by Lori Drake
“Hey!” Ben turned from the window and lunged for the bottle. “Give that back.”
Joey danced out of his reach, light on her feet. “No. I’m done watching you try to drink yourself to death. Quit being a drama queen.”
Ben growled menacingly and barreled toward her. Truth be told, she was glad to see any emotion from him besides self-indulgent despair. Joey dodged aside and hip-checked him as he moved past her. He stumbled and hit the floor, landing on his hands and knees. The air around him began to shimmer; he was losing control, his wolf coming to the fore.
Joey backed away from him, edging toward the wet bar. “You don’t want to do that, Ben. It’s going to hurt like a son of a bitch.” It always did, shifting forms without undressing first. He was wearing jeans, too, and denim didn’t tear easily at all.
“Just take a deep breath,” she said, keeping her voice at an even keel. “You don’t want a fight right now. You won’t win.” At least, she didn’t think so. The odds were certainly in her favor, as long as he was intoxicated. She couldn’t rule out the prospect of him kicking her ass the next morning in training, however.
While Ben struggled to regain his composure, Joey dumped the rest of the expensive scotch down the bar’s tiny sink. There was more where that came from, but at least it was out of the way for now. She dropped the bottle in the recycling bin under the bar, then approached Ben once more. Still on his hands and knees, he looked up at her with angry but human eyes. Anger was good. It’d get his heart pumping, help him burn off the alcohol faster.
Joey offered him a hand, but he smacked it away and stood on his own, hands clenched into fists. His eyes bored into hers, but she lifted her chin and met his challenging stare. They stood there, eyes locked in silent opposition, for the better part of a minute before Ben tore his eyes away and turned to stalk toward the exit.
“Ben, wait,” Joey said, couching it as a request rather than a command.
He halted just inside the threshold, but didn’t turn.
“You were dealt a shitty hand. I know that. But in order to heal, you have to take better care of yourself.”
Ben shot her a glance over his shoulder, eyes moist and full of resentment. “Maybe that’d be easier if my sister wasn’t harboring the enemy.”
“Wait, what?” Joey stared at him in confusion.
“Your pet poltergeist. He killed Brandon, and you could’ve ended him. You still could.”
Joey swallowed her first instinct—to point out that Brandon had killed Roger first—and said, “He’s suffered enough, and he could be… useful.”
Ben smirked. “You’ve been hanging out with Mom too much.”
Joey had nothing to say to that. He was right.
Chris did his best to time his arrival at the Grants’ mountain lodge to minimize the amount of pre-dinner socialization he’d have to do with his mother. Little did he know, she was running behind schedule. He followed Jon to the parlor and joined Joey on one of the couches.
“Everything okay?” he asked, his voice a low hum as he leaned in to kiss her cheek.
“Yeah,” Joey said, but her distracted smile said otherwise.
“What’s keeping Mom?” Chris asked.
Joey shrugged. “Dunno.”
It wasn’t like Adelaide to be late to dinner. The woman was more reliable than a Rolex. The air in the room was borderline tense.
“How are things going with the house, Chris?” his father asked.
“Could be worse. Roof sprang a leak overnight, but thankfully it’s patchable. My general contractor says the roof needs a little work, but it’s nothing drastic.” Chris went on to provide a few more updates, but the third time Reginald removed his pocket watch from his vest pocket and consulted it, Chris couldn’t help but ask, “How late is she?”
Sam answered, “An hour.”
“Has anyone heard from her?” Chris said. The question was met with shaken heads, all around the room. He took out his phone and called Adelaide’s cell number without hesitation. The instinct to check up on her, no matter how misplaced, was no doubt influenced by his experience as an Alpha. An Alpha always looked after their pack, but who looked after the Alpha?
Adelaide’s voicemail picked up. “Hey, Mom, it’s me. Um, Chris. Anyway, we just wondered if you’re on your way. Give me a call, eh?”
Another half-hour of small talk passed without Adelaide putting in an appearance or returning the call.
“Okay, now I’m starting to get worried,” Joey murmured, her eyes sliding toward Reginald as he checked his watch yet again.
“Should we call the museum?” Sara suggested, concern etched in her brow.
“It’s after hours, love. No one would answer,” Jon said, and pulled her closer to press a kiss into her hair.
“Jon’s right,” Chris said. “Does anyone have the number for the car company she uses? We can find out if she was picked up.”
“I’ve got it,” Reginald said, patting his pockets until he found his phone.
They waited while Reginald made the call. Sam paced. Ben bounced a knee restlessly. It was the first time Chris had seen him without a drink in his hand since Brandon’s death. Jon sat quietly with an arm around Sara, rubbing her arm. As for Joey, she alternated between watching Sam pace and redialing Adelaide’s number whenever the voicemail picked up.
“All right, thank you.” Reginald concluded the call and all eyes turned to him. There was worry in his eyes now. Stark, outright worry. “She wasn’t there for the pickup. They tried calling her but got no answer, and left after twenty minutes.”
Chris stood, retrieving his keys from his pocket. “Maybe she’s still there. I’ll go check.”
