by Debra Dunbar
“How close are you to getting them?” Fuck, I felt like I was going to puke right here in the coffee shop.
“Not close. We’ve reached a dead end as far as finding out where they are or who Desiree is. The few Disciples we’ve pulled in on other charges won’t talk. We can’t find where they’re holding the kids, or where they’re running this auction from. We’ve got people on it. I’m on it when I’m not getting yanked into homicide.”
That wasn’t the answer I wanted to hear. “I thought you could help me. I thought you were closing in on these guys. It took you two years with the FBI to bust them the first time. How many kids got sold off before you raided them? How many kids are going to get sold this time before you find them? If you ever find them, that is.”
She held up her hands. “We’re doing the best we can with what we’ve got. You work your angle. I work mine. If we can share information, then eventually we’ll get these guys—and Desiree too.”
I pushed back the chair and stood. “What part of ‘they’ve got my sister’ did you not understand? I’m not doing some long-term case with you. I’m trying to find her and get her out of there before they sell her.”
The detective stood as well. “And how exactly are you going to do that? Run around killing Disciples until you get lucky? Or until they kill you?”
“If I have to, then yes.” I stormed out of the coffee shop, not looking back.
I wasn’t a detective. My investigative skills were nil, but I was really damned good at smacking hornets’ nests and running away really fast. I had a few leads, and if they didn’t pan out, I’d start swinging and hope I made enough of a stink that someone ran off to Desiree and led me there.
As frustrated as I was with Detective Juke, meeting her hadn’t been a waste of time. I knew more about how the auctions worked. I knew that they didn’t have Nevarra up for sale on the site as of this afternoon. And I knew one of their previous victims.
I didn’t have Telaney Miller’s number, and all I knew about where she lived was that she’d moved somewhere in Silver Lake. I wished I’d gotten her address or some way of contacting her when I’d seen her at the accounting day raid, but at the time I’d had no reason to think I’d ever need to call the woman. We weren’t really friends. Acquaintances, that’s what we were. Trusted business associates.
Damn, I wish I had her phone number.
Figuring there might be one person in the Valley who knew how to contact Telaney, I snuck back to Bags’s place. There were two new guys standing around out front watching the pawnshop with more attentiveness than the previous two, so instead of trying to sneak in, I called him. He didn’t pick up, and the store was clearly closed, but I left a message anyway and drove back toward Sun Valley.
It was a half hour before my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, hoping it wasn’t Amanda pissed off because the phone’s original owner had stood her up at Guido’s.
The text was from an unknown number telling me to be at Artemis Books on Oxnard and Willow Crest in an hour.
Was this Bags being careful and texting me from one of the burner phones he had in the store? Was this a message for the former owner of the phone? Was it Piers trying to get lucky? Although I doubted Piers would have me meet him at a used bookstore, so I crossed that idea right off. It might be from Bags. Either way, I was tired of driving around, waiting for something to happen. I’d go to the bookstore, and if it was for the guy who was supposed to be having dinner with Amanda at Guido’s, I’d just go home.
I got to the bookstore fifteen minutes early. Artemis Books was in a strip mall. The concrete façade had been painted robin’s egg blue. There were bars over the windows and a metal door that looked like it should have been on a bank. It took some serious effort to pull the thing open, but I managed. A weird static shock rolled through me as I entered—not quite like what I could do with my stun gun abilities, but similar. It made me pause, wondering if the business had some sort of magical security. My head didn’t explode, and I felt no further electric shocks, so I kept walking.
Inside, the bookstore was dim, the only light from a few strategically placed lamps. A glass counter stood off to the side about halfway through the store. There was an enormous old-school cash register on it, which seemed sensible given how often the electricity went out in the Valley. The entire rest of the store consisted of row upon row of wooden bookshelves, stacked two deep in places with books. The place smelled of lemony wood polish, and leather with the faint odor of mothballs.
