Chapter 6
I closed the blinds on the lone window in my small office on the second floor and prayed to the gods for a quick cure.
Once again, I hadn’t learned my lesson and stopped with the second glass of wine last night.
Now my eyeballs throbbed, my head ached, and I had the patience of a child staring at a pile of candy on Halloween.
Somehow, I’d managed to get to work in time for the daily status meeting, followed by several hours of sorting through messages the citizens of New Rothwick submitted with suggestions on potential stories.
But I honestly didn’t even remember what I’d accomplished during the entire first half of my day.
That might also be due to the weirdness in my apartment this morning.
I woke at six with a cramp in my neck and sweat glistening on my skin.
At some point in the night, Mr. Wylen faerie man decided it would be a good idea to open the windows and allow the eighty-degree humid air inside.
He said he liked the smells of our world.
I told him that was the aroma of three-day-old urine from the man who lived near the dumpsters in our parking lot.
And then once I explained why and how people can be homeless in our world, Tris stumbled out of the bedroom looking like a pile of cat puke himself.
A very handsome pile of cat puke that looked amazing wearing only jeans.
I couldn’t help the growing smile on my face as I thought about my best friend.
I’d always loved Tris, and I always would.
But to have us become more? Suddenly, I found myself imagining all the good things that could come with having a real partner by my side in life.
Especially now. I mean…shit. Both of us just had our lives flipped upside down, and we definitely needed each other to get through this.
I had a feeling that Tris hadn’t fully processed the news about his heritage, and I wondered about Tris’s state of mind.
Especially with the way he behaved this morning.
He seemed to forget that Wylen called him a troll and had almost ignored the fae altogether as he shuffled through my living room and helped himself to a glass of orange juice in the kitchen.
Wylen sat in silence at my dining room table, watching the shirtless man with the same intensity I had.
Tris refused to acknowledge his existence.
Refused to even look in his direction. Instead, he closed the windows, turned down the air conditioning, grabbed his shirt out of my bedroom, and gave me a quick kiss before leaving.
He promised to meet me in my office for lunch, saying he needed to spend a few hours at his own apartment first.
I should have stopped him when he left without calling me Willow Wisp.
And now, here I was, sitting in the dark in my tiny office, trying to organize my brain while it refused to focus on one task.
I had several messages from management discussing my story about Walther Klews that was scheduled to air tonight…
most of them positive. There was one from the legal advisor that I decided to ignore today.
She didn’t think we were in any trouble, but she wanted to clarify my story and sources “just to be sure.” It was one thing on my task list that a few days ago would have been a priority.
But now? Now I needed to focus on my life, Tris, my family’s secrets, and on finding my long-lost father.
The sudden high-pitched voices of people singing “Kilderoy Blues” about the mystical lands up north had me jumping out of my skin.
The annoyingly squeaky voices harmonized nicely but sounded like the track had been sped up.
Probably was. And as I reached for my ringing comms phone, I shook my head, knowing Tris had been the culprit.
“Yes?” I asked once I finally focused on the buttons.
“Sosie. It’s Caldori.” The investigator paused a moment before adding, “Are you out of breath?”
“No,” I grumbled. “Just hungover.”
He laughed at that. “Right there with you, babe.”
Special Investigator Beckett Caldori was like an uncle to me ever since we worked a case together a couple of years ago.
We’d helped find a murderer and solve a cold case that had haunted him for a long time.
Ever since then, the man had been a key ingredient to my success as an investigative journalist and kind of took me under his wing.
He and his wife had invited me over for dinner, we’d been to ball games together, and I even helped him fix his resume when he was applying for a promotion.
So, the “babe” comment was nothing new and nothing out of the ordinary for a man of his times.
He’d been a really great mentor to me and almost always helped me out when he could.
“Look,” he continued, “I might have some information for you on that Razi guy. It’s weird that he only has one name?—”
“It’s because he’s a…” I slapped myself on the forehead when I realized I almost let the secret out. “Because he’s from Kilderoy, right?”
