Andy accepted the menus, and I followed him to a table against the far wall. He chose a table that let us put our backs to the wall and offered an unrestricted view of the single-room diner.
“Now will your order honey?” Peasblossom said.
Andy jerked, then sighed. “I forgot you were there,” he said under his breath.
“I’m sneaky like that.” Peasblossom arched her neck and crawled forward over my shoulder, trying to read the menu. “Is there honey?”
“I’ll get you some honey. Now please get out of sight,” I whispered. “This isn’t Goodfellows.”
“Goodfellows?” Andy asked.
“An Otherworld restaurant not far from here.”
He retrieved his notebook and pen. “There’s an Otherworld restaurant in Cleveland?”
“Feeling surrounded yet?” I teased.
He didn’t respond, just stared at me with that unwavering intensity I imagined was a big part of what made him an effective FBI agent.
I sighed but gave him the address of Goodfellows. I knew it by heart now, thanks to Peasblossom’s obsession with eating somewhere she could order for herself.
“And what sort of…Otherworldly beings does Goodfellows cater to?” he asked.
Whatever answer I might have given was cut off when Simon walked in the door. I forced myself not to react, to continue holding the menu as if deciding on lunch, watching him over the top of the cardboard.
Simon was a tall kid, who hadn’t quite grown into a man’s figure. His limbs were too long for his body, but in the next couple years, he’d lose that awkwardness and everything would balance out. His pale brown hair was long and wanted brushing, various strands speckled with bits of paint in a rainbow of colors. Even his face held evidence of his artistic endeavors, with a slash of orange under his jaw.
He held a large canvas with a sheet hung over it tucked under his arm. Andy and I both watched as he approached Shannon with the new art. The diner owner smiled and took cash out of the register as he stepped up to the counter.
“May I see it?” Shannon asked.
Simon groaned, but propped the canvas on the palm of one hand and lifted the sheet. The gesture spoke less of someone revealing a masterpiece and more like a teenager shoving his phone into someone’s face to prove he wasn’t texting in class.
Shannon ignored his attitude and beamed at the painting. “Beautiful. You did a wonderful job. That’s exactly what I had in mind.”
“Can we move this along?” Simon dropped the sheet and put the canvas on the floor, leaning against the counter. “I don’t have all day.”
Andy stood from the table and walked to the side of the restaurant farthest from the cash register. I waved at Shannon and stood, staying to the other side to keep both her and Simon’s attention on me. Shannon waved back, but Simon just gave me an irritated glance.
“Hi, you must be Simon,” I greeted him. “I was hoping to meet you.” I waved at the wall. “Shannon tells me all these pieces are yours? They’re incredible. You must be making quite a name for yourself.”
“You would think so, wouldn’t you?” Simon muttered. He shoved the money Shannon had given him into his pocket. “You want to commission me to paint you something, right?”
I blinked. “Um, no.”
Simon glared at Shannon, then at me. “Then why are you wasting my time?”
“I wanted to ask you a few questions about the kids that disappeared last year from Constellation House.”
Like the first pancake of a batch, Simon’s face flipped from potential interest to black doom. “What about them?”
“Matthew was found this morning. He’s dead.” I said it as gently as I could. Sometimes the ones with the toughest shells were the most sensitive.
Simon snorted. “No great loss there. One less nutjob on the streets.”
And sometimes they were jerks.
Andy had made it behind Simon without the teenager taking notice. Now he spoke. “Why don’t you have a seat so we can chat?”
Simon jumped, then turned to glare at Andy. “You a cop?”
“Sort of.” Andy pulled he jacket aside to flash the FBI badge clipped to his belt. “I need to ask you some questions about Michael Keegan.”
“I’m busy.” Simon angled his shoulder as if he’d push Andy out of his way to leave the restaurant.
Andy caught his wrist and held it, staring at Simon’s hand. Red stained the underside of the teenager’s fingernails and cuticles. “What’s that?”
