Before I could answer, a timid knock came from the door.
“Who is it?” bellowed McKinney.
“It’s Billy, sir.”
“Alright come in, son.”
In walked a skinny slip of an officer with a shock of blond hair, ruddy cheeks, and a uniform that looked like it was wearing him than the other way around. He anxiously glanced over at Logan then me and lowered his head, obviously intimidated by us.
“Don’t worry about these two,” said McKinney. “They’re from the FBI. They came all the way from Washington DC to help us. Now, what’s up, son?”
Billy looked over at me and said, “There’s someone here to see you, ma’am.”
“Someone’s here for me?” I asked. “Who?”
“It ain’t a fucking reporter, is it?” raged McKinney. “Because if it’s a reporter, I’ll fling their ass to the curb!”
“No sir. It’s not a reporter,” said Billy. “It’s Sylvia.”
“Oh, for cryin’ out loud,” McKinney said with a groan. “That’s just as bad. Should’ve known the minute word got out that the FBI was here investigating these kids, she’d come snoopin’ around.”
“Who’s Sylvia?” I asked.
Billy and McKinney both sighed in unison. Their exasperation was real.
“Sylvia’s a sweet old dear who’s lived here in Yarbrough since the beginning of time,” the sheriff droned. “Legend has it she used to babysit Moses when he was a boy.”
Logan stifled a laugh, sending it huffing out his nostrils instead.
“And she’s here to see me?” I asked. My curiosity was growing more palpable by the minute.
“That’s what she says,” said Billy. “Just you. Not your partner.”
I glanced over to Logan and he shrugged at me.
“Fine with me,” he said. “Doesn’t sound like I’m missing out on much.”
I looked back to McKinney. He was still muttering and grumbling under his breath.
“Damn woman. Always in here with her lunatic nonsense.”
“I take it you don’t like her very much,” I laughed.
“Lemme put it this way—she’s a real pain in my ass. Been that way my whole life. Even when I was a kid, she used to yell and scream at me and my friends if we ran over her lawn. Even stabbed a knife through my football once when it went in her yard.”
“Yeah, she’s a bit wackadoo,” said Billy. “She comes in here at least once a week to report stuff.”
Oooh, once a week? No wonder she rubbed these guys the wrong way. Then again, what else was the sheriff of a sleepy little mountain town going to do with his free time? There was only one way to know.
“What kind of things does she report?” I asked. “Barking dogs? Rowdy teenagers?”
“If only!” Billy snorted with a grin. “She once called 911 because she thought a squirrel had cursed her and was trying to poison her with a noxious gas. Turned out to be a rotten sack of potatoes underneath her sink.”
Logan blinked for a moment, making sure he’d heard the officers correctly.
“Maybe this is the wrong question to ask, but why did she think a squirrel was to blame?”
“Easy,” McKinney said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “She ran over its mate the week before. Obviously, the little critter wanted revenge.”
“Obviously,” said Logan sarcastically, and returned his attention to the images taped on the wall at the back of the room.
“Alright, so, she’s a little eccentric,” I shrugged.
“She’s more than that,” replied McKinney. “She’s a mean old wench. Always likes to cause trouble and come in here blaming just about everybody for everything. I don’t think there’s a single person in this town she hasn’t reported for something or another. Whether it be stealing the dirt from her plant pots or looking sideways at her cats.”
“And she has a lot of cats,” added Billy. “Like . . . a lot.”
Even from the back of the room, I could see Logan’s face scrunch up at the mere mention of cats. All the more reason for him to not be the one to speak to Sylvia.
“The cats ain’t even the worst of it,” continued McKinney. “The old girl claims to be a psychic. Said a ghost came into her garden one night and gave her the powers to read people’s dreams.”
A loud burst of laughter exploded out of Logan. When his blue eyes met mine, I saw they were filled with tears. He was laughing so hard he struggled to breathe.
“A ghost with magic powers?” he wheezed. “For the love of God. Next thing you know, she’ll be related to Bigfoot.”
As tired as I was of his skepticism, I couldn’t help grinning along with him. If this batshit little old lady was half as interesting as I was being led to believe, I was in for quite a treat. I had half a mind to drag Logan’s ass along with me.
“I can’t wait to meet her,” I said, heading for the door to where the reception area was located. “She sounds like a blast.”
Sylvia sat across from me in the small interview room we were given, cradling a cup of tea she’d brought from home. She was swimming inside a huge pink cardigan straight from the ‘80s, with large coke bottle glasses covering half her face. Her thinning, gray hair was pulled into a bun so tight I could make out the shape of her skull.
“You asked to see me,” I said. “Why me?”
She gave me a shrewd, knowing look. “Because I heard you were here.”
“From who?”
“Pfft. From everyone. This is a small town, Agent Rivera. People talk.”
Her voice was surprisingly forceful for someone her age and behind her glasses, her eyes were alert and directed right at me.
“I hear you went to see little Haley yesterday,” she said. “Did you learn a lot?”
I nodded.
“It was informative, but I can’t discuss details.”
“I understand . . . ”
She took a long sip of her tea and let out a satisfied exhale.
