Secret Santa: Secret McQueen, Book 2.5

by Sierra Dean

Grace nodded, keeping her cool remarkably well for a mother whose daughter had vanished off the street. But judging by the hard set of her jawline and the death grip she had on the dishcloth, the calm exterior was a lie. The house was still filled with the homey scents of dinner being prepared, only now something was burning and it made the situation feel more dismal somehow.

  The front door banged open, greeting us with a wall of cold air, and Dominick, Grace and I all pivoted towards it. Desmond gave a halfhearted apologetic smile and came into the room, still wearing his coat. He knelt in front of his mother and took her hands, rubbing them between his own in a gesture meant to comfort.

  His news wouldn’t be good.

  “Eddie at the Paradiso said she came and went. I asked all the neighbors, but she didn’t stop anywhere and no one remembers seeing anything.”

  Grace’s breath heaved and finally she broke. Tears streamed down her cheeks, seeming to multiply with each wretched sigh. The towel fell from her hands.

  I stared at the front door and found myself unable to tear my eyes from it. I kept picturing Penny the way she looked as she left, with her bright red parka and her white hat with its oversize yarn pom-pom that bounced up and down when she trotted down the steps.

  I shouldn’t have let her go.

  Guilt clawed at the inside of my stomach, and looking around the room I could see I wasn’t alone. Everyone seemed like they were being eaten alive by their own misgivings. Each of us must be wondering how things would be right now if we had done something differently. What if I’d spoken up, or Desmond had gone instead, or Dominick had seen her on the street? Could we have prevented any of this from happening?

  My phone rang and we all jumped.

  “Sorry,” I whispered, scrambling to silence the inappropriately cheerful ringer. It was the office. Giving Desmond a nod, I said, “I have to take this.”

  In the kitchen I kept my volume as low as possible. “Nolan?”

  “Secret, I think I found somethin’.” I could tell from the tone of his voice he was excited, and I hoped whatever was causing his excitement might provide the Alvarezes a little comfort.

  “Do you know what’s doing this?”

  “Not exactly.”

  My heart fell like a deflated balloon. “Then I really need—”

  “The deaths’re connected,” Nolan announced before I could finish.

  “Connected how?” I sat in the chair nearest to me and picked up a dinner roll from the basket on the table. Eating was the last thing on my mind, and I didn’t go for carbs in the first place, but I needed something to keep my hands busy. Ripping apart a bun seemed like a decent place to start.

  “I talked to the parents of the missing kids, and some of the families of the other victims. I told ’em we were doing a private investigation, and I mentioned Keats’s name. Turns out that’s all you need for some people to know you’re workin’ the paranormal side of things. I got the idea from that missing-persons case I’ve been workin’. I know you thought it might be connected, so I followed it as a lead.”

  “Nolan, what are you talking about?”

  “All the victims’re shifters.”

  “What? No, that’s impossible. If any weres had gone missing, Lucas or Desmond would have known.”

  “I didn’t say they’re wolves. It’s a mixed bag of big cats, foxes and a few others, but none of ’em were wolves.”

  My breath caught in my throat, but I managed to choke out, “Until now.”

  “What?”

  “Someone took Desmond’s sister.”

  “Fuck me sideways.”

  Yeah, that about summed it up. “I gotta go.”

  “Secret, wait.” My thumb hovered over the end button, but I pulled the phone back to my ear. Nolan’s breathing was raspy on the other end of the line, like he was working hard at something. The muted sound of a keyboard filled the silence. “Give me a sec.”

  A pile of bread debris now littered the otherwise clean oak table in front of me. I set one elbow on the polished surface and cupped my chin in my open palm. Somewhere a clock was ticking. Dull pain had started to etch a path up the back of my neck, its long fingers threatening to take hold of my brain and give it a migraine-inducing squeeze.

