Author: Kalayna Price

“Can you get a message to Falin Andrews for me?”

His face darkened. “No. Have a good night, Alexis.”

Chapter 26

“Well, PC, looks like this is our temporary home base.”

I set my purse on the floor, letting PC hop out onto the worn shag carpet that I was guessing had once been red.

“Oh, no,” a voice yelled from somewhere to my right. One of the cabinet doors under the sink opened and out stormed a little man. He wore a green suit, a pair of green suede shoes, and a small green hat. White hair escaped from under the hat on all sides. “He says take care of the girl, so I’ll take care of the girl. Wipe her snotty nose if I have to. But I will not have that”—he pointed a large wooden spoon at PC—“in my house. Won’t have it. Won’t have it!” The brownie swung the wooden spoon like a lacrosse stick, and I scooped PC off the floor before the little man managed to hurt my dog.

“You must be Osier.”

“Must be? Might be.”

I frowned at the small creature. “Okay, then who are you?”

He crossed short arms over his chest, the spoon tucked under one armpit. “I am much put out.”

Right. “Can he stay one night?”

“Hmph.”

“Just one night. We’ll leave in the morning.” I was being run out of a house by a man who didn’t even reach my knees. How sad was that?

The wooden spoon lowered, and I got a begrudging nod from the small fae. “One night only,” he said. Then he turned and marched across the kitchen, climbed back under the sink, and slammed the cabinet door shut.

“Well, it’s good to be welcomed,” I said, setting PC back on the floor.

“Heard that,” Osier’s voice cried, but thankfully he didn’t venture back out from under the sink.

I took a few moments to explore the house—and it took only a few. The rooms off the hall proved to be a master bedroom just big enough for a full-sized bed, a dresser, and a couple of lamps, and on the other side of the hall, a second, smaller bedroom that was used as storage and a dated bathroom. PC and I headed to the master bedroom, and I dropped my purse on the bed. Sleep sounded awfully tempting; after all, I had used a whole lot of magic in the last twelve or so hours. But there was still too much to do.

Digging through my purse, I pulled out the letter I’d picked up at Caleb’s house. It was a little the worse for wear after having been in the purse with PC. I flipped it over. At one point it had been sealed with crimson wax, but Caleb must have broken that when he read the letter. A small clump of crimson remained, and I frowned at the buzz of a spell locked in the dark wax. Reaching with my senses, I immediately recognized the magical signature—no surprise that it was the same as the constructs. The spell itself was a simple alarm spell meant to alert the caster when the seal was broken. So they know it’s been read. But not by me yet. I hoped it wasn’t too time sensitive.

I pulled the letter out of the envelope and unfolded the parchment. Crap. I still wasn’t actually seeing with my eyes, and what my psyche saw was badly weathered. I squinted, struggling to read the neat but small letters. A lot of staring, looking away, and moving closer to and farther from the paper was involved before I finally pieced together the message. Not that it was long.

Alex Craft,

Your friend, while useful, does not have your abilities. If you would like her returned safely to her home, come to the old bridge. Two a.m. Tonight.

There was no signature, but what did I expect, the bad guy to leave a forwarding address? I paced around the small room, PC following at my heels. “The old bridge” had to refer to the stone bridge below town. And how exactly am I supposed to get there?

My head was pounding. Probably from the mix of exhaustion, expending too much magic too many days in a row, and the frequent rushes of adrenaline that had been flooding my system. I dipped my head, burying my face in my hands as I rubbed my eyes and temples.

If I went to the bridge, I’d be walking into a trap. But what happens to Holly if I don’t? I needed some sort of backup. An edge. But what did I have? A dagger and a six-pound dog. Maybe a ghost if he popped around.

I wished I knew how to contact Falin. Not that he was likely to agree to my going to that bridge. Digging my phone out of my purse, I called Information, but, of course, Falin had no listed number. I briefly considered trying to call the local FIB branch. If anyone knew how to reach him, it would be the FIB. But, one, they probably wouldn’t give me a number even if they had one, and two, with my luck they’d figure out who was asking and trace the call. Wards that protected me from being tracked did little good if I let technology pinpoint my location.

I continued to pace. If I went to that bridge alone, there was no guarantee that whoever had Holly would release her. I had to go to the police. I called John.

He answered on the second ring. “Alex? Girl, where are you? Actually, don’t answer that. I don’t want to know. Did you know the FIB has a warrant out for your arrest?”

