There was nothing to do after I wrapped up the Case of the
Perilous Pixies. Two weeks of living with the Dead Man’s
grumblings and mutterings would try the patience of a saint. A
saint I’m not.
Worse, Tinnie was out of town indefinitely and the redhead
refused to share me with anyone she didn’t know. It was a
trying time to be alive. Nothing to do with my evenings but keep
the breweries from going into receivership.
It was early and a devil was doing some blacksmithing in my
skull, so I wasn’t at my best when somebody came pounding on
the door of our battered old house on Macunado Street.
“Yeah?” I snapped when I yanked the door open. It
didn’t matter that the woman was wearing a thousand
marks’ worth of custom cloth or that the street was filled
with guys in flashy livery. I’ve seen too much of the rich to
be impressed.
“That’s me.” I lightened up a little.
I’d had a chance to give her the up and down, and she was
worth a second look. And a third and a fourth. There wasn’t a
lot of her, though nothing was missing, and what was there had been
put together quite nicely. A phantom smile crossed her lips as my
gaze drew north again.
“I’m half fairy,” she said, and
for a moment music broke through the gravity of her voice.
“Can you stop gaping long enough to let me in?”
