Bran frowned, crinkling his brow. “Tall guy, spindly but wiry? With a beard down to his belly and his hair pulled back in an old gray ponytail? He always wore a brown suede vest over ripped jeans, if I remember.”
Faron nodded. “That’s the guy. His family ruled the bootleggers’ market out here on the peninsula at one time. They were a bunch of bear shifters, and while I don’t know if they still live in the city limits, they pretty much kept control of the illegal whiskey trade.”
I bit my lip. “They don’t sound very pleasant.”
“They aren’t. The one thing I will tell you, some of the families out on this peninsula have been here since before the pilgrims landed over on the other side. They made friends with the native tribes, or at least developed a mutual peace treaty between them. But when the settlers started moving west, those families didn’t like it one bit. They were mostly shifters and witches, and they liked having control over the resources here. It was touchy going in a number of areas, for a long time.”
He took a breath and continued. “The van Aucht family was one of those first immigrant families. Don’t get me wrong — they paid their bills, they donated to the church raffles, they even helped with barn raisings. But the minute you stepped into the shadow side of things, they were in firm control.”
I found the past history of the area fascinating. And I realize that talking about the van Auchts and prohibition had taken my mind off my nervousness. We had been weaving through several side streets, but now Faron pulled over into a driveway. The house was a two-story craftsman, and while it didn’t look as old as some, it sure wasn’t new. He motioned for us to get out and follow him toward the door, cautioning “let me take the lead on this. I mean it.”
Bran, Bree, and I all just gave a nod. None of us wanted to put ourselves in the limelight.
Faron knocked on the door four times, paused, and then knocked twice again. After a moment, the door opened and a man about 5 foot 10 stood there, staring at us. I wasn’t sure what to do, so I stayed quiet. But after a beat, Faron gave him a two-fingered salute and said, “It’s a long night before a snowy day.”
“There’s never enough snow for me,” the other man said, then stood back and opened the door wide so we could all come through.
As we entered the main room, it struck me that the house was much brighter and cleaner than it looked from outside.
“Faron, welcome,” the man said, grasping Faron’s hand and then pulling him in for a quick hug and a slap on the back. “It’s been a long time, bro.”
“You know why it had to be like that,” Faron said. “But now, I make my own rules. I need your help, bro. And I need you to be honest with me.”
Whoever he was, the man let us into what appeared to be a wide living room. The inside of the house had obviously been renovated, although not to the highest upgrades. But it looked surprisingly nice, and the living room was open and airy.
“Sit down, do you need anything to drink?” He asked.
After we all said no, Faron came right to the point. “We’re here because we need to talk to you about the possibility of finding somebody. There’s a collector on the loose, and he has someone near and dear to our hearts. We need to find out where he and his partner are. It could be a gang, because not only has our friend been kidnapped, but also two shifter women and several familiars.”
The man — who still had not introduced himself — sat down beside Faron, a thoughtful look on his face.
“Locals?”
Faron shook his head. “I doubt it. I mean, there’s always that possibility, but I sincerely doubt it. They may be working with some local gang, but you know how collectors generally work. They never stay in one place too long because it’s too easy to get caught.”
“Anything to go on?” The other man asked. By now, two more men joined us, and they sat on the outskirts of the room, listening in.
“A green van, although we don’t have the make and model. And two men.” He looked over at me. “Did you by chance catch sight of them?”
“Did they try to kidnap you?” One of the men asked.
I wanted to ask what his name was but had the sense that would be a mistake. “Not exactly. I have a magical bond with my friend who was captured.” I hesitated for a moment, then decided to be upfront about it. “I’m a witch. And my friend is a dragonette.”
The three men sat still for a moment, then one let out a long sigh. “That makes it tricky. Dragonettes sell for so much on the black market, even though it’s stupid to try. Most can’t be re-bonded and die during the attempt, so it’s a true waste of energy, if you ask me.”
I wasn’t sure why, but that made me feel better. If he saw the folly of trying to kidnap a dragonette, chances were he wouldn’t ever bother doing so. Which meant that chances were even better of me getting Fancypants back, should they be able to find him.
“When did this happen?” Faron’s friend asked.
“Do you have something we can address you by?” Bran asked. “It doesn’t have to be your real name. It would just be easier than saying hey you.”
“You can call me Josh,” Faron’s friend said. “So, when did this happen?”
“This evening,” I said. “We were having dinner at my mother-in-law’s house, when Fancypants — my dragonette — let out a shriek that I felt all the way down the road. He was the one who told me that it was two men with the green van. But they drugged him before I could get any more information out of him.” I hesitated for a moment, then added, “If you can help us, we’d appreciate it. I know what happens to dragonettes who are auctioned off to the highest bidder. Especially those who were stolen and who are already bonded.”
“Yeah, it’s not pretty,” Josh said. “Let me make a couple phone calls. Meanwhile you all just rest here while I search for information.” He headed off into the other room, leaving his buddies with us.
Faron gave them the once over, then looked back at me. “How are you doing?”
