Poisoned Spirits

by Missouri Dalton

2

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Copyright ©2011 by Missouri Dalton

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Poisoned Spirits

by Missouri Dalton

3

Poisoned Spirits
By Missouri Dalton
For my "spirit guide."
The Domino Room was half-empty on the Wednesday

before All Hallows Day. The band played a slow bit of blues-y
jazz, which fit my melancholic mood just fine. I had, for the
first time in my life, been stood-up. Being a reasonably vain
individual, I was determined to drown my sorrows with an
expensive, highly illegal bottle of imported Irish Whiskey
smuggled in from across Lake Michigan.

Thank God for Canada.
Prohibition was not doing my social life any favors. It

wasn't entirely out of character for O'Brady to flake off, just
not on me. I'd thought he knew better to be honest.

Ricky, the bartender and a suitably attractive fellow, gave

me a look and walked over.

"Where's Billy then?"
"No idea. I plan on raising Hell, I promise you."
"Damn Irish tempers," Ricky replied. "You're always

getting into trouble, aren't you?"

"I have no idea what you mean."
Ricky raised his dark eyebrows.
"Let me finish my drink and I'll be out of your hair. No

reason to stick around if he's not going to show."

"You going to pick up a new game?"
I shook my head. "Nah. I'm not the sort to step out unless

I know my dance partner's moved on."

Poisoned Spirits

by Missouri Dalton

4

I was thinking I would go by his apartment. Could be he'd

gotten sick.

Or gotten killed, a bitter little voice sounded in my head.

His lifestyle—our lifestyle—wasn't very safe. We all heard
stories. When I was on the beat I'd seen a man strung up on
the street, cut in places a man did not want to get cut. It
wasn't a pretty sight, but it was very educational. You laid
low, or you got yourself killed.

Once my initial temper wore off, my stomach settled into

worry. I finished my glass and got up from the table. It
speaks to my distraction that I left the whiskey. I was glad I
finally let the Chicago Special Police Department get me a
car; I wasn't in the mood to wait around for a taxi.

The car was not a factory model anymore. The doors and

frame were reinforced with protective sigils. I'd had it blessed
by the bishop and a witch had sewn some mojo into the
seats.

There was also an arsenal in the trunk. It paid to be

prepared.

I checked my sidearm before sliding into the driver's seat.

Billy was probably just flaking off, but I wasn't going to take
any risks. My job was dangerous enough.

* * * *

Billy didn't answer when I knocked. The door was locked,

but that wasn't really an impediment. I picked the lock and
headed inside.

Poisoned Spirits

by Missouri Dalton

5

"Billy? Billy O'Brady?" The small apartment was just one

room and a washroom. A wood stove sat in the corner. A
narrow bed set against the wall was occupied.

"Billy?"
The young Irishman did not look well. He was always pale,

but this was a gray, unhealthy color. His normally bright blue
eyes were sunken and glassy. The lad groaned.

"Ian?" he muttered.
"I'm right here." I put a hand on his forehead, it was damp

and chilled. "Have you been coughing? Vomiting?"

He shook his head slowly. "I feel like... a train hit me."
"Since when?"
He blinked very slowly. "Uh..."
"Yesterday? The day before? Today? You looked fine on

Sunday."

"Yesterday. After the club."
"The Domino Room?"
He nodded.
"What did you drink? White lightning?" A bad batch of

liquor could kill a man.

He shook his head. "Good stuff."
"Import?"
He nodded.
Well that didn't make any sense at all. Imports were

cleaner than the filtered denatured alcohols the government
put more poison in with every passing month. People were
dropping like flies and no one gave a damn. But Billy didn't
look like he was suffering from that sort of poisoning. He did

Poisoned Spirits

by Missouri Dalton

6

look slightly gaunt. Sweat stuck his hair to his face. I pressed
my ear to his chest, the breathing was labored.

There was a strange smell in the room, something other

than unwashed skin and sweat. I took a deeper breath. It was
something familiar. Rusty, earthy, like a house that had been
empty and gone damp. Mandrake. I clenched my jaw tightly.

"You still have the bottle?"
He shook his head and moaned.
It took me a moment to make up my mind about my next

move. "Billy, baby, I have to go get help. I promise I'll be
right back though. Okay?"

