bringing a child into the world scared me nearly as much as the image of the baby that flashed through my mind.
A blue-haired baby.
With pink wings.
CHAPTER 13
M y luck had changed, I thought as I pushed open the door to James’s room—a clean and tidy albeit small room with a thin layer of dust on the dresser and bookcase. No beer cans here. Or if there had been, they weren’t here anymore. In fact the room seemed a little too clean. A little too sparse. It felt unlived-in, as if James had never existed at all. My eyes narrowed. Had someone cleaned up after learning of James’s murder?
Maybe James was just a tidy housekeeper? Not that I’d ever seen any signs of latent cleanliness. Hell, the kid’s desk was littered with files, paperwork, and discarded fast-food bags. I shook my head to dispel the hint of paranoia.
Taking a deep, clean-smelling breath, I began my search. For what, I didn’t know, but everyone, even a college student, had secrets. A black-and-white photograph of a young woman with light-colored hair, her face obscured slightly by the glare of afternoon sun, sat on the nightstand by the bed. I picked it up, examining it closely. Was this James’s first love? Had they planned a future together? A future he would now never have? Guilt filled me once again, reminding me just how responsible I was for his death.
It should’ve been me.
James should be in my room staring at a picture of my sweetheart.
Except I was still very much alive, and I never had nor would have a future with any woman. Not until I found a way to cure my electrical curse. After all, what woman in her right mind would marry a lightning rod? For a brief second Izzy’s face flashed through my mind. I set the picture down a little harder than necessary. The frame shattered under the pressure, sending shards of glass raining down. I winced as a fragment sliced into my palm.
Just desserts, I supposed.
Blood from the wound dripped onto the photograph. I pulled it free from the broken frame and stuffed it into my pocket for safekeeping. One day I would find this young woman, for James’s sake. I would act as if I knew him, tell her what a good guy he’d been. Maybe even make up a story or two about how he’d solved an impossible case. And maybe he would’ve.
If some bastard hadn’t staged an “accident” for me.
Pressing the sleeve of my shirt against the bleeding cut on my hand, I finished my search of the room. Nothing else caught my eye. James was a normal college kid with big dreams. He wore jeans and T-shirts. Spent his days working for college credit. And died doing the same. With a heavy sadness in my chest, I left the room, quietly closing the door behind me. Almost but not quite the closure I needed.
Closure I wouldn’t have until justice was served.
An eye for an eye.
Or in this case, a fry for a fry.
Since I was already on the outskirts of Fairyland, I decided to do a quick search for the missing fairies. When in Rome, after all. Except Fairyland smelled much more like stale Chinese food and day-old fairy dust. Right and Left’s attitude seemed to instantly change as soon as we hit the streets of Fairyland. They went from watchful and sullen to cracking the occasional smile. On top of that, they even pointed out a few historical landmarks, like oddly weaponized tour guides.
But the deeper we moved into Fairyland and the happier they became, the unhappier I was. I stood out like a blue-haired thumb. Not only was I about three feet taller than everyone on the street, but every fairy in the district knew of my role in Izzy’s leaving her toothier duties. And blamed me for the same.
I tensed when a group of heavily tattooed fairies stepped from a fairy bar on the corner. They were loud, and quite drunk, even at eleven in the morning. Considering my sober state, I felt compelled to judge them for their debauchery. I damn well wanted to be half in the bag, but no, I was stuck in Fairyland searching for
A blue-haired baby.
With pink wings.
CHAPTER 13
M y luck had changed, I thought as I pushed open the door to James’s room—a clean and tidy albeit small room with a thin layer of dust on the dresser and bookcase. No beer cans here. Or if there had been, they weren’t here anymore. In fact the room seemed a little too clean. A little too sparse. It felt unlived-in, as if James had never existed at all. My eyes narrowed. Had someone cleaned up after learning of James’s murder?
Maybe James was just a tidy housekeeper? Not that I’d ever seen any signs of latent cleanliness. Hell, the kid’s desk was littered with files, paperwork, and discarded fast-food bags. I shook my head to dispel the hint of paranoia.
Taking a deep, clean-smelling breath, I began my search. For what, I didn’t know, but everyone, even a college student, had secrets. A black-and-white photograph of a young woman with light-colored hair, her face obscured slightly by the glare of afternoon sun, sat on the nightstand by the bed. I picked it up, examining it closely. Was this James’s first love? Had they planned a future together? A future he would now never have? Guilt filled me once again, reminding me just how responsible I was for his death.
It should’ve been me.
James should be in my room staring at a picture of my sweetheart.
Except I was still very much alive, and I never had nor would have a future with any woman. Not until I found a way to cure my electrical curse. After all, what woman in her right mind would marry a lightning rod? For a brief second Izzy’s face flashed through my mind. I set the picture down a little harder than necessary. The frame shattered under the pressure, sending shards of glass raining down. I winced as a fragment sliced into my palm.
Just desserts, I supposed.
Blood from the wound dripped onto the photograph. I pulled it free from the broken frame and stuffed it into my pocket for safekeeping. One day I would find this young woman, for James’s sake. I would act as if I knew him, tell her what a good guy he’d been. Maybe even make up a story or two about how he’d solved an impossible case. And maybe he would’ve.
If some bastard hadn’t staged an “accident” for me.
Pressing the sleeve of my shirt against the bleeding cut on my hand, I finished my search of the room. Nothing else caught my eye. James was a normal college kid with big dreams. He wore jeans and T-shirts. Spent his days working for college credit. And died doing the same. With a heavy sadness in my chest, I left the room, quietly closing the door behind me. Almost but not quite the closure I needed.
Closure I wouldn’t have until justice was served.
An eye for an eye.
Or in this case, a fry for a fry.
Since I was already on the outskirts of Fairyland, I decided to do a quick search for the missing fairies. When in Rome, after all. Except Fairyland smelled much more like stale Chinese food and day-old fairy dust. Right and Left’s attitude seemed to instantly change as soon as we hit the streets of Fairyland. They went from watchful and sullen to cracking the occasional smile. On top of that, they even pointed out a few historical landmarks, like oddly weaponized tour guides.
But the deeper we moved into Fairyland and the happier they became, the unhappier I was. I stood out like a blue-haired thumb. Not only was I about three feet taller than everyone on the street, but every fairy in the district knew of my role in Izzy’s leaving her toothier duties. And blamed me for the same.
I tensed when a group of heavily tattooed fairies stepped from a fairy bar on the corner. They were loud, and quite drunk, even at eleven in the morning. Considering my sober state, I felt compelled to judge them for their debauchery. I damn well wanted to be half in the bag, but no, I was stuck in Fairyland searching for
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