“Hey! Hi there!” A man waved at me from around the side of a bookshelf at the back of the store. “Just unpacking some new arrivals. Let me know if I can help you find something specific.”
I thanked him, then ducked down the nearest aisle to browse and wait for whoever might show up, whether it be Bags, Piers, or some stranger looking for the guy who used to own this phone.
Pulling one of the books at eye level off the shelf I glanced at the cover. Albert Joissen. The Early German Alchemists. I opened it to a random page and saw a wall of text in a miniscule font about Hennig Brand and his various attempts to create gold from urine.
Ew.
I put the book back and selected another, looking for something to occupy my time as I waited, preferably something that wouldn’t completely gross me out. How the hell did someone come up with the idea that they could turn piss into gold? True, they were both yellowish, and if you whacked someone hard in the kidneys, their pee might have enough blood in it to make it kinda gold colored, but gold-gold? What the fuck had this Hennig guy been smoking?
The new book I’d pulled out was a translation of various lost Akkadian tablets, one which expanded on the Epic of Gilgamesh, and another that held a fractured story of the exploits of a resurrected Enkidu. I’d always had a love for fairy tales and folklore, so I read on and was startled when I looked up at the clock over the doorway to find that it was half an hour past my meeting time.
No one had come in after me, and I hadn’t received any phone calls. I frowned at my phone, trying to decide whether I should text the number back and risk being outed as a phone thief.
“That’s an excellent book.”
I looked up at the employee who was standing a few feet away. He was short—right around my height—and so thin that he looked as if a strong breeze would send him rolling down the street. His brown hair was shaved in an undercut around the sides and back, and long enough on top that it looked like he had a horse’s mane instead of hair. He flipped the mane to the left and grinned at me.
“There’s some water damage on the cover, and the glue’s starting to break, so I can let you have it for fifteen dollars.”
If I’d had fifteen dollars, I would have given it to the man. I wanted to read this book. I wanted to take it home and read it to Sadie and Nevarra, to tell them the tales that people had listened to four thousand years ago, but all I had in my pocket was eight bucks. I’d been giving any other cash I could scrounge up to Bea, and had only allowed myself to keep ten. After the soda this afternoon, that ten was now eight.
I put the book back. “I’ve only got eight bucks to my name right now, and I can’t buy a book with it, no matter how much I want to.”
Hopefully he wouldn’t kick me out. I’d spent most of my childhood being kicked out of stores when the employees realized I had no money. Maybe if I stuck around another half an hour, whoever I was supposed to meet would show up.
“You’re not here to buy books then?” The man flipped his hair to the right, still smiling. “Then you must be here looking for answers?”
I hesitated, thinking this guy was about to deliver a religious sermon along with a pamphlet about Jesus.
“No. I was supposed to meet someone here, and they didn’t show.”
“Ah. A date.”
It really wasn’t any of this guy’s business, but I felt bad for hanging out in his store and not purchasing anything. Not a soul had come in since I’d been here. Maybe he was lonely
and chatting with me was a welcome break from stocking shelves.
“Not a date. I’m trying to locate a business acquaintance of mine. I left a message with a friend who might know how to reach her, and got a text saying to come here but no one showed up. Sorry to have wasted your time.”
“Do you want to use the store computer to see if you can look your business acquaintance up? Right now we’ve got electric, and the internet is up.”
That was super nice of him. Of course, he’d probably look over my shoulder to make sure I wasn’t downloading malware, but it wasn’t like I would be searching anything confidential.
Although…
“Thank you. I’d appreciate that.”
He led me behind the counter and opened up a laptop that had been hidden by the huge cash register. Salvagers had to be licensed, and there was a database of our names and license numbers along with contact info available to the public. They didn’t put our addresses out there for everyone to see, but if a Vulture had e-mail or a phone number they wanted published, it would be in the listing.
