Who Needs Enemies

Having been raised by a siren, I had to wonder why the hell anyone would be willing live with one. As much as I loved my mother, I’d realized at a very early age that a siren’s song and heady sex did not equate to happy, long term relationships—if only because very few sirens were willing to give up their song for the love of just one man.



“So you didn’t find him?” I asked.



Another shrug. “Your lot can be rather closed mouthed when they want to be.”



That they could, especially when it came to outsiders—of which I was one, these days.



“You chasing down a possible runner doesn’t exactly explain why trolls were set onto you.” I hesitated, frowning. “Did they say anything? Want anything?”



Lyle gingerly scratched his chin. “Yeah, they kept saying ‘da photos, man’ like I knew what they were talking about.”



“So have you taken photos lately?” Maggie asked, before I could.



“No. Well, not case related, anyway. I did take some a few days ago at a niece’s birthday party.”



And that was his first lie—a thought confirmed by the sudden evasiveness of his sapphire gaze. I glanced thoughtfully at Maggie, who was as lovely a person as you could ever get, but who couldn’t keep a secret to save a life. Whatever had gotten Lyle beaten up, he wasn’t about to mention it with her in the room.



“Maybe it has something to do with the niece,” she commented.



Lyle snorted. “Trolls have better sense than to take a job that has anything to do with a Phillecky child.”



Because full-blooded Elven children were rare and precious things. Us half-breeds were even rarer, but they preferred for us to be neither seen nor heard. Lyle was the only Elven family member I had contact with, and only because he was also an outcast. I guess in his eyes, an unwanted member of the family was better than no family.



A doorbell chimed in the other room. Maggie glanced at her watch, then cursed softly and rose. “That’ll be Jamie Green. The old bastard is always here early on Saturdays to get his pipe weed.”



“You’re selling tobacco these days?” Lyle said, eyebrow raised. “I thought you witches were against it?”



Maggie swatted his knee. “I said pipe weed, you old fool. Need your ears cleaned out, do you?”



“No, but I didn’t know there was a damn difference.”



Neither had I, but I didn’t bother saying so.



“The difference, elf, is the fact that Jamie is a manic depressive. The weed is a special blend that helps him maintain the status quo.”



“Oh.”



“For such bright people, you elves know jack-shit.” She turned and began to walk out.



“Maggie,” I said. “Haven’t you forgotten something?”



She turned, one bushy brow raised in query. “I haven’t got time for games, girl. Spit it out.”



I tapped my nose. She gasped and rushed to the fridge. After pulling out a tray of what looked like hairy black peas, she carefully selected one and pressed it on.



“There,” she said, putting the tray back. “How does that look?”



The wart now sitting on the end of her sharp nose looked bigger, blacker, and definitely more hairy than it had in the tray. I grinned. “You are the perfect image of an old hag.”



“You always say the nicest things.” She patted my arm briefly then walked out.



I finished the rest of my coffee, then placed it down on the counter and crossed my arms. “So, uncle dearest, how about you tell me the truth?”



Lyle raised a dark eyebrow. “What makes you think I wasn’t?”



“Because you couldn’t lie straight in bed, old man.”



He raised his eyebrows, amusement lurking about his battered lips. “A trait not usually associated with lawyers, I admit.”



“Which is why you're such a damn good lawyer. You’re shockingly honest.” I hesitated, then added dryly, “At least when it comes to dealing with the law, anyway.”



He chuckled softly. “Ah Harriet, it’s a shame there aren’t more like you in the Phillecky clan.”



If I’d been in the Phillecky clan, I’d probably be married off to some nasty old fart by now. Arranged marriages were the norm, even in this day and age. “What were the trolls after?”



“Photos. Just not of the niece.”



“Then who?”



“That I’m not sure about. When I was hunting for Turner, I happened upon a government car parked within the siren zone. The number plates had been smeared with mud so they couldn’t be read easily, and the windows were tinted, so I couldn’t see who was inside.”



I frowned. “Then how did you know it was an official vehicle?”



“The driver happened to be leaning against the bonnet, having a ciggy. He was wearing the official grays.”