  The swinging kitchen door nudged open and Desmond slipped in. Given the uncanny hearing werewolves had, I suspected he must have heard me mention his name and had come to see what was happening. I gave him a tight smile, but I knew it didn’t fool him. Since he couldn’t offer immediate assistance to me, he moved to the stove and removed the potatoes from the element. Judging by the smell, they’d been reduced to a starchy mush. He shut off the oven before the turkey had a chance to burn, then came to sit across from me.

  “Tell me you have something other than the shifter connection. Something that might actually help me.” I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful, because under normal circumstances I’d be impressed with what Nolan had dug up. But this wasn’t a time to applaud him for a job well done. I could do that later, once we had Penny back.

  Nolan coughed and I heard rustling noises and more typing.

  “Nolan?”

  Desmond had piled the bread bits together and made a little circle of them on the table, pushing them around while he listened to me talk. With his clean-shaven face and his hair slicked back he looked much younger than his twenty-seven years. But the wan, fretful expression made him look older by a decade. I reached out and grasped his idle hand, giving it a squeeze. It wouldn’t make him feel better, but it was all I had to offer.

  A Christmas plaque rested above the kitchen sink, propped against the window. It said ’Tis the season for family.

  I squeezed Desmond’s hand harder, like I never planned to let it go.

  “Here it is,” Nolan said at last, and based on Desmond’s sharp inhale, he’d picked up on that part of the conversation as well.

  “What is it?” I found myself edging off the chair, prepared to stand, or run, or do anything at a moment’s notice. I needed to feel useful instead of scared and impotent.

  “Well, one of the kids was being raised by his old grandma. And she said something about how this wasn’t the first time. She remembered it happenin’ before.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “She was sure.”

  “I don’t remember hearing anything about a bunch of dismembered bodies. I think if this had happened before we’d have known. Or at least the police would have.”

  “Only if they found the bodies,” Desmond suggested.

  A chill slithered down my back like a drip of ice-cold water.

  “Let’s skip the exposition.” Then, scolding myself for how rude I was being, I added, “Just until we have Penny safe. Then I want to know it all.”

  This appeased Nolan, because he continued, skipping over the backstory from were-Grandma. “It’s a type of lesser fae that feeds on fear, in the literal sense. Older records say it goes after the amygdala”—he had to work to emphasize the a—“ya know, the emotional core of the brain. Seems like the fae originated in England in the sixteenth century, or that’s when the first written record of it shows up. It could be way older, or have had a different—”

  I cleared my throat.

  “Oh, right. Sorry.”

  “What kind of fae is it?”

  “It’s a tidal fae, salt water. It moves with the phases of the moon, coming up when the moon is full, then going back to the water once it’s fully fed, usually by the time the next full moon is out. It has a pretty long hibernation period. If the gaps between stories’re a good indication, once this thing is back in the water it’s not coming back for ’nother forty years.”

  A knot in my throat threatened to choke me. The full moon was only days away. If this thing planned to complete its business and go to ground before then, we were running out of time.

  “Any idea where we can find it?”

  “’Parently it can make short spatial jumps. That’s how it gets in and out of houses.”
And inside police stations. “But it’s pretty consistent as far as locations. Somewhere within a few miles of water, where there are dark, cool places for it to hide.”

  “So, pretty much the entire city of New York and all the surrounding areas.” Cripes, everything from Brooklyn to the Bronx fit the bill. If this bastard was hiding in the subway system, I would kill it on principle alone.

  “Sorry, Secret. I wish I could give you more.”

  “I know. Thanks.” I hung up and looked to Desmond, but his chair sat empty.

  I hadn’t felt him leave.

  Instead of following him, I opened my phone and made another call. I had an idea, and if I was right I would save a little girl’s life. If I was wrong, the Alvarez family would never be the same.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I met Holden at the corner of Queen’s Boulevard and 40th where he found a parking spot for his BMW a block away from the Paradiso. Across the street a Queen’s bound 7 train had just unloaded and a bustle of commuters exited the covered stairwell of the station. He handed me the item I had requested.

