She didn’t answer immediately. When she did, her voice was careful, not betraying much beyond a quiet determination. “I can function. That’s what matters right now.”
That wasn’t what he’d asked, but Ben knew better than to push. Sidney had been running on fumes ever since the phoenix incident in the forest, and the six hours of unconsciousness that had followed hadn’t been nearly enough recovery time. Her nose had started bleeding again during the drive, and she’d tried to hide it by pressing tissues against her face and turning toward the window.
He’d pretended not to notice. It wasn’t as if they could turn back.
No, they had to see this through, no matter what happened.
“Come on,” he said as he opened the Suburban’s door. “Let’s get up there before Lewis arrives. I want to check the tower’s structural integrity.”
They both got out of the vehicle and headed over to the watchtower. The stairs groaned under their weight as they started to make the climb, but they held. The whole way, Ben kept one hand on the railing and the other ready to grab Sidney if she stumbled. To his relief, she made it to the top platform without incident, although he noticed she was breathing harder than the climb would have normally warranted.
The view from the lookout was worth the effort. Evergreen forest stretched in every direction, broken only by the occasional logging road or stand of aspens and oaks. Ben pulled his binoculars from his pack and scanned the horizon. Everything seemed utterly calm — no vehicles, no obvious movement except the wind through the trees.
“Looks clear,” he said.
Sidney leaned against the railing and closed her eyes. Ben felt a subtle pulse that he thought was her electromagnetic field reaching outward, searching the same area he’d just studied with the binoculars. After a moment, she opened her eyes.
“Nothing within three miles except Rebecca,” she said. “If DAPI’s tracking us, they’re not anywhere close yet.”
“Good.” Ben checked his watch again. Four-forty. “Lewis should be here soon.”
They waited in silence, watching the sun angle lower through the pines. Ben found himself hyperaware of Sidney’s presence beside him — the way she favored her left leg slightly, the tremor in her hands that she couldn’t quite hide, the traces of dried blood that remained under her nose despite all her attempts to clean it.
The kiss in the medical facility felt like it had happened in another lifetime, even though it had been only a few hours ago. He wanted to reach for her hand, wanted to pull her close and feel that resonance between their electromagnetic fields again. But they were exposed up here, visible to anyone with a good scope, and physical contact would only make Sidney’s abilities flare.
Later, he promised himself. When this was over, when the phoenix was saved and DAPI was dealt with, they’d have time for more than stolen moments between crises.
A vehicle was approaching from the south. Ben raised his binoculars at once and tracked its progress. An ancient Jeep Wrangler, mud-spattered and dented, with Oregon plates. The driver was alone.
“That’s Lewis,” he said.
The Jeep parked next to Rebecca Morse’s SUV, and a man climbed out. He appeared to be in his early seventies, with a gray beard and weathered skin that spoke of decades spent outdoors. He wore cargo pants and a field vest covered in pockets, and he moved easily despite his age, telling Ben that he’d probably spent a lot more time tracking cryptids in the woods than he had behind a desk.
As soon as he emerged from the Jeep, Rebecca materialized from the trees, her hand hovering near her sidearm until Lewis raised both hands in a peaceful gesture. They exchanged words Ben couldn’t hear, and then she gestured toward the tower.
“He’s coming up,” Sidney said.
Sure enough, Lewis was already moving toward the base of the tower. Once he got there, he took the stairs two at a time despite his age, making the climb pass much more quickly than theirs had. When he reached the platform, he studied Sidney and Ben with sharp brown eyes that missed nothing.
“Ben Sanders,” he said, extending a hand. “Good to finally meet you in person. Your research on chupacabra migrations in the Sonoran Desert was groundbreaking.”
Ben shook his hand, an embarrassed smile touching his lips. He hadn’t thought anyone had read that paper except a few other diehard chupacabra enthusiasts. “Lewis, this is Sidney Lowell. She’s — ”
“The guardian’s daughter,” Lewis cut in before he turned to Sidney with something like reverence in his expression. “Your grandmother’s journals are legendary in cryptozoology circles. I’ve spent twenty years trying to verify half of what she documented.”
Sidney frowned at once. Her tone guarded, she asked, “How do you know about my grandmother’s journals?”
“I don’t. Not directly, at any rate.” Lewis pulled a battered-looking canvas messenger bag from his shoulder and set it down on the platform’s dusty floor. “But I’ve spent forty years documenting phoenix sightings across the Pacific Northwest, and there’s a pattern. Every documented sighting within a hundred miles of Silver Hollow has been notably more detailed, more accurate, more informed than sightings elsewhere. Clearly, someone in the area has been observing phoenixes for generations and keeping meticulous records.”
Ben saw Sidney’s posture shift slightly, becoming even more wary.
“That’s speculation,” she said, her arms crossed.
Lewis didn’t appear too put off by her vaguely hostile tone. “It is,” he said, sounding cheerful. “But it’s informed speculation.” He knelt and opened his bag so he could pull out a bunch of file folders thick with documents. Ben wasn’t sure how they’d even all fit in there, and he wondered if the satchel was the real-life equivalent of the “bag of holding” he’d come across when he played a little Dungeons and Dragons back in junior high. “I never met your grandmother, of course,” Lewis continued. “Everything I’ve found has only said that Emily Lowell ran a pet shop, lived quietly, kept to herself. On paper, she was ordinary. But the pattern of sightings, the quality of the few cryptid reports that did manage to come out of Silver Hollow, the way certain researchers were subtly steered away from this area….” He let the words trail off before adding, his brown eyes now twinkling, “It sure looks to me like someone was protecting something. I’ve always suspected the Lowell family knew far more than they let on.”
Sidney’s stony expression didn’t flicker. “Is that a fact.”
Lewis met her gaze directly, still with that cheerful glint in his eyes. “I’m not asking you to confirm or deny anything. I’m just saying that if there were journals, if there were generations of careful observation and documentation, then they would be invaluable. And they would need to be protected from agencies like DAPI.”
