Page 2 of Devils Don’t Deal

He pulled out his phone and dialed with trembling fingers while a distant relative, my great-uncle or something, came over, snapping his fingers so the pair of ogres who followed him grabbed me, one on each side. I stared up at one blue face then the other, too shocked to struggle.

Are you kidding me?

Their meaty fingers dug into my shoulders as if one of them couldn’t take me easily. Well, I did have goblin blood. Who knew what I’d do? Maybe I’d eat their fingers, snap them off with my teeth. Could I do that? No. I needed to make this situation better, not worse, and spitting out my caps and trying to bite off their fingers would definitely not make anything better.

My great-uncle stepped forward, tall, with long, silver wings that made him look like he had a streak of angel. Angel blood didn’t make him a nice guy, as illustrated by his use of his own bodyguards. His voice was deep bells and beauty, but the eyes were judgmental arrogance. “Bringing violence to your mother’s memorial? How like a goblin.”

I stood up straight and glared at the person who’d brought ogres to my mother’s funeral. Ogres were just as bad, if not worse, than goblins. “Let go of me! What’s wrong with you, bringing ogres here? Fern was insulting my father. This is my mother’s funeral! How dare you come here with bodyguards and have them…” I sputtered because the anger was fading, and helpless panic was taking its place. No job? No home? No mother, and who knew where my dad had run off to?

“They’ll hold you until the police arrive,” my evil great-uncle said, giving Fern a look of contempt, but that was his normal face. It was probably his version of approval.

I slumped between the two ogres, letting them hold me up. Tears of defeat were crowding under my eyelids, hot and heavy.

Seriously? This ridiculously expensive funeral, and neither my father nor I would be here to enjoy it? Not like I was enjoying it, but it was the spirit of the thing.

Ten minutes later, I was tucked into the back of a police car then driven downtown, handcuffed like a criminal. Perfect. Just perfect. At least if I were in jail, I wouldn’t have to worry about food and housing.

I leaned my forehead against the hard glass and stared out at the depressingly beautiful day as we drove through the high rises.

The officer was a burly guy with curly brown hair and green eyes. The kind of guy I’d usually be flustered around and wish I could flirt with, but not today.

“Are you okay?” he asked as he pulled into a parking lot behind the new station downtown.

What was the answer to such a stupid question? Was anyone okay if they ended up in his backseat, handcuffed?

“I am physically well but emotionally wrecked,” I said, sounding lifeless. “How are you?”

My dad would’ve laughed to hearing me using manners while handcuffed in the back seat of a police car.

The officer only nodded. “I’m good. And your hand? Didn’t you punch a fairy? They’re harder than they look.”

I frowned down at my hand. Come to think of it, it didn’t look okay. I flexed my fingers. Ow. “Oh. I guess I’m bad on the inside and the outside.”

He sighed. “I’m sorry about this. You’ll probably be released after the boss looks at your file. She’s not influenced by crazy fae, no matter how rich and powerful they are. You can probably make it back to the cemetery before sundown.”

Did I want to go back to see my mother’s glamoured face through the glass lid surrounded by flowers that would stay fresh and enchanted longer than her glamour would last? No. I might shatter the glass, trample the flowers, and scream at my mother for leaving us.

He parked, opened my door, and helped me out. For some reason, I swayed and almost fell over. Maybe because I’d forgotten to eat today. Maybe yesterday. Maybe since Monday when my mother had slipped silently past the shade.

A tear crept down my cheek, dropping onto the front of my funeral dress. She’d insisted that I buy it for her funeral after she was diagnosed with iron poisoning. She wanted me to celebrate her passing instead of mourning. And I wanted her to not die. I guess neither of us got our wishes.

The officer had a hand on my back as he ushered me across the parking lot and to the elevator. My stomach twisted as we rose until we came out in the main station. There were goblin guards who looked like elite assassins, the kinds of goblins my dad had taught me to watch out for and avoid. An enormous ogre female manned the front desk, muscles coming out of her button-up, pale-blue regulation top. Without sleeves. It looked like she’d ripped them off.

“Lewell, what’s this?” she growled, giving me a broad-tusked smile that put up my hackles. The ogres the fae kept as bodyguards weren’t anything close to this monster in raw brute force.

The police officer barely glanced at her as he picked up a stack of papers. “Assaulted a fairy at a funeral. You know how they are. The fairy’s secretary should be here any time with the charges so he doesn’t have to personally spend his time.”

The ogre gave me another look, this time with interest. “You punched a fairy at a funeral? I don’t like a lot of fairies, but I’m starting to like you.”

“I think I broke a finger,” I said.

She laughed from her gut, a sound that sent shivers down my spine. This ogre should’ve been on a battlefield somewhere, eating dead bodies. Why was she at a police station?

“What’s going on?” a dark-haired woman in a black suit said, the badge on her jacket declaring her to be Lieutenant Sato. “Were you assaulted?” She looked me up and down, searching for injuries, landing on my hands where they were cuffed. “You’re a perpetrator?” She bit her bottom lip then nodded firmly, gesturing behind her. “Come to my office. We’ll get things sorted.”

Once we were in the square room, she sat behind a desk piled high with manila folders, and I sat across from her, feeling like I was back in school, in the office for bad behavior. I’d tried so hard to be good, but sometimes I’d forgotten.

“Tell me what happened.”