The cursor blinked at me, taunting me with my lack of information.
I shut the laptop a little harder than I needed. Then I looked up. Lusa Duncan, the star reporter for Witch Watch lacked her camera-worthy smile, which never happened. Either she didn’t like what she was reporting on, or she was trying to give the piece a serious tone. It was always weird when reporters delivered bad news with a brilliant smile. I grabbed the remote and turned up the volume.
“—a new drug called Glitter. Officials are warning that reports of this particular drug just appeared on the street but is already responsible for several deaths. Citizens are warned to avoid this drug at all costs and report anyone who approaches trying to sell or give it away. While authorities won’t release any information on the alleged deaths, they say the drug is classified as extremely dangerous.” Then she did smile. “But aren’t all illegal drugs, Todd?”
The camera panned to another anchorman. “That they are, Lusa. The number at the bottom of the screen is a toll-free crime stoppers line. If you spot suspicious activities—”
I muted it again. So John, or most likely someone higher up in the NCPD, had given a press release about Glitter. That was fast. I guessed it had to be the police though—I doubted the courts wanted the name of a drug with ties back to Faerie announced on television. I hoped the announcement would prevent some deaths, but I doubted it. From my experience, people who wanted to try a drug did so. I’d raised more than a few shades of addicts. The families always wanted to know why they had to take that one last hit, go for that last high. The shades never had a satisfying answer.
My brain centered around the word addict. What was the point of a drug that killed the user? You never got repeat business. Definitely not a profitable way to do business, though I already doubted profit was a motivation. Still, what was the benefit of a killer recreational drug? Maybe it wasn’t supposed to be deadly?
Or mortals weren’t the intended users. But then why distribute it in the mortal realm?
If it wasn’t aimed at mortals, the human element of this was likely the weak point of the operation. I knew the drug was made in Faerie, but it was making its way to the mortal realm, which meant it was likely passing through the Bloom. The door was on the VIP side, but the mortals were on the tourist side. Maybe I could learn something there. Unless, of course, it is passing through some other door and being shipped into Nekros. But Icelynne was sure she’d been held in the winter court, and the winter court just happened to be the court currently tied to the door in Nekros. The simplest solution was often the correct one, so while I couldn’t discount the drug being shipped in, it was fairly safe to assume that it was passing through the Bloom.
I glanced at my clock. It was nearly four and Falin wasn’t back yet. It would be dark in a few hours, so I couldn’t legally drive if I’d be out long—I had a restricted license. For some reason people weren’t keen on drivers with deteriorating vision operating a vehicle while completely night-blind. Go figure. Besides, I’d been more or less blind when Falin had dropped me off, so my car was still parked at the hotel.
It was a little early for dinner, but I was betting Holly wouldn’t object to heading to the Bloom early today. As a mortal addicted to Faerie food, it was the only place in town she could eat, so she and Caleb ate there daily—usually multiple times a day. I’d just catch a ride with them. Decision made, I refilled PC’s bowl with kibble, and then grabbed my purse and headed downstairs to track down my housemates.
? ? ?
I leaned against the polished oak counter. I’d broken off from my roommates and headed for the tourist side of the bar. The drug was being distributed to mortals, so I hoped I’d have better luck on this side. Besides, the patrons were less intimidating.
The bartender was an unglamoured satyr, his top that of a man, his bottom half furry with cloven hooves. As far as I could tell, he was one of only three fae in the bar, well, other than me. While part of the reason I’d decided to hit up this side of the bar was the fact it boasted less fae, the bartender was still the most likely to know what happened inside the bar. Or at least, that was my hope.
So, I waited as he served mortals overpriced beer and the occasional basket of pretzels. He was here to be seen, and he was doing that. He kicked up his hooves as he walked, exaggerating the movement so no one could miss the goat half of him. It was probably great for his tips.
“What’s your poison, darling?” he asked as he stopped in front of me. He tossed his head, making his curly hair slide back to show off stubby spiraled horns.