He grabbed onto my hand. "Come back?"
"I'm coming back." I gently pried my hand free and ran for

the door, heading outside to the street and back to the car to
radio for help. Mandrake meant witches, and witches meant
this was official business.

Which was good, because I felt the urge to beat someone

up and toss them in a cell. Nobody, and I mean nobody, hurt
my boyfriend but me.

* * * *

My partner arrived on the scene ten minutes after I put in

the call to CSPD's house. David Monroe had worked organized
crime until St. Valentine's Day last year. David was pretty
new to the CSPD, but he was a good cop no matter what any
of his old buddies might think. The CSPD knew things about
this city nobody else did, and David knew things about that
day he couldn't forget. Papers all say it was Capone's boys,

Poisoned Spirits

by Missouri Dalton

7

maybe some Rats that did those boys of Moran's, but me and
David knew different.

But you can't put vampires on trial, can you?
David had been a cop longer than me, but I'd been with

CSPD since the Bobby Franks trial. I had six years of
experience with the dark dirty underworld lurking in Chicago's
shadows and alleys. There were worse things than gangsters
out there—witches were one of them.

It looked like David had been in bed when he got the call

to come in. His trousers were right, but the shirt tucked into
them wasn't ever meant to be worn out in public. I might be
a snappy dresser, but I couldn't pull off a flowered shirt.
David had covered it with a jacket that matched the trousers,
but hadn't bothered with a tie. At least he'd had the decency
to put on a hat and cover up the mess of his slept-on salt and
pepper hair.

"What's going on?" he asked, moving past me and into the

small apartment.

"Billy's sick." I steered him over to the bed. "I smell

mandrake."

David crouched down. The tall slender man was a match

for my brothers, all six feet and three inches of him, a trait
that had sadly passed me by. I wasn't a small fry, but I
wasn't a giant either.

"You're right," he said. "Smells like something else too,

smoky sort of. Is Murphy on her way?"

I nodded. "Of course." Patience Murphy was the only

woman on CSPD's payroll, and she was worth every penny,
being the only willing witch we'd ever recruited. She was an

Poisoned Spirits

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8

immigrant from a tiny town in Wales, and used a brand of
magic that was foreign to American soil. I was always really
pleased she was on our side.

The tiny terror arrived almost as soon as the words came

out of my mouth. She didn't bother knocking, letting herself
in and heading straight for Billy. The blonde was looking very
keen this evening; it seemed we'd interrupted her night on
the town. Her sleek hair was cut fashionably in a swinging
short bob, her pale, shapely legs were bare to the thigh and
she wore a green dress that did wonders for her hazel eyes.

She gave me a curt nod and put her hands on Billy's face.
"Jo-Jo, what do you see?" her voice was soft, like she was

talking to a child. She wasn't, though; she was talking to a
pixie.

Jo-Jo, the pixie in question, appeared out of the air and

hovered over Billy's face. The pixie was under six inches tall
and held aloft by a pair of slowly fluttering moth wings. She,
for the pixie was a she, was nearly human looking except for
a pair of furry antennae that went to and fro about her head.

She was also completely naked and incredibly well

proportioned. I might have been playing the field with the
boys, but I liked playing with girls, too. I just didn't play both
fields at the same time. Cheating was cheating, and that
wasn't my thing.

Jo-Jo made some sort of indication to Patience, who looked

back to me and David.

"Well, it's a witch's brew all right. Mandrake, some

hemlock and a few other bits and bobs. It smells like a coven,

Poisoned Spirits

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too. There's a single signature, but it's too strong to be from
one person. Looks like the ATS is at it again, Ian."

"For the love of—" I recalled in time I was in the presence

of a lady. "Horsefeathers."

Patience gave me a knowing look. "This is the last straw,

Mulhaney, they can't go putting potions into liquor. Bad
enough the government is poisoning folks that drink the
filtered stuff."

"I'd like to know how they got their mojo into the imports."

I shook my head. "Those birds aren't getting away with this
just because they think they're righteous."

The ATS, American Temperance Society, had branches all

over the place. It just so happened that the Chicago branch
was littered through with witches, which wouldn't normally be
an issue so long as they kept their noses clean, but this was
the sort of interference I was not going to put up with.

David exchanged a look with Patience. "We've got to prove

it's them first."

"Yeah, yeah. And someone has to stick with Billy until we

can brew up something to counteract this mojo."

