Taken

by Jennifer Blackstream

  “Who told you I was a ranger?” he asked.

  I waved aside his curiosity. “Let’s be honest, it doesn’t matter. I would have known the second I saw you.”

  One greyish-blond eyebrow rose. “Is that so?”

  “Oh my, yes. It’s the way you move. There’s a confidence that rangers have, something different than the…let us say ‘pride’ so common to your people. You walk as though you know every pebble, every crack in the sidewalk, confident and strong. And yet you disturb nothing, leave behind no trace. You make it appear effortless.”

  “It’s always nice to have one’s skills acknowledged.”

  Andy’s SUV pulled up beside us with perfect timing. Fortunately for me and my ruse, the FBI agent kept an impeccably clean car. It fit my story, and Shaun didn’t hesitate as he climbed inside behind me.

  “Peasblossom, give Andrew directions, please.”

  Peasblossom snickered and flew to the dashboard, doing a little dance before jabbing at the buttons on the GPS. Andy’s cheek shifted as though he were gritting his teeth.

  Shaun gave Andy a once-over, then gestured toward the FBI agent with his thumb, a question in his expression.

  “He’s human,” I told him.

  “How quaint,” Shaun said.

  I reclined in my seat, feigning casualness as I let my magic warm my palm. Social niceties and curiosity would only keep things friendly for so long. Always best to be prepared.

  “Do you keep much human company?” I asked. “Does Joey know what you are?”

  “No. I enjoy the art these youth programs produce, but I am not so involved that I get to know the artists well.” He tugged at his trench coat, straightening the lines down his lean chest. The leather didn’t creak when he moved, just whispered in the way the most expensive coats did. “I was congratulating Joey on selling a painting. It is his first, I believe.”

  “It’s so nice of you to take an interest. Are you a patron of the arts?”

  “You might say that.” Something in his tone hinted at some joke I didn’t understand.

  We arrived at Goodfellows before I could think of a way to ask about his amusement. Shaun exited first, holding the door open and extending a hand for me as soon as his feet hit the pavement. Andy’s gaze drilled into the side of my head, but Shaun was paying attention, and I couldn’t say anything, or even glance at him. I turned to Peasblossom, ready to make up a reason for her to stay in the car so she could explain things to Andy, but she’d vanished. I scowled at the door and the pink pixie clinging to the handle.

  “She wants honey,” Shaun said.

  “She always wants honey,” I muttered. “She’d be as round as she is tall if I gave in to every honey demand.”

  Shaun chuckled. We shared a moment of camaraderie that came when you met someone else who’d spent a significant amount of time with a pixie. He held out his arm, and I let him escort me inside.

  It wasn’t until I slid into the booth I realized I was smiling. A second after that, I realized I shouldn’t be smiling.

  He’s charming me.

  My warm feelings toward the sidhe evaporated. I planted myself in the center of the booth, forcing him to sit across from me and not beside me. He grinned, but there was nothing apologetic in the expression.

  “Alexandra!” Peasblossom shouted from her perch atop my head. She waved her arms like a traffic accident victim flagging down highway patrol. “Alexandra! I need honey!”

  The woman behind the bar pushed a lock of her blonde hair behind one pointed ear before smiling at the pixie. She gave Peasblossom a thumbs-up, then bent to retrieve a small bowl. Peasblossom jumped up and down as Alexandra filled it with honey and brought it to the table.

  “If you eat all that honey, that will be all the sugar you get for the entire day,” I warned her. “And that includes fruit. You’re eating vegetables for dinner.”

  Peasblossom ignored me and dove for the table to wrap herself around the bowl of honey.

  “And for you?” Alexandra asked me, giving me an apologetic smile.

  “Tea, please,” I said.

  “Tea for me as well,” Shaun answered.

  We both waited for her to return with our drinks and then retake her station at the bar. Together we shared an amiable silence, each of us mixing our tea to taste. Shaun raised his mug, and I refrained from talking until his shoulders relaxed, his guard slipping.

  “A year ago today, three children went missing from Constellation House, a youth center downtown.” I leaned closer. “One of them turned up this morning. Dead.”

