Curses! Read online

  I didn’t have to say it twice. Asia disappeared down the hallway, leaving me staring after her. While my morning improved upon her arrival, I still felt the niggling fear that she wasn’t what she appeared. Not that I minded her appearance in the least. Literally. Spending time with a not-so-ugly stepsister in red leather beat the hell out of languishing away in my apartment.

  Stumbling from my bed, I headed for the shower. The cold water did wonders for my chemically induced hangover, as well as my overheated libido.

  Once I was squeaky clean, I tossed on a black “Your Lair or Mine?” T-shirt and a pair of faded Levi’s. I even took a moment to run a comb through my shaggy black hair. It paid to impress the client. Halfway presentable, I headed toward the distinctive scent of beautiful woman and coffee grounds.

  Asia stood in my bare kitchen with my World’s Greatest V (the dishwasher had erased the rest of the word “villain”) coffee mug in her hand and a skillet of scrambled eggs cooking on the stovetop.

  “My refrigerator had eggs in it?” I frowned, trying to remember the last time I went to the corner Fey grocer. A month at least, and that trip, I only bought a pack of Trojans. Fairy-dusted for her comfort.

  Asia shook her head. A few stray ends of hair danced across her cheek. A hundred fantasies, all involving her royal ugliness, flickered through my head. Each one dirtier than the next. Most illegal in the Southern Fairy States.

  “No eggs,” she said.

  “What?” My eyes narrowed. None of my fantasies involved eggs, well, not the edible kind, to be sure.

  “You didn’t have any eggs,” she repeated.

  “So what’s that?” I pointed to the yellowish scrambled substance bubbling inside the pan. It smelled like eggs. Looked like eggs. Therefore, given my talents of deduction, it was in fact eggs. Yet I’d been fooled before. Mostly by my bitch of an ex-wife. The very woman responsible for my current cursed state.

  Asia grinned, crooking her finger in my direction. I leaned in close enough to hear her whisper, “Do you really want to know what’s in the pan?”

  “Nope.”

  “Smart man.” She winked, filled a plate with an egglike substance, and handed it to me. I grabbed a fork from the drawer and dug in. It tasted like eggs too—buttery, light and fluffy. I couldn’t remember the last time a woman cooked for me. Hell, even my mum had ordered take-out.

  I took a second bite. Warm. Tasty. Needed a little salt. “Ow!” I pulled a piece of concrete from my mouth. “What the hell’s that?”

  Asia wrapped her fingers around mine, eyed the offending bit of gravel, and smirked. “Looks like a piece of brick.” She shrugged and tossed the debris into my sink. It smacked the stainless steel with a ping.

  “Brick?”

  Before she could answer, sirens echoed from the street below. I gazed out the kitchen window. A crowd had gathered. Fairy godmothers, rats in hats, and a little boy dressed in blue stood on the sidewalk, eyes wide as they took in the scene in front of them.

  A man in a rumpled suit stood behind a string of yellow crime scene tape. He stooped down and picked up a goo-covered brick that lay next to an egg-shaped chalk outline. The cop’s eyes darted from the front porch of my walk-up to the brick in his hand. Another cop nodded to my window. I jumped back and glared at Asia.

  Her lips trembled and tears rolled down her pale cheeks. After a few seconds, her tears dried and she crossed her arms across her chest. She mumbled, “I was hungry.”

  “While you were getting dressed,” her drawn-out sigh reverberated around the room, “I noticed this egg just sitting on the brick wall outside. He looked so sad.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And I was so very hungry.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “So when I saw him fall, I immediately ran to help him up, but I was too late.” She shook her head, glancing up from lowered lashes. “All the king’s horses and the king’s men couldn’t have saved him.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Poor little egg.” A tear glistened in the corner of her eye. “I’m sure it was suicide. He had nothing left to live for.”

  “Fair enough.” I dropped my plate of Humpty Dumpty into the sink and grabbed her arm. “But, sweetheart, in Easter Village eggicide gets you twenty to life.”

  “Oh.” She eyed the evidence in her hand. “Maybe we should go.”

  “You think?”

  She sighed, grabbed a fork from the counter, and gobbled down the rest of Humpty as if it was her last meal. When she finished, we left my apartment through the back door, arm in arm, partners in a deviled deed.