The investigator paused, and I knew he was too good not to catch my mistake. But thankfully, after a few tense seconds, he moved on. “I’m not sure where he’s from. I mean, who goes by one name?”
“Sugarlump. Julius. Tyree.” I named a few famous New Rothwick citizens.
“Okay, smarty pants. Whatever. It’s stupid, and you’re not going to change my mind.”
“Not trying to,” I said with a smile he couldn’t see .
“Anyway, this yahoo of yours hasn’t been in the city long, but he’s always been in Susperia. Records go back at least ten years, and he’s owned property all over the continent.”
“Any confirmation on the warehouse in the Black Graves District?”
Beckett sighed. “Cool your jets. I’m getting there.
” The sound of paper scraping on his metal desk sent another round of piercing pain to my eyes.
Man, I really needed to cut out the weeknight drinking.
“Mr. Razi apparently owns multiple warehouses in the Black Graves District and in Gorgian Point.”
“What about land or a ranch or some property in the mountains past Mortarbone Cliffs?”
“Not that I could find, but this guy…it is a guy, right?”
“Yes.”
“All right, well, this Razi character owns buildings in the cities, not quaint country farmhouses.”
“I didn’t say farmhouse,” I complained.
“Yeah, but that’s what you were thinking,” he continued before I could argue anymore. “I’ll send you the addresses.”
“Thank you, Beckett. I owe you.”
“It’s Special Investigator Caldori to you, and no, you don’t,” he teased, then paused a moment, and I knew what was coming next. “Are you getting yourself into trouble, young lady?”
“No.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“You shouldn’t,” I said with a laugh. “It’s fine. Just following the money.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Beckett always knew when I was lying to him. “Well, you’ve got my number if you get into trouble.”
“I do. Thanks.”
“You betcha. Gotta go.”
The homicide investigator hung up before I could say anything else. He’d been in this business his entire career in New Rothwick, and after seeing the things he had, it was a wonder that he still had a sense of humor.
The chime of a new email brought my attention to my laptop, and I quickly scrawled down the address of the warehouses in my notebook.
Just like Special Investigator Caldori, I still liked doing things old school.
And that meant writing down everything by hand and transcribing later.
It was a wonder Beckett even knew how to use the messaging programs, but I attributed that to his much younger partner, who had a better handle on “modern technology,” as Beckett liked to say.
I quickly looked up the address of the warehouses and committed their location to memory. There. I’d just accomplished one thing for today. And the next thing on my list was walking through my office door with a big smile and an extra-large cup of coffee.
“Tris.” I breathed in the scent. “You’re a godsend.”
Tris chuckled as he handed me the cup and moved a pile of papers off my guest chair so he could sit. “Rough morning?” he asked with a smirk.
“Rough doesn’t even begin to describe it.” Sucking down a huge gulp of liquid cure, I leaned back into my chair and sighed. “Yesterday was weird.”
“Really?” Tris instantly replied. “What was so weird?”
I laughed and tried to ignore the pain behind my eyes and the sadness hiding in Tris’s. “Are you okay?”
“Me?” he said in mock disgust. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because you’re a troll.”
“Sticks and stones, baby.”
I looked over at my friend and knew he was rattled. But Tris had a way of dealing with his issues, and my poking and prodding wasn’t going to help. I’d wait until tonight to start the Sosie Inquisition. “So, I heard from Caldori.”
“Yeah? ”
“Razi owns a couple of warehouses in the city. My gut says to check out the one in the Black Graves District first.”
“Sweet.” Tris jumped to his feet and pointed at the door. “Let’s go.” I hesitated, and he noticed. “What is it?” he sighed.
“I need to let Wylen know.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I do.”
Tris clenched his jaw. “I don’t like him.”
“I know.”
“He doesn’t belong here.”
