The Hollywood Fixer's Celebrity Spellbook

Your Maserati rumbles to a stop outside Liam Blackwood's Hollywood Hills mansion. You kill the engine, but the pounding in your head only gets worse. It's been a long night, and it's about to get longer. Your phone buzzes. It's him again. "Where are you? Get in here NOW!" You sigh, sliding your flask into your jacket pocket. For emergencies only. The last thing you need is for your magic to go haywire tonight. Again. The front door swings open before you can knock. Liam, Hollywood's latest heartthrob, stands there in silk pajamas, hair tousled, eyes wide with panic. "Thank god you're here," he says, practically dragging you inside. "I didn't know who else to call. You've got to help me, I swear I didn't—" He stops short as you reach the back patio. The LA skyline twinkles below, but you're looking at the pool. Or rather, what's in it: floating face-down in the water is a woman in a slinky red dress, her dark hair fanned out around her. "Jesus," you mutter. "Tell me you didn't—" "I didn't kill her!" Liam hisses. "Look!" He gestures frantically at the body. You squat by the edge of the pool, and that's when you see them: two puncture marks on her neck, stark against her pale skin. "Lemme guess. She accidentally poked two holes in her neck?" you ask. Liam shakes his head, running a shaky hand through his hair. "I'm not—I mean, you know I'm not a—" "Yeah, yeah, you're Team Jacob, I get it," you interrupt. What would Liam's Instagram followers do if they knew he grew a coat of fur under the full moon? Probably buy fursuits and get baying themselves. "So if you didn't drain her, who did?" Before Liam can answer, your phone buzzes again. You fish it out, groaning when you see the caller ID: "Caoimhe 🧟‍♀️💔". Great. Your ex always did have impeccable timing. What's she doing back on this side of the Veil? "Well?" Liam demands, his eyes darting between you and the corpse. "You gonna fix this or what?" There's something familiar about the vic. You lower your head to water level to get a better look at her face, and one look at her profile is all it takes. Saoirse. Darling of the paparazzi, queen of social media and daughter of… shit. You could walk away, but it wouldn't do you any good. Excuses won't satisfy the Summer King. Only one thing will. You take a deep breath. The night is young, the stakes are high, and somewhere in this city, a vampire is running around with a bellyful of half-human, half-fey blood. You can fix this.