Patience nodded. "I'll leave Jo-Jo with Billy. She can keep

him stable until I know exactly what they put in their potion."

"Right, let's get moving. I'm itching to hit someone."
Patience shot a look at David. "Try to keep a leash on your

temper until we know for sure the ATS is behind this. Okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. Don't worry, everything is copacetic." I

fingered the handle of my side arm.

I really don't think they believed me, and I've no idea why.

* * * *

Poisoned Spirits

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10

The ATS was based out of the home of the branch's

founder, Mabel Goodman. Her son had been run over by a
drunk driver, and she was not the forgiving sort. While I
sympathized with her loss and all, that didn't make it okay for
her little coven to go putting potions in the booze.

There was just one problem with our plan to storm in and

arrest the ladies—once we found the incriminating evidence of
course—the house was empty.

"Mabel's car isn't here," David called from the detached

garage. "I don't think she's been home in a couple days."

There was a pile of papers on the porch from the past

week at least. "I think you might be right," I called back.

Patience stood on the edge of the lawn doing something

witchy. I decided to employ my own special talent.

"Granda? Granda?"
The ghost of Connor Adder looked to be about thirty years

old, dressed in an old version of a CPD uniform with the fiery
red hair I'd inherited, and the broad shoulders I hadn't. He
was also a good bit taller than me.

"Whatcha be wantin', me boy?"
Granda was, in the terms of the folks at the CSPD, my

spirit guide. I thought the term sounded stupid, and
continued to simply call him Granda.

"Could you take a look-see around this house?" I nodded

at the brick structure. "I need to know if anyone's inside."

"And you can't be doing that for yourself? I know you can

tell the living from the dead, lad."

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11

I sighed. "I told you before, I can't turn it on and off. The

power comes and goes on its own."

"Only because you're a lazy lout. But I'll go on inside and

see." He gave me a look that said I was in for a speech of
some sort at a later date and headed inside.

I could, occasionally, feel the lives of those around me. It

was an odd sensation, and with it came feeling the deaths.
But it didn't work when I needed it to, and the experience had
not been pleasant when last it occurred.

Of course, I hadn't been in a real good mood anyway that

day. I'd been outed to my folks, disowned, and formally
accepted into the CSPD all in one day. Busy day. The next
day I changed my name, nice and legal, from Adder to
Mulhaney. If my folks didn't want nothing to do with me, I
didn't want nothing to do with them.

Granda'd been real cheesed off about it, but he'd cooled

down—eventually.

Granda reappeared a few minutes later. "I don't see

nobody inside, doesn't look like they've been home for awhile.
You know a witch lives here, right?"

"Yeah, Granda. I know."
"They got a big cauldron in the basement, and bottles of

good whiskey. Though it looks like they were mucking with it.
Sacrilegious, mucking with good whiskey."

"Thanks, Granda."
I headed off the porch and met up with Patience and David

at the car. Patience could sense Granda floating about,
though she couldn't see him, and waved politely. David took
that as a cue and acted accordingly.

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"Little blonde is pretty," Granda said. "The O'Brady lad is

adorable, too, but she's got a nice chassis."

"Granda, you're picking up slang again."
"What did he say?" Patience's eyes narrowed.
"Nothing, Patience. Granda saw a cauldron and some

imported whiskey in the basement. Looks like we were right
about the ATS. Now, if you were a witch with a plan, where
would you go?"

Patience shook her head. "If they're planning to spread

their mojo, which we don't know for sure, I'd think they'd
want to do it on a day with some kick. Like, say, this Friday."

"Halloween."
"Yup."
David shook his head. "As if there isn't enough weird stuff

going on in this town on Halloween."

I had to agree with David on that one. "Don't worry, we'll

find our witchy friends and put a stop to their potions before
we go on shift."

Patience and David gave me a look.
Yeah, I didn't believe that either.

* * * *

Thursday night the sun set and we still had no leads on the

whereabouts of the ATS. What we did have were three more
confirmed victims in the hospital. Nobody had died yet, but
Patience was surprised. We managed to find a bottle of
poisoned liquor that hadn't been opened in the Domino Room
and Patience worked her magic on it.

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The stuff was meant to be deadly. So either our victims

hadn't drunk enough of it, or it was only a matter of time
before they started to die.

Before Billy died.
Jo-Jo seemed confident in her ability to keep him stable,

but she's a six inch pixie. I was having trouble putting faith in
her. I spent part of the day at Billy's side, hoping maybe he'd
come out of it on his own.

