Justin Gustainis - Those Who Fight Monsters Tales of Occult Detectives

“You know how to use that pig-sticker, Juniper?” she inquired. He gave a curt nod, much less polite. He could use it well enough that the question had offended him.

“Good,” Pete said. “Stay sharp.” She shoved the door open. Tolliver exploded out of the seat he occupied next to the Queen, jabbing his finger into her face.

“How dare you herd us together like cattle? Like we’re criminals?”

Crowfoot was on his heels. “Do you have any idea my position in the Seelie Court? I am Senechal… I brought you here.”

The Queen didn’t get up, she just raised her voice. “I am the Queen of all Faerie…”

Only Rowan and Snowblood stayed silent, and they looked anxious as pigs on market day.

“Oi!” Pete made a slashing motion through the air at the trio of shouters. “Simmer down, yeah? The lot of you. You’re in here for a reason.”

Tolliver’s scarred throat worked. “And that’d be…?”

Pete shooed them back to the four corners of the room. She went to Tolliver, then Crowfoot. Rowan, Snowblood, and lastly the Queen. She asked them each a question. Then she went to the fire and warmed up her hands. It was stuffy in the library, but outside the storm was only getting worse.

“ Lady Caldecott,” Crowfoot huffed. “I really must insist that you share your findings.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Pete rubbed her hands together and then faced them. As a point of self-preservation, she made note of the heavy fireplace poker near her right hand. “I know who killed your Prince Caliban.”

“First,” Pete held up a finger. Her stomach was twisting and her heart was thudding, even though she kept her face blank. Hercule Poirot never had to face down a roomful of fucking Fae. “Snowblood tells me that Caliban was one hell of a fighter, and he was a big bastard besides. Nobody was taking him by force.”

“So?” Crowfoot said rudely. Pete crimped her mouth into her smuggest smile just for him.

“So he was topped by someone he trusted, someone he opened the door to.”

“And?” Crowfoot demanded. Pete reached up and patted his bony shoulder.

“And that lets you out. You’re a bit of a slimy fuckwit, according to everyone here, and you were sniffing around his woman. Sorry, mate.”

Crowfoot blinked, confusion and relief flitting on his features. “I didn’t … I mean … of course I didn’t! My loyalty is to the Court!”

“You didn’t,” Pete said. “But somebody here did.”

Tolliver’s eyes darted to the door. Pete folded her arms. “That’s Juniper outside. One of yours. You trained him, I imagine. Like you trained the prince.” She approached Tolliver. “I asked you if the Prince could beat you in a low-down brawl, and you said yes. You’re not the kind who stabs in the back, and I don’t think you did it.” Pete lowered her voice. Tolliver was a big man, and probably had some magic riding him to boot. If he didn’t like her next words, she’d be in two pieces before she could help it. “But I think you know why it happened.”

“Excuse me,” the Queen. “But where do you—”

“Not that you’re any better,” Pete interrupted her. It was the MP and his son all over again, and she was bloody sick of it. “What kind of a mother names her only son after a monstrous savage? I asked you and all you said? “That was his name.” That’s cold, miss. Ice water all through your veins, no mistake.”

“Please.” Snowblood’s word cut off the Queen’s outcry. “Just tell me. Who killed Caliban?”

Pete swiveled, her finger landing on Rowan. “He did.”

Silence, for a tick of clock-hands. Then Snowblood exploded toward Rowan, who yelped and ducked, but not quickly enough. Snowblood’s small, sharp fist landed a blow on his perfect nose and blood blossomed, trickling over Rowan’s lips.

Pete slapped the door with the flat of her hand. “Juniper, get your arse in here!”

Juniper and another of the Ash Guard held Snowblood and Rowan apart. Snowblood panted, her face crimson, while Rowan folded in on himself, trapped in the far corner of the library. Crowfoot and the Queen were talking all at once, their words tripping over each other like tangled vines.

Tolliver came to Pete’s shoulder. “How did you know?”

Pete gave Rowan a regretful smile. “Flowers.” She sighed, her head suddenly throbbing. “I smelled flowers when Rowan came into a supposedly Fae-proof pub to find me, and again when we were in Caliban’s room. I thought it was some kind of shield hex, but it’s not, is it?” She fixed Rowan with the copper stare. To his credit, he didn’t flinch or change his visage, he just stared back, his eyes like drops of mercury on glass, blood the only motion on his form.

“It’s a glamour,” Pete continued. “And that means he’s not who he says he is.”

Snowblood turned her head to Rowan, her small frame quivering. “Who are you?”

“Burn in the Underworld,” Rowan said quietly. Snowblood turned back to Pete.

“ Who is he ?” she demanded, voice sharp and high with distress.

“My guess?” Pete said. “He’s an Unseelie.” She stepped closer to Rowan, close as he must have been to Caliban when he stabbed him with one of the short, vicious blades the Ash Guard carried. “And that means he can lie. Been spinning me a fat one since the start of things.”

She ticked off the points she’d assembled while she went over the prince’s body. “Your Queen was a prisoner of the Unseelie some time ago. I’m guessing, about as long ago as you are old. Is that right, Rowan?”

Crowfoot was the first to catch on. “You begot an heir?” he whispered. “A half-breed heir?”

“Caliban is an odd name for a beloved firstborn son. But he wasn’t her firstborn,” Pete said. “It’s you, Rowan. Isn’t it?”

She saw all of the defiance run out of him. The strange ethereal gleam of his skin dulled, and his eyes turned from silver to plain grey as he let the glamour flow out of his grasp. His hair was the same, though — white as the Queen’s.

“He was plotting against you, Mother,” he said softly. “Tolliver told me one night, in his cups. He would have let the death-curse overwhelm you so he could take your place and obliterate anyone who stood in his path.”

“Could be,” Pete said. “Could be a load of bollocks. We’ll never know, will we?” She jerked her chin at Tolliver. “In any event, Tolliver guessed, did he? He knew what you were going to do, after he found out what you were?”

“I loved my mother,” Rowan went on, softly. “I knew what I had to do, even if she wanted nothing to do with me.” He raised his eyes to the Queen as Juniper started to drag him away. “Hate is strong. But love is stronger. Mother. Please.”

The Queen raised her head, nostrils flaring. Pete saw no tears on her face, just unfathomable rage. “ Never speak that word to me. I am not that. Not to you .”

“Mother—” Rowan shouted, but more Ash Guard surrounded him and led him away.

“And him,” said Crowfoot, pointing at Tolliver. “He’s a conspirator. He knew full well and did nothing to stop it.”

Tolliver stopped by Pete, walking under his own power, dignity holding his spine straight. “I knew what he was,” he murmured. “I saw it when we trained. Cruel. Honorless. He’d torture a lesser opponent for the sport of it. He talked about the mockery he’d make of his cousin’s virtue and the atrocities he’d visit on the Unseelie when his mother passed on from her curse. He would have left the Seelie Court in embers if he took the throne.” Tolliver swallowed, hard. “You won’t get any guilt from me, Lady.”

Pete nodded. “I’m sorry you got caught,” she told him. “Rowan was blinded, but you aren’t.”