“Believe it or not, you and I want the same things. I haven’t met your wife or your kids, but I want to find them. I want them to be safe.”

  “Her parents hate me.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “They seem to. But what do you expect? You’re a gringo, and you married their baby. She goes by Gracie instead of Engracia—”

  “That was her choice. Hell, I wouldn’t have minded if she had wanted to go by Trejo instead of Davett. It was all her.”

  “I believe you. But they never will. Especially if you keep hurting her.”

  I knew as soon as I said it that I’d made a mistake. But guys who hit women piss me off. Always have, from even before I joined the force.

  Neil shut down on me, clenching his jaw, murder in his eyes. I half expected him to fire another spell at me.

  “When did you see her last?” I asked again.

  “Go to hell.”

  I probably should have seen that coming.

  “Fine.” I holstered my weapon and dropped his blade where I stood. “I’m leaving now,” I said, backing toward the Z-ster, my eyes fixed on his face. “You can try to follow me, but with that flat you’re going to ding up the wheel rim. Don’t get in my way again; next time we meet, I won’t be so easy on you.”

  I opened the car door and started to ease into the driver’s seat.

  “It’s been almost two weeks,” he said. “It’ll be two this coming Sunday.”

  I stopped, straightened once more, one arm resting on the roof of the car.

  “Where did you see her?”

  “A park near my house. I had the kids for the weekend; she was picking them up.”

  “Was there anything unusual about her behavior, or maybe about things the kids said while you had them? Anything at all that might explain her disappearance?”

  He shook his head. “She was distant, but that’s been the case for a while. And the kids . . .” His gaze slid away. “Do you have kids?”

  “No.”

  “Then you wouldn’t understand. I wasn’t watching for signs, I wasn’t trying to read every gesture or guess the hidden meaning behind every word. I had them with me, and that was enough. I was trying to soak up the time. Enjoy them, you know?”

  “When are you supposed to have the kids again?”

  “I’m supposed to have them every weekend. Those are the terms of the separation agreement. She was supposed to call last Friday to arrange the drop-off. She didn’t, and I never heard from her. I went by her parents’ house, just to see that they were okay. I saw them in the yard, so I drove off. I didn’t want to start a fight. I wanted to see my kids, that’s all. But when she didn’t call again today I got mad. I went by the hospital where she works, and she wasn’t there. I started feeling scared, worrying that they were in trouble . . . So I went to the kids’ school. They hadn’t been in, either. By then I was really scared. That’s when I started trying to track her down.”

  “You were following her parents. You found me through them.”

  He faltered, then shrugged. “I didn’t know what else to do. The phasing is coming up, and I want them with me for that. It’s safer.”

  I frowned. “You and Gracie are both weremystes, both subject to the phasing. Why should the kids be any safer with you?”

  Neil’s gaze flitted away, giving me the impression that he wished he’d kept that last remark to himself.

  “Unless,” I said, “you’re using blood magic to protect yourself from the moon.”

  “I want my kids back,” he said, refusing now to look my way. “And my wife. I miss my family. That’s the only thing that matters to me.”

  One of the insidious things about abusive relationships was that abuse and love could exist side by side. The love was twisted by violence and a desperate, almost pathological need to control, but it was there nevertheless. Neil sounded like a guy who loved and missed his wife and kids, and wanted them in his life. I could even believe that his concern for their well-being was sincere. But that didn’t mean the abuse wouldn’t start up again as soon as he and Gracie were back together.

  I didn’t know what to say to him. A part of me felt sorry for the guy; another part of me wanted to kick the crap out of him. Once we started attacking each other with magic, he’d been quick to go for his knife. I thought about my conversation with Namid earlier in the evening. It seemed that Neil was used to using blood in his spells, which told me that he had more than a passing familiarity with dark magic.

  “I have every intention of finding them,” I told him, feeling that I ought to say something. “And I’ll do whatever I have to to keep them safe.”

  He nodded.

  I got in the car and drove away, watching Neil in my mirrors to make sure he didn’t do anything foolish. Once I had turned off that small lane, I made my way to the highway and headed back to Billie’s.

  The house was dark when I got there. I parked out front, alarm bells going off in my head. I had my Glock in hand before I was out of the car. I opened the screen door and found that the front door was still unlocked. I turned the knob and then pushed the door open with my foot, both hands on my weapon.

  Billie lay curled on the couch, a blanket around her shoulders. I could see that she was breathing. A candle sat in a shallow bowl on the coffee table beside her, cool wax pooled around its base. Everything else seemed to be in order. I started to holster my weapon.

  A faint rustling, made me whirl, the pistol raised to fire, my heart in my throat.

  I froze.

  A small owl sat on the top shelf of her bookcase, yellow eyes gleaming in the dim light cast by the moon and the streetlights. Gray and black streaking, small tufts on its head similar to those of a Great-Horned Owl. I knew it right away for a Screech Owl. But what was it doing in here?

  I chanced a quick scan of the room and saw that the screen on one of the open front windows had been slashed. I even thought I saw a few wisps of down clinging to the edges of the opening the owl had created.

