by Karen Lynch
“Any luck today, Jesse?” Mom asked.
Yeah, bad luck. “I think I have better odds of marrying a Fae prince than finding another job in this city.”
She chuckled. “You’ll find something. Nancy gave you a great reference.”
Nancy owned the coffee shop where I’d worked part-time for the last two years. After I’d graduated in May, I’d gone full-time at the Magic Bean, the plan being to take every shift I could and bank all my earnings for college. It had been going well until a freak drought wiped out entire coffee bean crops in South America.
Overnight, the price of coffee beans skyrocketed, and most people could no longer pay for their daily cup of joe. Smaller coffee shops, like the Magic Bean, hung on as long as they could before they were forced to close their doors. Even some of the chain stores were struggling now that only people with money – like the patrons at that Manhattan coffee shop – could afford to drink coffee.
I toyed with my food. “Unfortunately, there are too many people like me with good references.”
“The economy will turn around,” Dad said cheerily, even though we both knew that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon with the country in its second year of a recession. The only business booming these days was bounty hunting.
“I guess I could always join the family business,” I joked, earning disapproving looks from both of my parents.
Dad laid down his fork. “As proud as I would be to have you working with us, you are going to college. You still want that, don’t you?”
“More than anything.”
“Good.” He nodded and picked up his fork again to dig into his mashed potatoes.
Something cold touched the back of my hand, and I looked down to see Finch standing beside my plate, holding out a blackberry. His pretty eyes were sad, like they always got when he saw I was down.
“Thanks.” I took the offered blackberry and popped it into my mouth. “You’re the best brother a girl could ask for. You know that?”
His face lit up, and he scampered back to his own plate. I couldn’t help but smile as I watched him attack a piece of mango. All it took to make Finch happy was to see his family happy. That and lots and lots of fruit.
Realizing my parents had gone quiet, I glanced up to see sadness flit across Mom’s face before she hid it behind a smile. As I replayed my words to Finch in my head, I berated myself for my thoughtlessness.
Finch must have seen it, too, because he walked over to bring her one of his precious blackberries. She smiled and leaned down to let him put it in her mouth. Sprite children liked to feed their parents as a sign of affection, and Mom loved it when he did it. He was close to both of our parents, but there’d always been a special bond between him and Mom.
Her phone rang in the kitchen, and she jumped up to answer it. She was back a minute later, wearing a serious expression I knew well. It was her work face.
“That was Tennin,” she said to Dad. “He’s in town, but he’s leaving again tomorrow. If we want to talk to him, we need to go now.”
Dad was already standing by the time she finished speaking. The two of them looked at me, and I waved them off.
“Go on. I’ll clean up.”
I finished my dinner while they hurriedly changed into work clothes, which consisted of combat boots and dark jeans and T-shirts. Though I couldn’t see weapons, I was sure they both carried them. My parents never went anywhere unprepared.
“We shouldn’t be too late,” Mom told me as she tucked her phone into her back pocket.
“Be back by curfew, or you’re both grounded.”
Finch whistled in agreement and wagged a finger at them.
Mom laughed, and Dad winked at us as they rushed out the door.
I put the leftovers in the fridge and made short work of the dishes. Leaving Finch to finish his meal, I went to my room and spent the next hour scouring the classifieds and job sites. It was a depressing task, but one I did every night. I was going to college, even if it took me years to save enough to get there.
I looked at the envelope bearing the official seal for Cornell University that was pinned to the bulletin board above my desk. Beneath that envelope was one from Stanford and another from Harvard.
I had been over the moon when I got acceptance letters from three of my top picks, until I saw how much it would cost. Tuition had almost doubled in the last decade and colleges didn’t give full-ride scholarships anymore unless you were an athlete. Mom and Dad had some money put away for college, but it wasn’t enough to pay for tuition, books, and years of living expenses. I’d thought I could work my way through college, but I would need a full-time job with great pay just to cover tuition.
Last spring, the Agency had tried to recruit me into their intelligence program after graduation. It was normal for them to recruit from the top five percentile of high school graduates, and I’d been in the top one percent. In addition to training, the program included a free college education at the school of your choice, as long as the degree was in an area that could be utilized by the Agency. The lure of a free college education was strong, but I’d also be obligated to work for the Agency for five years afterward.
My phone vibrated on the desk, and I read the text from my best friend, Violet. How goes the job hunt?
Guess, I wrote back.
A sad emoji appeared. Mom or Dad would give you a job.
Violet’s father owned a big accounting firm, and her mother was a high-powered defense attorney. Even if one of their firms had an open position, it would be nothing that an out of work barista with a high school diploma was qualified for. If Violet asked them, they might create an intern position for me, but that felt too much like charity. I wasn’t at that point yet.
Ask me again in a few weeks, I said.
Will do.
The twang of a guitar string interrupted my texting. I looked over my shoulder at Finch, who stood beside my guitar, watching me hopefully.
“Maybe later.”
He plucked another string with a little more force, and I knew he wasn’t going to leave until he got what he’d come for.
Shooting him a playful scowl, I picked up the guitar and went to sit on the bed. “I just learned a new song. You want to hear?”
