Beguiled

by Darynda Jones

  I fell and tried to scramble back, but he kept coming until he was standing over me, looking down. He put one massive paw on my chest and pushed me to the ground, then leaned closer, his teeth barely an inch from my face. The low rumble that came out of his chest sent goose bumps spiraling over my skin.

  Before I could say anything, he turned and launched himself onto the hood of Mr. Ferebee’s truck with one thrust of his powerful hind legs.

  I could see the man’s profile. He reared back when Roane lowered his head and watched him through the windshield, his growl the stuff of nightmares. He barked and lunged at the glass like he was going to break through.

  Though the man was protected, he looked terrified, and Roane’s ploy worked. He dropped the gun and held up both of his hands as though to protect himself.

  I eased closer to the truck, and Roane growled a warning. Ignoring him, I knocked softly on Mr. Ferebee’s window.

  The look on his face when he finally wrenched his gaze off the wolf defined astonished. Dumbfounded might have been a better word for it.

  I did the signal for him to roll down his window, and he gaped at me.

  “Mr. Ferebee, please.”

  He shook his head.

  Roane snarled and lunged again.

  “Roane, you’re not helping.”

  Giving in, he licked his chops and lowered himself onto his stomach. His body stretched the entire length of the hood. I didn’t even want to think about what it would cost to fix the scratches in it. I decided to think positive and believe they could be buffed out.

  I did the signal again.

  Mr. Ferebee finally cracked the window.

  “You don’t want to do this, Mr. Ferebee.”

  His warm eyes were swollen with emotion, his dark skin splotchy. He had several days’ worth of scruff, and his clothes were rumpled. None of that detracted from how handsome he was. What did detract was the fact that he had given up.

  The chief pulled into the lot, his lights reflecting off the trees around us. He came with backup. A second patrol car pulled in behind Mr. Ferebee, blocking him in.

  Mr. Ferebee reached for the gun on the seat beside him, and Roane went into attack mode again. His snarls ferocious as he snapped and growled at Mr. Ferebee through the windshield, he gave the man a warning bark, so loud I almost jumped out of my skin.

  Annette was standing by Roane’s truck, taking it all in. She crept forward.

  The chief bolted out of his cruiser, and I held up a hand to stop him. “Mr. Ferebee, please unlock your door so the chief can get the gun. For everyone’s safety.”

  He lowered his head, and fresh tears formed rivulets down his face. After a moment where I wondered if he would still go for the gun, if he would still take his own life, he gave in and hit the unlock button.

  I opened Mr. Ferebee’s door as the chief opened the passenger-side door and grabbed the gun.

  “No more choices,” I said to the grieving man. “The universe wanted me here, Mr. Ferebee. In this moment. It wanted me to stop you from doing what you were about to do.”

  “Is that his name?”

  “Whose?”

  He looked up. “The wolf’s. Is his name the Universe?”

  A soft laugh escaped me. “No. His name is mud after tonight’s performance.” I looked around the windshield. He’d planted himself on the hood again and panted happily. “Bad wolf.”

  He released an annoyed whimper then decided to lick his paws, unconcerned with my scolding.

  Officer Flynn—or Officer Pecs, either way—made his way around the front of the truck, eyeing the wolf warily, his hand on his gun.

  “Just stay close to me,” Annette said to him, stepping to his side as though to protect the officer twice her size, “and you’ll be safe.”

  “Officer Flynn,” the chief said, “it’s all good. The wolf’s with me.”

  “Right, Chief.” He was not the least bit convinced.

  I put a hand on Mr. Ferebee’s arm to get his attention. “Mr. Ferebee, please trust me. I don’t know why I’m here. To stop this, yes, but it’s more than that. Please, please, please trust me.”

  He had a toy truck on his dash, a gray Dodge Ram just like the one he was in. He finally looked at me, his dark eyes glistening with still more tears. “I don’t understand. How did you know?”

  “I don’t really understand it all either, but I think we both will if you’ll just let me in.”

  “How? How do I do that?”

  “I don’t really know that either. Some people I can just see into, and others seem to have the ability to block me. Usually with witchcraft of some kind, but…”

  He shook his head.

  “You think I don’t know how you feel, but I do. I was the ultimate skeptic a few months ago, but then I was… blessed with this gift. Or cursed. Either way.”

  “So you have this gift and I’m blocking you?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t know how I’m doing it or how to undo it, so where does that leave us?”

  “I think it has to do with trust. Why are you here in Salem? Are you still looking for your son?”

  Surprise registered on his face.

  “Oh, that wasn’t witchcraft. That was old-fashioned research.”

  He nodded. “I got a letter. Another one.”

  I leaned back against his open door as Roane, apparently bored with licking his paws, jumped off the hood and trotted off into the darkness.