A government car in a siren zone—that was a photo more than a few newspaper editors would be happy to get their hands on. Sirens might be an accepted part of society these days, but they were, after all, still prostitutes. No government official who valued his career could afford to be caught visiting one. “And have these photos got anything to do with you wanting to meet with me in that goddamn awful alley?”



He nodded. “I needed someone I can trust to develop them for me.”



“Lyle, you’ve got a digital camera. All you have to do is take out the card and shove it in the nearest computer. It’s not hard.”



He waved a hand. “You know I suck at that sort of stuff.”



I did, but I still kept hoping that one of these days he’d step into the digital age—although that could be said about most of the elder elves. “If the trolls were after the memory card, someone pretty special must have been in that car.”



“Yeah, that’s what I figured.” He crossed one leg over the other and began taking off his shoe.



“If the trolls didn’t get the camera’s card, where the hell is it? They would have done a thorough search, I presume.”



“But not thorough enough.” He pulled off his sock and peeled a small black object from the arch of his foot. “We both know it would take a brave soul to venture anywhere near my feet.”



Wasn’t that the truth. I could smell them from here, and it was turning me off the thought of more coffee. I took the offered card somewhat gingerly—not because there was any danger of damaging it, but because it had a definite sweaty foot odor.



“That isn’t the reason I wanted to meet you this morning, though,” he said, thankfully containing the smell with his sock and shoe again.



I tucked the card into a pocket. “It isn’t?”



He shook his head and leaned back. Just for a moment, exhaustion deepened the crevices in his face, and it made him looked both older and gaunter. “Are you and Ceri busy right now?”



Ceri—which was short for Cerite—Wells wasn’t only a retired cop and a good friend, but now my partner in Sui Generis, our fledgling PI agency. “I’d love to say yes, but the only thing we have on the books at the moment is gathering evidence against a cheating husband.”



Lyle sniffed—a disparaging sound if I ever heard one. But then, Elven society had a more open view of marriage vows, which tended to be made for political reasons rather than emotional ones. “Then you can accept a job from me?”



We’d accept a job from Satan himself if it meant being able to pay the overheads, but surprise still slithered through me. He’d asked for my help a number of times over the years, but this was the first time he’d asked for Ceri to be involved. Ceri was basically human—and while Lyle might be an Elven outcast, he still held Elven views when it came to allowing humanity any sort of insight into Elven society. “Why do you want her involved?”



“She’s an ex-cop. She has contacts you haven’t, and they may come in handy.”



Ever the pragmatist. “You want it to be official or off the books?”



“Off the books, cash in hand. I can’t risk anyone uncovering what I’m doing.”



Which explained the early morning meeting location that had almost gotten him killed. “That’s not a problem.”



He nodded. “That car I photographed was parked outside a friend’s place. She was reported missing two days ago.”



I raised an eyebrow. If the slight crack in his voice was anything to go by, the siren had been more than a friend. Which was unusual, to say the least. Elves were generally immune to the call of a siren—and to such a degree that most were physically sickened by the mere thought of coupling with one. But there were occasions when the song was stronger than revulsion—my presence in this world was proof enough of that.



“So you think the attack on you, and the siren’s sudden absence, are connected?”



“Well, it’s a bit suspicious that both happen not long after I spot the government car at her place, isn’t it?”



It was. I studied my uncle for several minutes, seeing the anxiety in his bright eyes. Seeing the shadows and truths not yet spoken. “I take it you want us to track her down?”



“Yes. I can’t risk doing it myself at the moment. Adelia’s having me followed. She wants a divorce and is looking for a reason.”



And the fact they hadn’t lived together for thirty years wouldn’t give her that reason—at least when it came to the Elven council, who still officiated in such matters. But Lyle having an affair with a siren would not only provide that justification, it would also bring shame onto the Phillecky name. And hell, they’d only just recovered from the embarrassment of my existence.



“When do you want us to start?”



“Now.” Lyle dug into his coat pocket. “Here’s the address. The cops had a brief squiz, but I’d like you to have a look too.”



I glanced at the address and realized it wasn’t actually that far from where I’d grown up. “I’m not likely to uncover anything the cops haven’t.”