Finch signed, Annie’s Song.
I scrunched up my nose. “Aren’t you sick of that one yet?”
He shook his head and climbed up to sit on my pillow.
“You’re such a dork.” I started to play. Ever since Mom had come home with an old John Denver album last year, Finch had been obsessed with that one song. It was a good guitar song, so I’d learned to play it for him, but now he wanted to hear it all the time.
Sing, he signed.
I shot him the stink eye and started over, singing the words I knew by heart. My voice was passable, but Finch fell into a trancelike state every time I sang to him. It didn’t happen when Mom or Dad sang, and I’d read that something like one in a million people could entrance lower faeries with song. I’d tried it once on Gorn, and he’d looked at me like I was nuts. That was when I’d learned it didn’t work on all faeries.
I’d used singing against Finch a few times to get my own way when we were younger – until Mom and Dad found out and grounded me for a whole month. I’d also endured a lecture about taking advantage of my brother, who had already suffered too much in his young life.
When I was nine, my parents rescued Finch after they busted a ring of traffickers. Because of their size and exotic beauty, sprites were often illegally sold as pets on the black market. Finch’s parents had been sold off already, leaving the one-year-old sprite orphaned and traumatized. The traffickers had clipped his gossamer wings to prevent him from flying away, and there was no way he would survive on his own or be accepted by other sprites in Faerie. So, Mom and Dad brought him home to live with us.
In the beginning, Finch was so terrified and grief-stricken he wouldn’t eat or let anyone near him. For the first week, we’d all feared h
e would die. But with time and a lot of TLC, he recovered and warmed up to us. Sprites lived in trees in Faerie, so Dad built him his own tree house in our living room, complete with a ladder because Finch could no longer fly.
Sprites couldn’t vocalize human words, so they were often thought to be of lesser intelligence. But I knew from firsthand experience that they were extremely smart. Finch understood our language just fine, and it had been easy for him to learn sign language. He’d actually picked it up faster than we had. Now, he communicated with us using ASL and a series of whistles. He might not be human, but he was as much a part of this family as any of us.
I played five more songs before I laid down the guitar, and we went to the living room to watch a movie. He picked out the one he wanted, and we lay on the couch together.
I didn’t remember falling asleep. Hours later, I sat upright on the couch, looking around in confusion. A familiar song filled the room, and I reached for my phone, which was on the coffee table. It was Mom’s ringtone – Bad to the Bone – and I blearily wondered why on earth she was calling me at this ungodly hour.
“Hello?” I rasped.
Instead of a reply, I got an earful of garbled sounds. I thought I could hear voices in the background, but they were too indistinct to make out the words.
“Mom?” I said, but there was no response.
I yawned and rubbed my eyes. “You have to stop butt dialing me. This is bordering on child abuse.”
I pressed the button to end the call at the same time that a muffled scream came from the phone. My fingers froze on the screen.
What the hell was that?
My first reaction was to call her back, but I stopped myself before I hit the button. Bounty hunting could be messy and dangerous. Mom had probably dialed me by accident in the middle of a capture, and calling her would only distract her, especially if she saw it was me.
They’re fine, I told myself. We’d have a good laugh about this tomorrow.
I turned off the lights and made my way to bed. Rolling onto my side, I closed my eyes and willed my body to relax, despite the unease that had stolen over me. Eventually, my mind calmed, and I slipped back into sleep.
Chapter 2
They didn’t come home.
I’d woken up at seven, expecting Mom and Dad to be here, but the apartment was quiet and their bed hadn’t been slept in. I’d showered, made breakfast for Finch and me, and cleaned up. Still, there was no sign of our parents.
It wasn’t unusual for them to stay out overnight on a job, but they always called to let me know they wouldn’t be home. Always. No exception.
The clock on the mantle chimed noon. I should have heard from them by now.
I tried Dad’s phone first, then Mom’s, and both went straight to voice mail. I swallowed dryly. There was no one more capable of taking care of themselves than my parents. Maybe I was overreacting, but I couldn’t wait any longer.
My parents’ office was nothing more than a small bedroom that served as a work space and a storage area for all the weapons and tools of their trade. On one side of the room was the desk, bookcase, and filing cabinets, everything neat and in its place. This was Mom’s domain. She managed all the finances and administrative side of the business. Dad was the tactical and information expert, and he managed everything in those areas. He knew more about weapons, combat, and the Fae than anyone else I knew.
I went to the desk and sat in the chair. Ignoring the computer, I opened the top drawer and pulled out the address book Mom kept all their contacts in. She had them on the computer, but she often said you should never put all your trust in technology that could fail on you at any time.
She was right. A few years back, a hobgoblin went on a rampage in Manhattan, and his magic took out every computer in a city block before a group of hunters, led by my parents, caught him. We had iron grounding rods on the roof to protect our building against that, but Mom wasn’t taking any chances.
Finch jumped up onto the desk, startling me. I almost scolded him until I saw the worry in his eyes. He whistled and signed, Mom and Dad?
“They’ll be home soon,” I told him, wishing I knew that were true. “I’m just going to call around to some of their friends.”