  Annette patted the officer’s biceps. “You should probably still stay near me. In case he comes back.”

  Officer Flynn shot her a dubious scowl.

  “A letter? Is that what you thought I sent?”

  “Yes. Sorry about your arm.”

  “It’s okay. I have a spare. The letter?”

  He drew in a deep breath to steady himself. “My son went missing a year ago. He… Evidence showed up a month later. The detectives told me he was probably dead.” He fought a soft sob. The sob won.

  Annette walked up to stand beside me, and the chief stood at the open passenger-side door, keeping a guarded eye on the man.

  “We spoke to the detective in charge of the case in Chicago,” Annette said. “He told us about the backpack and the… about your son.”

  Another tear escaped the man’s lashes. He nodded. “Since then, I’ve gotten five letters. I take that back. I’ve received dozens of letters from people trying to help. Swearing they’ve seen Milo at this gas station or that park. But there have been five letters from the same person telling me he’s found my son. But he can’t get involved. No cops. If I show up to whatever location he sends me to, he’ll meet me there with Milo.” He broke down again.

  “But he was never there,” I said.

  He raked a hand over his face and shook his head.

  “And this time he sent you here to Salem?”

  “Yes,” he said, his voice strained.

  “Did you tell the detective?” I asked, knowing the answer. Surely the detective would’ve said something when the chief talked to him.

  “Not this time. At first, I only gave the cops the notes after I’d already gone to the place and came back empty-handed. I was afraid they would scare him off. But with the fourth note, I gave it to them beforehand. I showed up to the meet. A marketplace in Bangor, Maine. There were a couple of cops undercover. More waiting in the wings. I don’t know how, but the guy figured it out. The next note said if I do that again, he would kill Milo and leave his body for me to find instead.” Another sob racked the poor man’s body.

  “Why Maine?”

  “I don’t know. The first note sent me to a McDonald’s at Union Station in DC. Another to a sushi grill in Kalamazoo. And so on.”

  “He’s sending you all over the country,” Annette said, confused. “Why would anyone do that?”

  I pointed at her. “That’s the key.” Roane walked up then, fully clothed, and I remembered my manners. “I’m sorry, Mr. Ferebee, I’m Defiance. This is Annet
te, Roane, and that is Chief Metcalf.”

  “And Officer Flynn,” Annette added, wiggling her fingers at him.

  “Please, call me Joaquin. What do you mean, that’s the key?”

  “It’s someone you know. Someone who’s messing with you in the cruelest way possible. Someone with a vendetta.”

  He frowned and looked down in thought. “I don’t get along with everyone I meet, but I can’t imagine who would be that cruel.”

  Roane ran a hand over his scruff in thought. “When your son went missing, you were in the middle of a divorce.”

  “Yes. She was just as devastated as I was.”

  “Exactly,” I said. “Does she, perhaps, blame you?”

  “Yes. Yes, she does. And she has every right to. I had him for the weekend. We were at a park near my apartment when he… he just vanished. But I just can’t see her—”

  “Where is she now?”

  He rubbed his forehead and thought about it. “Last I heard, she was living with her parents outside of Chicago, working in a dentist’s office. She hasn’t spoken a word to me since they found Milo’s backpack.”

  “I’m sorry, Joaquin.” Hopefully, the man was learning to trust me a little more. “Do you have the letters?”

  “Just this last one. The police have the others.”

  He took it off of his console. He’d been reading it.

  The chief closed the door and came around to read the letter with us.

  “Last chance,” I said, reading aloud. “Woods Park. Salem, Massachusetts. You know the date and time. Don’t be late.” I looked back at him. “You know the date and time?”

  “Yes.” His voice cracked, and he had to stop. “Milo’s birthday was a few days ago.”

  “And the time?”

  “He was born at three in the morning.” He looked away. “I sat here all night. All the next day. The police finally ran me off, but I’ve been back every night since.”

  “That’s very specific,” I said, suspicion niggling in the back of my mind. I took the letter firmly in hand. “Joaquin, do you think you can trust me for the next ten minutes? That’s all I ask.”

  “To do what?”

  “To see inside your soul, for lack of a better phrase.”

  “Because I’m blocking you,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “Because you’re blocking me.”

  “Look, I’m grateful for what you’re trying to do, but I just don’t believe in that shit. I’m sorry. And even if I did, I have no idea how to block you, much less how to unblock you.”

  I held out my hand. “How about you let me worry about that?”

  He released a resigning breath, took my hand, and looked into my eyes. “What do I have to do?”

  I lowered my head and captured his gaze. “You’re doing it.” He sat completely still, unable to move as I scoured his thoughts. I dove deeper and, when the time was just right, I asked him, “What are you searching for?”

  “My son,” he whispered.

  I found him in his memories. The gorgeous little thing. Then I drew a quick spell with the hand holding the letter and sent out my magics. The seekers. The finders of lost things.