Simon snorted. “It’s paint, dimwits.” He gestured at the walls, then to his scalp, where paint coated several chunks of brown hair. “I’m a painter? I assume you know that if you talked to that dippy broad at Constellation House and tracked me down?”
Some of the “good cop” faded from Andy’s face. A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Matthew is dead.”
Simon pressed his lips together. “So? What do you care? One less homeless kid, right?”
“Some of the kids at Constellation House say you’ve been hanging around asking about the art program and Mr. Keegan,” I said. “We’re wondering why you’re so interested. Especially since you haven’t been coming to the center lately.”
“I’m watching out for them,” Simon snapped. “The cops don’t give a shit about us, and I want to make sure no one else disappears only to show up like Matthew.”
“You don’t like cops, do you?” I observed.
Simon sneered. “No one likes cops but other cops and the rich people they serve like good little lap dogs.” He lifted his chin. “That includes the FBI.”
“Why are you searching for Keegan?” Andy asked.
The sneer on Simon’s mouth promised another rude answer, but before he could give it a voice, the bell over the door jangled, and a kid walked inside. This kid was pale and skinny, painfully underfed. His T-shirt hung around him like a tent, and his gaze darted around as he shuffled inside. Shannon smiled at him, and he returned the smile before shuffling toward the desk with a paint-splattered canvas gripped tightly with both hands.
“What the fuck?” Simon took two angry steps toward the counter, jabbing a finger at the boy, without taking his attention off Shannon. “What is this?”
Shannon glanced up at him, her face calm. “I’m buying more art.”
The kid holding the canvas stared at Simon, his frame bowing as if he were trying to make himself smaller. “I-I’m sorry, Simon.”
“Don’t you be sorry. I can buy art from whomever I please.” Shannon faced Simon. “I’m still buying from you; there’s no reason to get upset. Joey here has some very nice pieces, and he’s kind enough to sell them to me.” She gave the kid a twenty-dollar bill.
The kid’s eyes rounded as he accepted the cash. “Thank you,” he whispered.
“That’s peanuts.” Simon sneered. “You should have held out for fifty.”
Shannon crossed her arms and fixed Simon with a stare that mothers had used for centuries to express displeasure with mouthy children. Joey froze. Tension rolled off the small boy, and he hunkered in on himself as if trying to disappear. Andy stepped into the awkward silence.
“Hi, Joey, I’m Andy, and this is Shade.” Andy moved around Simon, keeping himself between Simon and the door as he stood beside Joey. He pointed to Simon. “You know him?”
Joey ducked his head as he glued his gaze to the floor. “Um, yes? A little?”
“How?” I asked.
“He hangs out at the Memorial Center, talking to the kids in the art program.”
I stiffened. “The Memorial Center has an art program too? Is it an auction?”
Joey nodded.
I turned the pamphlet to a new page and tapped on the painting of Keegan. “Have you seen this man?”
Joey frowned at the pamphlet. “No.”
“Has a man—”
“Or a woman,” I interjected.
“—been coming around the Memorial Center asking about the art program?” Andy asked. “An
art critic, or a wealthy patron?”
Joey darted a nervous glance at Simon. Simon’s mouth sealed in a tight line, and his cheeks flushed. He looked like he was barely keeping himself from shouting at the kid.
“Joey?” I prompted. “Has Simon been talking to you?”
Joey’s face was ashen, and sweat beaded at his temples. Andy put himself in front of the door, as if he expected either boy to make a break for it any second.
“Joey, we think this person may be dangerous. One boy was hurt, we don’t want to see that happen to anyone else. You can help us.”
Simon continued to stare down the younger artist. The weight of his anger made me uncomfortable; I could only imagine what it was doing to Joey. I gritted my teeth. I didn’t like bullies.
“It’s okay, Joey,” I said, sliding between the two boys. I reached for my power, letting it flood my voice in a wave of purple light. “Tell us about the person cozying up to the artists.”
