Det. Rosa Murray has worked dozens of undercover ops in her career. She's faced down vampires at a gala with only her high heels for a weapon, gathered intel while surrounded by werewolves on a camping trip, and even, in one memorable instance, somehow convinced a group of demons to give up the location of a stash house through months of weekly poker games.
She's good at her job. Great, even. She has stared down danger and come out swinging. They don't take on just anyone at the SNC (Supernatural Creatures, naturally) division, and she's one of their top officers.
None of this explains why she's currently fussing in front of the mirror, hands shaking a bit as she tugs on the hem of her navy blue minidress. This is certainly the skimpiest outfit she's ever gone undercover in. Frowning at her reflection in the mirror, she thinks back fondly on the hiking gear she'd lounged around in on that werewolf camping trip.
Still, she can admit that she cuts quite a figure. She's tall and fit, her flat stomach and toned arms offset by her curves - curves that are currently on fine display. Her ass and hips are causing the skin-tight skirt to ride up, and her chest is just a bit too large for the low cut top of the dress. The only thing saving her breasts from making a break for it is the thinest of halter ties around the back of her neck. She's left her long black hair unbound, trailing down her bare back in a silky sheet, and even gotten a manicure. Her nails - stiletto pointed, of course - shine sparkly gold in the dim of the apartment. There is no question that when she gets to her destination, she'll turn heads - men, women, creatures of uncertain gender. Part of that thrills her a bit. It isn't often that she gets to be the center of attention.
It isn't the dress, or the make-up, or the strappy heels that are causing a slight buzzing in her fingertips, a tightening in her gut. No, it's who she's after. Very few of the criminals she and her division go after cause this strange fission of fear and excitement. Her job has a usual pattern - get in, get the info, get out. Arguably, this job is identical to the rest.
But none of the rest of the criminals had been suspected of a gory triple homicide: three fae - shot execution style, bags over their heads in a dingy warehouse. They'd been there a few days. It had been a tough crime scene to parse through, and clearly the work of organized crime. They'd been on the tail of the fae criminal underworld for years now, always to no avail. They'd bust down a door at an apartment that was supposed to be full of cash and stolen guns, only to find a little old lady and her tiny poodle blinking at them in shock. Or storm a hotel kitchen and find a bunch of confused servers and cooks instead of the drug operation they'd been promised. Not even that age-old cliche of various laundromats and garbage disposal companies has turned anything up. The fae are crafty and capable.
This murder has given them a chance though. They'd linked the ceremonial silver bullets to one other murder - a decade old cold case. That had brought them to Edmund Finn, currently serving as boss to one of the Unseelie Family crews. The only other item at the scene had been one single hair. They needed something to match it to.
They've been staking him out for months, waiting on him to toss a coffee cup, or a cigarette butt, or even just spit on the street. But the man is nothing if not fastidious and buttoned up to an alarming degree. Getting a DNA sample has proved to be nigh impossible.
At least until they found out about the escorts he had brought to one of his clubs every weekend. An almost silent operation, in through the side entrance and back out into a waiting dark car to whisk them away. They hadn't managed to question any of the girls, but they had made inroads with the madam. Turns out, she has beef with this Finn anyway. She's more than happy to help out the force and get an officer in there, as long as they turn a blind eye to her business.
So tonight, Rose is the girl of choice. Her own half-fae background will serve her well - her height and cool beauty come from that side of the family. In the dark, her smooth skin will look as fae-perfect as any full fae. She won't set off any alarm bells in a group that prefers their escorts non-human.
And here she is - standing in front of the mirror tugging on one of her hoop earing while psyching herself up to face down a murderer.
And fuck him. That really is the sticking point. No pun intended. They need his DNA, and he's expecting an escort. The hope is that both will happen tonight.
"You're going to be late," she tells her reflection, pointing at herself. She takes one last deep breath, one last nervous swallow, and spins on her heels, stalking to the door and grabbing her purse.
