Pixie Dust (Pixie Dust Chronicles 1)

I dropped the register cash into the mini vault under the bar and headed towards the back. I opened the fridge door and stopped dead in my tracks. At first, I couldn’t figure out what I was seeing. There seemed to be a big sack of garbage in the middle of the floor, with some putrid substance spilling out of it. What dumbass would put garbage in the middle of a walk in fridge? Oh, there were so many health code violations going on here it wasn’t even funny! I looked down and saw the nasty shit sticking to the bottom of my shoes. Dammit, I just got these! Somebody was going to pay for this!

I grabbed some gloves and tried picking up the bag. It was too heavy to lift, so I tried dragging it but couldn’t get a grip because of all the damn goo! I was just about to call one of the guys over to help me when something shiny caught my eye. I looked down and saw a silver name tag on the floor reflecting off the overhead lights. I bent over to pick it up and that’s when it all started making sense.

Now at eye level with the lumpy black plastic, I could see what was really sticking out of the bag. It was hair; bleached blonde hair that was now tinted a horrific shade of reddish-orange. I reached out tentatively, pulled the bag down, and confirmed my morbid suspicions. The stained hair was attached to a face, mauled beyond recognition. I glanced at the nametag still clutched in my hand. It belonged to Leslie. Oh my God, that was supposed to be Leslie? Suddenly, I heard a deafening scream. I guess it was coming from me because in the blink of an eye, Miguel was standing by my side looking at all the gore. “Call 911 Miguel!” I yelled. “Call 911!”

“Que?“ He replied. Shit, I forgot that he didn’t speak English. What’s the Spanish word for nine again? Luckily I didn’t have to remember because Hank came running too and said, “Oh shit. I think we better call the cops on this one. What do you think did that do her? Human or non-human?”

“Non-human!” I screamed. “Look at her! Her head is barely hanging onto her body and she has a gaping hole in her chest! Do you think a fucking human being would have the brute strength to do that?”

“Um, I guess not.” He replied dopily as he was dialing his cell phone. “Hello 911? Yeah, I need someone from the Las Vegas P.D. please. We got a really dead lady over here in the fridge at Pixie Dust! I’m pretty sure she was killed by something…..other. Yep, that’s the one. On The Strip, casino level. Alrighty, see you then. Thanks!”

Oh Jesus, I’m sitting here with a mutilated body accompanied by Dumb and Dumber. Kill me now please. I walked out into the main room and sank down against the gate. My brain was on a constant loop, showing me awful images of Leslie’s bloody corpse over and over again. And her eyes. Oh God, I will never forget those soulless, empty eyes. Poor, poor Leslie. I really didn’t like her much, but I sure as hell wouldn’t have wished this on her. I wouldn’t have wished this on my worst enemy.

Chapter 3

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I don’t know how much time had passed before someone grabbed my elbow. I jumped up, conjured some fairy dust, and threw it towards the gate imagining a volt similar to a stun gun. “Fuck! What the hell was that?” Some guy yelled. I looked up to see a man shaking his arm like he was drying a Polaroid. There were a few people behind him wearing black nylon jackets, stifling their laughter. Great, well at least someone could find some humor in this situation.

“Oops. Sorry.” I replied. “It was a……um, defense bolt. It just kind of slipped out. I’m a little on edge here under the circumstances. Why did you just grab me?”

He narrowed his eyes at me. “I tried getting your attention but you weren’t responding. That’s when I grabbed your arm through the gate and you shocked the shit out of me. Seriously what the hell? That wasn’t a normal defense bolt. You didn’t have time to chant the incantation. And where is your mulberry root?”

“How the hell would you know---”

“I’m a warlock.” He explained. “A very good warlock. I’m also the lead homicide investigator for preternatural cases in Clark County. My name is Detective Alexander. Look, here’s my badge.” He held a black wallet up against the gate. “It has my name on it with this little picture. See? That’s me, Vance Alexander. Now would you care to unlock the gate so my men and I can get in there? We need to figure out what happened here tonight. Unless you want to clean up the stiff in the fridge yourself?”

“Did you really just say that?” What a dick! I gave him a fierce glare telling him as much. “Seriously, how cold hearted can you be? A woman died here tonight. She died a violent, horrible death! That ‘stiff’ as you like to call her has a name you know. It’s Leslie Russo. Just in case you think that might helpful in your little investigation, Detective.”

As I lifted the gate, I noticed the men with Forensics and Coroner written on their backs were doing anything possible to escape my attention. They seemed to figure out where the kitchen was and filed back there as fast as possible trying to avoid my wrath. The detective seemed completely indifferent, making me hate him even more. It was obvious that I wasn’t needed so I just sank into a booth and resumed contemplating whether or not I needed hand lotion.

“Is there anyone else here with you?” Detective Asshole asked.

“Miguel and Hank are in the kitchen, but I’m the one who found her. They came when they heard me scream. Miguel only speaks Spanish so I hope you have a translator.”

“That won’t be a problem.” He said. “Don’t go anywhere. I’m going to interview them and I’ll be back to take your statement.” He seemed to be waiting for some sort of response but I refused to give him any. Finally he took the hint and walked away. After about twenty minutes, he was sitting across the table, looking at me expectantly. “Miss, are you ready to give your statement now?”

“Sure…. Fine….. Whatever.” I was not going to make this easy on him.

He pressed a button on a recorder and said, “Let’s start by getting your name. I’ll need you to say and spell your first and last name for me please.”

“Karli Lane. K-a-r-l-i L-a-n-e. Now what?”

“I’ll need your ID, best contact phone number, and supernatural affiliation.” He replied.

I handed him my license. “I’m a witch, although I don’t practice much. My cell phone is all I have. The number is 702-555-8974.”

He studied my ID carefully. “So, you’re turning twenty-five this year, huh?”

r /> “Yeah. So? Why do you care?”

“No reason. Just a statement of fact Ms. Lane. Now, let’s talk about what happened. Please state the events as they occurred. No detail is too small.”

“There’s not much to tell. I needed lemons. The lemons were in the fridge. I opened the door and found her like that.”

“Why did you need lemons?” He asked.

“Because I was planning to open a lemonade stand.” I snapped. When he gave me an irritated look I added, “We’re in a bar. Why do you think I needed lemons?”