But nothing changed.
"Isn't there some spell or something you can do to track

them down?" I asked Patience, who was doing something
with sticks.

She gave me a look. "I'm doing what I can, Ian. You need

to calm down."

"In case you hadn't noticed, Patience, Billy isn't getting

better."

She frowned. "I realized. I broke down the potion, but an

antidote is going to take time. With the witches that brewed it
still loose, their intention is still out there and that powers the
spell, giving the potion its potency. We have to find them."

"I've got every cop I know looking for them!"
"Yes, I know."
"Then what else am I supposed to do!"
"Ian," David said. "You have to calm down."
They wouldn't be calm if it were their boyfriend.
A chime rang out through the apartment. A clock.
"Check-in time," Patience said. "Come on, Jo-Jo's got Billy,

we need to head back to the house and see if anyone's got
our witches."

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"Fine." I got up from my chair next to Billy's bed and gave

his hand a quick squeeze. "I'll be back, Billy."

He didn't make a sound. He hadn't made a sound all day. I

clenched my jaw, and headed out of the apartment. Those
bitches would wish they were never born.

* * * *

The Chicago Special Police had a single station house,

which was located in a building that used to be a bank. We
kept dangerous things in the vault, and dangerous people in
the jail we'd built in the basement. Sometimes the cells held
other things too. Things I didn't have a name for.

The station commander was Inspector Marcus Pennell, a

real hard boiled old man who used to be a sergeant in the
regular Chicago Police. I'd never heard the reason he joined,
and I wasn't about to ask. There are things you don't talk
about with a man like Marcus Pennell. Like how he'd lost his
eye, or the two fingers on his left hand, or his leg.

I just didn't ask questions that personal. I speculated,

because that's what fellows do when they get bored and
drunk, but I never asked him. Wouldn't have been polite, and
my Mama did raise me right in spite of what she might say to
the contrary. I couldn't even set foot in my old parish thanks
to them. Had to move on to a new church. Wasn't very
Christian of them.

In any case, Marcus was waiting for us when we arrived.

Had that look on his face like he'd just swallowed a lemon. It
was a common enough expression when he was dealing with
me. I'm sure it has nothing to do with my sterling personality.

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"Mulhaney, Murphy, Monroe, could I have a word?"
We glanced at each other and headed on into his office. It

had been the bank manager's office. The door was heavy oak,
reinforced, and there was a safe set into the wall. I had no
idea what he kept in the safe—there was a running theory
that there was a jar of glass eyes in there—but the mystery
kept gossip interesting.

There weren't any chairs in the office except the one where

he sat behind the scarred and slightly charred old desk. He
settled down into his chair with a creak, running a hand over
his mostly bald head. "Shut the door."

I ran a quick catalog through my head in an attempt to

recall if I'd done anything recently to warrant being dressed
down. I couldn't remember anything and I hadn't been drunk
enough in recent days to forget that much time.

Murphy shut the door and we stood in front of his desk and

waited for a very long minute.

"Am I to understand, that our local ATS branch is putting

potions in the imported liquor?"

"That is our understanding, sir," I said.
"And what exactly have you done about it?"
"Well, sir, we haven't found them. Yet."
He glowered. "You have my full support. Whatever you

need. It's hard enough getting a good drink in this city
without these crazy prohibition dames putting potions in the
whiskey."

Not exactly how the law was supposed to operate, but that

was okay with me.

"Yes sir."

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16

"Good. Halloween shift starts at six o'clock sharp, don't be

late."

"Yes sir," we said.
"Dismissed."
We exited the office. Well, at least we wouldn't run into

any hitches. I'd hate to be the person who deprived Inspector
Pennell of his whiskey.

"You realize, that if we don't close this fast, he's going to

hold us responsible, right?" David asked.

"You're being very negative," I replied.
"And?"
"It's not helpful."
Because now we had a deadline. If we didn't have this

wrapped before the Halloween shift started, Pennell would
never let us live it down. We'd probably end up hunting for
trolls down by the river. There is no worse job a CSPD officer
could get. There is absolutely nothing worse than trolls.
They're big, ugly, and mean as hell.

But I couldn't concentrate on what would happen if I didn't

make my six o'clock shift, because Billy was still in trouble,
and I cared about him a whole heck of a lot more than I cared
about my boss's whiskey. I did have my priorities, and I am
almost certain they were straight this time.