  I took a slow step toward the bird. It watched me, but didn’t flinch or give any indication that it intended to fly. I eased closer.

  When I had covered half the distance between us, I spotted the tiny roll of paper attached to the owl’s right foot.

  “You’re a were,” I whispered.

  It cocked its head to the side.

  Weres had long been stigmatized in our culture, portrayed in movies and television shows as vicious, tortured animals that could pass their curse on to normal humans with a single bite. In truth, they had much more in common with weremystes than with monsters. On the nights of the phasing, they transformed into the animal that shared their bodies. But they wielded no magic beyond this, and they could not assume their animal forms at other times.

  The spells Saorla and her weremancers placed on them changed this. The dark sorcerers had been using weres as servants—wereslaves, I called them. They claimed to have magic that would free the weres from the moon, and allow them to control when and where they took their animal form. This magic, they assured their victims, was a gift.

  In reality, it was anything but. All it did was give control over the weres to those who cast the spells. They could turn the weres at will, and compel them to do their bidding.

  Six days remained until the start of the phasing, which meant that this were had probably been forced into owl form by a dark sorcerer, probably for the express purpose of delivering a message to me. Confident now that I wouldn’t spook the bird, I crossed to the shelves and carefully removed the note from its leg. Then I held out my arm.

  “I’ll let you out. It’ll be easier than trying to squeeze through that hole in the screen.”

  The owl clicked its beak before hopping to my arm, its wings opening as it sought to keep its balance.

  “You’re a beautiful bird,” I said. “I wish my father could see you.”

  I opened the door and stepped outside. At the first touch of the night air, the owl leapt off my arm and flew away, wings beating silently. It flashed beneath the streetlamp, but after that I lost track of it. I scanned the street, but saw no one, and then went back inside, taking care to lock the door.

  Billie was awake and sitting up, her hair a tangled mess, her eyes puffy.

  “You’re here,” she said.

  “Yeah. Sorry it’s so late.”

  She pushed a strand of hair out of her face and yawned. “What time is it?”

  I stepped into the kitchen, switched on the light and checked the clock on the stove. It was only a few minutes past ten, though it felt much later.

  “Ten after ten,” I called to her.

  I unrolled the tiny piece of paper I’d taken from the owl, and read.

  You are not to interfere—S.

  It was written in a tight, neat script. I had no doubt as to who “S” was. Apparently the circle of people interested in Gracie Davett was expanding by the hour.

  Saorla had included no warning in her missive—there hadn’t been room on the scrap of paper for much more than what she’d written. But the fact that she had sent the wereowl here, to Billie’s home, was threat enough.

  “Fearsson?”

  “Yeah.” I balled up the paper and threw it in Billie’s trash.

  A moment later she shuffled into the kitchen, squinting against the light. “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing. I was checking the time.”

  She lifted her eyebrows. “You wear a watch.”

  Even drowsy, she was smarter than me—I?—although I’m not sure that was saying much.

  “Does whatever you’re hiding from me have anything to do with that big tear in my screen?”

  I winced, scratched the back of my head. “Yes, it does. There was an owl waiting here for me when I got back.”

  Her jaw dropped. “An owl? In my house?”

  “It was a were, and it had a note tied to its leg.”

  “Was the note for me or you?”

  It was my turn to cock an eyebrow.

  “Yeah, all right. Stupid question. Who was it from?” Before I could answer, she put up a hand. “No, let me guess. Saorla.”

  “You’re getting good at this.”

  “I don’t seem to have much choice. There was really an owl in my house?”

  “A wereowl.”

  She gave a roll of her eyes and pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “I suppose it could have been worse.”

  “Weresnakes?”

  Billie scowled. “I was thinking of Saorla herself showing up. But thanks. Now I’ll be scanning the floor for weresnakes every time I walk into my kitchen.”

  I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around her. She snuggled against my chest.

  “Have I mentioned that your job sucks?”

  “A couple of times. And that’s just today.”

  “What did Amaya want?”

  “He hired me on behalf of an older couple. Their daughter and her children are missing, and they want me to find them.”

  “That’s sad. But as things with Amaya go, it doesn’t sound too bad.”

  “Not of the face of it, no. But I’m almost positive that this is the same woman I told you about over dinner, the one Kona is after.”

  She frowned up at me. “The one from the burger place?”

  “I think so.” I described for her my conversation with the Trejos and my encounter with Neil Davett. “And,” I said, “I also don’t think it’s a coincidence that there was a note from Saorla waiting for me when I got back here.”

  “So the husband’s a weremyste, too.”

  “Yes. And I think he’s into dark magic. I’m positive that if I’d given him the chance, he would have drawn blood for a spell.”

  “Do you think he’s working with Saorla?”

  It was a good question, one I didn’t know how to answer. I had little doubt that the weremancers at the burger place worked for her, the men inside who hadn’t been carrying ID, as well as the silver-haired man outside who could kill with a touch. But I had the impression that Neil was on his own. Saorla didn’t mess around, and she didn’t place her trust in amateurs. Even the couple at the motel earlier in the day had been powerful and professional enough to pose a threat to me. Neil had been careless; Saorla would have said that he was ruled by his emotions.

