1
Maybe my priorities were all out of whack, but the first thing I noticed when I checked my phone was that my boyfriend hadn’t texted me good morning.
The second thing I noticed was that the screen of my ancient Dandelion+ was cracked. Somewhere between the dwarvish fire-ales and the thornberry cocktails, my poor phone had suffered the consequences of my inebriation.
Then I clicked on the scarlet headline topping the news in all caps: GHOSTHAND KILLER STRIKES AGAIN IN ACIONNA HARBOR.
Like I said. Priorities. Out of whack, not that they’d ever been in whack to begin with.
The victim was no one I knew, but I still felt a shudder of sympathy for the dead Fae. Last night my selkie roommates and I had hopped all the bars at the edge of Mothwing Falls, which bordered Acionna.
We could’ve walked right past the serial killer stalking the streets of Avilion and never known it.
Ioin, my human boyfriend, had been with us. The twin selkies, Clove and Tarragon, didn’t really like him, but I’d convinced them he should be there to celebrate their collective birthday.
I frowned at my busted phone. By now, news of the Ghosthand’s tenth kill would’ve spread all over Avilion like wildfire, but…
There were none of the usual texts from Ioin. Not a good morning, a good night, or even the usual reminder to meet at the bakery before work.
Another blurry memory came back to me.
Ioin sliding a glimmering thornberry cocktail to me, but his eyes were on the nereid bartender’s lightly scaled cleavage.
A frown had creased Clove’s brow before he pulled me into some gossip about the kelpie who’d just moved into the apartment next door, and then I’d forgotten all about Ioin’s wandering eyes.
I glanced at the headline about the latest murder one last time before shutting my phone with a decisive snap and heading to the bathroom. The Ghosthand never targeted humans. Ioin was probably just sleeping off his own hangover.
There was no way I could be late. First off, my boss would kill me, and second, I needed the job.
I had only six months left on my residency visa. If I wasn’t gainfully employed when the time came, the Seelie Court wouldn’t even bother considering me for a permanent residency.
I threw the phone on my bed and plunged into the shower, scrubbing up in record time and even taking a few seconds to apply mascara around my gold-tinged brown eyes.
There. Now I looked only half-dead instead of entirely dead.
Then it was time for the emergency stash in the back of my medicine cabinet.
Our downstairs neighbor was an elderly human hedgewitch named Carabosse, but she was Mothwing Falls’ secret treasure. I’d bet my ass she could whip up a hangover cure that could top anything the royal Seelie Court healers could do.
I uncorked one of the tiny purple bottles and threw back a shot of oily liquid that tasted like violets with a hint of earthy mushroom. Within seconds the tension in my neck had faded and the headache was a distant memory.
“I’m never drinking dwarven ale again,” I muttered. “Not even for their birthdays.”
I tied my mass of wet dark curls into a high bun and went looking for my work clothes.
Well, what passed for work clothes. For the girls working at Fairy Ferry, ‘work clothes’ meant shorts so short the creases of our asses showed, and little pink shirts embossed with the swirly FF logo tied up under our breasts.
Oh, and my least favorite part. The fake, glitter-covered pixie wings. Which were nowhere to be found in my bedroom.
I jammed my feet in white sneakers and went sneaking down the hall. The twins’ door was cracked, and I peered in to see Clove sprawled across his bed, his pants only halfway off and shoes still on.
Surprisingly, there were no muscle-bound kelpies or satyrs sprawled alongside him.
The twins had somehow left a trail of destruction behind them: damp sealskins thrown in a pile on the floor, one sock draped over a lamp, an empty bottle of pixie vodka upended in a houseplant.
I found Tarragon in the living room, face down on the couch, snoring loudly, and wearing my pink pixie wings. Silver glitter had wafted off the mesh and coated his dark skin.
“Hey,” I said, groaning as I rolled him over. The selkies were all lean muscle, but they were still heavy as hell. “You’re going to stretch out the straps, you jerk.”
Tarragon cracked one sea-blue eye open and managed a lopsided smile. “But it’s my birthday.” The