Chapter Twenty-One
Andrew paced beside the wrecked Austin, every nerve in his body screaming to do something—to run, to fight, to tear the world apart until he found her—but Edmund had ordered him to wait while he assessed their next move.
Wait. The word grated like broken glass in his skull. He clenched and unclenched his fists, sparks of ice flickering between his fingers.
Somewhere out there Isla was alone, taken by strangers who had nearly killed them all. His stomach churned at the thought. He wasn’t just angry—he was afraid. And that fear burned hotter than any flame. He would have left to search for her already, but he didn’t know where to go.
Andrew’s boots squelched on the wet, muddy ground as he looked over at Edmund, who stood perfectly still, eyes fixed on the long country road. Stone walls rose on either side, hemming them in. Left or right. One way would lead them closer to Isla, the other further away.
“What are you looking for?” Andrew demanded.
“Shh.”
That was the tenthshhin as many minutes. Andrew groaned. “Right, fine, I’ll just stand here doing nothing, then—splendid plan.”
“Quiet,” Edmund said again, crouching low, his eyes sweeping the ground. Then, without another word, he straightened and started toward the left-hand path.
Andrew hurried after him with Juliette close behind. “What did you find?”
“Boot prints,” Edmund replied.
Andrew blinked. “It took you all that time to look forboot prints?”
Edmund shot him a quelling look that might have silenced a regiment, but Andrew didn’t care. The man may have saved his life, but if he didn’t start explaining soon, Andrew might rugby tackle him into the nearest ditch. Well, he’d try.
“Boot prints,” Edmund said evenly, “and emotional echoes. There were prints going in both directions. Ones belonging to Isla and whoever took her, and others to the men I scared away, so I needed to be certain which to follow. I focused on the residue left behind—of emotion. To the right, I felt fear, yes, but the sharp fear of men fleeing. To the left ...” He paused, his expression tightening. “To the left I feltrawfear. The fear of someone being taken against their will. The fear of the innocent.”
Andrew’s throat went dry. Isla.
“I don’t think they took her far; they would have needed a car to get out here, but on this country road there is nowhere to park. My best guess is they parked somewhere close by and then walked in order to ambush us.”
“What if they’ve reached the car and driven away already?” Andrew asked, his heart clenched in fear. He had just held her hand. She had voluntarily laid her head on his shoulder. He needed to find her; he couldn’t draw a proper breath—it was as if the vines still encircled his throat.
Edmund gave him a grim look. “I hope not. If they have, it makes following them incredibly difficult.”
The three of them turned a corner, Andrew now jogging ahead of the group. He would have missed the clue entirely if Edmund hadn’t called him back.
“Andrew!”
He halted and retreated a few steps, chest heaving, breath coming in sharp pulls. To the side of the road, an overgrown path led to a small dilapidated cottage. Its roof sagged, tiles missing; weeds littered the garden; and broken shutters banged gently in the cold wind.
All looked still, quiet and deserted. His gaze swept the grassy shoulder beside the road—two sets of tire tracks marred the earth, the mud smeared across the road where the cars had pulled away. A hedgehog bumbled along, not in the least aware of the current turmoil.
He felt bile rise in his throat; they were too late. He scanned the clearing, searching desperately for any clue, anything that might give them a lead. Shadows clung to the corners of the overgrown garden, dark and oppressive.
Then, suddenly, a flicker of light erupted from a downstairs window, casting the front garden in an eerie, pale glow. The light was faint, coming from deeper within the house. A muffled scream pierced the night, sharp and ragged, making the hairs on his neck stand on end.
“Isla!” Andrew breathed, lunging forward, until Edmund’s strong hand caught his shoulder, halting him.
Edmund shook him firmly by the shoulder. “Listen, Andrew. The best way to keep her safe is to keep your head. Anger will get us nowhere—and it will make things worse for her. Focus. Breathe. I’m with you on this.”
He took a deep breath and nodded. Edmund smacked his shoulder in a gesture of camaraderie, and Andrew stumbled slightly under the force. He righted himself, adjusted his glasses, and followed.
The cottage loomed in the moonlight as they crept closer. Andrew moved toward the front entrance, but Edmund’s hand shot out, stopping him. “She’s closer to the back of the house,” he whispered.
“How do you know?” Juliette asked, her voice tight. She had been quiet since the scream.
Edmund hesitated before replying, “Isla’s fear—it’s reverberating through the air. It’s stronger this way.” He didn’t move, merely pointed toward the back of the house. “I think you should stay here, Juliette.”