  Shaun went still, taken aback at my abruptness. He furrowed his brow. “A year ago, you say? I’m sorry, but you don’t need a ranger, urban or otherwise. Even my considerable skill won’t do you any good in a city after a year’s passed.”

  I closed my fingers into a fist, concentrating on the ring on the second finger of my right hand. The magic in the ring responded to my will, and energy flooded over me, forming a protective shield. “Not so long since the murder. They found his body covered in cuts, some old, some new. The stab wound was new. There wasn’t a lot of blood at the scene, so he must have been killed elsewhere and dumped afterward.”

  Shaun took another deliberate sip of his tea. “And you want me to find your crime scene? Perhaps what you need isn’t a ranger, but a bloodhound.”

  He reached into his pocket, and I tensed, focusing on the heat of magic still against my palm. Goodfellows was a neutral space, so he couldn’t attack me here without facing significant consequences. Still…

  He withdrew something plastic and metal. I stared. “Is that a fidget spinner?”

  He grinned. “Forgive me; nervous habit. I find it helps me think.” He spun the toy, setting off a few colored lights in alternating red and blue. When he turned it, I saw the other side had green lights. The air between us filled with the hum of moving ball bearings.

  I swallowed a groan. Horrible things, fidget spinners. People might laud them as concentration aids, but I thought they were bloody distracting.

  And they were everywhere.

  “You mentioned Michael Keegan,” he said after a minute. “Do you have evidence of his involvement with the missing kids?”

  I tore my gaze from the wretched toy long enough to open my pouch. Shaun chuckled as I removed a vacuum cleaner attachment, a snow globe, and a phone charger from the pouch and set them on the table. Finally, I found the paper bag with the card in it. I removed the card and laid it on the table. Then I fished out a small pack of black powder and dusted it over the card.

  Shaun watched with rapt attention as I put my hands on either side of the card, leaned in, and blew. The black powder spread over the surface under my gentle breath, some of it sliding off onto the table, but the rest clinging to oily residue. A fingerprint.

  “This is Michael Keegan’s fingerprint.” I raised the card an inch off the table, leaning closer to Shaun at the same time. I poured out more powder. When I was certain his full attention was on the card and the buried fingerprint, I drew in a deep breath.

  This time when I blew on the powder, I blew hard enough to send it through the air—and into the side of Shaun’s mug.

  “Par vestigium,” I whispered. Magic crackled, and the dust clinging to the fingerprint on the card flared bright blue, as did the fingerprint revealed by the dust on Shaun’s mug. I met Shaun’s eyes. “Hello, Michael.”

  Andy slid into the booth beside Shaun, right on cue. “Mr. Keegan. So nice to meet you.”

  The sidhe tore his gaze from the glowing prints, giving his fidget spinner another flick to keep it going. “And who might you be?” he asked. “I assume you are not pretending to be a chauffeur anymore?”

  “Agent Bradford, FBI. I’d like to talk to you about your fondness for the arts—and young artists.”

  Something shifted behind the fey’s expression. Amusement and something darker. “Rather brave of you to come in here. This is an Otherworld café. Even the tea could be deadly
to humans.”

  Andy remained stoic. I didn’t know if it was because he recognized a blatant lie when he heard it, or if his poker face was that good. Probably both.

  Instead of answering Shaun, Andy said to me, “I see what you mean. About the lying. He didn’t say the water is poisonous to humans, but damned if that’s not what I thought I heard.”

  “Could be,” I said. “An important distinction to be sure. It ‘could be’ deadly if one added poison.”

  “Or if one covered another man’s mouth and poured the water into his nose so he inhaled it into his lungs,” Shaun suggested.

  The magic heated in my palm, responding to his threat, and I raised it above the edge of the table, ready to let the sidhe have it if he made a move toward Andy.

  Shaun chuckled and fanned his fingers in a careless wave. “Of course, I would never.”

  “That’s not the point, is it?” I let my disapproval soak into my tone, barely resisting the urge to way my finger at him. “You thought it, then you said it.”

