A murmur rose from the crowd as aunt spoke to uncle, grandfather to grandmother. No one seemed to know what to say. Then Rebecca Essig, the only teenager in the room, stood up.
“Sir, the phraseindeterminate species—what does that mean? You don’t know what these kids are?”
“That’s right,” Agent Mendoza said. “The tests detected genetic components that don’t match anything in our databases. We’ve sent them out to various crypto-biology labs across the country, hoping to find out more, but so far the researchers are all stumped.”
“For the moment, we’re calling the children ‘changelings,’ which is a term that describes a child of one species that was...um...taken,” Agent Burton added. “And replaced with something else. Usually with a member of the species that took it, glamoured to look like the child being replaced. It’s like thefaeversion of trading in your car for another model. Only with kids.
“To be clear, we have no reason to believe that these children are actuallyfae,” Agent Burton continued. “Which is why there’s been some push in the Bureau to call them ‘surrogates’ instead. Because they’ve been standing in for the human children they evidently replaced.”
“Oh my God.” The grandmother on the left side of the room sank into her chair, shock echoing in her voice. “So then, what happened to our kids? Our nieces, nephews and grandchildren? They were kidnapped?”
Agent Mendoza gave her a grave nod. “It appears so, ma’am. I’m so sorry.”
“And I’m afraid it’s worse than that,” Agent Barton added. “As some of you may have concluded, we have reason to believe that these surrogates may have had some kind of...influence over the parents who killed their other children.”
“Was my sister brainwashed?” the man in the back demanded. “Are you saying this ‘surrogate’ was controlling her and her husband?”
“We’re not sure yet,” Mendoza admitted, and it was clear this was the part of the meeting he’d been dreading most. “All we can say for sure is that one hundred percent of the kids we’ve tested so far are surrogates, and one hundred percent of the parents arrested claim not to remember anything that happened that night. When we have more information, we will let you know. But what I can say is that no matter how young, cute and familiar these surrogates seem, they arenotyour nieces, nephews and grandchildren.”
The room erupted in an uproar. A dozen people stood at once, all shouting questions, while Rebecca and her grandparents stared around in shock, trying to absorb what they were being told.
One voice carried over the din, and Rebecca twisted in her chair to see a woman with long blond hair standing with a toddler on her hip. “Agent Mendoza, how long have our families been living with strangers? With...monsters?”
“Ma’am, we don’t know that for sure. But I think it’s entirely possible that the answer isalways. We’re not convinced that any of the babies born in March of 1980 actually made it home from the hospital.”
Delilah
As daylight began to fade, blanketing the bedroom in murky shadows, I settled onto the bed next to the nightstand lamp with a novel I’d already read several times, trying to distract myself from mounting fears of childbirth and from thoughts of Gallagher’s upcoming mission. But no matter how many pages I turned and words I scanned, the only image my mind could hold on to was the memory of Oliver Malloy’s face, staring up at me from my own phone.
“Delilah?” I looked up to find Gallagher standing in the doorway. “You look pale. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I set the book on the nightstand, frowning when I noticed that he wore his boots. “You’re not leaving now, are you?”
“I want to be back before you go to bed.” So he could keep me from sleepwalking my way through another murder.
“That’s ambitious, considering the drive, but I think you’ll have time if you stay and eat first.” I twisted to plump the pillow at my back to shore up the support for my lower spine. “I’m pretty sure that even if I get up in my sleep again, it won’t be until the middle of the night. Long after everyone else has gone to sleep.” At least, that seemed to be how it had happened before. Which was part of what I couldn’t understand.
How had the baby—or thefuriae—found a victim within walking distance of our isolated cabin? There were no other residences nearby, and none of the hunting seasons had started yet. Why would there evenbeanyone else in the woods?
He frowned. “Just to be safe—”
“Oh! She’s kicking again.” I slid my shirt up over the arch of my belly, so he could see the tiny bulge with every blow the baby dealt my insides.
Gallagher crossed the room in three steps. His fascination was a thing of beauty. How could a man who’d seen people turn into cats and giant birds rise from their own ashes be so amazed by something as simple as a baby’s kick? “You still seem so sure it’s a she...”
“I’m not sure,” I admitted. “Yet every time I talk about her, the feminine pronouns are just there.” Another kick rippled across my stomach and I grimaced.
Gallagher laughed as he sat on the bed next to me. “She is powerful. Like her mother.” He leaned over me, reaching for me with one huge hand, and I cringed away from him.
The pain of rejection clear on his face broke my heart.
“I’m sorry.” I made myself relax. “She’s yours, too. You can feel her.”
Instead, he gently lowered my shirt to cover my stomach. “Another time.”
“Really,” I insisted as I carefully pushed myself upright. “You just startled me. Leaning over me like that. The angle...”
Gallagher looks down at me. The light behind his head forms a halo, casting his face in deep shadow.