"Okay, how do we find our coven?" I glanced at Patience.

"Seriously, I see dead people, I can't track them."

"I've put out some feelers in the fairy community. The elf

king keeps close tabs on the magic in and out of Chicago, I'm
hopeful he'll know where they've gone."

I blinked. "There's an elf king?"

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"Of course." She gave me a look that spoke of how little I

knew even after six years on this job. "His name is Cormac."

"Okay. And how long do you think that will take?"
"I'm supposed to meet with him tonight."
"I sort of wonder what an elf king looks like," David said.

"I don't suppose he wears a crown?"

Patience gave David a long look. "How is that important?"
"Just curious."
She shook her head. "You are not coming."
"Can I?" I asked.
"Do you promise to behave?"
I considered for a moment. "Yes."
"Fine. I prefer not going unescorted anyway. Meet me at

the Stephen's Hotel at five thirty."

"Can do."
She nodded curtly. I waited 'til she left and turned to

David. "Don't worry, I'll let you know if he's got a crown or
not."

David grinned. "I knew I could count on you."
"That's what partners are for. Now, if you'll excuse me. It's

not that I don't trust Jo-Jo..."

"But you want to make sure he's okay. I understand. Call if

there's trouble."

"You know I will."

* * * *

The day I met Billy O'Brady, I was just a beat cop trying to

get into the homicide department. I hadn't been walking the
best part of town, it was pretty late one evening outside of a

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18

local gin mill when a fight broke out between a bunch of
uptown boys and a scrawny red-head—Billy. They'd slung
around insults about his Irish heritage, and feeling a bit of a
temper myself, I jumped in to help. The Irish have to stick
together, you know.

After getting the tar beaten out of us, I blew my whistle

and brought the party to a close. You really ought not insult
an Irishman on the police force. Not in Chicago. I'd taken Billy
back to my place to clean up, it being closer than the
hospital. We'd hit it off, and at first I'd brushed the whole
thing off as a fling. A onetime deal. It might have ended after
that one night too—we didn't see each other again for two
years, and by then I was a detective.

I got handed a case that would change my whole life, and

Billy was smack dab stuck in the middle of it. I saved him,
and we'd been stuck together on and off again ever since. He
was kind of flaky, and I was practically married to my job.

I hated to think that maybe, just maybe, if I'd been closer

to Billy, he wouldn't have gotten poisoned in the first place.
He would've been protected. I was itching to blame myself.
Guilt is like opium for Catholics. We're addicted to the stuff.

I sat by Billy's bedside, watching Jo-Jo flutter around him

doing something that caused the air to spark now and again.
I sort of wished I could talk to Jo-Jo, but I didn't speak pixie.
I felt pretty helpless. I was more suited for walking into a
building full of dead bodies and talking to the ghosts to figure
out who the killer was. I could track down corpses and even
had the occasional foreboding. I was Sighted, but I didn't

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19

have the kind of power it took to help Billy. I couldn't heal; I
couldn't cast a spell to take the poison away.

I couldn't even find the witches who did this to him. All I

could do was wait.

* * * *

I went to the hotel early and waited for Patience. I couldn't

take being in the room with the silent, gray, Billy and being
helpless any more.

"You're early," Patience remarked, walking up to the street

light where I waited.

"I was feeling restless."
She nodded. "Understandable. Come on, we're headed to

the top floor."

"I find it strange that elves live in a fancy hotel."
"What did you expect? The woods?"
"I honestly never thought much about it."
"In any case... let's get moving. Cormac does not like to

be kept waiting."

"Right." I followed her into the hotel lobby to the elevator

bank. We took one up to the top floor. The hotel was
obscenely plush in spite of the depression. I suppose having
an elf king in residence kept the place running while everyone
else was shutting down.

I figured we'd arrived at the correct suite, as it was the

only set of doors guarded by a pair of tall, well dressed and
fair-faced gentlemen with large guns and what looked like
swords at their waists. There was something odd about the

Poisoned Spirits

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20

air around them, like heat waves. It made me want to look
away, move on. Definitely the right door.

Patience walked up to the guards and said something in

the Irish. It figured they had to be Irish elves. Both guards
gave me a look over.

"Your gun stays here," the guard on the left said. His

accent was definitely Irish, thick too.