  Chapter 4

  “Nice ride,” I said, motioning around Asia’s Ford half-pumpkin, half-chariot hybrid. While the interior smelled like Thanksgiving Day throw-up, the vehicle handled like a dream and was surprisingly roomy. Asia shifted gears like a NASCAR driver, twisting in and out of the early-morning traffic.

  “Thanks,” Asia said. “Cindi wanted me to have it.”

  Cindi, as in the famed Cinderella, I deduced. Already I played the part of a PI, or rather a dick. Give me a couple more days and I’d unmask Cinderella’s killer.

  But anyone who knew my villainous past would ask: Why?

  The answer was surprisingly simple and seated next to me—one egg-murdering princess. I wasn’t planning our fairytale wedding yet, but I wouldn’t mind finding out if not-so-ugly girls really did work that much harder in bed. If I solved her sister’s killing, Asia would reward me, hopefully until I was limp and putty in her hands.

  And if not, I’d kidnap her, lock her in a tower, and force her to weave knock-off Gucci handbags for the rest of her days. Because that’s what villains did, and I, current mental health leave aside, was one hell of a villain. I’d crushed princes, made my share of maidens cry, and even stolen a golden goose or two.

  I smiled, eased my seat back, and closed my eyes as Asia drove us through a snarl of commuter traffic to the heart of New Never City. Next to me, she hummed a familiar song.

  But I couldn’t place it.

  Oh well, it will come to me, I thought as I closed my eyes.

  A few minutes later Asia shook me awake. “Get up.”

  I opened one eye and snarled. The afternoon sun blinded me, searing my innocent eyeball. During my brief cat-and-a-fiddle nap, my legs had cramped up under the dashboard, twisting me into a villainous pretzel without the salty parts. No rest for the recently-cursed-used-to-be-wicked.

  Yawning, I peeled open my other eye and glanced around at the city in front of me. It was a beautiful sight. Skyscrapers and exhaust filled the sky. Pigeons dressed in pink dive-bombed passing tourists waiting in line at the falafel stand. Buses and cars sped past, as did the Pied Piper and a string of felt hat-wearing rats, coffee cups and the early edition of the New Never News, New Never City’s number one source of news, gripped tightly in their tiny, manicured paws. Shiny windows reflected the scene like a warped version of reality TV.

  “We’re here.” Asia exited the Ford Pumpkin.

  Here was Fairy-Second Street, the place where another chalk outline lay on the exhaust-stained blacktop. This one, however, told the story of Cinderella’s final moments.

  I followed Asia from the compact and scanned the crime scene. In death Cinderella appeared much smaller, her chalk outline merely a speck on a busy city street. For some unexplainable reason wetness gathered at the corners of my eyes. I wiped a tear away.

  “Spice.” A guy in a dark rumpled suit joined us on the sidewalk. He looked as worn as his clothes and just as outdated. Like a member of an eighties hair band once male-pattern baldness settled in.

  “Spice?” I tilted my head, noting every detail about the man from his sagging jowls to his overly big nose. No wonder Asia needed me, if this was the best the New Never City PD had to offer. I mean, really, we stood in the middle of a crime scene discussing recipes, for fuck sakes.

  “The reason your eyes are tearing up.” The cop nodded to my salt-smeared cheeks. “Sugar, spice, and e
verything nice. Half a city block got coated in the stuff when the bus ... well, you know.” He waved a tobacco-discolored hand in the direction of the chalk outline.

  I must’ve continued to look confused because Asia came up to stand next to me, her hand on my arm. “Sugar, spice, and everything nice. That’s what little girls are made of.” She shrugged. “And it tastes pretty good on toast too.”

  “I see,” I said but really didn’t. The chicks I knew weren’t crafted from anything nice, let alone sugary sweet. I glanced at Asia. “What was Cinderella doing in New Never City? I thought she and Charming were to be married in two weeks.”

  “She was here to see me,” Asia said. “I left home a month ago, for a ... job ... in the city.” I noted her pause, but decided not to press her. Not yet. Asia continued, “On Monday, Cindi called me. She said she had something important to tell me. Something she couldn’t tell me over the phone. We agreed to meet for lunch. But Cindi never showed. I waited and waited at the Quite Contrary Buffet ...” Her lips dipped into a frown. “Until the owners tossed me out. All you can eat, my ass.”