  I took the katana and held it in the crook of my arm. As he locked the car he said, “I never thought when you gave me that key I’d be using it to be your errand boy, fetching your weapons.”

  “And I didn’t think you’d use it to break in at all hours and harass me while I slept, so let’s call it even.”

  “It’s only harassment if you don’t like it.”

  My mouth formed a hard line, and if looks could kill, Holden Chancery would be an obliterated pile of steaming vampiric ash. Since I had not yet learned to kill telekinetically, he remained in one solid piece with a smirk on his face that would have melted me under better conditions.

  When it became apparent I didn’t find his flirting amusing, he asked, “Where are your werewolves?”

  “Dominick followed Desmond. I don’t know where they went.”

  “And you think you can do a better job of finding their sister than they can?”

  “No. I think we can do a better job.”

  He sat on the hood of his car and crossed his arms. As usual he looked impeccable, wearing a camel-colored trench over black trousers and a mint-green dress shirt. His hair was brushed back so nothing interrupted my view of his dark-chocolate-hued eyes. Goddamn, the man was beautiful.

  “You need me.” It wasn’t a question, they way he emphasized the need.

  Chewing the inside of my cheek, I considered telling him he could take his help and shove it, that I could find Penny myself. The problem was I did need Holden, as much as it pained me to admit it to him, and I wasn’t willing to put pride ahead of the task at hand.

  “Yes, I need you.”

  He investigated his nails as if there was something deeply interesting buried under them. There wasn’t. Holden got a manicure more often than most socialites. Was the son of a bitch waiting for me to beg?

  “Holden, will you please help me?” What I was thinking was more along the lines of Holden, if you don’t agree to help me, there will be blood all over this sword before I even start hunting for fae.

  “On one condition.”

  “Condition? No. Fuck you. No conditions.” I turned on my heel and walked down the block. I wasn’t ten feet away when the loud clearing of his throat made me pivot back to him. Anger bubbled though my veins and my gums ached, threatening to expose my fangs. I was so livid I wanted to bite him, which meant I was angrier than I’d been in a very long time.

  “Secret.” He frowned and shook his head. My rage must have been palpable.

  I growled. “There is a girl’s life at stake here. Even you have to appreciate that.”

  “Someone’s life is always at stake. That’s the world we live in. Sometimes you save lives, sometimes you take them, and sometimes you do nothing. Not everyone gets to live.”

  “How can you be so cold?”

  “I’m dead. Whether the living continue to live doesn’t impact me. I only came because you said you needed me to.”

  “Then help me.”

  There was no humor left in his expression. He now looked as serious as I felt. “On one condition,” he repeated.

  Red-hot rage boiled over me, and my skin prickled with the electric sensation of it. “I saved your life. You owe me everything. I am your Tribunal leader.” The last words came out in a snarl.

  Around us the wind picked up and debris skittered down the sidewalk, scraping over the concrete with an eerie chittering sound. Holden’s frown deepened, but he dug his hands into his pockets and looked resolved to not move from the spot. I could claim that I’d call down the retribution of the Tribunal on him and hold him treasonous for not helping me on my command, but we both knew I wouldn’t. What I was doing had nothing to do with the council.

  After a silence stretched between us for miles, I set my katana down and leaned against it. With the blade sheathed I wasn’t worried about dulling the edges, but I might scuff the ebony case. So be it, the sword had been through worse. I sighed. “Name your condition.”

  “I want you to acknowledge there’s something going on here.” He motioned between us.

  “Holden…” Suddenly my feet were the most interesting thing on the cold sidewalk.

  “No, listen to me.” The sharp edge to his tone caused me to look up, and I found his penetrating gaze locked on me with such longing it made an icy pit swell inside my throat. I nodded and licked my lips, but they still felt dry. He continued, “I will help you, because I would follow you to hell and back. But when this is over I need your word that you will stop ignoring this.”

  “I don’t know what you want.”

  “I want you.”