I considered for a long moment before handing it over. "I'll

want it back."

"On your way out."
I shrugged and followed Patience inside when they opened

the doors for us. The suite was as plush as the rest of the
place. It looked like it was trying too hard if you ask me. But
I'm not much for all that gilding.

Another sharply dressed man with a pretty face and long

legs met us in the entry way and gestured for us to follow
him. I let Patience go first. She had more experience with the
elves. I might be foolhardy and temperamental, but I wasn't
stupid. The finely dressed fellow led us to a balcony where
two more guards lounged against a carved stone railing in the
midst of furniture and topiaries like they were part of the
decor.

Our guide left us there, and moments later a man joined

us. I pegged him as Cormac. For one thing, he was wearing a
silk suit that would cost me several months' salary, and he
happened to have a slim band of gold resting on his head.
Wait 'til I told Monroe.

Cormac settled onto a lounge chair, the city serving as an

impressive backdrop.

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21

"Patience, darling. You brought a friend. It's Ian, right? Ian

Adder."

"Mulhaney," I corrected. "I changed it."
He waved a hand dismissively. "One cannot change their

clan so simply. You are an Adder by blood. No piece of paper
can change that. Now, I believe you two need to find some
witches."

"As I told you," Patience said. "We believe the ATS coven

is poisoning the import liquor."

Cormac nodded regally. I had to note that the man was

unnaturally handsome. Because of course, he wasn't a man.
He was an elf. A fey creature. I was out of my depth here.
"Yes, you are correct. I took a look at the spell in the potion
you sent over. Deadly piece of magic. I do not hold with that
kind of spell casting in my city. You will find the coven at
Raven Glen, they prepare to cast their magic on every drop of
liquor in the city when the Hallows open."

"Thanks for the tip," I said. "We should go."
"Not so fast, Ian. Did you not hear? The potion is deadly.

Even with the pixie and Ms. Murphy's magic, your friend—
William isn't it—will die."

"Patience?" I looked at the witch. "Is that true?"
"I'm so sorry, Ian." She clenched her jaw. "Elves can't lie.

Billy is dying."

"No."
"I may have a solution," Cormac interjected. He drew a

silver flask from his front jacket pocket. "This is a powerful
cure-all, fey magic. It will reverse the witch's spell on your
friend."

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22

"What do you want?" I was no longer thinking clearly in

any fashion. Cormac I did not trust, but Patience...she would
never lie to me.

"A bond." He smiled, toying with the flask. "You get the

cure, and I get you."

"What?"
He stood up from the chair, he reminded me of a cat.

Graceful—dangerous. "I want you. Not immediately, I'll give
you time. How's ten years? Ten years you get to spend with
William, raise a family, have children with some willing
woman. Continue the bloodline. At the end of that time, you
come to me."

"As what, exactly?"
"Ian, no. We can find another way—" Patience started.
"You know there isn't time," Cormac interrupted. "You will

act as my agent. Clean up problems, watch over my interests
in the city. As a bonus, you will never age. I have no use for
an old man."

I clenched my fists. I was not good at life altering choices.
Cormac slunk up next to me, placing a hand on my

shoulder. "Think, ten more years with the man you love, or
watch him die when you could have saved him," he whispered
into my ear. "Your choice."

It wasn't a choice at all. I'd given up everything for Billy

once. I'd do it again. "What do I have to do?"

"It's simple. You seal the bargain, with a kiss." He leaned

back and touched his lips. "Right here."

"Ian..." Patience pleaded.

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23

"There isn't another option, Patience." I gave her a look.

"Billy will understand. Eventually." I'd have ten more years.
When I was gone, maybe he'd find someone else. He could be
happy. That was better than being dead. I looked Cormac in
the eye. "Deal."

I wished to hell that kiss was awful. It was hot and sweet,

sending tingles down my spine. He gripped the back of my
neck forcefully. I'd never kissed a man taller than me before,
it was a strange experience. He tilted my head back, running
his long fingers through my hair.

After a long moment he let me go and I gasped to catch

the breath I'd forgotten I'd needed. Cormac tapped my right
wrist with one finger. "You wear my mark now. When the
time comes, it will turn red. A warning. You will have five
days from that moment to come to me—or the magic that
saves dear William will be undone and he will die. Are we
clear?" He slipped the flask into my pocket.

