The deeper we went, the clearer it became. This was the side of Whitefish that people rarely saw. People lounged on makeshift porches, smoking or drinking, their conversations quiet but their eyes tracking everything that moved. Rows and rows of small box-like, broken-down trailers were propped up on stilts.
A fairy woman with a ratty neon blue ponytail, miniskirt, and a jacket that was pinched too tight caught my attention. Her clothes weren't magicked to conceal her wings, and they were lying flat through the self-cut slits of her jacket. The faint shimmer of her wings sputtered like a dying bulb, so I knew she was running on fumes, too low on life essence.
Life essence wasn’t cheap when it came in a bottle, and even if it was concentrated, which meant a little went a long way, most average fairies couldn’t afford it. That was why they usually signed up for sex work and sipped on it that way.
A human man whistled at her.
“Cherry! How ’bout a blowjob for a couple months?!”
She didn’t even look back.
“Six months!” he yelled desperately when she kept walking. “A-a year!”
That made her pause.
“A year if you swallow, and I’m in control,” he bargained.
From my rearview mirror, I watched her lips curl into a private smile. She turned on her heels, walked straight into his trailer, and shut the door. Her wings would glow bright again tonight.
Conrad pulled up in front of a crooked trailer, and I rolled in next to him, killing the engine at the same time Zeth flung open the door.
“How do you stand this guy, Boss Rossey?” Leaning against the hood of his car, Conrad jerked his thumb toward Zeth, his nose wrinkled and his eyes rolling up into his head.
“Don’t worry about my second,” I shot back. “Worry about finding Donnie or, better yet, Jeremy.”
When we rolled in, the neighborhood buzzed with life, the hiss of cats, dogs snarling, a baby wailing, gossip spilling in hushed tones. The moment we climbed out of our cars, silence fell. Curtains twitched, shadows shifted, and eyes gleamed at us from behind the glass. No one moved. No one spoke. They left us to do whatever it was we came here to do but kept an eye so they knew what would be coming next.
Ignoring the stares, we mounted the steps of the trailer and knocked. Nothing. I tried again. Still nothing.
“Well, I gave you a chance.”
I drew back my fist, muscle and bone snapping as I shifted just my arm and swung. The door groaned then splintered in half beneath the blow. I stepped through without hesitation.
“Don’t make this harder than it has to be,” I called into the stale dark. No answer.
Walking through the threshold, I waited for a beat, trying to detect a hidden heartbeat, but there was nothing. “I’ll head back to the bedroom. You guys search the living room and kitchen for any clues as to where he’s gone.”
I didn't wait for their reply before I drifted down the narrow hall and went into the back bedroom. My first thought was that this place was a shit hole.
Sheets stiff with grime, cigarette burns dotting the carpet, a fist-sized hole punched through the closet door. A shotgun leaned against the window like a half-baked threat. The stench of repressed rage and bitter failure clung to the walls. Everything about the space reeked of a man who thought his new wolf power would be his ticket out yet had no idea what to do with it.
I understood now why someone like this would risk life and limb, willing to do anything to claw his way out of a cycle of poverty and shame.
Looking around, I grabbed a few things and threw them on the bed. When I didn’t find anything useful, I tore apart the other stuff with no luck either. No calendar, no notebook, not a scrap of intel. Just a faint trace of failure and wasted opportunity.
Yanking open his dresser drawers, I tore through his clothes, searching for even a single clue as to where they could’ve gone.Something. Please, fucking anything.
Just as I threw the last shirt over my head, a sharptinksounded. I glanced inside the drawer and found a glass syringe that had rolled into the front corner. Glass? What the hell was he doing with something like this? It wasn’t like he could get sick or die from any human illnesses. And who the hell still used glasssyringes? Every human medical facility I knew of worked with some form of plastic.
I carefully picked it up, noticing it was already used. A greenish sheen clung to the inside of the vial, which made me pause. Tilting it toward the light, I watched the tint shift and slide.
What was this tiny bit of substance in the body of the syringe? Poison, maybe? Or was this something Donnie was shooting up? Why the hell would he keep it hidden in his own home? Was this all he had left? Was that why he always seemed to need cash like Conrad said?
The questions stacked themselves higher and higher as I found myself deeper in this goose chase. Maybe Conrad would know.
Kicking my way through the mess, I headed back into the main room where everything had been turned over and ripped apart.
“I don’t really know what we’re looking for,” Conrad said, tearing into a cushion while Zeth rifled through papers on the table. “But I have to admit, I’m finding the destruction part enjoyable. I see why rage rooms are a thing.”