“I’m coming with you,” Joey said, rising to join him. “Call us if you hear from her.”
Chris expected someone to object, but no one did. Was it a testament to Joey’s growing status within the pack, or their uncertainty about what to do when the person who was usually barking orders wasn’t around? He didn’t know, but he didn’t stop to think about it too long.
“Do you think this is it?” Joey asked, once they were on the road. They’d taken her car by default; she preferred to drive.
“What Emma’s warning was about? Maybe,” Chris said. “But let’s not jump to conclusions. Maybe Mom just lost track of time.”
Joey snorted. “Because that really sounds like her.”
Chris reached for her hand and laced his fingers with hers, not ready to give voice to the doubts that swirled in his mind. Instead, he kissed the back of her hand.
Forty minutes later, Joey pulled the car up to the curb outside the museum. There’d been no calls from home, and in this case, no news wasn’t good news.
“Go ahead and see if you can sweet-talk security into checking her office,” she said. “I’ll find somewhere to park and catch up.”
Chris nodded and climbed out of the car, leaning over to look inside. “Watch your back.”
She smiled. “Always. You too.”
Chris closed the door and watched her pull away with a knot of unease in his stomach. Splitting up didn’t seem like a great idea, but time was of the essence. He headed for the front door and knocked on the thick glass, then cupped a hand to try and peer inside the darkened building. All he could see were vague shapes of furniture and display cases.
The call box beside the door buzzed and a deep voice came over the speaker. “I’m sorry, the museum’s closed.”
“I know,” Chris said quickly, stepping closer to the box. “My mother works here. Adelaide Grant, she’s the curator. Can you tell me if she’s still in her office?”
“No,” the man said.
“No you can’t tell me? Or no she’s not there?”
“It’s after hours, sir. Everyone’s gone home for the day.”
Sweet-talk the security guard, she’d said. Chris raked fingers through his hair and blew out a sigh. Sure, he had charisma. But it was difficult to charm a disembodied voice on a speaker.
>
“Would you please just check? I’d really appreciate it. She didn’t come home for dinner, and she’s not answering her phone.”
There was a long pause, then, “All right. Hang on.”
“Thank you,” Chris said, hoping the words would reach the security guard before he turned off the intercom.
Chris was still waiting for the man to get back when Joey walked up to join him.
“Any luck?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Security guard said she wasn’t here, but he’s checking to make sure.”
“What do we do if she’s not?” Joey nibbled her lower lip, a sure sign of her worry.
“I’m not sure.” He slipped an arm around her waist and she wrapped both of hers around him. “We’ll find her, Joey.”
“I hope so.”
It was a couple more minutes before the security guard came back over the speaker. “She’s not here, sorry.”
“Thanks for checking,” Chris said, resigning himself to Plan B. Whatever that was.
Joey leaned over to speak into the intercom. “Hey, who’s this?”
“Um, why?” the man said.
“Just wondering who I’m talking to. I’m Joey, and this is Chris.”
Chris eyed Joey, uncertain where she was going but willing to let her try.
“I’m Jim.”
“Nice to meet you, Jim. Thanks again for going to check. Hey, do you have security footage or anything that’d tell us when she left?”
Jim scoffed. “Only if you’ve got a badge.”
“Come on, Jim,” Joey said. “If your mom was missing, wouldn’t you want to use every resource at your disposal?”
“I’ve gotta get back to work. Please move along. There’s no loitering outside the museum after dark.”
Joey rolled her eyes and muttered, “Worth a shot.”
Chris squeezed her. “It was.”
They turned away from the museum’s front door and walked back toward the street together.
“We should call the cops,” Joey said.
“They won’t do anything for twenty-four hours, right?”
“No, but it’ll be suspicious if we don’t report it sooner. Learned that the hard way,” she said.
Chris arched a brow and glanced at her. “When?”
“When you… you know.”
“Oh. Okay.” Chris considered their options while he let Joey guide him to wherever she’d parked the car. Not many options came to mind. He did have a nerd in his pocket—Adam—but triangulating cell signals only worked in the movies. There were too many scents outside the museum to home in on hers, even if running around downtown in wolf form were possible.
“Do you think you could find her?” Joey asked, breaking the silence after they’d walked half a block.
“I’m doing my damnedest to think of how.”
“On the astral plane.”
“Oh.” Chris considered it, rubbing the back of his neck. “Worth a try.”
Once they got back to the car, Chris settled into the passenger seat and took a deep breath. Joey started the car, but he put a hand on her leg.
“Wait,” he said. “This is easier to do if I’m holding still.”
Joey nodded and settled to wait, but Chris hesitated. The last time he’d done this, a spirit had possessed his body and he hadn’t been able to get back into it.
“Something wrong?” Joey asked, covering her hand with his.
“Just wish I hadn’t given that anti-possession charm back to Cathy.”
“We can go get it if you want.”
“No, no, that will take too long.” He leaned his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes.
“Wait!”
Chris rolled his head to the left and opened his eyes. “What?”
“We need a safe word,” Joey said. “Something so I know you’re you when you come back.”
