Stolen Sight (AIR Book 3)

by Amanda Booloodian

  "You and Ethan are not friends?" Rider asked.

  "Not like you and I are friends. Most humans, lots of different types of people really, have temporary friends. Even families don't always stick together."

  Rider looked troubled. "It sounds very lonely. How do you decide you want to be with anyone?"

  "Sometimes, you have to take a leap of faith. People throw around the words friend and love pretty freely. When you're ready to take the plunge, make sure their definition of friendship is the same as yours."

  "But we are friends?"

  "We are your type of friend, the kind that doesn't go away. At least as far as what I understand our friendship to be." I hated saying the last part, but I wanted to make sure Rider knew that I didn't have all the answers.

  "That is the core of any friendship with my people. We assume that the other person will always do whatever they can to help. Even if it is help that the other does not want to have."

  "That sounds ominous."

  "Not everyone knows what is best for them."

  "That's true. Just be careful out there. Dating here doesn't mean you have to be friends with the other person, just friendly towards one another. Once you date, you see if you’re compatible and decide if you want to move on from there."

  "Are you and Ethan friendly?"

  "We are firmly under the friendly-towards-each-other category. Every now and again, I don't know if we've made it even that far."

  Rider appeared lost in his own thoughts.

  "If you ever have any questions, or need anything, I'll help where I can."

  "Yes, we are friends."

  "Yeah," I said, unable to stop a small grin. "Thank you for coming up here and keeping me company."

  Rider nodded.

  "Are they still talking about the case?" I asked.

  "Mostly," Rider said.

  "Did I miss anything?"

  "Frustration, aggravation, and many questions."

  "Well, at least we know that going in. We should probably join them. Maybe we can give a few answers."

  On the way downstairs, the doorbell rang. I froze on the steps. Thoughts of a deliveryman with multiple packages popped into my head and chilled me to the bone.

  Logan came out of the kitchen and saw us. "We ordered up some grub."

  "Oh, good. Thanks." I could breathe again.

  When I walked into the kitchen, my eyes went immediately to the counter, but the box had been removed. I should have asked where they moved it to, but I decided I really didn't want to know.

  No one looked very happy, except Logan when he returned with the pizza. Ethan appeared worried, so I forced a smile on my face when I sat down next to him.

  Ethan looked like he wanted to say something, but worried about the subject, I steered the conversation to safe waters. "What do we know about Einar?"

  "He's stronger than anything I know of," Logan said.

  "He's fast," Rider said.

  "He wants you dead," Vincent said, his voice flat. I noticed a bit too much black in his eyes.

  "Also, he thinks he's made," I said, "and Rider only smells an object, not a person."

  "But he’s obviously a person of some sort," Ethan said. "He moves, thinks, and acts like a person. A monster, maybe, but still someone that's alive."

  "Can something be made that is alive?" I asked.

  Logan shifted uncomfortably. "It sounds like we're nearing Walker territory again."

  "A Walker can remove a soul and put it into something else," Vincent said, "and we saw this a few months ago. But the objects made don’t come alive."

  "Could they have, though?" I asked.

  "No." The finality in Vincent's voice was clear.

  I changed gears, leading the conversation away from Walkers. "Is there anyone else we know that could create something and make it alive?"

  Vincent's phone rang and after checking the screen, he left the room to take the call.

  "Not that I can think of, not alive," Logan said.

  "Is it possible that Einar is not alive?" Rider asked. "Could he be a representation?"

  "Like a puppet?" Ethan asked.

  Rider shrugged and we mulled it over.

  "It's possible," I said. "But he appears to be acting, thinking, and talking on his own. There's no pause in processing."

  "It doesn't rule it out," Logan said, "but it does tend to lean towards something living."

  "I guess it's research time," I said.

  "We have to go," Rider said. He looked like his spirits had been lifted considerably.

  Vincent walked into the room. "We have gremlin duty." He looked at Rider and shook his head, but I saw the small grin that crept onto Vincent's face after looking at his partner. Rider loved the gremlins.