"Crystal. See you in ten years."
Patience looked desperate, but there wasn't time to

consider what I'd just done. I glanced at the Celtic knot work
now encircling my wrist like a tether. I'd have plenty of time
to regret that later. Right then, we had to save Billy—and
stop those witches.

We got out of there as fast as I could manage, stopping at

the door for my gun and ignoring the gloating look the elf
guards gave me. I suppose they knew all along what Cormac
intended. I had been played. I just didn't know why. What
use could I possibly be to the king of the elves?

* * * *

Poisoned Spirits

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24

We met David at Billy's apartment. As soon as he was on

the mend we would head for Raven Glen and stop the coven.
Jo-Jo still hovered over Billy, looking pretty frantic. Billy
himself looked worse than he had when I last saw him. I
swallowed the fear that we might be too late and pulled the
flask from my pocket.

"He just needs to drink the potion," Patience said. "Hold

his mouth open and I'll pour it in."

I nodded, handing the flask over to someone more

experienced in magic, and easing Billy's mouth open while
David watched. I could feel Billy's life as soon as I touched
him. It felt weak. Patience hurried along, unscrewing the top
of the flask and carefully tipping the golden fluid into his
mouth.

"Swallow, Billy," I said. "You need to swallow."
It was probably more reflex than my coaching, but Billy

swallowed. Patience made sure every drop went inside him
and capped the flask back up.

"It could take time to go into effect," Patience said.
The change happened right before our eyes. His skin

brightened, his breathing became less labored and I felt his
life growing stronger.

"It's working," I said. I breathed a sigh of relief. "It's

working."

Patience nodded.
Billy coughed, eyes fluttering open. "Ian?"
"Hey. Yeah, it's me."
"I missed our date."

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25

"That's okay. Really. We'll make new plans."
"You sure?"
"Of course." I kissed him gently, trying to push the

memory of Cormac out of my mind. "Just get better. Okay?"

"Okay."
"Jo-Jo will stay here," Patience said. "We have to go."
"I know." I kissed Billy again and stood. "Let's go. I want

to punch somebody."

On our way out the door, I took a look back at Billy. I'd

never told him how I felt about him. I knew how he felt about
me, but we'd never said it out loud. When all of this was
done, I was going to tell him—and show him as
enthusiastically as possible—exactly how I felt.

I was going to use my time well.

* * * *

We still had three hours until Halloween day when we

arrived at Raven's Glen. The festivities of the day didn't start
the night of, but usually the morning before. Witches, ghosts
and other supernatural creatures had that twenty-four hour
window of extra power while the other side was closer to the
world of the living.

The perfect time to cast a nasty spell.
I'd called in for extra help, and being that several people

still owed me favors, I got it. A baker's dozen of the CSPD's
finest descended on Raven's Glen in search of our coven.
Some of them complained more loudly than others.

Jacob Bronson, another witch and a transfer from the New

Orleans police department, was on my team as we spread out

Poisoned Spirits

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26

across the park. He was bundled up thoroughly against the
October chill. "We ought to be called the Night Shift," he said.
"Seeing how we never work during the day anymore." His
Southern drawl was thick, but every officer had some kind of
accent. Usually that accent was Irish, but I wasn't going to
discriminate.

"Cold?" I asked.
"You know I am," he replied.
"Buck up. Any sign of our witches?"
He shook his head. "There's something off. I should be

able to sense any magic taking place in the vicinity but it's
like there's a dead spot. A lack. I don't understand it." The
tiny man looked even smaller in his enormous over coat.

"Is it coming from anywhere in particular?"
He closed his eyes for a moment. "Yes." When he opened

them I had to note they were a strange gold color. Odd. He
pointed at a spot to our north. "Over there. Patience?"

She nodded. "Bronson's right."
"Okay then. Let's surprise our witches." We signaled

quickly to the other groups and coordinated to close in on the
spot Bronson and Patience agreed on. A clearing in the
thickest part of the forest. Drawing closer, we could see a
light—fire.

The chanting pretty much nailed it.
I peered out into the clearing and raised my eyebrows.

There are some people you should never see naked. Women
old enough to be your grandmother are some of those people.
I shuddered and looked away.

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27

"Am I the only one who feels uncomfortable assaulting

naked old ladies?"

