“Yes, yes! I can see something. Get me closer!” the cat called out in excitement as he floated nearer to a grotesque on one of the ledges. Grotesques and gargoyles were often confused for each other since they both appeared to be architectural statues. But grotesques were just that, statues, as many a building cleaner had discovered when they’d tried to power wash down a frontage and been faced with a pissed off gargoyle covered in soap suds.
“I got it! The wig’s up here!” Garlick called down, reaching out to grab something wedged between the statue and the wall.
“Should have just had me fly up there,” Oberon sulked by the wall. “It’s not like I don’t have the equipment.”
She spared him a look as she held Garlick’s spell bubble in place. “We can’t risk anyone seeing you. You don’t have a visa. Remember?”
He shot her a look, and for a moment she saw the hard-edged fairy king of legend. “I am king. I do not need useless bits of paper.”
Moon save her from men and their egos. “You do if you want to stay and not cause a diplomatic incident.”
Oberon folded his arms and she almost whimpered. She really should have thought about it before putting him in a t-shirt with those muscled forearms on display. Arm porn or what? If she wasn’t careful, she’d end up licking a bicep or something.
“What about the boggle?” he demanded. “Did he have one of these visas? If he did, then I, as his king, should also be granted that honor.”
She sighed and considered dropping Garlick on him. It would serve them both. She still hadn’t forgiven the cat for allowing himself to be blackmailed. With takeout.
“It doesn’t work like that,” she explained with the patience of a saint. She’d given serious consideration to that. Like, where did they get that sort of patience… was it something they were born with, or something they trained for? Maybe she’s born with it, maybe it’s some spurious honor granted by an ecclesiastical institution kind of thing?
“Besides,” she added. “Jack was born here, so he didn’t need a visa.”
“Will you two argue when I have all four paws safely on the ground please?” Garlick mumbled around a mouthful of dirty wig as he emerged from behind the statue.
“Right! Of course!” Daffi said, waving her hands to bring him back down to ground level.
Luckily, this alley wasn’t often used by norms, so she hadn’t had to cast a concealment spell. A flash of a white shawl... She shook her head to dislodge the memory assaulting her as she brought Garlick safely back down to ground level. He might have been an utter pain in the ass, but he was her utter pain in the ass. She wouldn’t ever see him harmed.
The orb turned upside down, making him squeak with surprise and then outrage. She smothered her snigger. She wouldn’t ever see him come to harm, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t ruffle his fur a little every now and then. Because he had absolutely no qualms about putting claws in her legs to get her attention. Turnabout was fair play.
“Heads up,” Oberon murmured, nodding toward the entrance to the alley.
Whipsnide stalked their way, black cape flapping behind her and giving her the appearance of a large and ungainly bat. Sergeant Abberline walked behind her.
Daffi sighed as she righted Garlick just before he reached the ground. As soon as he did, the bubble surrounding him burst with a pop.
“There he is,” she shrieked like a banshee, threatening the structural integrity of the nearest windows, and stabbed a finger at Oberon.
“Unregistered fae,” she hissed. “He’s dangerous, I tell you, dangerous!”
“What the moon are you going on about?” Daffi asked, ignoring the cold feeling in the pit of her stomach. “Ron is a natural born fae, registered in Charnwood, in the Midlands.”
The lie slid easily off her tongue, but sweat slithered down her spine. They couldn’t arrest Oberon. She was too close to cracking the case and she needed him.
She nudged Garlick with her foot. If he could get them all on the MPI register, she was sure he could manage some papers for Oberon. Somehow. A little chirp at ankle height told her the message had been received and understood.
“He’s fae!” Whippy shrieked again. If she’d been wearing pearls, she would’ve clutched them.
“He came through with the dragon. A high court fae,” she added, giving Abberline a pointed look. “They hate the lower classes of fae with a passion. There’s your killer of the little boggle. You mark my words!”
“What?” Oberon’s expression of surprise was almost comical. Then he laughed. “I didn’t kill the boggle. Why would I? I only met him once.”
“Hatred does not need familiarity,” Whipsnide snapped. “You are high court and he was lesser fae. You killed him because of it.”
Oberon folded his thickly corded arms over his massive chest. “I did not kill the boggle. And even if I had, I would not have used a cold-iron blade to do it.”
“See?” This time Whipsnide’s shriek was high enough to send the pigeons on the nearby buildings into the air. “He even knows what murder weapon was used! He’s the killer!”
“He was at the murder scene with the body, Sergeant,” Daffi pointed out. “You yourself stated it was a different murder weapon to that used on… the first victim.”
“Poor Sybil, moon rest her soul,” Whipsnide wailed.
“Different weapon, yes,” Abberline replied. “But your fae here told us it was a cold-iron blade. Forensics have yet to confirm that.”
“He knows because he killed the boggle!”
No one was listening to Whipsnide’s dramatics anymore as Daffi’s gaze locked with the sergeant’s.
“Why would he kill with a cold-iron blade, though?” she pressed Abberline.
“They’re just as fatal to him and painful to hold. Am I right?” she directed to Oberon, who nodded.
“Like ice and cold fire.”
“To put us off the scent!” Whipsnide pushed forward to insist. “Sergeant, I demand you arrest this… this fae!”
Abberline shot her a stern look. “Ms. Whipsnide, may I remind you that I am in charge of this investigation. I take orders from my superiors, not a private citizen.”
Daffi smothered her grin as Whippy backpedaled so quickly she practically fell over her own ass.
“Yes, of course, sergeant,” she murmured, folding her hands in front of her waist. “You must do as you see fit.”
“Indeed.” Abberline looked at Oberon sternly. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask that you come with me, sir. I’m arresting you on the suspicion of the murder of Jack the Kipper.”
13
“I don’t like leaving him here,” Daffi muttered to Garlick as the pair left the City Watch House. Based in Whitechapel it had occupied the same site since before the police force itself had even been thought of. Around the corner from the norms’ police station, the two were rarely mistaken for each other.
They passed by the main desk where a watchwoman was in conversation with a member of the public, a norm who had wandered in.
“So you can’t repair this?” he asked, holding out a wrist watch.