  "We've got plenty of zip ties and metal in the truck if you need it," Logan said.

  "We'll be back when we can. Stay safe," Vincent said.

  "Einar came from the job site," I said after Vincent and Rider left. "I mean, from the Path I read, he was in the ground and climbed out."

  "Like a zombie? Do you have zombies?" Ethan looked alarmed.

  "Never confirmed," Logan said. "They’re only a rumor."

  "I'm pretty sure a zombie would have a distinct smell," I said.

  "Even after all those years?" Ethan asked.

  "Do we know how long the graveyard was there?" I asked.

  Logan slid a tablet over to me. "It wasn't your typical bone yard, more like a battlefield."

  The file was open, so I started flipping slowly through the pages, worried about what pictures I might see. This part of the job sucked.

  "They're bones." The relief in my voice was obvious, but I didn’t care.

  "The few items excavated from the site give us a tentative timeline around the Civil War,” Logan said.

  "I guess we can rule out cyborg," I mumbled and flipped past the photos of skeletons.

  "Could something disguise its scent from Rider?" Ethan asked.

  "Huh." I had never thought about that possibility.

  Logan nodded. "Disguise, yes, but very few could actually get rid of their scent altogether. People are more apt to overwhelm the senses of a werewolf than mask the scent."

  "Overwhelm it how?" Ethan asked.

  Logan hesitated. He hated letting anyone know more about the Lost, even at the office.

  "Would that be on file?" I asked Logan.

  "Yeah, I guess it would be. To overwhelm the senses, someone would have to cover themselves or an area with as much potent scent as possible. Make it strong enough and it would override Rider's sense of smell, so he'd smell that and nothing else," Logan said.

  "Rider smells objects, clay and stuff, so that doesn't seem like it's happening here." I thought for a while. "The other day we talked about a warlock. Could they do something like this?"

  "Warlock?" Ethan asked.

  "I suppose it's possible," Logan said, ignoring Ethan's question. "Both Einar and the warlock have an interest in you."

  "Could they disguise the scent?" I asked.

  "It's within their skill range, I'm sure, but I don't think they'd bother with digging something like Einar up."

  "Einar thinks and reacts on his own. What else do we have?" I had an answer as soon as I asked. "There's the body parts. Einar has picked up bones, a head, uh..."

  "Hands," Ethan offered, "the other body had hands missing."

  My shiver was involuntary. "And we interrupted him last night on campus. So he didn't have a chance to take anything there."

  "The victims all work for the government," Logan said.

  "The type of jobs and branches of government aren’t related," Ethan said. "We're also pretty close to the capital, and we have a federal building here in town, not to mention all the local government. It could be a coincidence that they are all government employees. Not likely, but it's possible."

  Logan crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair. "If this thing came from the Civil War era, I'm not sur
e it'd make much difference to him."

  "Are we suggesting that Einar was alive that long ago?" I asked.

  "It's a possibility we have to consider," Logan said. "You saw his Path climb out of the ground."

  Ethan shook his head. "I'm not sure my brain can make that big of a jump. This goes back to zombie territory. What could live that long?"

  Once again, I turned to Logan.

  "The Civil War wasn't as long ago as humans seem to think. The war ended around 1865. Not even two hundred years ago."

  "Are there things that can live that long?" Ethan asked.

  I did some quick mental math and realized that Logan was a kid at the time of the Civil War. Not in this dimension, but he was still alive.

  The air turned thicker and I took a quick glance at my partner. "People, not things. Lots of people could have lived that long."

  Ethan let out a disgruntled sigh. "This is so far over my head I can't see the top. I don't think I'll be much help here."

  "Want to check the job site?" Logan asked. "Once we're sure all the bones are out of the ground, they'll be excavating the hole Einar came out of."

  "It's past time I check in at the office anyway." There was some tension in Ethan's voice.

