“She’s been the target of criminal mischief.”
“I can guess all day, but the longer this goes on, the quicker I’m going to put you in charge of the department’s Secret Santa exchange this year.”
He inhaled, held his breath a minute, like he was thinking it just might be worth it, then he let that breath out. “Someone left statues in her yard.”
“Statues?”
“Penguin statues. She wants, I quote: ‘All those hideous, phony fakes out of my yard immediately. I will be more than happy to file charges. Especially if that glassblower is behind it.’ End of quote.”
“Why aren’t you out there?”
“I’m on the tip line for the stolen items.”
I had forgotten about that. Which was strange. I never forgot the cases we were working.
“Okay, I’ll see to it. Keep me in the loop on the robberies.”
“Roger that.”
I thumbed off the call and was going to get in the Jeep, but found myself at the back of it staring at a box covered with a moving blanket. For a second, I wondered why it was there. I didn’t keep boxes and moving blankets in my car. But the thought was gone before it was fully formed.
I stuck my hand in my coat pocket. The tissue I’d used to wipe Than’s sweat off my hands was in my pocket. I didn’t remember folding it.
Then I was dreaming, all the world a foggy drift.
“This is very good,” said the voice of madness, the voice that could make the world stand still. “Place it with the others. Wait until the moon is new. Aren’t we lucky that’s tonight?”
I didn’t speak. I was just standing there, floating, a balloon tied to a fence, bobbing in the breeze.
“This is a critical step, Delaney. Move the blanket to one side.”
The voice had sidled up beside me. I could see him at the corner of my eye. It was the same man—
—not a man, not real—
—who had spoken before. Only this time he looked excited. As if a great gift, a great treasure, was about to be opened.
I watched my hand push the blanket off the box that should not be in my car.
“Beautiful,” he breathed. “Just stunning.”
A part of my mind was screaming, hitting the panic button, dialing 911. This was wrong, bad wrong. That part of me was distant and tiny, so easily covered by the sound of his voice, so easily drowned by his words.
“You can look.”
I didn’t want to. I fought the urge, desperate to maintain some control in this, whatever this was. But my head turned, my eyes tracked as if I had no control over my head.
“Behold the beauty.” He pointed, his hand in a black leather glove, the stitches burning like licks of flames, a thin river of lava crawling through heavy black stone.
He pointed at the box, the crate that could have once carried milk jugs or eggs. It was wooden, lined with a soft lap blanket with little moons and stars on it.
I recognized that blanket. It was mine. I hadn’t seen it since I’d been attacked by a vampire in my family house on a hill.
Sweat broke out over my body, pooled under my arms.
I didn’t remember going home to get it. Didn’t remember putting it in this crate, in my car.
I didn’t remember the contents either. My brain refused to process what was right there in front of me.