I didn’t have either since I didn’t consistently have a cell phone or internet, and I hadn’t wanted to list the landline number at Bea’s. The people who looked up and contacted salvagers did it because they wanted us to keep our eyes open for certain items—items they were willing to pay top dollar to recover or purchase. The spots I worked in the Valley didn’t tend to yield rare, unusual, or magical items, so it never seemed worth the bother for me to put in a contact number.
Luckily Telaney hadn’t felt the same. Right next to her name was a phone number. The employee pushed a pad of pink sticky notes and a pen over to me and I jotted down her number.
“Thanks.”
“No problem at all. Is there anything else you need? Someone else you need to look up?”
I hesitated partly because I didn’t want to take advantage of this guy’s helpfulness, and partly because I had difficulty trusting anyone, let alone some random shopkeeper at a used bookstore.
Screw it. Although if I was going to look for something that might get this guy fired, I felt I should at least give him a head’s-up.
“My fourteen-year-old sister was taken by the Fixers yesterday and turned over to the Disciples to be sold in a human trafficking operation. She wasn’t listed on their sale site as of this afternoon, but she might be now. All I know is that someone named Desiree runs all of this for the Disciples, and that she might not be human. If I could find the website, I’d like to see if my sister is listed, and if I can trace it somehow to a location.”
The clerk flipped his mane of hair to the other side and made a click noise with his mouth. “Desire isn’t human? Is she an elf? Demon? Shifter? Chimera?”
I blinked, hoping there weren’t chimeras running around LA. With the way things had gone over the last two years, I wouldn’t be surprised.
“Someone hinted that she’s a demon. But what I really care about is finding my sister and bringing her home. I don’t know if I can find the website or even get in if I do. The police can’t manage to get all the way through the site security. It’s probably on the dark web, and you might get in trouble if we try to pull it up with your work computer.”
The man laughed. It was a wheezy, smoky sound as if he were a three-pack-a-day kinda guy. “Nah. Don’t worry about that. Here. Let me see what I can do.”
He pulled the laptop over toward him, and I got to stare at the back of the lid as he typed. Light flashed from the screen as he worked, reflecting orange off his light brown eyes. He mumbled, clicked his tongue a few times, let out a few curse words, then finally turned the screen around.
I gawked, unable to even think clearly for a second because the guy had gotten in. I had no idea what sort of computer savant was working in this bookshop, but the FBI was really missing out on an incredible employee.
The webpage had three columns of pictures with a name in bold and a short description under each. The page heading said these kids were “Currently Available In Los Angeles.” The four pictures that Detective Juke had shown me earlier were there along with three shadowed out boxes marked “Coming Soon”: Blake, described as seven, Caucasian, and “angelic”; Lotus, described as ten, Asian, and “exotic”; Josie, described as fourteen, mixed-race, and “stunning.”
Bile burned the back of my throat as I clicked on Josie. She was touted to be “fresh and virginal, a young teen and just beginning to bud into womanhood.” The cheerful description went on to say that the buyer could finish Josie any way they wanted as she was “healthy and eager to please.”
I shut the lid of the laptop and drew in a ragged breath. Josie had to be Nevarra. None of the other “coming soon” descriptions matched at all. She was fourteen, and although she wasn’t light skinned, she could be categorized as mixed race. Stunning definitely fit. Nevarra was a beautiful girl.
Coming soon. They didn’t even have a picture of her up yet. I saw a box to click for a bid amount, but it was at zero. Her profile probably hadn’t been up long enough for anyone to have put in a bid. That should have been a good thing. She was still there. She hadn’t been sold yet. And if what had been on the countdown page was correct, the bidding was to go on for at least a few more days. This was good. I had time—time to talk to Telaney, to hunt down this Desiree. Time to rescue Nevarra before anything bad happened to her.
Yet all I could think about was that horrible description, as if my sister were a puppy or a foal for sale and not a young girl.