  “I mean your human pet no harm.” The fey flicked the fidget spinner, sending a riot of color dancing over his face. He let his attention linger on the fingerprints for a moment, but made no move to inspect them or smudge them. After a moment, he gestured at the waitress. “More hot water, please?”

  I was surprised Andy let the “human pet” comment go. Surprised and impressed.

  “Where are the kids?” Andy asked.

  “Everywhere,” Shaun answered in the same low tone. “Your race breeds like rabbits.”

  “I don’t believe you’re taking them with the intention to hurt them,” I said. “But the fact remains, a boy is dead. Now, either his death was an accident, or someone killed him. I need to know what happened. I need to know the others are safe.”

  “And I hope you find them,” Shaun said. “I wish I could help. But I had nothing to do with any of this.” It was his turn to give me a disapproving look. “Honestly, I would expect better of a witch than to rely on old prejudices to solve crimes. My people do not steal children.”

  “Anymore,” I said evenly.

  “Legends of children being Taken were exaggerated,” Shaun countered.

  Andy didn’t move, but the tension rolling off him was tangible.

  “We have your fingerprint at Constellation House,” he said, pointing to the card. “We have witnesses who saw you talking with the kids.”

  “I didn’t realize it was illegal to speak with children.” Shaun twirled his tea mug on the tabletop, even as he continued to flick the fidget spinner. Red, blue, red, blue. “Pity. I would think they’d enjoy having someone listen to them.”

  He would keep talking like that all day if we let him. Admitting nothing. Offering false sympathy.

  “Let’s talk about art,” I suggested.

  Shaun sat straighter, his finger sending the fidget spinner into another twirling frenzy. “Yes, let’s.”

  Andy pressed his lips together. I knew he wanted to fight the change in topic, wanted to press Shaun about the kids. He didn’t interrupt me, though, and that made my already high estimation of him go up.

  “What makes great art?” I asked.

  “What an excellent question.” Shaun accepted a new pot of hot water from the waitress and warmed his tea. “So many possible answers.”

  “Precisely my thought.” I added more honey to my tea, rolling my eyes when Peasblossom followed the honey packet. “Then I got to thinking. These kids that were Taken, they all participated in the art program at their respective centers. They weren’t trained; they weren’t experienced. The opposite, in fact. They were young, poor, and only starting to explore their talents.”

  I leaned closer. “So why would someone who appreciates fine art be spending so much time with children? Children with only a beginner’s understanding of their craft?”

  “Ah, but therein lies the truth of the matter.” Shaun leaned in, mirroring my position. “Great art does not lie in a professional brush stroke, contrary to current belief. A sad result of today’s capitalist culture is that the art industry analyzes what sells and seeks out copies. They’ve forgotten that great art lies in passion. Great art expresses emotion, those intangible things we can only feel. Art is the only way to see such powerful things as love and hate with the naked eye. And to find someone who can do that, who can put an emotion on a canvas or in clay, who can capture it so genuinely that a person viewing that art can feel what they felt…” His fidget spinner cast flashing green light over his features as he turned it to the other side, illuminating a faraway expression. “That is great art.”

  “That’s why you’re going after kids at a youth center.” Andy leaned closer, crowding Shaun’s personal space. “You’re preying on their pain.”

  Shaun slid his gaze to Andy, and there was less humanity in his face now, making him appear more Other, more alien. “Pain is a powerful emotion. Sadness, loss. And it’s true, your homeless youth have no shortage of suffering, but that is not what makes them great. No art teacher has trained their hand, and no parent has trained their mind. They are free in a way youth are not often permitted to be, and they put that freedom into their art. It is a crime that so few see it for the power it is.”

  “Was Matthew powerful?” I asked.

  The fidget spinner spun faster and faster as he tilted it again. Red, blue, red, blue. I fought the urge to smack it out of his grasp to stop its incessant spinning. Blood and bone, I hated fidget spinners.

  Shaun pressed a finger on one of my business cards. He pulled it closer, giving the fidget spinner a careless flick.

