Chapter 16

Chapter 16

A t least the Vamp worked quickly, Fey thought.

Less than two days later, in the middle of fight training with her sisters, she got a text from an unknown number. A single line.

I have your info. Meet me at the club.

No need to say who it was from, no setting up a time to meet, no hint at what he'd found.

She stared at the message, dabbing the sweat from her forehead with a towel. Across the training room, Willow let out a snarl, followed by an audible shriek as Lilith flung her to the mat.

"Plant your feet ," Lilith snapped. "How the fuck are you supposed to defend the realm if you can't even plant your feet?"

Another shriek, this time from Lilith, as Willow tackled her legs, bringing her to the ground.

"Who's that?" Joy asked, panting at Fey's side. She looked over Fey's shoulder at the message, as they both struggled to catch their breath.

"That," Fey told her with a smirk. "Is the owner of the club we visited. Alice's club."

Joy's eyebrows rose high enough that they nearly disappeared into her hairline .

"I asked for his help," Fey explained. "And it looks like he might have come through for us."

"Do you need backup?"

Fey slipped the phone back into the pocket of her exercise pants. "I'll tell you what—if I'm not home by morning, feel free to level the whole damn building, okay?"

Joy smiled. "Deal."

Snarls and swearing filled the gym as Lilith and Willow continued to wrestle, both refusing to tap out.

"And make sure those two don't kill each other while I'm gone," Fey said with a sigh. Joy just laughed.

"You Fey?"

The massive Shifter guarding the door of The Last Drop stared down at Fey when she arrived at the club. He spoke in such a low, growling voice, Fey vaguely wondered if he spent most of his time off work in his other, furrier, form. Maybe he wasn't used to speaking in something other than growls and howls.

"That's me," Fey answered, and the male grunted, moving aside, and opening the door for her. It was still early enough that the club wasn't open yet. Fey went to move past the giant male but jumped, startled when he tipped his head back and howled.

A moment later, another Wolf from inside the building howled in answer.

The Shifter grunted again. If he'd noticed her startle, he didn't show it.

"Boss is up in VIP. You need an escort?"

It was…sweet, almost.

"I'm good, big guy," Fey said, patting him on the chest and shooting him a patronizing smile. "But thanks."

The place was empty, and from the looks of it, most of the staff hadn't shown up for their shifts yet. Fey saw no sign of the handsome bartender she'd seen before and wasn't sure if what she felt was disappointed or relieved .

For the first time, Fey noticed the complete lack of windows in the club. It wasn't unusual, she supposed, since nightclubs thrived when there was barely enough light to see your hand in front of your face. But, still, it made a macabre sort of sense to her. What's the point in windows, anyway, when your owner can't be caught in the daylight?

Sure enough, just as the Wolf had promised, Alastair was seated in the empty VIP section, drinking, and watching her as she crossed the room toward him. He said nothing when she approached, just motioned her to sit down opposite him.

"I have the information you wanted," he told her as she slid into the booth.

For a moment Fey thought he might ask for something in return, some form of payment. But he only stared at her for a few moments, before reaching under the table and producing a crisp tan folder. He slid it across the desk toward her, and Fey took it, her mouth dry.

Inside there were photos—blurry, but still high enough resolution for her to make out enough detail. Photos of Alice. Alice, sitting in a booth she recognized from downstairs in the club. Alice, drinking something, staring into the distance.

Alice, speaking to a male.

"Do you recognize him?" Alastair asked, leaning forward to tap his finger next to the photo. It was hard to make out his face, but he had long dark hair, a bushy beard, and thick-rimmed glasses.

"No," Fey shook her head. She was… disappointed. As though she'd expected to recognize whoever it was, as though she'd expected it to be someone she knew.

But Alastair leaned back in his seat, nodding like it confirmed what he already knew.

"His name is Phillip," he said. "Phillip Danvers. And he's a ghost."

She glanced up at him in confusion, and he waved the word away. "A nobody," he clarified. "A nothing. He's not a regular here, so I had no reason to look out for him, but after I pulled the security cameras from that night, I sent out some feelers."

Fey nodded, and he kept going.

"He's not a drug dealer. "

Now that? That was a surprise, and it must have shown on Fey's face because Alastair shrugged.

"I know that's not what you were expecting, and I'm sorry, but he's not."

"I don't understand," Fey told him. "Alice was looking into some sort of club drug—so he's not the dealer?"

"As far as I can tell? No."

"So, what is he? A whistleblower?"

