Those Who Fight Monsters: Tales of Occult Detectives

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.”

“Don’t be sorrowful,” Tolliver said. “You bested me at wits, fairly. No shame in that.”

Pete watched Rowan and Tolliver disappear down the opulent hall, no doubt bound for a place much darker and much less sympathetic to his motives.

Crowfoot gripped her arm. “You’ve done very well, Lady Caldecott. And you’ve earned a favor of the Fae. Anything you wish. Ask it.”

Pete glared at the hand, and then at Crowfoot, until he removed it. “Yeah, I’ve got a favor,” she said. “Take me the bloody hell back to the pub.”

When Pete walked back into the Lament, she saw a familiar platinum-dyed head hunched on the far stool at the bar. She practically tripped over her own feet to join him.

Pete didn’t know how she felt about condemning a man only trying to help his mother. She didn’t know how she felt about the sudden attention of the Fae.

But she did know that she’d enjoyed being a detective again. It had felt good.

She missed it.

In the morning, she’d probably end up calling her old DCI, Nigel Newell, and inquiring about positions that were open in the Major Crime Squad. But for now, at least, she was content to bask in the knowledge that she’d still got her old skillset.

Jack regarded her over a whiskey glass. “Where’ve you been, then? Missed you, luv.”

Pete signaled the publican for a glass of the same. “Trust me, Jack,” she said. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Caitlin Kittredge is a full-time writer who lives in Seattle with collections of comic books, cats and vintage pinup clothing. She’s the author of the bestselling “Nocturne City” and “Black London” urban fantasy series, and the novel The Witch’s Alphabet, a steampunk adventure for young adults. Her website is www.caitlinkittredge.com

Petunia Caldecott is a former Detective Inspector with the Metropolitan Police, London. She graduated from London City College and currently resides in Whitechapel. Jack Winter is a mage and a pain in her arse, but he sometimes makes himself useful. He hails from Manchester, England.

An Ace in the Hole: A Sazi Story by C. T. Adams & Cathy Clamp

“I said … empty your wallet.” I glared across the table at Carmine Leone and let a slow growl roll up and out of my chest. Blame the werewolf in me. When I get annoyed, my mask of humanity slips a little, even with my former employer