“Good idea. How about—”
Joey’s hand shot up, fingers stilling his lips. “Don’t say it! There could be a spirit here right now.”
Chuckling, he caught her hand and kissed her fingertips, then motioned her closer. He leaned over to meet her halfway, waiting until his lips almost brushed her ear to whisper, “Vampirella.”
The significance of the word wasn’t lost on her. It’d been her Halloween costume the year before last. She laughed softly and nodded, sitting back. “Okay, go for it.”
Chris’s eyes lingered on her, then he leaned back and closed them again.
He’d had plenty of practice stepping out of his body in the last six weeks. After some speculation, Cathy had decided it was best to approach his ability the same way she might someone unintentionally manifesting magical ability. The best way to learn to control it was to practice using it. So he’d practiced, over and over, moving between the astral plane and the physical until it was practically second nature. He didn’t need to focus on leaving his body now; he just slipped out. When he opened his eyes, he stood beside the car on the astral plane. As always, the landscape was slightly blurry, the colors faded and tinged with gray.
Even expecting the surge of emotion he experienced while outside of his body, it still caught him a bit off guard. Worry for his missing mother surged to the fore, but anxiety and shame were threaded through it. Why had he let things remain awkward between them for so long?
“Concentrate, Chris,” he muttered. Locating someone from the astral plane wasn’t difficult. He’d done it instinctively when he was trapped there initially, and more intentionally since then. It was like taking a really big step. All he had to do was focus on who he wanted to find, and he could zero in on them with laser precision.
He formed an image of his mother in his mind, tamped down the complex tangle of emotions associated with her, and took a deep—if unnecessary—breath.
Then he stepped.
5
Joey sat quietly, holding Chris’s hand for the two minutes and twenty-four seconds he was gone. His expression was serene, and his chest rose and fell steadily. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was asleep. His fingers twitched beneath hers, telling her that someone was home again just before he opened his eyes. She peered at him, then squeezed his hand.
“Well?” she said, when he didn’t say anything right away.
He shook his head, causing her stomach to turn over even before he said, “I can’t find her.”
“What does that mean?” She searched his face for answers by the glow of the dashboard lights.
He turned his head and smiled faintly. “Don’t you mean, ‘What’s the password?’”
“Oh, right. What’s the password?”
He didn’t move, but he did whisper the word they’d agreed upon. Her wolf ears picked it up just fine. Technically, he hadn’t needed to whisper it so close to her ear before, but she’d humored him. Her fingers stirred, smoothing across his. The expression on his face spoke volumes, but she needed to hear the words.
“So, you couldn’t find her. What does that mean?”
“I don’t know,” Chris said, and sighed. “Either she’s too far away, or—”
“You were able to get from San Diego to Ensenada on the astral plane. That’s what, eighty miles?”
“Closer to ninety, and you were probably six or seven miles farther south. It wasn’t easy, though.”
“So she’s not anywhere in at least a ninety-mile radius, and she’s been missing”—she checked the clock on the dash—“three and a half hours?”
“Assuming she left work at the usual time, yes.”
“It wouldn’t have been hard to drive ninety miles in three and a half hours. The question is—”
“Joey.” His fingers tightened around hers. “I know you don’t want to think about it, but—”
“No. She’s not dead, Chris. She’s not.”
He released her hand and tried to put his arm around her, but she pushed him away.
“Call Dad. Tell him to call the police and report her missing.�
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“Joey—” His voice was gentle, but she wasn’t having any of it.
“Call Dad.” It was a command, not a suggestion. She met his eyes, but he held her gaze in silent challenge. Sometimes Joey wondered if becoming an Alpha had made him less malleable to her will, or if he’d always been more dominant than he’d let on.
Joey growled in frustration and smacked a hand against the wheel. “Dammit, Chris, why are you fighting me on this? Just call him, please.”
“I will,” he said, and reached for her hand again. She let him take it, glaring at him while he enfolded it in both of his and stroked it with gentle fingers.
“Chris, we don’t have time for—”
He silenced her with a look. Not a sharp look, or a commanding look, or even a loving look. An understanding look.
“Don’t panic,” he said.
“I’m not panicking,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Panicking doesn’t make you weak. It’s a natural response. But your pack needs you. With Mom gone—”
“She’s not gone,” Joey said, narrowing her eyes. “Why are you so eager to write her off? So you can take over her pack too?”
Chris’s forehead wrinkled, and he shook his head. “First off, that’s not what I meant. Second, uh, an emphatic hell no. I’ve got my hands full. But if you’d let me finish, I was going to say that with her—out of pocket—they’re going to look to you for direction.”
“Oh.” Joey winced and looked away. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to— I just—”
He squeezed her hand. “Apology accepted. But my point is: you need to keep that shit under wraps, because if you come apart, they’re going to come apart too.”
Maybe he was right. Maybe she had been panicking. Just a little bit. “When did you get so smart?” she asked, meeting his eyes. “Did you learn that from your father’s journal?”
“No,” he said, and in that moment, a little bit of his worry leaked into his expression. “I learned it from Mom.”