The warm summer night welcomes her out onto the sidewalk. A blacked out SUV idles at the curb, a bouncer-type figure shifting from foot to foot by the back door. She looks up at the sound of Rose's heels clipping across the pavement. In the flash of moonlight, her eyes glow red - a werewolf. The wolf is boyishly handsome, with her tightly cut suit and foppish ginger hair.
"You're new," the werewolf says, narrowing her eyes at Rose.
"I am," Rose says, ending it with a nervous giggle. "Finally getting some better gigs."
"This is... this gig is something," the werewolf mutters before she opens up the door. "In."
Rose does as she's told, sliding across the rich leather upholstery. The car smells new still, and although the driver - another werewolf, based on size - has the radio on, it's low, lyricless music. It's all a bit sterile.
The other werewolf gets into the passenger seat, and they're off, streaking through dark streets. The force had put her up in a quiet rental for the evening to protect her, and the streets are deserted. They skirt the edge of town, apartment buildings and houses becoming factories and warehouses. Very few cars appear. Although Rose can't see anyone, she knows that somewhere back there, an unmarked car is trailing them. It should make her feel a little bit better, but it's not like they're going to be able to charge into the club if anything goes wrong. She's on her own.
"Water?" The woman asks from the front seat. Rose looks over at her to find her holding up one of those ritzy sparkling types in a glass bottle. "Xanax? Coke?"
Well that went from zero to sixty rather quickly.
"Do I look that nervous?" Rose asks, pitching her voice up and squeezing her arms against her sides. The woman's eyes drop to her chest before snapping back up to her face with a slight blush.
"This isn't your first time, right?" The wolf asks with a delicate cough.
"God no," Rose laughs. "Just my first time with the boss."
"Gotcha," the woman says. "You're fae, right?"
"I am," Rose says.
"That's good. He likes that. And it's... helpful."
"How so?"
"Just, you know... your fae charm and all that shit."
Fae charm her ass. The cold, intense beauty of the fair folk has never been called charming, unless someone was kidding or flattering.
The pit in her stomach grows. Rose has spent plenty of nights on surveillance, watching as scantily clad, leggy beauties walk into the club with their heads held high and then shuffle out in large coats, looking dazed with shoes in hand. That had been the one worry with this op - not her being found out, or it going wrong, but her getting hurt. The guy was a sociopathic mob boss, after all. They'd asked the madam directly, but all she'd said was that Finn had a 'voracious appetite' and that Rose would be fine.
She sure fucking hopped so. The rest of the ride passes in silence, Rose gripping her clutch like her life depends on it. In reality, the lipstick and phone inside aren't going to do shit.
The club appears like a neon beacon out of the gloom of industrial buildings between one block and the next. The outside is windowless and painted the darkest of blacks, almost vanishing into the night. A strip of blinding gold neon rings the top, ending just above the door in a cursive font - The Otherworld. Rose sure hopes she won't be going to the actual Otherworld this evening. She's got many cases and years ahead of her she'd like to get to.
They drive past the front and down an alley that Rose is extremely familiar with. She wouldn't be shocked if one of her squad-mates is currently posted on the roof of the building opposite with binoculars and a camera. She takes one final moment to compose herself before her door is being opened and she slips out into a brand new world. A slim, pale demon on the door cracks it open for her, gesturing her through, and then she's shut up in the dark of a long hallway. The whole space is painted black, broken only by a heavy gold door at the far end. As if by magic - and considering this is a fae club, most likely very much by magic - the door opens, and a voice hisses down the hallway.
"Enter."
An old demon trick - compulsion. Probably from the demon outside. Rose has been trained to resist it, but even still, it throws her for a moment, and she takes one step without realizing it. She's even more nervous than she thought. Everything in her training screams at her to ignore it, but that would be suspicious - so instead she begins the long walk down the hallway, trying to look slightly spacey in that recently-compelled way she's seen plenty of times on other people.
She stops just inside the golden doorway. The door slams shut behind her. She wants to jump, but forces herself to remain planted and placid. Her heart feels like it's beating loud enough to be heard outside her body. She knows she's breathing too fast.