  Billie rapped her knuckles lightly on the side of my head. “What’s going on in there, Fearsson?”

  I smiled. “You’ve got me thinking. To answer your question, no, I don’t think her husband is working for Saorla. At least not on this. He struck me as a guy who was desperate to find his wife and kids.”

  “So that he can abuse them again.”

  I tipped my head, conceding the point.

  “You need to find them before anyone else does.”

  “Yes, I do. But first I need to sleep, and so do you.”

  She canted her head to the side, the depth of her smile quickening my pulse. “I slept already. I’m not tired anymore.” She kissed me. “And I seem to remember somebody letting it slip that he’s in love with me.”

  “I remember that, as well.”

  “Good. Then take me to bed.”

  “That’s easily the best offer I’ve had all day,” I said. I scooped her up into my arms, eliciting a giggle, and carried her back to her bedroom.

  It was a late night.

  Unfortunately, it was also an early morning.

  I awoke to a faint, familiar chiming that at first I couldn’t place. It took three tones before I recognized the sound of my cell phone. It was still in the pocket of my bomber jacket, which lay on the floor near Billie’s bed.

  I scrambled out from under the sheet and blanket, grabbed the bomber, and fumbled for the phone. The clock readout read “7:12.” And the caller ID beneath it read “Kona at 620.”

  I opened the phone and sat back on the edge of the bed. “Fearsson.”

  “Billie charging you rent yet?” Kona asked. “I can hardly reach you at your own place anymore.”

  “No,” I said, still trying to wake up. “No rent yet.”

  “Get your head in the game, Justis. I need your help.”

  “Yeah, all right. What’s up?”

  “I’m holding the ME’s report on Merilee Guilford, the woman who was killed outside the Burger Royale.”

  The Medical Examiner’s report. That got my attention. “And?”

  “Cause of death was blood loss.”

  I shivered, as if Saorla herself had run a cold finger down my spine.

  “Blood loss,” I repeated.

  “That’s what they say. Now how do you suppose that silver-haired gentleman took her blood when we didn’t find a cut anywhere on her body?”

  I didn’t want to speak the words.

  “Justis?”

  “We need to find this guy, Kona. You’ve seen what blood magic can do.” She and Kevin had witnessed our battle with Saorla and her weremancers during the summer. They had also investigated a series of ritual killings committed in the weeks leading up to that confrontation. “And you’ve seen that dark sorcerers have no qualms about taking blood from people without their permission.”

  “Yeah?” she said, seeming to brace herself for what I was about to say.

  “Well, I think this guy can take their blood just by touching them. He’s like a magical vampire.”

  For a few seconds, she didn’t answer. “You know what?” she said. “I must be spending too much time with you and your magical friends. Because that’s exactly what I was afraid you were going to say.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Since my conversation with Amaya the previous night, I had been debating whether I should share what I’d learned with Kona. Professional ethics dictated that I tell her nothing. The same way attorneys maintained a privileged relationship with their clients, PIs were bound morally, if not legally, to keep private our conversations with the people who hired us. And if that had been the only consideration, this would have been an easy decision. But Kona was trying to solve a murder, and had brought me in to help her. I couldn’t be positive that Gracie Davett had killed the man in the restaurant, but I would have bet every penny Jacinto was paying me that there was only one weremyste mom with an eight-year-old daughter and five-year-old son running around the Phoenix metropolitan area right now.

  It occurred to me that I’d found my out right there: Amaya was paying me. He had hired me, not the Trejos, so technically I wasn’t violating any trust by sharing information about their daughter. But that felt like a cheap way around the problem. In the end, I decided that telling Kona was simply the right thing to do.

  Neither of us had spoken a word since her last remark, but before I could act on the decision I’d made, she said, “We did get one break. I think we have a line on the magical mom.”

  “Is that right?”

  “This morning a guy came in to report that his wife and kids are missing. The husband and wife are separated and he thinks she’s taken the kids out of the city in violation of their separation agreement. Now technically that would be child abduction, and he’s willing to press charges in order to get the kids back.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure he is.”

  I didn’t mean to say it aloud, and judging from the silence on the other end, Kona understood that.

  “You have something you want to share?” she asked after a pause.

  I sighed. “Gracie Davett, right? Neé Engracia Trejo?”

  “And you know this because . . . ?”

  “I was hired by Gracie’s parents last night. They’re worried about her. They’re convinced that Neil’s been abusing her. They don’t know if he’s hurt the kids, too, but they think it’s possible.”

  “When were you planning on telling me this?”

  “Truthfully? I had just decided to when you brought it up.”

  “No shit?”

  “No shit.”

  I could imagine her nodding.

  “All right then.”

  “You can’t be considering helping this guy, Kona. He’s been beating his wife.”

  “We have no proof of that.”

  “How much proof—”

  “Hold on there, Justis,” she said, talking over me. “Yes, she has been admitted to the hospital on three occasions in the past eighteen months with odd injuries. A dislocated shoulder, a broken wrist, and a severe sprain in her elbow. And twice the ER physicians who treated her reported seeing other injuries as well. Scrapes and bruises, some on her limbs, and some on her face and neck.”

 

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