“Yeah. It’s . . . complicated.”

“You keep using that word. What the hell is going on? You’re working for the FIB. Then Andrews shows up, causes a scene, drags you out of the station, and an hour later I find out a warrant’s been issued.”

I cringed. John was my friend, but he was a cop first, and I knew I wasn’t instilling a lot of confidence. I could almost hear him thinking that he was going to have to report the fact that I’d contacted him. I took a deep breath. “I wasn’t ever working for the FIB, but I think I’m sort of, accidentally, involved with Falin. I had no authority to be on your crime scene.”

The line was silent a moment longer. Then a low chuckle rumbled over the phone. “Accidentally involved? Only you, Al,” he said, apparently forgiving me for the trespassing without a word. “You have broken more of my boys’ hearts after a one-night stand than I can even guess, and then you end up ‘accidentally’ dating the biggest asshole to ever walk through this place. You’re right. That’s complicated.”

By “boys” he meant cops. I had a bit of a reputation at the station, so I let John have the laugh at my expense. I knew the next thing he would say would be on a more somber note.

“So tell me what you did to piss off the FIB. It has to be more than trespassing on the crime scene. The warrant is sealed. All anyone around here knows is that you are to be detained and turned over to the FIB.”

“It’s bullshit. The reason they’re after me is tied in with the fact that I can see through glamour.” Which was true—it was just that the reason I could see through glamour was because I could peer across realities. I wasn’t going to share that detail with anyone, though, not even John. Folklore was full of stories about mortals being struck blind because they could see through glamour, so my ability to See was reason enough for John to believe the FIB would take an interest. “And, John, their timing sucks.”

I told him an abbreviated version of Holly’s kidnapping, the most recent construct attack, and the meeting at the bridge tonight. I left out the bits about independent fae getting spirited away to Faerie, the constructs being fueled by souls, and my theories involving the reaper.

“Damn,” John whispered when I finished. He and Holly weren’t terribly close friends, but as an assistant district attorney and a homicide detective, they had worked more than a few cases together.

“So what do I do?”

“You need to file a missing-person report. As there’s a ransom note, it’s clearly an abduction.” He paused. “Actually, let me take care of that. You can’t walk into a station while the FIB is looking for you.” His chair squeaked again and I could tell he was pacing. Well, so was I. After a moment he said, “The detectives in charge of missing-persons inquiries will cast a tracking spell, though I have to warn you that most kidnappers are smart enough to hide victims behind wards, so there probably won’t be a quick solution. The detectives in charge will also likely try to make contact with the kidnapper. That will probably be hard since you’re in hiding, but they will try to buy time and get the kidnapper’s demands.”

“We already know what they want.”

“Alex, you can’t go to that bridge. This isn’t a money drop that can be done quietly and hope for the best. Whoever this is wants you for her, and it’s not like you’ve had any confirmation she’s even still alive.”

My throat tightened. “She’s been gone less than a day.” “I know,” he said, and his voice had that raw sound people get when they don’t have the right words. “This is not my type of investigation. If I get handed this case, something has gone very, very wrong.”

Considering that John worked homicide, I couldn’t agree more.

We were both silent for a moment, the only sound the static buzzing as the house wards interfered with my cell signal.

“You’re going to go, aren’t you?” he finally asked.

“Yeah.”

His heavy sigh carried through the phone. “I’ll make some calls, see if I can get you some backup on that bridge at the very least. But, Al, if this goes down, I can almost guarantee the cavalry that swoops in to the rescue will also arrest you.”

I sank down onto the bed. “Yeah. I know.”

There was really nothing left to say after that. He disconnected with a promise to get back to me and a warning to be careful. I checked the time. Nine thirty. I had four hours before I needed to leave to reach the bridge at two. Well, I can always get some sleep. Rest could only help. I set my phone alarm for midnight. Then I collapsed on the bed, settling in for what I was afraid might be the last bit of rest I managed to snatch for a while.

By the time I woke, my eyes had recovered and my psychic vision had faded until the other planes were visible only as ignorable washes of color. At twelve thirty I called for a taxi. I didn’t have any more cash, but I had my bank card. It would leave an electronic trail I didn’t want, but it wasn’t like the cops didn’t know where I was headed. John had sent two text messages while I slept. The first said missing persons had no hits with the tracking spell and the second said we were set for two.