Alastair shook his head and sighed.

"As far as I can tell, Witchling, this guy is about as far from being involved in the drug trade as you can get. He's squeaky clean—and that's not something I'm used to finding when I send my hounds out to hunt down someone's secrets. He's a professor, of all fucking things, at the City University, in the Med Witch department. No ties to any gangs, no ties to the dipshits in Prey for the Crown, no ties to anything even remotely shady as far as I can tell. He's never been arrested, never had a complaint filed against him with the Crown. The guy is as clean as they come."

Fey was shaking her head. It didn't make any sense. "I don't understand. If he's clean, why was she here meeting him that night?"

Alastair considered her. "Is it possible she was seeing him?" he asked. "Romantically?"

The question immediately conjured an image of Joy. The touches that passed between her and Alice. The smiles, the secret glances. The nights spent in each other's bedrooms, close enough that Fey could hear them. "No," Fey shook her head. "No. She had someone else."

Alastair's stare was intense. "That doesn't always stop people," he said, carefully.

But Fey only laughed. "It would have stopped her. She was happy, Alastair. She was…" Fey searched for the words. "Understood. She had someone who understood her, really understood her. Someone who loved her. She didn't need anyone else."

Alastair nodded like he knew how important that was. Hell, maybe he did.

"Even if she strayed, trust me," Fey insisted. "It wouldn't have been this guy. It wouldn't have been…" She nibbled her lip. "It wouldn't have been any guy ."

Alastair's lip twitched. "She wasn't into males?"

"Can you blame her?" Fey asked, her smile sharp as a knife.

"Oh, I don't know." Alastair's eyes sparkled. "I think some of us can serve a useful purpose if we know what we're doing."

Fey rolled her eyes. She didn't want to flirt with him, not tonight.

"So…" She looked at the man in the photo, memorizing his face. He looked… so ordinary. Normal. "He's not a dealer. Not a whistleblower. What was he doing with Alice, then?"

"That's a question for you to answer."

Fey huffed, shuffling through the photos, flipping through them, looking for something, anything. She stopped on one, leaning forward over the image to look closer.

"What's this?" she asked, pointing.

"He gave her something," Alastair told her. "My cameras aren't good enough to pick up what it says, though. A stack of papers, it looks like."

Fey stared at the photo, a still image of the man, Phillip, handing a few sheets of paper to Alice. Fey flipped to the next image.

The man was leaving, and Alice wasn't watching him go. She was staring at the pages in front of her.

Shaking, Fey flipped through the remaining photos. Alice, reading. Alice closing the packet. Alice sitting there, thinking.

There was a look on her face, one almost indescribable. But Fey knew that look.

It was betrayal.

This was it. This hadn't been a waste at all. Whatever that man had given her, that was the answer to their questions. That was the reason Alice had been killed.

All they had to do was find Phillip Danvers and find out what was on those pages.

"Thank you," Fey told Alastair. "Can I keep these?"

"Of course," he said, motioning to the photos on the table with elegant fingers. "They're yours."

But she didn't move to gather them. Didn't move to put them away .

"Something tells me you're not doing this out of the kindness of your heart," Fey said, finally, her voice barely a whisper. "So, tell me, Alastair—what do you expect in payment for this information?"

She hesitated to ask. Hesitated to know what she'd give him for this, what she'd hand over willingly, happily, regardless of how she might feel afterwards.

Alastair shrugged. "I want a lot of things, Witchling. I want every drug dealer within five miles of this building dead. I want the freedom to do whatever the fuck I want, without having to answer to anyone." He looked at her, then, his eyes afire with intensity. "And I want you looking up at me with those perfect green eyes while you suck my cock."

Fey clenched her teeth together. This was it, then.

"But we don't always get what we want, do we?" He smiled, and it was almost a little sad. "So, consider this a gift. And if you need to think of this as transactional, remember I don't like trash in my club. And I'm more than happy to do my part to get rid of it. This guy might be a ghost, but if had something to do with your sister's murder, well…" He cleared his throat. "I don't need that kind of shit around here, you know?"

"No payment?" Fey asked.

"Consider us even," Alastair smiled at her. "No payment necessary."

It was… a relief, Fey realized. She gathered the photos into a pile, slipping them back into the folder.

"Thank you," she told him, again.

He smiled at her and turned back to his drink.

"Come back and see me anytime, Witchling," he said. "I don't need any payment for this, but I'll be right here if you're ever looking for some fun."