Page 57 of Filthy Fae

I took another few strips of bacon and stuffed them into my mouth.

Jane gave me a look. “Right now, wading through the messages on the four dead mages’ social media is taking up hours of time and giving no information. They weren’t friends—not on any of their accounts. They had several friends in common, but they all appear to be union reps. The Mage Union and Witch and Wizard Assembly are closed, and their website uses something other than the conventional internet. For these reasons, I can’t confirm this, but Marisa appeared to be out of work for the last six months and going back to her work as a nurse. The other three were involved in separate jobs. There’s no obvious connection except the Mage Union.”

“Did you find the union necromancer?”

“Yes,” Jane said. “But I’m afraid he won’t be answering any questions. Morte with no last name—or, that was what he legally changed his name to at eighteen.” Jane turned the phone, showing a bright-eyed teenager. The guy looked like he’d been taking union jobs between his freshman high school classes, though his profile claimed his age was nineteen. He had long silver hair and a bare chest, and from his pose, I could tell the photo was supposed to look smoldering, but he couldn’t pull it off with his baby face.

“He died at the party,” I whispered. Goodbye posts filled his page as well, most from friends from across the globe saying heartfelt goodbyes to a friend they’d never met in real life. In the end, their hearts were broken at his loss.

One of my tears fell onto the phone screen, and Jane yanked it back as if her device might spontaneously combust. After wiping her screen carefully, she said, “Morte’s social media is equally cluttered and devoid of useful information.”

“At least we can rule him out as a suspect,” Aaron said, appearing at my side with a plateful of sunny-side up eggs. “Let’s call Darrel in and put our heads together.”

Jane’s phone erupted in beeping, and she jumped so high that for a moment I worried my tears had triggered her beloved phone’s self-destruct mode. But the screen only lit up with a series of messages. She lifted it to show us. “And…he’s in. My tech guy is sending over the address where Necro-Nancy lives now. Time to make a house call.”

***

When we pulled up outside Necro-Nancy’s, it was evident that “house call” was a bit of an overstatement. I could easily believe that a mage lived in this place only because it would take some serious magic to keep it from folding like a house of cards.

The entire building sagged to one side. Siding jutted loose in a dozen places. Sheet metal covered two sections of the roof like lopsided eyes. At first, I thought she had some sort of strange plant stems all over her yard, but upon closer inspection, I saw that they were actually rusted knives protruding from the dirt and straggly grass in the yard. A large red “condemned” sign had been nailed into the front door below an upside-down horseshoe.

Mack opened the van sliding door, and immediately shut it. “Looks like I’ll be waiting in the van.”

“What?” I asked from beside him on the bench seat. Both Aaron and Jane had already unloaded from the front. “Why? Is the horseshoe iron?”

Mack nodded toward the house. “Everything is pure iron—all of it.”

The front door of the van opened, and Mack winced, looking like he was in real pain as Aaron stuck his head in. “Apparently, this lady has a thing for horseshoes.”

“Aaron, we should go,” I said. “This place is surrounded by pure iron.”

“No.” Mack touched my arm. “I’m fine in the car. I’ll act as your lookout and getaway driver.”

A very familiar form filled the front door, holding a three-bolt crossbow.

“What the...?” I leaned in, peering through the window, “You have got to be kidding me. Zeezee?”

My sister stood there, looking like an extra from a post-apocalyptic zombie movie in ripped jeans and a sports bra, aiming a crossbow straight at Jane.

To Jane’s credit, she simply glanced up from her phone, reached in her pocket and pulled out a business card. “Zeezee Riley, your pack hired me as your lawyer.”

“Damn it.” I turned to Mack. “You take the van—”

“I’m fine here. I’ll wait while you figure out what’s going on. And, Scarlet...” Mack leaned in so close that his lips brushed my ear. “Grains of paradise.” The way he said the word was positively indecent. He and Aaron had to have looked up the most sexual sounding spices or something.

I shook my head. “Mack, if you feel the least bit ill, just drive.”

“Go.” Mack bumped his shoulder against mine. “Before your sister shoots her own lawyer.”

As I rounded the van, a second woman stepped up beside my sister. She leaned into the doorframe, one boot kicked over the other. This woman didn’t mess around with earrings. She had a full horseshoe hanging off a fat chain on her neck. She stood at about five-two, maybe shorter without her shit-kicking heels. Her face was youthful, but she had long gray hair that she’d pulled up into a high ponytail.

One glance at my sister and I saw a huge horseshoe hanging around her neck as well. Zeezee also wore her dark hair in a high ponytail, and she looked to be wearing the woman’s clothing. Upon seeing me, Zeezee pointed her weapon to the sidewalk. Under her breath, she whispered, “Fuck.”

“Yep, Zeezee. Fuck is right.”

“Seriously, what’s with the necklaces?” Aaron asked as we headed up the driveway.

“Maybe they’re feeling lucky,” I grumbled.