  My hand clenched on the sword and the pit dropped from my throat to my stomach. “I can’t promise you that.”

  “Just tell me you’ll give it a night. Not now, not even soon. I want one night to see what this is, without all the rest of the bullshit. No fights, no council, no werewolves.”

  Without having sensed him move, he now stood in front of me with his hands hovering a hairsbreadth from touching my arms. A shudder wracked my body, because I wanted him to close the small gap between us but I fought against my better judgment to let him. The memory of what had happened between us in a dream mingled with the visceral knowledge of what his real-world kisses did to my senses.

  I took a step backwards out of his reach and picked up my weapon.

  “I can’t promise you when,” I confessed.

  “Say yes.”

  “One night?”

  He nodded.

  I looked out into the street as cars whisked by, kicking up debris that caught in the breeze. An old newspaper tumbled down the sidewalk where it battered against my anchored feet. “Okay.”

  Holden didn’t question my acceptance, but I did. Instead, he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his coat and offered me a small, apologetic smile. “What do you need me to do?”

  “Find me old blood. Lots of it.”

  Sure, I was part vampire. And of course my sense of smell was better than a human’s and as good as the average supernatural. I could track a rabbit from a mile away thanks to my werewolf DNA, and I could smell fresh blood from the smallest cut. But old blood was tricky. Old blood lost most of its potency after a week as the coppery promise of sweet plasma faded.

  Older vampires could still smell it, though.

  Desmond and Dominick would try to find Penny using her unique scent, which would lead them all over Sunnyside since it was her territory. They’d follow her smell to the places she most commonly ventured and would waste a lot of time eliminating obvious locations.

  Instead of looking for the girl, I was going to look for her abductor. I hoped I hadn’t totally misinterpreted the wordless clue given to me by the ghost of Ashley Parsons. She’d only pointed, but I wanted to believe that meant the killer was hiding in the Queen’s part of Long Island. If I was right, he wouldn’t have taken Penny far. I would use Holden like a bloodhound and tr
ack the fae directly to his lair.

  I had faith in the plan working. Whether I’d get there in time was less certain. We hadn’t found any bodies of the missing youths yet, and I had to believe we might still find them alive.

  I’d left my bag in Holden’s car, along with Brigit’s sweater. If we were going up against a tidal fae that lived somewhere dank and nasty, I didn’t want to explain to my protégée why her pretty white sweater was destroyed. I had tied my new blade to my thigh and liked the feel of the extra weight and the protection it signified.

  In my black leather corset and pants, carrying a sheathed sword, I looked like a dominatrix trailing behind Holden in his business-casual attire. This late on Christmas Eve, the stores and eateries of Sunnyside had long since closed for the evening. The community was predominantly Catholic, judging by the rosaries dangling in car windows and the crucifixes displayed through open windows. Most of the neighborhood would be attending a Christmas Eve mass at one of the multitude of churches nearby.

  I didn’t put much stock in there being a heaven, but maybe there was someone up there, because it was a Godsend that we made it through the bulk of the city without anyone seeing us. I kept a step or two behind the vampire, not wanting to interrupt his focus. We’d gone a few aimless blocks from Queen’s Boulevard with nothing of note, but then he’d caught whiff of something dark and we’d been following it ever since.

  “We’re getting closer,” he said to ease my unvoiced concerns.

  “Are you sure?”

  He paused and looked at me over his shoulder in a way that said, Seriously? I decided it was better to not question his judgment again and instead followed his nose like Toucan Sam on the prowl for Froot Loops. We crossed the freeway, and I couldn’t help but steal a glance at the New York skyline lit up against the mottled black of the sky. Clouds were moving in, but the fat moon was still visible like a bright white eye watching us and lighting the way.

  In front of a fire station Holden came to an abrupt halt.

  He didn’t sniff the air like a werewolf, but he closed his eyes and tilted his head to the side. His countenance was tight with focus, his brows knit together, and a frown deepened the lines beside his mouth.