  “So you never saw her?” I frowned, not sure if I believed her. Instead of Asia taking offense at my tone, the cop did.

  He stuck out his chest and tucked his fat arms under his armpits. “This here’s an official accidental death investigation,” he said. “Just who the heck do you think you are, asking these questions?”

  I grinned, ready and willing to go mano-a-villain with the good detective. In fact, I wanted nothing more. Cops rubbed me the wrong way, sort of like a brand-new shirt made by Geppetto himself. “Why don’t you guess?” I waggled my eyebrows. “Come on, I dare you. Guess my name.”

  The detective stepped closer, invading my personal space. I exhaled deeply, wanting to hurt him, to punch him in his bulbous nose and spit on his scuffed shoes, but thanks to the union, my Humpty breath would have to do. I blew another burst of fetid egg breath in his direction.

  His nose scrunched up, but he didn’t drop dead as I had hoped. Instead, he jabbed me in the chest. “Let’s see some ID.”

  “Stop it.” Asia pushed herself between the cop and me. She grabbed his arm and held on. “Please. I requested his help to investigate my sister’s death.”

  “Stepsister,” the cop said.

  Asia rolled her eyes. “Yes, stepsister.”

  The detective frowned and pulled Asia to the side. In a stage whisper, he said, “Who the hell is he? He looks like a bum.”

  I tried to look offended. It worked for a half of a second, but then my gaze fell on the chalk outline on the cement and I forgot everything else. Something about the outline bothered me. I peered closer.

  “He’s not a bum,” Asia said in a near whisper of her own. “He’s the most famous inspector in all the land.”

  For a second the detective looked as if he didn’t believe her, his eyes narrowed and he frowned. Not unimaginable, since I wasn’t buying it either.

  Asia stomped her foot. “Inspector Holmes of Fairy Yard is responsible for catching some of the most dangerous criminals of our time. He busted that trespassing bitch Goldilocks, and Little Pigs #1 and #2 for shoddy home construction. He’s caught every villain he’s ever been after.”

  Damn! Asia wasn’t looking for me, RJ, master villain, when she magically appeared in my apartment yesterday, but rather, the famed Inspector Holmes. The same inspector who had resided in my apartment before me. The very same famed inspector currently stuffed into my chimney.

  I shook my head. He wasn’t that great a detective. After all, I’d managed to cram him in the fireplace, and it took me less than five minutes. Three minutes of that I spent playing inspector origami, a fold here, a tuck there, and voilà, a crane-shaped detective. Oh well, if Asia wanted a Fairy Yard Inspector, that’s what I’d damn well be.

  “He doesn’t look like an inspector,” the detective was saying. “In fact,” he squinted in my direction, “he looks like a villain to me.”

  “He’s undercover,” Asia said.

  The cop raised an eyebrow. “Is that true?”

  “If Asia says so.” I grinned. “So tell me what happened. How’d a pretty princess wind up smashed under the crosstown bus?”

  The detective grimaced, but did as I asked. “An eyewitness swears Cinderella just stepped in front of the bus. The driver tried to stop, but ...” He waved to the chalked street. “It was too late. We see it all the time around here. A small-town hick princess comes to the big, bad city. She takes one wrong step, and kablam, she’s roadkill.” Asia winced, and the detective added, “No offense, ma’am.”

  “And the bird?” I asked.

  “Bird?”

  “Yeah.” I pointed to the ground and the tiny bird droppings on the sidewalk. “A bluebird, by the look of it.”

  The detective frowned, but stooped down to examine the birdy-doo. Asia peered over my shoulder and down at the fecal matter. “How do you know it’s a bluebird?”

  “How do you know it wasn’t?” I winked at her and waited for the detective to rise from his crouched position. When he did, the look on his face suggested my deduction was dead-on. Hell, this investigation stuff wasn’t so hard. Maybe when I retired from a life of villainy I’d take it up. That and knitting. I loved a good cross-stitch.

  “What do you think the bluebird means?” Asia gazed at me expectantly. Her lips were parted, her eyes alight. How I wanted to snatch her up and carry her to the nearest tower. She was so beautiful standing in the middle of midtown, the sun reflecting off her auburn hair. “Ummm ...” She snapped her fingers in front of my face. “The bluebird?”

