The Fairyland Murders Read Online Free PDF Page A

might make during arts and crafts.
    â€œBeautiful, aren’t they?” Barry asked, appearing at my side, a piece of paper in his hand. He waved it at the pink wings hanging on the wall. “Those are our top sellers during Pride Week.”
    â€œI’ll bet.” I shot him a small smile. “Did you find what I need?”
    â€œOh yes.” He shoved the paper into my gloved palm. “My records are impeccable, unlike my memory.”
    My fingers curled around it as my eyes scanned the receipt, taking special note of the type of costume Isabella had ordered. I smiled. “Thanks.”
    â€œAnytime,” he said, bowing low. “And if you’re ever in need of a costume, please think Barry first.”
    â€œYou can count on it.” I glanced down at the paper again. A quiver of heat rushed through me, the same kind of electricity I always felt when I was about to solve a major case.

CHAPTER 6
    S tanding on the darkened street, I lit a cigarette and examined the stained-glass windows of the old rectory in front of me. The church appeared lost in the revamped city block, abandoned to the wilds of Peter Peter Pumpkin Eateries and Wish Upon a Starbucks in the gentrified part of New Never City.
    I longed for the old city of my youth, a place with a fairy dust–addicted princess selling her wares on every street corner. Now you had to walk at least two blocks for a blow job.
    I finished my smoke, scanned the street one more time, and then headed for the church. As I approached, the faint sound of bells tickled my eardrums.
    Fearing a lightning strike for being this close to a place of worship, I took a deep breath and softly brushed my knuckles against the wooden door. I stepped back and waited.
    And waited.
    Thunder rumbled in warning overhead.
    I glanced at the sky, then knocked on the door again, this time with more force. Up the street a dog barked, but still no one answered. But the tinkle of bells stopped, leaving only the crackle of electrical power and thunder circling me.
    Through the stained-glass window someone watched me. I could feel their stare. It radiated through me like a bolt of lightning. My heart sped up, sending a rush of adrenaline through my body. The ends of my hair began to dance with energy, and before I could stop it, indigo flames shot from my fingertips like a princess licking a light socket.
    With a supreme act of will, I controlled the electrical power surging through my body, squelching it with a combination of patience and deep-breathing exercises.
    The half a flask of whiskey I’d drunk earlier helped too.
    Once my tantrum subsided, I pounded on the door loud enough to wake the troll in the alley, who, by the looks of him, was sleeping off a billy goat binge. The troll rolled over, burped, and fell back to sleep. I raised my fist to knock again when the door flew open.
    â€œYes?” A woman stood in the doorway, her skin glowing in the light of hundreds of candles lining the rectory’s archway. She wore a black and white veil over her head that covered most of her face and a full-length black nun’s habit with a slim white collar.
    My gaze followed the gold chain hanging around her neck into the soft folds of her habit, where it rested between her breasts. I barely made out the outline of what looked like a cross in the forbidden valley.
    Sweat pooled in the shallow of my back.
    The nun stared at me, tapping her foot, her face growing more suspicious with every second that passed in silence. Who could blame her? This neighborhood wasn’t the nicest. And I was a blue-haired guy who looked more like a thug than a parishioner in need of the good word.
    â€œCan I help you, son?” she asked, her voice low and deep. I smiled at her use of the word son , since she looked at least five years younger than my own thirty years. Not that I could see much of her beneath the habit and veil.
    Clearing my throat, I waved inside the church. The sweet