“Holy shit,” Harris breathed. “Well, now I’ve seen everything.”
“Does Sally know?” I asked, fascinated. That explained how he knew to come to us. The fae could spot other supernatural creatures from a mile away, without fail, regardless of how human they seemed.
“She knows about me and she has for many years. It wasn’t my place to tell her about you and your pack.”
“Thanks for that, I guess.”
“Listen to me. I will keep any secrets you wish, but you must help,” the fae man said, locking eyes with me. “You and your wolves are duty-bound to protect the innocent of this land. And Sally is an innocent.” He paused and swallowed, a flickerof genuine fear crossing his expression. “And she is my friend, Reed.”
* * *
“You should call your pack and search the forest,” Tamrand suggested, glaring at Harris and me. It was less than an hour later and the sunrise was turning the sky a kaleidoscope of blues, pinks, and gold that settled atop Tamrand’s head like a halo. “We have no need to search Sally’s home. We know she is not here.”
“But we need to know why she was selected by this monster,” Harris said firmly. “That might give us a clue as to what it’s after.”
“The monster is a killer, Harris,” I replied, halfway agreeing with the faerie. “That’s what it’s after. Death and mayhem.”
“Then why go after Sally?” Harris demanded. “It could have taken anyone else. Someone less involved, more on the fringes. An easier target. You said it yourself—Sally is deeply connected to this town.”
I pursed my lips, considering his words. He had a point. If Sally went missing, the entire town would search for her in the woods.
Harris raised his eyebrows. “Why her?”
I nodded to Daniel, who stood next to us, looking sleepy and disgruntled that we’d gotten him out of bed so early. I didn’t blame him. It wasn’t even six in the morning yet. “We need a spell to unlock her door.”
The warlock sighed, giving Tamrand a sideways look, and incanted a spell under his breath, causing a swirl of golden-white light to encase the doorframe. I wasn’t worried about anyone else being able to see it—wolves could see magic, even if other people couldn’t. To everyone else, it probably looked likenothing at all. Then, with a flourishing motion of his hands over the doorknob, there came a click as the lock opened.
“I’ll see if I can do a revealing spell on any magic that might’ve been used,” Daniel said quietly. “I might be able to get a trace on it.”
“I’ll remain out here,” Tamrand said. “I’ve promised not to go into Sally’s space unless specifically invited.”
“The fae can’t break their word,” I explained to Harris, who was giving Tamrand a baffled look. Then I turned the knob and pushed open the door. I went in first and Harris followed.
The back door led into the kitchen. The house was dark and quiet. The kitchen lights were off, but enough light from outside filtered in through the window over the sink that we didn’t need to turn them on. The air smelled stale—not rotten or foul. Just… old. Like it had been sitting too long without anyone opening a window.
Harris paused inside the doorway, his posture shifting almost imperceptibly. His shoulders squared, his gaze sharpening as it swept the room, as though assessing a potential crime scene. I was forcefully reminded that Harris was a detective. This was what he did for a living.
I followed his gaze, but I doubted I saw what he did. The counter was cluttered with unopened mail. Dirty dishes sat next to the sink, stacked neatly, but unwashed, as though Sally had given up halfway through. On top of the fridge, I was startled to see a collection of half a dozen liquor bottles, most of them at least halfway gone. I hadn’t known Sally was a drinker.
Harris moved first, crossing the kitchen without a word. I followed him, suddenly very aware of the sound of my boots on the floor. The house was so quiet it seemed to swallow noise.
“She always keeps the restaurant immaculate,” I said quietly.
Harris nodded, but he looked as troubled as I felt by the incongruity. He opened the fridge.
Inside, there was food. Nothing spoiled, but it was sparse in a way that made a knot of dread tighten in my gut. Half-used condiments. Takeout containers from the restaurant pushed to the back. A carton of eggs with only two left inside. Milk, unopened—still good, but only just.
“She was eating,” Harris said, more to himself than to me. “But… not much. And it doesn’t look like she was cooking anything for herself.”
He closed the fridge and moved on. I followed him into the living room.
The curtains were drawn but not fully closed. Dust motes hung in the air, drifting lazily through thin bars of early morning light. The couch cushions were sunken in the middle, as if someone had been sleeping there instead of in the bedroom. The television remote sat on the coffee table beside a paperback book, its spine cracked.
Harris picked it up, flipped it over, then set it back down exactly where it had been.
“She didn’t finish it,” he murmured. “There’s a layer of dust on the cover. It’s been sitting there awhile.”
He drifted toward the hallway. He stopped at the bathroom first, reaching in and flicking on the light. The sink was clean. The mirror had been wiped down recently. But on the counter, tucked carefully to one side, were pill bottles. Several of them.