I got equally disturbed looks from the rest of my group.
"Okay then, on three." We signaled to the others, the

coven in the clearing was too distracted by their—dancing?—
to notice us. On three, four groups of CSPD officers burst into
the clearing, guns and shiny silver star badges raised to the
light. It wasn't just for show, the badges protected us from
malevolent magic. Silver, who knew?

I spied the ringleader, Mabel Goodman, a very naked

sixty-three-year-old. "Mabel Goodman, you are hereby under
arrest for tampering with illegally imported liquor, which
resulted in the injury of seven people and the deaths of two."
Sure, those two people had been high-society brats, but dead
was still dead.

She huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "I refuse to

allow you to arrest me."

"That's okay, if you refuse, I can shoot you instead."
"What?" She shrieked.
"We aren't the CPD, we're the Special Police, and I don't

have to bring you in alive. There's no trial waiting for you.
There are no judges. Just us. You come along and live, or I
shoot you in the head."

The coven capitulated fairly quickly at that point. We

rounded them up—convinced them to get dressed—and drove
them back to Chicago and the station house. The whole lot
got locked up in the basement prison until the big bosses
decided what to do with them. That wasn't any of my
business, really. I was just sad I hadn't gotten to punch

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28

anyone, but I'm not so uncouth that I'll punch a naked
woman. The Halloween shift went as insanely as expected
come six the next evening.

We picked up revelers practicing magic in full view of

civilians, brought down a bridge troll (albeit a small one) and
rounded up a passel of goblins masquerading as children. I
acquired three bruises, a cracked rib and dislocated my
shoulder in the chaos, which on the whole was better than I'd
done last year.

After the hospital declared me fit to leave, I went to Billy's.
He met me at the door when I knocked, looking a hell of a

lot better than he had just a short time ago. "Hey there," I
said with a smile.

"Hey. How was Halloween? You look like hell." He let me

inside.

"Fine. Thanks."
"You want a drink?"
I thought about the witches. "Tea."
"I can do that." He gave me a look. "There's something

different about you."

"Really? I feel the same. Bruised, but the same."
He shrugged. "I don't know."
I watched him make the tea from a seat at his tiny table. I

felt like I was drinking him in: the way his hair spiked up all
over because he hadn't bothered to pomade it flat, the little
birthmark on the back of his neck that reminded me of a four-
leaf clover, the way his shirt stretched across his lean back. I
loved his hands, the long fingers with freckles on the

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29

knuckles. I loved the way he frowned when he cooked,
sending little wrinkles across his brow.

I loved him.
"William."
He paused in what he was doing and turned to look at me.

I'd only ever called him William one other time, the night my
father disowned me.

"What's wrong?" He set down the kettle and paced to my

side. "What's happened?"

"Nothing." I shook my head. I wasn't ready to tell him

about the deal I'd made. I didn't know if I'd ever be ready. "I
just wanted to say—I love you."

Billy's green eyes widened. "Ian..." He leaned down and

put his arms around me, pressing his lips against mine
fiercely. I ignored the ache in my ribs and shoulder and stood,
pulling him into my arms and steering toward the bed, the
tea forgotten.

"I love you," he whispered between kisses. "I love you."
I slid the bracers off his shoulders, freeing his shirt to tug

it out of his pants. I'd almost lost him. I needed to feel his
skin against mine. I needed to make sure he was all right. I
shrugged off my jacket, Billy took off my tie. My shoes went
onto the floor in two thuds and my belt followed.

We helped each other undress, neither one willing to wait.

He hissed over the large bruise on my chest and kissed it
tenderly. "Your job is dangerous."

"It's a job," I replied. "Can't be picky these days."
"You like your job?"
My job had saved his life. "No."

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30

He raised his eyebrows.
"I love it." I kissed him to silence anymore questions and

proceeded to assure myself he was completely healed. The
boards holding up the mattress creaked a warning, and there
was a sharp crack. The whistle of the kettle was louder than
the crash of the bed breaking.

That bed was really not meant for two people.
I burst out laughing as we finished what we'd started in

the wreckage of his bed.

"So, you want to move in with me?" I asked.
Billy grinned and threw himself back on me. I winced, but

welcomed the enthusiasm.

"I love you, William."
"I love you too."
Now I needed to buy a bigger bed. Perhaps one with a

metal frame.

And one of us needed to get the damn kettle. Maybe later.
End.
If you liked this book you might like: Fiends in Low Places

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