This time, I was the one who let out the sigh. “I’m not disagreeing with you, but he is a resource.”
“He’s an arrogant ass.”
“Still not disagreeing. But I think we need him.”
Tris slumped back down onto the chair and rolled his eyes. “You know, I can protect you.”
My heart fluttered a little at the way he was looking at me.
Man, if we weren’t in my office right now…
I shook my head to clear my increasingly inappropriate-for-the-workplace thoughts.
“I completely know that, Tris. But we are dealing with things we never knew existed. We’re a little out of our element here. ”
“Fine,” he huffed. “Call Twinkletoes.”
“Twinkletoes?”
Tris shrugged. “It works.”
With a small chuckle, I picked up my comms phone and called the number Wylen had given me this morning. While he’d somehow procured a comms phone, I had a feeling he wouldn’t be too great with the messaging program just yet.
“This is Wylen,” the fae said after just one ring.
“Hi, Wylen. It’s Sosie.”
“I know.”
I looked across my desk at Tris, who raised his brows with that I-told-you-so glare. “I have some information that might help us. Razi owns a few buildings in the city and?—”
“What the fuck!” Tris jumped out of his chair and tossed his coffee at the man now standing right beside him. Wylen’s hand shot out and smacked the cup mid-air, forcing the liquid to scatter back toward Tris.
Wylen looked unfazed as he tucked a piece of his blond hair behind his ear and scrunched up his beautifully chiseled face at the sound of Tris’s profanity. I saw several of my colleagues glance our way through the windows. Shit, how would I explain this?
I gave Wylen a glare as Tris did his best to wipe the coffee off his pants. “Hold on,” I grumbled, walking toward my door and opening it just far enough to stick my head out. “It’s all good. Got Tris back for scaring me last month.”
The two women and one man watching my office smiled and nodded as though it all made sense. Giving them a quick wave, I closed the door and pressed the tiny lock. I turned, heart still pounding and anger growing in my chest. “Tris, are you all right?”
Tossing him a small dishtowel I had under my plant on a shelf, I did my best not to escalate the situation. I mean, we were in a ten-by-ten office, after all. Not quite enough room to start a battle.
“No, I’m not okay. This fucker just spilled coffee all over me.”
“Not correct,” Wylen said coolly. “I did not cover you in the coffee.”
“I’m going to kill him, Sosie.”
“You can try,” Wylen replied a little too quickly.
“Stop it! Both of you.” Turning toward the fae, my anger suddenly moved into confusion. “Is that my sweatshirt?”
Wylen looked down at the Seaford Capital Academy sweatshirt that hugged him perfectly. “It fits me better than you.”
“It’s not yours,” I growled.
“But it doesn’t fit you.”
“That’s because it belonged to someone else.”
“An old boyfriend,” Tris added over my head.
I spun on my heel and poked him in the chest. “You stay out of this.”
Wylen and Tris shared a look that I couldn’t interpret. It made my blood boil. “Wylen, listen,” I started. “You cannot just pop into public places like this. People will notice.”
“Humans won’t notice,” he said with an arrogance that made me want to punch him in the face. “Humans don’t believe.”
“Well, these humans do, and you have to learn some boundaries!” My voice was loud, and several people in the communal area turned to look at us again. I stomped to my office door and pulled the blinds on the small window before they could start asking questions or making up stories.
Wylen sniffed the air. “You smell more like a troll today,” he said to Tris. “That is unusual.”
“I smell like coffee, you asshole.”
The fae, standing tall and smug, had the nerve to keep pushing Tris’s buttons. “Not my fault.”
“Sosie?” Tris questioned, his voice shaking in anger. “I don’t think I can do this.”
“That is fine,” Wylen added. “Trolls are not good at tracking anyway. Not really good at anything.”
I barely had a second to recognize the determination in Tris’s eyes before I saw him jumping over my desk with his hands reaching out toward Wylen’s neck.