“I tried to trace the website to a location, but couldn’t. There’s also nothing on there about anyone named Desiree.”
I cleared my throat. “It’s okay. Thanks.”
“Is there anything else I can do for you?” The clerk’s voice was soft and gentle.
I shook my head. “You’ve been such a huge help. And I don’t even know your name.”
“Alfie.”
Poor guy to be saddled with that as a name. I assumed it was short for Alfred or something. Alfie. Hadn’t that been a sitcom back before I was born about a furry alien?
I forced a smile to my face. “I’m Eden. And thank you again. As soon as I have some money, I’ll come in and buy some books.”
He raised a hand and extended a leather-bound book to me. It was the one on the Epic of Gilgamesh, and the Enkidu stories. I’d put it back on the shelf and hadn’t recalled him pulling it back off.
“For you. Pay me when you can.”
I took a step back. “Oh, I couldn’t. You don’t even know me, and you’ve already helped me so much. I don’t want you to get in trouble with your boss, either.”
He grinned and flipped his hair to the left. “I am the boss. Here. Take it. I insist.”
I’d always had a hard time accepting gifts. Bea had once told me that when I refused a gift, I was insulting the giver. It was still hard for me, but I made it a rule that if someone offered a gift three times, I would graciously accept.
Unless they were fae. I’d read enough fairy tales growing up to know better than to accept any gift from the fae, no matter how many times they offered.
I peered at Alfie, trying to make sure he wasn’t an elf. No pointed ears. And fae were supposed to be astoundingly beautiful with perfect symmetry of features. Alfie was kinda ugly.
“Are you sure? It might be a long time until I can pay you back.”
“Then consider it a gift.” He practically poked me with the book this time.
“Okay.” I laughed and took it from him, holding it tight to my chest as if I were a schoolgirl carrying a textbook. “Thank you again.”
“You’re welcome, Eden,” he called out as I walked to the door. “And tell Sadie I hope she recovers quickly.”
It wasn’t until I was climbing on my bike that I realized what he’d said. I’d never mentioned either of my sisters’ names, and I hadn’t told him about Sadie.
I pulled out the cell phone and looked once more at the text that had sent me to the bookstore. Just who
the hell was Alfie, and who had sent me the message?
Chapter 15
There was a blue Mini Cooper parked in the driveway behind Bea’s car when I got home. I immediately tensed, then forced myself to relax, thinking that the Fixers would hardly show up to grab me driving a blue Mini Cooper.
Parking the bike beside Bea’s car, I took a few seconds to dial the number I’d pulled up for Telaney. She didn’t answer. No surprise there. I probably wouldn’t pick up a call from an unknown number either. I left her a message asking her to call me back, then went around front to the door, pulling my pistol out, just in case the one of the Fixers did drive a blue Mini Cooper. The door was unlocked, but I knocked and called out as I opened it.
Bea poked her head around the corner of the hallway. “We’re in the girls’ room,” she whispered barely loud enough for me to hear.
“We?” I knew it couldn’t be Nevarra, but I still dropped my backpack and raced to the bedroom hoping she’d managed to escape and make her way home. The “we” wasn’t Nevarra, but a woman, hooking a bag to an IV pole and giving Bea instructions in a calm, soothing voice.
“This is Doctor Mwangi.” Bea practically radiated relief as she introduced the woman. “This is Eden Alvaro, the eldest of my foster daughters.”
I reached over to shake her hand. The doctor was an ebony-skinned woman with neat rows of braids that followed the curve of her head, ending right at the nape of her neck. She wore a pair of rumpled mint-green scrubs and a white shirt with what looked like dancing cacti on it.
The woman could have been wearing a leather nun’s suit for all I cared. I was just thrilled that Sadie was receiving professional medical attention.
“Doctor Mwangi is a pediatric oncologist over at Children’s Hospital,” Bea told me. “But she said she’s done regular rotations in the ER, so Sadie is in good hands.”
