Luka hasn’t been found. Ches lost him after about an hour of pursuit, and though he immediately called in the license plates, the vehicle’s not been picked up yet.
The first thing I did, as any cop would, is make a voicenote of every word Luka said to me, as best I could remember. It wasn’t much. Lachlan Frey. Redhaven. He even mentioned Harper Fenn.She’s gone, he said.No one will help me. Did he seriously expect help from her? Does he even know what I suspect – that Frey is Harper’s father?
I’ve already relayed the conversation to half a dozen people, including Remy, the prosecutors building the case against Luka, and Theo and his team from the Bittershore investigation still marshalling the evidence. So when Theodorou asks me to come by so he can go through it with me again in person, I’m not minded to comply.
Remy stops by my desk half an hour later. ‘You ought to, Maggie,’ he says. ‘Help the guy out.’
‘I’ve told him everything that might be useful.’
‘Well go hold his ickle hand, then.’ My boss must see my eyebrows shoot up, because he adds, testily, ‘Margaret Knight, I want you to go because frankly you are getting on my nerves skulking around waiting for Luka Ortiz or his car to be found.’
Sighing, I grab my keys and head to Beulah County. At first, I stew in my seat, fingers drumming the wheel, figuring I could have done without another drive after Luka dragged me a couple hundred kilometres to Pennsylvania and back last night. But after a pit stop at a Dunkin’ drive-thru, I’m relaxing into the ride. I won’t have anything useful to say to Theo, so if we’re wrapped up quickly I can use the time to call on Sarah Fenn. I’d like to check how she’s doing since Pierre’s death, and studiously not ask any questions about Harper beyond the most basic,Have you heard if she’s okay?Surely she’ll feel able to tell me that, right?
But Theo’s tetchy. What is it with him and Remy? I swear no woman could carry on the way these dudes do without being served a few ‘joking’ remarks about being on their period. He gives me the same tiresome questions as my boss.Why did I meet a suspected criminal, who I arrested, and in whose trial I’m going to be a key witness, yadda yadda.
‘Because I didn’t know it was him,’ I say. ‘It won’t have any bearing on my testimony. Did you really get me here for a lecture I’ve already heard back at HQ?’
At least Sanctuary is only a half-hour drive away. And my favourite Vietnamese there does droolworthy Bánh mì cha lua.
But as I turn to leave, one of Theo’s colleagues is standing in the doorway. His posture doesn’t suggest he’s stopped by to take orders for a coffee run.
‘That’s not why I asked you here, Maggie,’ Theo says behind me. ‘Sorry.’
‘What?’ I whirl, only to see an expression on his face that’s half apology, half defiance.
‘You’re a key witness. One of the most crucial to the entire case. But ever since Sanctuary you’ve been suspected of being a witch sympathiser. Until Luka’s been found we can’trun any risk of you abetting his escape – or people being able to say you have.’
I scoff. ‘You can hardly keep me here. You’d have to detain me to do that.’
‘Well yes,’ Theo says, as his gaze slides over my shoulder to the brawny officer in the doorway. ‘Yes, I would.’
25
HARPER
I follow the moose. I follow the darnmooseas we trek through the night. I can’t work out if I’m the star of a folk horror movie, or the heroine of a Brothers Grimm fairytale.Hey mom, I feel like gabbling down the phone.You have a wayfinding pendant but I have a moose!What will my dad say when I turn up with a gargantuan ungulate in tow?
At least I hope that’s who I’m being led toward, and this isn’t the world’s weirdest magical misfire and wild moose chase. The creature is a huge dark shadow beside me, treading down the pathway as I scramble after it. One time I stumble and put out a hand for balance that ends up grabbing its thick hairy shoulder. I freeze, waiting for it to react like any wild animal would – to bite me, or toss those staggering antlers, or simply melt back into the darkness and be gone – but it makes a low, huffing sound and slowly ducks that massive head and I feel … safe.
Safer than I’ve felt since Pierre died. More than anything else that’s happened to me – not even when Abigail put me and Mom on trial for Dan’s death in the stadium, or when I was immobilised and robbed by that family at Sawyer Creek Falls – P’s death broke something in how I felt about the world. I’ve never doubted I could protect myself. But to realise I couldn’t protect a person I love? That was the worstfeeling imaginable. It’s why I need to understand my magic better. Why I need to fight this rising persecution of witches.
Why I need to find my dad.
‘Thank you.’ I stroke the moose’s jaw and feel the warmth of its huffing breath against my neck. Its bearded chin brushes the top of my head.
The creature’s gentleness, despite its size and strength, reminds me of Pierre, and tears prickle beneath my eyelids. The enchantment of its sure-footed step makes me think of my father, toward whom it’s leading me.
I hope Lachlan Frey is everything I’ve built him up to be in my head. In my darker moments, Mom’s warning about Starcross floats like disturbed sediment back up to the surface of my mind. I think of the unanswered texts. Of what I discovered about Lachlan’s influence over Luka Ortiz. The fact he only reappeared in our lives after Sanctuary turned witchcraft into a national scandal – one he’s now used to further his cause of magical resistance.
The moose snorts, startling me from my thoughts.
‘I know, I know,’ I tell it. ‘But Pierre always said to keep my wits about me, while still giving people the benefit of the doubt. Even after what happened in Sanctuary. He’d say it again now if he was here.’
Then I continue alongside that great, serene presence as it pads on stilt-legs through the woodland. As night’s blackness leaches into a coarse grey half-light, I hear day approach. The creak of branches and the crack of wings as night-hunting owls return to their hollows. A patter and rustle through the under-canopy as the tiniest night-time creatures scamper for safety. Whining mosquitos. Bats squeaking, more a sensation than a sound, which I doubt I’ll be able to hear for much longer. The infuriating chirping of frogs falls blessedly silent as Nature’s day-shift wakes. In the grainy paleblue before dawn, birds jostle leaves as they take off from springy twigs and peck at beetles. Squirrels scuffle along trunks. Groundhogs bump though the vegetation to drink from dewy leaves. Insects drone, wing-cases unlatching or clicking shut.
Once or twice, I hear a heavy crack or tread. The tough scouring of bark by sharp claws. Doubtless one of Maine’s black bears. But with my guide alongside me, I don’t feel afraid. Quite the opposite. I’m immersed in calm, submerged by the larger, slower life of the woods. This hasn’t just been a journey, it’s been a healing. I guess my magic knew what I needed.
‘I wish the Greenmagic had sent you from the start,’ I tell the moose, as I pause to sip from my water bottle. I can see myself reflected small in its shiny black eyes. ‘The roads would have been too dangerous for you, right? I had to come to the woods to find you.’