  If Logan noticed the strain, or the fact that Ethan seemed to want to make it clear he wasn't taking direct orders, my partner didn't comment.

  I automatically got up to walk Ethan out, but didn't say anything till we got to the door. Logan would be able to hear us even if he went home.

  This day had had more ups and downs than a roller coaster. We stood awkwardly for a moment. The reluctance to talk came from not knowing what to say.

  "Thank you for calling Logan earlier," I said.

  Ethan took my hand. "He beat me to the call. I wish there was something more I could do. Are you going to be alright?"

  "Yeah, it's...yeah." I didn't want to say, 'yeah, it's just my life.'

  "And, us? Are we..."

  It sounded as though he was as lost as I was, so I strained to smile. "You faced the fairy, remember?"

  He grinned and kissed me. It wasn't a toe-curling kiss, but then, it hadn't been the best day for us.

  "Will I see you tomorrow?" I asked.

  "You will."

  I squeezed his hand before dropping it, and I watched from the door until his car was out of site.

  Back inside, Logan was on the phone with Hank. My partner’s voice was low until I came into the room. I got the distinct impression that the subject was changed. Before I walked in, there was whispering, and now Logan spoke in normal tones about work.

  The cagey elf was good at keeping secrets and had over one hundred and fifty years of practice. I poured a cup of coffee and thought that over. To be this bad at hiding something, he must be doing it on purpose. Maybe he was actually leading up to confiding in me.

  About him and Hank? It would be about time. Elves chose their mate for life, but Logan's wife had passed away more than fifty years ago, not long after Gerald was born. He may never have another true mate, but that didn't mean he couldn't have a relationship.

  If that's what this was, I wished him more luck in his relationship than I ever found with mine.

  With Logan on the phone, I gave Gran a call. She didn't answer, so I left a message. Her cat must have sensed the attempted contact with Gran. He came tearing into the room and jumped onto my lap.

  Logan looked surprised, and then gave the cat a long, calculated look before signing off with Hank. "What got into him? No offense, but I thought that cat hated you."

  "I think it's because I've been feeding him." I stroked the cat's fur until he started to purr. Even I was surprised by that, since he never purred for me.

  "Maybe." Logan looked into the other room.

  I followed his gaze. "What is it?"

  Logan's ears unfurled slowly. When the thin tips had reached their points, the skin on the back of my neck began to rise.

  Ding-Dong.

  I jumped at the sound of the doorbell. This didn't make for a happy cat. He sunk his claws into my legs and stretched before jumping down. Even with his claws sinking into my skin, it was a vast improvement over my previous relationship with the cat. He hadn't tried to hamstring me in days.

  Logan sat watching the other room intently.

  "I'm going to answer that." I'm sure Logan would have given me some sort of warning if I shouldn't have been going into the other room. Still, I felt uneasy walking across the living room to the door. It was only late afternoon, so the house was brightly lit, but I felt like there should be shadows lurking throughout.

  I opened the door and plastered on another fake smile. "Hi, Taylor, thanks for coming."

  Taylor looked me up and down. "I see you've been following my instructions to the letter."

  I winced, remembering that it was doctor's orders to have a research day and take it easy. "If it helps, I'm researching now." I moved aside and waved him in.

  "Was the rest of the day spent fighting?" He didn't sound angry or insulting, only resigned. He knew my job, and even more, he knew me.

  I shut the door. "Thrown through a window."

  "And this window was where?"

  "A sorority house," I said, leading him into the kitchen.

  He was looking at me expectantly, waiting for more details.

  I sighed heavily. "The second story window of a sorority house."

  "That looks more accurate. I should examine you."

  "Hey, Doc," Logan said. His ears were back down, but he didn't seem his happy, smiling self.

  "I presume you both had an interesting day?" Taylor asked.

  "Yeah, couldn't be helped. Well, maybe in hindsight," Logan said.

  Taylor looked at Logan for a few seconds before continuing. "Should I take a look?" He had never been Logan's doctor, but with Jonathan joining MyTH, he was probably becoming familiar with elven physiology. There may even be a few elves in the city.