“I reckon that McKinney bastard told you a whole lot about me,” she said, appearing downright proud of her status in the Yarbrough police department. “Reckon he said I was crazy, too.”
“He may have mentioned that you’re one of the most . . . colorful characters here in town.”
Sylvia beamed, revealing a full set of sparkling dentures.
“That sheriff is a goddamn hypocrite,” she said into her travel mug. “He’s always claiming to be a man of the people. Always saying he listens to us. Folks even say he’s into all sorts of esoteric stuff. Folklore and whatnot.”
“He is,” I replied. “I’ve talked to him about it and he seems pretty knowledgeable on those subjects. Most guys in his position wouldn’t be so eager to admit they believe in things they can’t see. It’s been my experience that people shy away from that stuff.”
“That sheriff shies away from me, I can tell you that,” spat Sylvia. “And he doesn’t give a hoot when I have something to tell him.”
“And what do you have to tell him?”
“All the things that are happening in this town.”
I raised a curious brow at her.
“Things like the curse put on you by a squirrel?”
“Ah . . . So he got to you, eh?” she seethed, wagging a finger at me. “I should have known the gossip would have started flying already.”
“So . . . are you saying it’s not true?”
Sylvia settled into her chair, shaking her head.
“It was a misunderstanding. That’s all.”
I was trying to be patient, but this particular human was starting to test my limits.
“Look,” I said. “I was told you came here specifically to speak to me. Can you tell me whatever it is you have to say?”
Sliding her cup to the edge of the table, she leaned forward and grabbed my hands between her liver-spotted, gnarled arthritic fingers. Her skin was paper-thin, and it was anyone’s guess how old she truly was.
“There are things that happen in th
is town that are beyond our realm of understanding. Strange things. Terrifying things.” Looking deep into her eyes, I tried to figure out just what was going on in her head. She was right, there were strange things happening in this town, but the things she spoke of? They couldn’t be true. Squirrels didn’t curse anyone. Well, actually they did, but usually other squirrels, not humans.
“I’ve seen lights in the sky and creatures in my yard. I’ve seen things look back at me from the mirror that wasn’t just my own face. I’ve seen the faerie rings at the bottom of the garden, when all that anyone else can see is a circle of mushrooms. I know you’ve seen all these things too. Maybe not here, but you’ve seen them.”
Her grip on my hands was so tight her nails were on the verge of breaking through my skin. I tried to peel myself away from her, but she only held me tighter.
I tried to hear a ring of truth to what she was saying, but sadly, as I looked into her face, all I saw was a lonely, old, grief-stricken woman who’d driven herself mad with too much solitude. Whatever she had to say wasn’t connected with what we were investigating.
“I can tell you think I’m just some old, crazy, grief-struck woman,” she said, on the verge of a smile. “I bet you think I’ve gone nuts living alone with no one to talk to but my cats.”
“Uh . . . well . . . ” I stammered. Sylvia nodded and eased up on her grip. Not by much, but enough.
“I know I might be a little nuts. I accept that. The thing is . . . I’m not stupid. I know what you’re thinking.”
“Do you?” I had to know where this was leading. The suspense was starting to make me jittery. Or maybe it was the liter of Mountain Dew I’d had for breakfast.
“I’m extremely perceptive and I can see the skepticism in your eyes,” she went on. “I can also see something else. Something not . . . human.”
Shivers ran down my legs. She’d touched on something secret. How could she have any idea? Could she actually read my fucking mind?
“Sylvia, what exactly are you saying?”
“I’m saying I could feel your presence the moment you drove into this town. You’re not one of us, are you? You’re one of them. One of them folk from below. You’re one of the fae. I can see it from the color in your eyes. I can smell it on your breath. You got that cotton candy smell like all the good ones have.”
I yanked myself out of her grasp and reeled back in my seat. Never, in my entire life up here on the surface had a human guessed what I was. People may have thought I was a little weird at times . . . a little different, but they never guessed I was fae.
“See? I’m not just some crackpot,” she said with a contented grin. Sylvia had swagger for miles. “I can see things and I can see the fae in you.”
Nodding my head, I got my shit together as quickly as I could. Fine. So she knew what I was. She knew my secret. I had to make sure she kept it that way.
“Sylvia, this is really important,” I began, trying to keep my voice quiet and steady. “You have to—”
“Keep my yap shut. Don’t worry, hon. I won’t tell a soul.” She made a motion of locking her lips and throwing away an imaginary key. “I’m on your side.”
When she leaned forward and took my hands again, this time her grasp was soft and gentle.
“You might not believe all the stories that damned Sheriff McKinney tells about me,” she said. “But if you don’t believe anything you hear while you’re investigating this case, you gotta believe this one thing. This town, it’s at the center of everything. People have known about what lays beneath the land for thousands of years.”
“What lays beneath the land?”
“The realm of the dark fae,” she replied matter-of-factly. “Yarbrough sits on one of them ley lines, and since a ley line is all full of energy, it takes a lot of energy to open it. I’m thinking they need something powerful, like a couple hundred youngin’s life force.”
