weird limbs. Her jerky motions looked more like a seizure than a dance. The hag’s glamour was so strong, though, that nobody else really noted its sudden arrival.

I let the illusion take hold for a second so I could get the layperson’s point of view. The spell was powerful enough that the image everyone saw was that of a tall woman with a shapely figure and dark hair. Her eyes were alluring, and her body language practically screamed European wealth and aristocracy. Now it looked like she could dance too, making every move accentuate her figure in a manner maximized to draw attention. She craved the attention, the worship. There was no doubt about it. She knew precisely what she was doing to the men surrounding her. Plus, the blue shimmering dress left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

I let my eyes refocus, and the awful leering bat thing returned.

“She’s here,” I told Melanie and Lizz as I nodded toward the dance floor.

“Who’s here?” a strange man who had gotten a little close to Melanie asked, clearly confused. He wasn’t nearly as good-looking as anybody else in the club, was older than the rest, and also dressed a little more conservatively than what was appropriate for a disco.

“Ah . . . ” I hadn’t really expected to need an answer for something like this. “The . . . pretty one.”

Lizz and Melanie looked that way, and from their knowing reaction, they clearly saw who I meant. Odds were, she was as stunning to all the regular people as she was hideous to me.

“Oh, you’re talking about the Mistress,” the man said as he followed my gaze. “Stunning, isn’t she? Vera Chatelaine. Retired model and entrepreneur. She owns this club.”

“You know her?” I asked.

He nodded eagerly. “Well, yes, I do. I’m her accountant.”

Of course a Fey creature wasn’t going to lower herself to counting coins. She’d have lackeys for that. We were fortunate said lackey had stumbled into us.

“What’s she like?” I batted some eyelashes his way, which was unnecessary, since he was completely smitten with Melanie and therefore a font of information.

“Amazing, simply amazing. Of Romanian and French descent, her family emigrated here before the Iron Curtain went up.” He coughed slightly, his skin flushing as Melanie casually stroked his bicep before he continued. “Her family was wealthy. She inherited everything when her parents died in a plane crash. Horrible business. Has a few properties around the valley. Recently started searching for a more permanent place to settle down, though.”

“Does she own a lot of clubs?” I asked.

“No, this is the only one so far.”

“Does this place make a lot of money?”

His eyes sort of glazed over then. “This business is financially sound,” he replied in a dull, monotone voice. The look on his face cleared up instantly afterward.

Paydirt. He’d been enchanted to answer that exact question, in case someone came around, snooping for information on our hag. I was willing to bet a dollar she’d done it herself. All Fey were inherently magical creatures, but their power varied. By all accounts, hags clouded or controlled minds.

You clever bitch, I thought as I turned my attention back to the awful thing twitching and jerking its way across the dance floor. She was intermingling with the other dancers, but had turned her predatory eye onto a particularly hunky young man who was moving drunkenly next to her. I don’t think he even realized she was there yet. He was like a seal with a great white coming from the depths below. But when a slow song came on, then he noticed the striking creature dancing very, very close to him. She turned him around to face her with but a touch, and I had no doubt she’d picked her dinner for the evening.

His jaw went slack and his eyes glazed over. Undoubtedly he believed he was staring into the lovely dark eyes of some goddess who had deemed him worthy to ascend her heights. If we didn’t do something quick, that poor dude was dead, and the hag would have scored her next meal.

“Shit,” I muttered as I realized what was going to happen, and that we couldn’t just start shooting in a room with hundreds of witnesses. I looked toward Melanie but she was keeping our friendly accountant busy. There was no way I could approach—the Fey would smell me for what I was in a heartbeat. And once she knew she was being followed, she could just disappear, and set up in some other town. Which left one other option.

“Psst. Lizz. Go act like that guy is your boyfriend. Get pissy and cause a scene. The hunky guy dancing with—yeah, him. Get him away from her.”

“But—”

“Do it! We can’t tip her off who we are, but if she takes him out of here, he’s a dead man.”

Lizz’s eyes widened but she nodded. Sliding off the elevated chair, she sauntered onto the dance floor, making her way through the dancers with ease. For someone with a bad leg, she knew how to disappear in a crowd. I watched her progress until she reached the hag and her ensorcelled target.

For a moment I wasn’t sure how Lizz was going to handle this, but I shouldn’t have worried, because our veteran hunter had everything under control.

Lizz waited for the quiet instant after the song ended and crack! The sound of her palm striking the man square on the cheek was surprisingly loud. Many heads turned to stare as Lizz began screaming at the poor dummy she had just slapped with all her tiny might. For a woman shorter than I was, she was shockingly strong.