  “Right. Two things.” I held up my index finger and paused for dramatic emphasis. A pause that neither Asia nor the detective seemed to appreciate. “I’m a damn good detective.” I held up a second finger. “And Asia’s right, Cinderella was murdered.”

  Chapter 5

  Asia gasped, but the detective just raised an eyebrow. Everyone’s a critic. I motioned to him and waited. His accusations weren’t long in coming.

  “Now wait a damn minute,” he sputtered. “How does a bluebird equal murder? You’re insane. We have eyewitnesses who saw the whole thing. Cinderella stepped off the curb. Nobody pushed her.”

  I shrugged. “You’re right. She wasn’t pushed. The bluebird distracted her, and she, being a princess,” I glanced over at Asia with an apologetic smile, “followed the bird into the street. It’s a typical villain ploy.”

  “A villain did this?” Asia’s hand flew to her throat. “But why? How?”

  I winced, unsure what villainous codes I violated by repeating the age-old “trick a stupid princess into the street” ploy. But since she had asked, I had no choice but to tell her. Everything. Damn it. “It’s simple, really. Princesses cannot resist bluebirds. It’s a widely known fact.” I looked to Asia for agreement. She nodded, and I continued. “So a villain buys and trains a bluebird, and voilà, the princess steps into the street.”

  “But how do you know she didn’t just follow some random bluebird into the path of the bus?” The detective scratched his whiskered chin like a chimp. “How can you know for sure it was murder?”

  I raised an eyebrow. “What month is it?”

  Asia answered for him. “October.”

  “What’s that got to do with anything?” the detective said.

  I raised my finger to my mouth, licked it, and held it up to the cool afternoon air like I’d seen the fake thick-mustached PI, Belle, and her effeminate boyfriend, the Beast, do on TV.

  What can I say? I’m a product of the television generation. Plus, villains had a lot of downtime, and TV reruns helped us pass the time while recovering from broken limbs, busted facial bones, and the occasional hernia. Villainy wasn’t anything like they promised in the recruitment brochures.

  Asia looked at me and then at my finger, which was still hovering in the air. “Well?”

  “What?” I frowned. “Oh, right. Cinderella’s murder. In answer to the de
tective’s question, bluebirds, like their blue-winged counterpart, the peacock, leave New Never City for the outer kingdoms at the first hint of fall. Usually sometime around September first.”

  The detective stared at me, his wide mouth open big enough to catch fairies. “So it’s true. A villain murdered the sweet princess.”

  “No.”

  “What?!” The detective wagged his fist at me. “You just said so.”

  “No, I didn’t.” I turned to face Asia and whispered loud enough for the detective to hear. “Someone should IQ test these guys before giving ’em a badge.”

  Asia bit her lip. “In all fairness, you did imply a villain was responsible for Cinderella’s misfortune.”

  “Oh, all right. I’ll spell it out for him.” I faced the detective and smiled before explaining, very slowly, in short sentences. “Cinderella’s killer wasn’t a villain. But he is a ... jerk. One who wants to smear the bad name of villains everywhere.”

  “I get it.” Asia nodded when I finished. “A villain would’ve boasted of his dirty deed, not tried to pass it off as an accident. So if it wasn’t a villain, who was it?”

  “I don’t know.” My eyes roamed over her face, sliding lower, cupping the curves of her body. When my gaze reached the glob of dried egg yolk on the strap of her gold slipper, my eyes lifted to hers. Her irises sparkled with hidden, dark knowledge, and a shiver ran up my spine. “Why don’t you tell me?”

  Her hand fluttered to her ample chest. “What? You think that I had something to do with my sister’s death?”

  “Step—” I started to correct her.

  “How dare you!” She spun on her heel, and then must’ve thought better of it, because she turned back to face me. Tears welled in her eyes. She wiped them away with the back of her hand. But when she spoke, her voice lacked any emotion. “If I killed Cindi, why would I ask for your help?”

  Good question. One I didn’t have the answer for just yet, but I suspected I’d find out soon enough.

  An hour later, I shoved the last of my clean T-shirts into a duffel bag and tossed the bag over my shoulder. Asia stood highlighted in my apartment doorway, her eyes shifting up and down the hallway. Probably waiting for the egg cops to show up and arrest her.