  "Just bruises, Doc. I don't break easy," Logan said.

  Taylor continued to watch the elf with the same expectant look that he had given me.

  "If it'll put your mind at ease,” Logan said. “I wanted to ask you a few questions about Jonathan anyway."

  Taylor nodded.

  "You can use my bedroom upstairs."

  While they went upstairs, I checked the cat's water and left a treat in his bowl. He was content lounging in the kitchen. I chanced petting him twice on the head. From the look he gave me, I assumed that a third stroke would be one too many. Since I walked away unscathed, I called it a victory.

  When Logan came back downstairs, I took his place with Taylor in my room.

  "Tell me everything," Taylor said.

  I gave him the run down, but directed him first to the gash on my arm that had taken so long to stop bleeding.

  Taylor inspected the bandaging. "It seems as if someone has already looked after you. Logan?"

  "Uh, no. My, uh, well, it was Ethan from last night." I think we were landing in boyfriend girlfriend territory, but I wasn't positive.

  "Was he there today as well?"

  "Yeah, he showed up."

  Taylor nodded and started to re-bandage everything. "Was he injured?"

  "No, only Logan and I were in the center of the action."

  "Tell me about this afternoon and the package."

  The smile whipped away from my face and a cool chill passed over me. "There's not much to say really."

  Taylor took out a penlight and shined it into my eyes. "Go on."

  "What is it with doctors and trying to blind their patients," I mumbled.

  "You're stalling."

  "It was...unpleasant. That's all." Just thinking about it left me shaky.

  "Start from the beginning," Taylor said.

  I took him through the arrival of the package and my discovery of its contents. I left off the part where I went upstairs and lost it.

  Taylor finished his examination as we spoke.

 
; "Was anything found when the box was processed?" Taylor asked.

  "Not that anyone mentioned, but I wasn’t in a rush to ask," I said.

  Taylor nodded. "Is there anything else I need to know?"

  "I can't think of anything," I said. "Maybe Logan has something more."

  It was an excuse to stop talking about my 'present' and turn things back over to Logan. It was hard to stop thinking about the box if people insisted on bringing it up.

  Logan met us at the foot of the stairs.

  "Where did you put the package?" Taylor asked.

  "It's in the laundry room," Logan said.

  "Down the hallway and to the right," I said, making no move to join Taylor.

  "Do you have all the evidence you need before I get started?" Taylor asked.

  "It's all yours," Logan said.

  Taylor nodded and left the room while Logan and I returned to the kitchen where I settled back into my chair and woke up my laptop. It was past time to get into research mode.

  The computer was still mostly unresponsive when Taylor returned looking troubled.

  "Need anything?" I asked.

  "You said it was in the laundry room. In the box in the laundry room?" Taylor asked.

  "Yes," Logan said.

  Taylor frowned. "It's not there."

  Chapter 22

  "The box isn't there?" I asked, not really wanting an answer.

  "The box was there, on the floor, but it was empty," Taylor said.

  My stomach churned. "Gran's cat must have-"

  "We closed the door." Logan stood up slowly, but his ears shot to their points in an instant.

  "It was still closed when I went in," Taylor said. "When I left the room, I left the door open. It must have been stunned or drugged."

  Relief turned my legs to jelly. "That's so good to hear. Maybe something in shipping? What kind of idiot..."

  Logan was shaking his head. "Sorry, I know it is dead. It wasn't breathing and had no heartbeat."

  "There's someone in my house?" Dammit, once again my gun wasn't close at hand. That might be a good thing. My scales were starting to tip from freaked out to pissed off. It had been a long day. I started out of the room.

  "Where are you going?" Logan asked.

  I didn't bother stopping. "I'm going to get my gun and shoot whoever broke into my house."

  I dashed upstairs, and snagged my holster and gun. When I went back downstairs, the kitchen looked empty. I could hear Logan and Taylor down the hallway.