“Five minutes! I was only gone for five minutes!” Lizz was in full-on drama queen mode, her fists clenched into tight balls as she stared up at the tall, good-looking dude, who looked like he was waking up from a dream and was really confused what he was doing there. “I was in the bathroom for five minutes and I come out to find you dancing with this whore!”

Oh, Lizz was good. I wanted to give her a standing ovation. There wasn’t an actress in Hollywood who could have topped this performance. She grabbed him by the shirt and began dragging him off the dance floor and toward the door, still screaming at him about wait until we get home and how could you be such an ass. She was calling him every name in the book, including some I was pretty sure she made up on the spot. He was clearly dazed and had absolutely no idea what was going on, which was a combination of a mind-control hangover followed by Lizz slapping the snot out of him.

The hag watched the duo depart, and I could see the deep frown on her real face. She licked her fangs, but she made no move to stop either of them as they left the club. I had a hunch that after she’d picked her target, she’d expended a bit of energy to ensnare her prey and now she would need some time to recover.

Serves you right. It looked like our hag wasn’t going to be getting her dinner tonight and it was plain to see—for me at least—that she wasn’t happy about it. I glanced over at Melanie and the accountant, and both of them were watching the scene too. Melanie was trying not to laugh while the accountant had a pained expression once more.

“The Mistress isn’t going to be happy about this.”

“Looks like the party’s over,” Melanie said as she squeezed the man’s arm. “Thank you for a lovely time, Paul.”

“It’s Phillip.”

“That’s what I said,” she said cheerily and hopped off the chair.

I kept us to the far wall, trying to stay as far away from the hag as I could while still keeping an eye on Lizz. She might not know the guy she was manhandling, but she looked like she had a lot of experience in this regard and was doing just fine. I took one last look toward the hag as we ascended the stairs. I’ll be seeing you soon, I promised.

We walked out into the warm summer night, Melanie right on my heels.

Outside, we found the still-confused man standing next to the bouncers, both of whom were not quite sure what had transpired downstairs and were trying to mollify his confusion. In spite of the late hour, the line to get into the club was still long, and a few of the guys we’d seen earlier were still there waiting, hoping against hope they’d finally get let inside. Judging by their desperate pleas and out-of-style clothing, tonight was not going to be their night.

I don’t think they realized how fortunate they were. The hag was truly something else.

“Where’d your girlfriend go?” I asked the man Lizz had rescued from the hag.

He looked down at me, then over at Melanie before giving her a flirtatious smile. “Hey.”

Apparently Lizz hadn’t slapped him hard enough. Rolling my eyes, I grabbed his chin and redirected his focus back on me. “Hey, focus. I asked you a question.”

“The tiny girl with the bum leg?” he asked, still confused somewhat. He wasn’t used to women manhandling him. Tonight was his lucky night, apparently. “She took off that way.” He pointed toward where I’d parked our car.

I patted his cheek and thanked him before setting off to chase down Lizz. In spite of her leg and claiming she was slow, the tiny huntress was fast and already at the car before we caught up to her. Once we did, though we could see her laughing.

“That was so groovy!” she practically shouted. I’d never seen her so excited about anything other than shooting before. She was bouncing like a child on Christmas morning. “I’ve never gotten to do that before! I’ve dated lots of guys who deserved it, but damn that felt real good!”

“Okay.” I unlocked the doors and Lizz climbed into the back seat as I moved around and got into the driver’s side. “The important thing is you had fun.”

Once Melanie was inside, we began strategizing. “So what now? We go in guns blazing?”

“I’m not sure. We’ll have to figure that out. Is this her lair? Or does her fake identity have a home somewhere else? It would be better to hit her someplace without so many innocent bystanders. Either way, for something this dangerous we’re going to want all hands on deck.”

“So, what about the rule ‘do not sup with the Fey’?” Lizz asked as she leaned back in the seat and closed her eyes. Her previous excitement was still there, but it was clear the alcohol was finally beginning to affect her. About time, I thought. She’d drunk enough to kill a Russian tug boat captain. “Is she going to own our immortal souls now because we drank her booze?”

“She’s not pure Fey, and this isn’t her realm, and Fey don’t do souls. Plus, somebody paid for it,” I responded as I shifted my car into gear. “We should be good.”

“I was right. It’s probably good you didn’t just get water. Those are free,” Melanie said. “That could be construed as the Fey giving you a gift.”

“You’re such a rules lawyer.”

Melanie shrugged. “We need to call Rhino and the guys, but then what?”

“Everyone’s favorite game show: Stakeout.”

Both of the women groaned in unison.


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Framed