The Fairyland Murders by J.A. Kazimer

gloved one. “Remember what I said last night?”
    She rolled her eyes. “Of course I do, but—”
    â€œNo buts, Isabella.” I gave her my most confident of smiles, all gleaming slightly tarnished teeth. “I’ll figure this out. Don’t worry your—”
    She yanked her arm away. “If you say pretty little head, I will kill you in your sleep.”
    Before I could comment my cell phone rang. I pulled it out and checked the caller ID. The screen flashed U NKNOWN C ALLER. “Reynolds,” I answered with hesitancy. Nothing I hated more than getting stuck on the phone for ten minutes with a guy trying to sell me lightning rods.
    â€œTo find the truth,” the speaker paused, “two past the midnight hour.”
    Definitely not a lightning-rod salesman. “What?”
    The speaker’s sigh echoed through the phone. “If you want to know the truth about your new girlfriend, meet me under the Forty-Fifth Street Bridge at midnight tonight.”
    I rolled my eyes. “Why not just say that in the first place?” Sometimes I hated my job. Everyone had something to hide, some angle to cover, which left me to weed through cryptic messages and layers of bullshit. My gaze inadvertently slid to Izzy, who stood next to me impatiently tapping her foot.
    What was her angle? Was she really an innocent victim or was there more to her tale?

CHAPTER 19
    A fter spending the rest of the afternoon and evening investigating Princess Penelopee’s missing sex tape case without any luck, I stepped from my apartment and into the hallway, pulling the front door closed behind me.
    It was a little before midnight and my day was far from over. I still had to meet with the troll who called earlier to learn whatever truths he intended to impart about a certain pink-winged fairy.
    But Izzy’s faults were the least of my concerns at the moment. Full-on eviction topped the list.
    From the other side of my front door Izzy cursed like a drunken reality TV star from the Fairsey Shore. Her vocabulary ranged from minor insults about my mental health to a blush-raising commentary on my manly parts. None of which were true, I told the crowd of my neighbors gathered along the corridor.
    â€œPMS.” I shrugged. The men grinned, giving me knowing, sympathetic looks while the women rolled their eyes, as if to say, “We let you think that, sucker.”
    â€œDamn it, Blue,” Izzy screeched from behind the door, “I won’t be held prisoner, especially by a . . .” I winced as she provided a list of adjectives followed by hurtful nouns, most of which did little to endear me or my manly parts to my neighbors.
    When Izzy paused in her tirade I pulled off my gloves and grabbed the doorknob, willing an electrical current through my body. Blue flickers sparked off my fingertips. Heat rose within me, growing hotter and hotter. Finally, the doorknob turned a bright hue of molten red and my fingers seared under the heat. The doorknob sparkled with blue flames, much like an electrified fence.
    I blew on my charred skin. That should hold her as well as keep the bad guys out. At least until I got home.
    Tipping my invisible hat to my lady neighbors, I strolled down the hall feeling like I’d just won an important battle of wills. Izzy was safe and she’d learned a valuable lesson. When Blue Reynolds gave an order, like stay inside, he damn well expected immediate and complete compliance.
    Or else.
    I hit the street as a cold wind swept a chill through my heated body. I pulled my jacket collar up, lit a cigarette, and headed toward the Forty-Fifth Street Bridge. Toward whatever evil fate destiny and the troll had in store.
    A few blocks up I stopped, quietly swearing as the hairs on my chin quivered. Something was hiding in the shadows. Something that sure as hell shouldn’t be there. Anger instantly filled me, but I was late as it was so I started up the street, trying