The magic softened my tone, and as I spoke, some of the tension left Joey’s shoulders. He let out a breath he’d been holding and pointed out the window. “I talked to him before I came in here. Long brown trench coat. He was walking toward downtown. If you hurry, maybe—”
Andy and I were already running.
Chapter 6
“There!”
Andy pointed down the street to where a figure dressed in a brown trench coat was being absorbed into the midday crowd. He was too far away to make out much detail, but he was tall, with a lean build. I wished I had time to break his glamour, but he was too far away. If we stopped now, or gave ourselves away, we’d lose him.
Unless…
I grabbed Andy’s arm, restraining him as he tensed to give chase. “Wait! If you chase him, he’ll run, and we’ll never catch him. It would take him less than a second to change his glamour, and we could stand right beside him and not know it.”
Andy never took his attention off his target, staring as if he could will Keegan to turn around and come to us. “What do you suggest?”
“Peasblossom.”
My familiar responded with impressive haste, hopping onto my shoulder with her wings twitching in excitement. “Me? You need me?”
I smiled and pointed at the fey. “See that man wearing the long brown trench coat?”
She squinted. “Yes.”
“Tell him Mother Renard would like a word.” I glanced at Andy. “I need you to duck behind that building. Stay out of sight until I call you over.”
Andy shifted on his feet, the energy he’d called on when he’d thought he was giving chase still swirling around him. “You’re telling me you think he’ll come just because you want to talk to him?”
Keegan was getting moving away from me, but progress was slow thanks to the near-constant flow of people coming in and out of shops around him. “If he knew why I wanted to talk to him, then no. But he has no reason to think I’m after him. And as a general rule, when a witch requests an audience, it’s considered bad form to refuse. If he’s sidhe, he won’t insult me without a reason.”
Peasblossom clapped excitedly, then leapt into the air, taking off in a streak of pink light.
Andy squinted after Peasblossom. “Won’t people see her?”
I snorted. “We’re standing in the middle of Cleveland, surrounded by steel and stone. Even the people who can see the Otherworld won’t be expecting to see her here. No, no one will pay her any attention.” I straightened the lapels of my trench coat and smoothed my hair down as best I could. “You, however, are a different story. Hide before he sees you. You might as well be a giant badge.”
Andy opened his mouth to object, then considered his blue-on-blue striped tie and wrinkle-free suit, the slight bulge that would betray his gun to anyone smart enough to notice. The desire to argue dissipated as he grudgingly acknowledged my point and retreated behind the nearest building.
I tugged at the sleeves of my coat. Too bad I hadn’t worn my black fleece wrap today. It held an echo of old styles and made me appear more sophisticated. More witchy. Of course, even the wrap would be hard-pressed to make someone see past the multitoned purple leggings, so maybe it didn’t matter.
I stood straight and let my gaze rest on the fey. Not staring hard, not putting too much effort into it. A simple, expectant expression that said, yes, I saw him, and yes, he would be in trouble if he blew me off. It was the look mothers gave children getting too close to the cookie jar because Mom’s talking to a friend and might not catch them.
The fey tilted his head, listening as Peasblossom delivered my request. Then he turned. There was only a second of hesitation. So brief that I would have missed it if I’d blinked. I let out a relieved breath as he turned and proceeded in my direction.
“He’s coming!” Peasblossom said as she dropped onto my shoulder. “I was brilliant.”
“I knew you would be,” I murmured.
Andy stared at me from his hiding spot in the alleyway as I waited for the fey to approach, but I ignored him the same way I ignored Peasblossom as she flew away with the readied spell. No need to make my visitor paranoid.
“Mother Renard, I presume?” The fey offered me a bright smile. “The wee one tells me you requested an audience. How can I help you?”
His face was pale, with enough wrinkles that his grey hair didn’t seem out of place. It wasn’t the youthful countenance that Pam had captured, so I guessed he was, in fact, wearing glamour. We were among mortals, so it wasn’t rude for him to keep the glamour up during our conversation. But I wanted to know his true identity.
