Danny? You there?” My voice echoed, empty.

I halted at the top of the stairs, wiping damp palms on my skirt. Nearly noon. Normally even Danny was up by now. But I’d found the door handle ripped off, the lock broken, and now I couldn’t see anyone.

The spriggan’s workshop lay deserted. A single bulb burned over the glass counter, dust motes circling. Ashley’s half-mended cracks glittered under sticky tape in a stray ray of sun. A fly buzzed, solitary. Cruel moisture laced the air, prickling my wing membranes with a strange sad smell of loss.

I edged inside, nervousness trickling in my bowels. Shelves loomed, lined with boxes and layered with dust, broken jars and metal fragments, and tangles of wire. The usual. But wrongness prickled my spine like nagging teeth. Something out of place. Something odd.

My flip-flops crunched on broken glass, sharp edges pressing the soles of my feet. “Danny, it’s me. Appolonnia. I wanna talk to you about that round thing you got from us.”

No answer. Maybe at the markets today. His cousin Ben had a stall there, selling dodgy phones and thief tech. But that didn’t explain the broken door.

I delved farther into the gloom, shoving boxes aside with my foot. Dust smeared the counter’s edge, like someone swiped it clear with a shirtsleeve. More flies buzzed, and I caught my first whiff of blood.

Nausea twinged, and I teetered forward on furtive wings to peer over the counter.
A bent red toe, poking out on the floor.

I swallowed. Toe, attached to crusted foot, attached to spriggan leg, and on the carpet an oily green splash of blood.

Glass tinkled behind me. I whirled, my pulse scuttling for cover. No one. Just a mouse, and the drone of flies.

Cold water slicked my palms, and my wings jerked nervously. I wanted to dive out of here, but if I didn’t find that mirror, I was screwed.

Let him just be hungover, or stoned on too much dodgy weed.
I know he isn’t. But please.

I sidled around the counter. My chin jerked stiffly, reluctant to drop and let me see. I forced my gaze downward, the breath squeezing from my throat.

Ugh. Sticky pool of blood. Red spriggan in Batman boxer shorts, cartoons that read BAM! and BIF! and ZOT! Ragged hole in his throat, eyes wide and vacant. Limbs twisted rigid, muddy green stain on his chest still sticky.

My nose fizzed hot, and tears misted my vision blue. Worse than I’d hoped. Better than I’d feared. At least they hadn’t torn his hair out or ripped his claws off or cracked his toes apart one by one just for fun. They’d just slashed his throat, and he’d bled to death on stinking carpet like an insect.

My throat ached. Poor Danny. I squatted and fingered his eyelids closed one by one, masking his dulled black eyes. I hadn’t known him well. I didn’t buy him drinks or hang out with him or call him my friend. But anger and sorrow still squeezed tight around my heart. Rotten fae-murdering pricks.

I fisted my eyes to dry them. Coulda been rival gangsters, of course. Some Parente moron with a grudge. Danny’s attitude pissed people off far and wide, and anyone who collected the sort of money Danny handled from day to day made themselves a target.

All of which made no never mind to the vicious asshole who owned Danny, the ubiquitous Peter London. If his self-righteous goons showed up and saw me here, my sweet fairy butt would be chewing gum.

And I still hadn’t found the mirror. Here’s hoping whoever killed Danny hadn’t taken it.
Urgency wriggled, slick with slimy guilt. This was all my fault. If I hadn’t brought the squidgy here, Danny might still live.

I straightened, determined, my teary eyes still stinging. Yeah. And if I’d never been born, custard companies would be poorer. There was nothing I could do now except find the damn mirror and get out before Peter realised Danny wasn’t answering his phone and sent Cousin Erik here to stuff my wings down my throat.

I dragged my gaze from Danny’s pitiful corpse and surveyed the shadowy shelves with a shaky sigh. “Come out, squidgy, wherever you are. I won’t hurt you.”

But for once, when I needed so much to hear its nasty voice, the horrid metal thing was silent.
My vertebrae crackled, nerves pulling my muscles out of whack. Typical. Guess I’ll hafta look on my own.

I flexed uneasy wings and knelt on the carpet beside the dark green slime of spriggan lifeblood to sort through the mess.

Notes

This is for the baby bat with the Brendon Urie gif...mmmmm, Brendon Urie's forehead..!

Hope you enjoyed this one and sorry for the wait on updates. Its a bit crazy atm. I will try and update for you within the next week or so. Sound good??

Anyway
Stay weird Baby Bats
- Grimm ;)


Bye bye danny....


(Did i do a bad thing??? Sorry...not really)