It was remarkably similar to the city’s standard police uniform, circa 1880s, and helped them stand out from the mortal police force. Since most rank and file tended to be Shifters, norms could see them occasionally. They usually mistook them for cosplayers or one of the “Ripper events” that often took place in the city, even though they were nowhere near Whitechapel. Even now, the watchman on the end of the alley was fielding a trio of camera-wielding tourists.
“Sorry, sir, private event. I’m afraid I can’t let you in.”
“Oh, their costumes are so adorable. James, you absolutely must get a picture with the policeman.”
Daffi tuned out the conversation as she focused on the officer in front of them. Taking a quick breath in, she smiled. Dog Shifter for sure, but she couldn’t pick out what breed.
“Sorry, miss, private event,” he rumbled, a hint of growl in the back of his throat. Old English sheepdog, she decided. Had to be with a voice like that. “Can’t let you in.”
“Daffi McGee, MPI,” she said, injecting authority into her voice and unleashing a glimpse of the resting bitch face. He straightened up with a frown as she flashed him her badge.
“MPI?”
“Magical Private Investigator,” she replied, hoping beyond hope that whatever the hell Garlick had done would pay off. “I understand there was a murder here last night? I’m here to investigate.”
“Oh…” He squinted at her badge and then blinked in surprise and straightened up. “Yes, ma’am! Of course, please go through. I’m afraid the body has already been removed but old Jack who lives down this street saw it just after. He’s still around if you want to question him.”
“Very well, thank you.” She smiled as she tucked the badge away in her pocket.
It was all official looking with a fancy seal and everything. She’d studied it earlier when Garlick had handed it over, telling her he’d had them officially listed as PIs. It was a seal she’d seen before… the La Fay. No wonder the watchman had looked like the queen herself had arrived. No one wanted to piss off the La Fay, not now two of Morgan’s daughters had been found.
“There’s an actual witness?” Garlick asked, trotting in front of her in a crisscross manner so she was forced to practically salsa down the road toward the taped-off scene.
She paused to look at where Sybil had been found. It was a small entryway between two of the buildings, a magical sigil on the stonework above. She pursed her lips. The killer had to be magical then. No norm could even have seen that entryway, much less dragged Sybil into it.
“Maiden’s might and crone’s sight,
Let me see where Sybil put up a fight,
Show me what is shielded by time,
So I can solve this awful crime.”
She murmured, calling her magic. White sparkles filled the air in front of her, spreading out to fill the small entry. An image built up. Sybil appeared in spectral form, eyes wide as she looked over her shoulder. A look of recognition and surprise washed over her face and then a large black shape overwhelmed her from behind like a giant black cloud. When it cleared, Sybil lay on the ground in the entry, eyes closed and a permanent smile across her throat.
Dammit. She hadn’t really expected the reveal spell to give them anything, but if they were going to do this properly, they needed to work on a process of elimination. So far they knew Sybil had been killed by a magical being, probably a witch, and one powerful enough to conceal their identity from prying eyes. And, more importantly…
“She knew her killer.”
Oberon grunted in agreement.
“Nice to see she could actually smile,” Garlick commented with a sniff. “Didn’t think she had it in her.”
“Garlick!” she hissed, shooting him a glare. “You can’t say things like that!”
“Why not? She was a miserable cow.”
“Cow?” Oberon asked with a frown. “Was she a bovine Shifter? I thought she was a witch?”
Daffi slid him a sideways look. Then she realized he was serious.
“You poor, poor boy,” Garlick sniped, chuckling as he trotted up to the magical impression.
“Okay. Killer used a shielding spell so we can’t get an impression this way. We’re going to need to talk to Jack the Kipper.”
“Agreed” Daffi straightened up.
“Jack the Kipper? Don’t you mean Ripper?” Oberon asked in confusion as they turned, heading toward where another watchman was talking to a small bundle of tatty clothes. It resolved into a small, odd-looking man holding a fish.
“Nope… Kipper,” Daffi murmured. “He’s a bit of a local celebrity. Stalks people and slaps them with his fish.”
Oberon’s eyes narrowed. “Is that a euphemism for his…?”
“Nope.” She grinned as she shook her head. “Literally a fish. He keeps getting arrested for it. Apparently carrying a fish with intent is still illegal in the city, some old bylaw or other.”
She smiled broadly as they approached the watchman and his companion. “How’s it going, Jack?”
Jack the Kipper was a small fae of unknown origin. He was a regular on her way home, often walking with her to the nearest tube station for “protection.”
“Miss McGee! I was so worried about you. When I saw… last night… I was so scared it was you!” He almost fell over himself to get to her but then pulled up sharply when he spotted Oberon.
His face went pale and he bowed low. “My king.”
Daffi’s eyes widened. “You recognize him?”
Jack straightened, his cheeks reddening as he thrust his fish away into the depths of his tatty overcoat. “Of course, Miss McGee… every fae alive would know Oberon, our king.”
His gaze darted nervously between the two of them. “I’m here legally. I have papers and everything to prove it.”
“We’re not here for that,” Daffi reassured him, patting one of Oberon’s thick, treelike arms where he’d folded them over his chest.
“Look less threatening,” she hissed at him out of the corner of her mouth. “We need to question him, not frighten him half to death!”
Oberon grunted and relaxed. “Indeed,” he offered. “My queen-to-be merely wishes to question you about the dead girl so we may find her killer and exe—” Daffi tightened her hand on his arm and he corrected himself. “So we may bring them to justice.”
“Queen?” Jack squeaked. “You’re getting married?”
“Yes.”
“No…” she said at the same time.
At Oberon’s questioning look, Daffi sighed. “Maybe, after we’ve talked a lot about it…” She dug her elbow in his ribs when he grinned. “…a lot!”
“That was not a no,” he leaned toward her to murmur.
“It was also not a yes,” she hissed back at him. “Now, can we please focus on the matter at hand?”
Either that or she was going to end up jailed for throttling an infuriating hot as hell fairy… king. Crap, that would be regicide. Wouldn’t it? Or did it count if he wasn’t her king?
She focused on Jack. “You saw what happened?” she prompted gently.