“I like to start with proper introductions when I’m meeting someone new.” I offered my hand. “Hello, I’m Mother Renard. You may call me Shade.”
The fey’s long fingers closed around mine in a warm, strong grip. “A pleasure to meet you, Shade. My name is Shaun Cathbad.”
“Well met, Shaun.”
“And to what do I owe this pleasure?” he asked.
“It’s come to my attention you are familiar with the streets of this fair city. You are an urban ranger, so I’m told, a rare talent among your people.”
“I have seen a good amount of the city, but I would not call myself an urban ranger. If I might ask, who was it who brought me to your attention?”
I smiled and ignored the question. “I hope you might help me locate a few wayward children. I fear they may be in danger.”
Shaun’s attention didn’t move from my face—in fact, he didn’t react at all. “I’m not without sympathy, but I’m not sure why you called on me for this task. What makes you think I can help you?”
“Well, if I’m to be honest, I mistook you for someone else when I sent the wee one with the invitation.” I studied his reaction. “I thought you were Michael Keegan.”
There. A flicker of shadow, a lightning-fast darkening of his green irises.
“I’m not Michael Keegan. Nor do I know a Michael Keegan.” He smiled. “But if I hear from him, I will pass on your interest.”
“I take missing children very seriously.” I straightened my spine and met his gaze full-on. I didn’t draw any magic. Charming him could backfire if he sensed the influence, and if he were so inclined, he could interpret it as an attack. That would change our dynamic dramatically, and it wasn’t time for that.
Yet.
“And I will speak to Mr. Keegan about it, when I find him,” I continued. “But for now, since I have your ear, I would be most grateful if you would lend your expertise to the matter.”
“I don’t see how I can be of help. Cleveland is a large city. And I have no reason to know any child’s whereabouts, let alone whatever specific children you’re searching for.”
“If you’ll indulge me, I so happened to be in that café there”—I pointed over my shoulder at Shannon’s Diner—“and I saw you out the window, speaking with Joey, a burgeoning young artist affiliated with the Memorial Center. The children I’m searching for also have a connection to an art center for disadvantaged yo
uths. May I ask what you were discussing with Joey?”
“Art,” Shaun said, too quickly. He studied me closer, as if only now taking the time to commit me to memory. “May I ask why you’re interested in these disadvantaged artists? If you’ll forgive me, you don’t have the…bearing of a police officer.”
His neck muscles flexed in a way I was all too familiar with. He was trying not to stare at the leggings. Everyone’s a critic.
“Why don’t we continue our conversation somewhere more comfortable?” I suggested. “Do you know Goodfellows?”
Shaun hesitated, and I waited for curiosity to overcome his natural caution. If he’d participated in the kids’ disappearance, he’d want to find out how much I knew.
“Drinks, then.” He gestured to the sidewalk. “Do you mind if we walk?”
“Normally, no, but as it happens, I have a driver.” I took my cell phone out of my jacket pocket. “I’ll call him and he can drive us both. Save us time. I’m sure you’re busy.”
Again, Shaun seemed uncertain, but he wasn’t ready to walk away yet. “Very well.”
I called Andy, smiling at Shaun as I put the phone to my ear. A small weight landed on my neck—Peasblossom had returned.
“What did he say?” Andy demanded as soon as he answered.
“Andrew, I’m ready. Bring the car around.”
A long silence followed my command. “Say that again?”
“I’m in front of Shannon’s Diner. I have a friend with me and we’d like to get drinks at Goodfellows. Are you far?”
Another silence. “You want me to pretend I’m your chauffeur?”
“Excellent. Be quick about it.”
I hung up and smiled at Shaun. “He’s close. He’ll be here any moment. Tell me, what brought you to Cleveland today?”
Shaun studied me as if trying to read my thoughts, his green eyes brighter than they’d been before. “Visiting friends.”
“Oh? That’s nice. Friendship is important.” I shifted around as we spoke, making sure Shaun’s back was to the diner so he didn’t see Andy retrieving the car.
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