By friends, I meant their fellow bounty hunters in the area. Most hunters worked in pairs, but they sometimes teamed up to help each other out on difficult jobs. And they watched each other’s backs. Thankfully, Mom had them all clearly marked in her address book.
I spent the next hour calling every one of Mom’s contacts. I couldn’t reach a few of them, but no one I spoke to had seen either of my parents in the last two days, except for Phil Griffin. He was the one Dad had helped on that banshee job yesterday. Phil didn’t sound too worried when I told him they hadn’t come home. I had to bite back a retort when he said I shouldn’t concern myself with these matters and that my parents knew what they were doing.
After I’d exhausted all their local contacts, I dialed Maurice’s number. Last I’d heard, he was somewhere in the Everglades on a big job, but he would want me to call him. I wasn’t surprised when I got his voice mail, and I left him a message detailing everything that had happened since yesterday. He’d call me back as soon as he got my message, whenever that was.
The last person I called was Levi Solomon. I didn’t know what job Mom and Dad were working on, but it had to be one of Levi’s. If anyone knew where my parents were, it was their bond agent.
Feeling hopeful, I dialed his number.
“Hello?” rumbled a gravelly voice that sounded like its owner smoked two packs of cigarettes a day.
“Hi, Mr. Solomon,” I replied, all businesslike. “I’m Jesse James. Patrick and Caroline James are my parents.”
That’s right. My name is Jesse James. I could thank my dad and his obsession with old westerns for that.
There was a short pause before Levi Solomon cautiously asked, “What can I do for you?”
I cleared my throat. “Well, um…I was wondering if you know where my parents are. They went out on a job last night and didn’t come home.”
“Sometimes bounty hunters stay out all night,” he said with a note of impatience. “It’s part of the job.”
“Yes, but they always let me know if they won’t be home.” Dread coiled in my stomach as I told him about the strange call I’d gotten from Mom last night.
“They were probably making a capture,” he replied casually.
“If you could tell me what job they were –”
“Sorry, kid. I can’t discuss Agency jobs with just anyone.”
I gripped the phone tighter. “But they’re my parents, and they’re missing.”
He coughed loudly and wheezed. “Listen. I have no idea if you are who you say you are. And a person has to be gone longer than a few hours to be declared missing. If you are Patrick and Caroline’s kid, you should know they can take care of themselves. I’m sure they’ll turn up soon.”
“But –”
The line went dead.
I stared at the phone in disbelief. Did he really just hang up on me?
Finch waved a hand to get my attention. They never stay out this long, he signed fearfully.
My chest squeezed. I picked him up and gently hugged him to comfort me as much as him. “Don’t worry. I’ll find them.”
I chewed my lip and pondered what to do next. My fingers automatically went to the braided black leather bracelet Mom had given me when I was twelve. I rarely removed it, and I took comfort in its familiar texture.
I picked up the address book. The longer I stared at Levi Solomon’s name, the more my jaw tightened until it hurt. He was my only lead to finding Mom and Dad, and I’d be damned if he was going to brush me off that easily. If he wanted proof I was Patrick and Caroline James’s daughter, I’d give it to him.
Setting Finch on the desk, I pushed back the chair and stood. In my room, I changed into jeans and a thermal top and pulled on a coat. I stuffed my phone, a credit card, an
d some cash into my coat pocket and picked up my keys.
Finch was waiting for me in the living room. Where are you going? he signed.
“To talk to that bond agent. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”
Waving goodbye to Finch, I left the apartment and locked the door behind me. I hated to leave him alone when he was worried about Mom and Dad, but I wasn’t going to get any answers sitting at home. All that would do was drive me crazy.
It took me over an hour to reach the four-story brick building in Queens that housed Levi Solomon’s agency. The Plaza, as it was called, was home to over half a dozen bond agencies, and it was like walking into a bounty hunter convention when I entered the main lobby. Four armed hunters conversed off to my left, while five others talked to my right. Two more waited by the elevator with a bound ogre supported between them. The yellow-skinned ogre growled something around the gag in his mouth, and then he tried to butt one of the hunters with his bald head.
The elevator dinged, and the doors opened. I watched the three get on and decided I’d better wait for the next one. Ogres were unpleasant on a good day. No way I was getting in a little metal box with that one.
I felt eyes on me as I waited, and I met the curious stares of several hunters. I didn’t know any of them, but I was aware of how out of place I was here. Bounty hunters were like a club that everyone knew about, but only members got to see what went on inside. Except for Agency operatives, outsiders didn’t come to their place of work.
“You lost, kid?” a woman called a second before the elevator doors opened.
“Nope.” I stepped inside, and the doors closed behind me.
I got off on the fourth floor and immediately spotted a door to my right with The Solomon Agency painted on it. The door was unlocked, and a bell tinkled when I entered.
I wasn’t sure what I had been expecting a bond agency to look like, but it wasn’t this one-room windowless office that reeked of stale cigarette smoke. There was a metal desk in the corner and a row of tall filing cabinets along one wall. The other walls were covered with wanted posters featuring just about every race of faerie you could think of – except Court Fae, of course. It was extremely rare that a bounty was issued for one of the Fae ruling class.