  “Shade Renard, PI,” he read. He looked up at me. “Isn’t private investigating better suited to wizards?”

  I glared at him, refusing to dignify such a ridiculous idea with a response.

  “And Dresden,” he continued. “You’re so far from home.”

  Something new had crept into his voice. Glee. I stiffened and studied my surroundings in my peripheral vision. I saw no cohorts, no one circling us, ready to come to his aid. He shouldn’t be this smug. I hesitated, torn between calling a defensive spell or a spell that might show me what Shaun was doing, why he was so confident.

  Andy drew out his handcuffs and set them in front of him. “I don’t find missing kids funny. And I’m not here to listen to you ramble about art. Tell me where the kids are, or we can go someplace a little more metallic. Iron, right?”

  For the first time since the FBI agent had joined us, Shaun met Andy’s gaze straight on. “Do you know what happens to humans who meddle in the Otherworld?”

  “Tell me,” Andy said.

  Shaun smiled. “No. No, I want you to be surprised.”

  I called my magic. Instinct was screaming at me now, so I didn’t bother with subtlety. “Revelare.”

  The silver net covered the room in a soaring arc, and it didn’t have to go far to give me the answer I wanted. I cursed.

  “It’s the fidget spinner. He’s charging a gatestone.”

  “What does that mean?” Andy demanded.

  “It means he’s about to teleport away.” I grabbed the card with his fingerprint and stuffed it in my pouch.

  Andy grabbed the cuffs and went for Shaun’s wrist, but it was pointless. No human was faster than a fey.

  Shaun avoided his grasp with grace and amusement in equal parts. Before Andy could react, Shaun drove his fist into Andy’s solar plexus, forcing a whoosh of breath from Andy’s lungs. Andy choked and slid off the booth, hitting the floor with a thud.

  I jumped out of my seat and threw out an arm, putting myself between the two men. “Don’t move.”

  “You were half right,” Shaun said, unfolding himself from the booth and standing over us. “I am charging a gatestone.” He chuckled and held up my business card between two fingers. “But I’m not going anywhere.”

  He closed his hand over the fidget spinner and pointed at me and Andy. I didn’t have time to get a word out, even if I could have for
med a spell to stop him fast enough. Energy flared, the gatestone glowing in the center of the fidget spinner. A portal opened—directly beneath us. Peasblossom squeaked and dove after me in the nick of time. I fell, watching Shaun’s smiling face spiral farther and farther away.

  Chapter 7

  Something solid slammed into my back, knocking the wind from my lungs in a forced whoosh of air. My skull bounced off the same hard surface, shooting bolts of pain through my brain and into my eyeballs. Fiery stars exploded in my vision, and I blinked until the lights went away, leaving only black fog. For a second, I lay there unable to speak, unable to breathe. Panic fluttered inside my chest where my breath should be, but I held completely still, letting my body recover.

  Peasblossom flew tight circles above my face, giving me the sensation of being in a Looney Tune with some sort of cartoon bird circling in a post-concussion dance of madness. The pixie emitted a soft pink glow, using her fairy light to illuminate what would have otherwise been complete and total darkness. Never a good sign, darkness. Not in my experience, anyway. Not during daylight hours…

  “Where are we?” Peasblossom demanded, her already high voice pitching up a few octaves. “Where are we?”

  I still couldn’t speak, but I managed to turn my head. It didn’t help. The meager glow from my familiar didn’t illuminate my surroundings beyond three feet or so. Though it did make me aware that I’d landed on some sort of long table. And there were chairs all around it. Four chairs that I could see without lifting my head. As my vision improved, I realized there was a black object a few inches from my face. Shaped like an alien spaceship, with buttons, and speakers. A conference phone.

  I squinted at the chairs again and pressed the pads of my fingers against the hard surface I’d landed on. A conference table?

  Andy grunted from a few feet away. I fought to raise my head, wincing as my spine screamed in protest. “Andy?” I wheezed.

  “Here.” Another grunt. “Landed on my keys.”

  I giggled, a semi-hysterical sound that should have worried me. “You okay?”