“The children?” I whispered. “Are you saying you think they’re being sacrificed?”
She nodded.
“But you can bring them back. You’re halfway to the other side already. I reckon that’s why you were fated to come to our little town—to solve this mystery. Only you can bring the children back, Elena.”
9
Logan
Rivera stood beneath an oak tree with the leaves lightly grazing her hair. Her gaze was fixed on some faraway spot in the distance, her eyes noticeably glossed over. She’d been a little off ever since she’d come out of the interview room with Sylvia.
I know, I know. Off was an understatement. The girl was a few crayons short of a full box. She was patient and understanding with kids like Haley and then turned around and acted like Godzilla whenever I was around. Her idea of a hearty breakfast was a bottle of soda and a package of gas station donuts. No wonder her moods were all over the place, given what she was doing to her blood sugar levels.
I bet her pancreas hated her.
But I knew something was off with Rivera because she’d gone to meet Sylvia with curious enthusiasm. The pink-haired punk-ass who’d come out of that room now had a serious expression on her face that hadn’t budged all day.
“Hey, Brad, what are you staring at?” she yelled across the rocky space between us. Brad? Really? Well, it looked like she was back to her usual self. As much as she might try to chum the waters, I wasn’t going to take the bait.
“I was just wondering when you were gonna snap out of it, Azrael Lovecraft. You’ve been staring into space for a full five minutes.”
Her eyes narrowed, and her mouth pinched into something between a snarl and a pout. Aww . . . she was kinda cute when she was angry.
“I was thinking, you meathead. You should try it sometime.”
The cops beside me shot me an amused look.
“Is Elena always like this?” asked the younger one.
“Nah. Sometimes she’s in a bad mood.”
“She worth it, though?”
“What?”
“Is that hot Mexican ass worth it?”
I ignored him and walked away towards the rest of the team. After departing the incident room at the police station, it was decided we’d comb the woodlands on the outskirts of Yarbrough along with a few officers to fill us in on any local knowledge.
We’d been walking for over an hour through fields of emerald grass towards the more rugged terrain. It was only a ten-minute detour to the treehouse for us to change into our hiking gear. It would’ve been a beautiful day if I wasn’t putting up with sleazy banter from the young officers and crabby comments from a sulky Rivera who insisted on brooding beneath the trees.
This meant that over the last hour we’d found precisely jack shit. Not that any of us really had a solid idea of what we were looking for. Little green men? A hole in a hill? A pedophile with a pan flute and an affinity for rats?
We were searching the area that McKinney had designated as the hot spot, the general spot where most the children had disappeared. There was some hope between us that even the smallest clue would present itself. A few fibers of clothing, some kid-sized footprints, anything that could tie us to what was happening. But there was nothing.
You’d be forgiven for thinking not a single person had traveled through this neck of the woods. The foliage was thick, the trees as tall as skyscrapers and the mud deep and treacherous. The only relief on our feet was the smooth asphalt tourist path that traveled down the center of the virgin forest. A route you had to be crazy to venture off if you didn’t know the area.
“This is pointless,” Rivera complained, finally coming out from under the tree. “We can’t just search the site like you would any other. The kids haven’t been abducted in a regular way, so you’re not gonna find clues in a regular way, either.”
“I’m inclined to agree,” I said, surprised at myself for agreeing with her. “We’d need to have hundreds of law enforcement combing the area to find anything.”
We both looked around us. All there was as far as the ey
e could see was thick, green forest and rocky outcroppings. The view was stunning, but that wasn’t why we were here. And as much as I’d love a team of one or two hundred to help with the search, I didn’t think Chief Harris would appreciate the OCD getting that much publicity.
“I think we should be focused on this Hollow kingdom Haley spoke about,” I said. “Maybe there’s an abandoned mine shaft or something around here? I could try and get in touch with the Army Corps of Engineers.”
Rivera looked up at me and rolled her eyes.
“You still don’t get it, do you? This isn’t a normal case!”
“Don’t worry. I’m pretty fucking well aware of how abnormal all of this is.”
“But you’re really not. Get your head out your ass, Hawthorne. We can’t just enter the kingdom like we’re walking into a post office. Well, you can’t, anyway.”
“What do you mean, I can’t, but you can?”
Rivera rolled her eyes.
“It’s not a regular physical place. Not like the diner, not like the police station, not like the houses or the gas station. The Hollows isn’t like what you know. It’s . . . it’s . . . ”
Putting her hands on her hips, she thought for a second, glaring at the two officers who were watching her and trying not to crack up.
“It’s another dimension,” she finally said. “It’s on another plane of existence.”
The youngest officer chuckled to himself, thrust his hands into his pockets and leaned back on his heels.
“Man that crackpot Sylvia must have got to you,” he laughed. “Next you’ll be preaching about Bigfoot.”
“Shut up, officer—what the fuck’s your name?”
“Davis.”
“Officer Davis, shut your goddamn mouth until you’re spoken to.”
“Wooooo . . . Aren’t you a spicy little thing?”
Rivera’s green eyes glowered.
Wiretaps & Whiskers (The Faerie Files Book 1) Page 9