  One corner of my mouth slid up when I found the object he wanted most. The boy with huge round eyes and a movie-star smile. He turned five while he was away and, while he loved his mother and his grandparents, he missed his father terribly. And the boy knew his name wasn’t really Michael. It was Milo. His dad called him Milo, and he would keep the name safe in his heart forever no matter what his mother said.

  The author of the letters got brazen, sending Joaquin here. I looked back at him. He was blurry, and I realized a wetness had gathered between my lashes. The man was about to get the surprise of his life. I released him and stepped back before looking at Officer Pecs. “Chief, can you have Officer Flynn put Joaquin in the back of his cruiser, please?”

  The chief gave me a brief, quizzical brow, then nodded. “Officer Flynn.”

  The officer, while confused, stepped forward to comply.

  “Wait,” Joaquin said, his ire skyrocketing. He glared at me.

  “Joaquin, I thought you said you’d trust me for the next ten minutes?”

  His brows slid together. “And you have me arrested?”

  “Not at all.” I beamed at him. “Not at all.”

  An hour later, we were staked out at a yellow Cape-style home in Swampscott. The chief had coordinated with local PD. Five police cruisers sat waiting for the word to move in.

  It helped that the chief of police of Salem had requested the backup. Otherwise, we’d have to explain to the Swampscott chief of police how we knew what we knew. That Milo Ferebee was alive and well and living with his mother and grandparents in the affluent town. It would seem Joaquin’s in-laws had the means and the motive to set up a fake abduction, all because Joaquin wanted to divorce their princess.

  I sat in the back of the cruiser with Joaquin as the police waited for the go-ahead.

  “Is this for real?” he asked, his voice pleading.

  “It is. Milo is alive. We just have to keep him that way.” Not that I believed the boy to be in any real danger, but in a confrontation like this, one just never knew.

  He could hardly take his eyes off the scene and held his breath every time someone came on the radio. Which was a lot.

  Officer Flynn parked the car, then joined the chief and the other officers at the mobile command post as they waited for the tac team to infiltrate. Dressed head to toe in tactical gear, the team set up position to go in as quickly as possible to minimize the chance of a hostage situation.

  “I can’t believe she would do this. That she hated me so much.”

  “Hon, anyone who does something this depraved, when they’re not doing it to protect their child, is more than a little unstable.”

  He scoffed. “It runs in the family. Her mother is just… She was a flea in Diane’s ear, constantly criticizing everything I did.”

  “I’m sorry, Joaquin.”

  He finally looked at me, shook his head, and asked, “How?” It seemed to be the only word he could come up with to ask the million questions running through his mind. How did I do it? How did I know? How did I find his son?

  I smiled, but before I could answer, a hushed voice came over the radio. “Preparing to breach.”

  Another voice came on. “You’re a go.”

  Even from our position, we could hear the breaking of the door and the yelling for everyone to get down. Joaquin doubled over and covered his head with his arms, unable to hold back the emotion any longer. His fear and hope and exhilaration charged the air around us with electricity.

  Then our doors opened. The chief helped me out as Roane and Annette ran up. Officer Flynn opened the door for Joaquin and pointed, and I saw a grin on the officer’s face for the first time.

  “I think you might know this young man.”

  Joaquin started to step out.

  “Oh, wait!” I’d almost forgotten. I reached in my bag and took out the toy truck Joaquin had on his dash. An exact replica of his Dodge Ram, right down to the color and chrome running boards. Milo’s favorite toy. “You might need this.”

  He took it but was in such a state of shock, he stepped out of the SUV in a daze as a female police officer carried a five-year-old wrapped in a blanket toward us. They were instantly surrounded by a medical team, but she charged forward.

  The boy was in shock as well as he looked around at all the police and emergency responders who had swarmed the place. Joaquin hurried toward the officer, but his son seemed less than impressed with him. He turned away shyly but kept his gaze on his father as though unable to place him.

  “Milo,” Joaquin said, stopping short. He scraped a hand down his face in disbelief, then held out the truck. “Do you remember this?”

  Milo finally turned toward him, his little brows drawn in confusion. “Daddy?”

  Joaquin sobbed and took him into his arms. “It’s me, buddy.”
He fell to the ground with him, holding on for dear life.

  I wrapped my arms around Roane as we looked on.

  Annette, ever the non-hugger, patted my shoulder. “You did good.”

  “We did good.”

  We watched as they brought three people out of the house in handcuffs: an older couple and Joaquin’s ex, Diane. I only needed one thing from her.

  “Chief, can I have a minute with her?”

  He nodded and escorted Roane, Annette, and I past the onlookers—who had already started to gather—and under the police tape. “Officer,” he said to the patrolman putting Diane into the back of a cruiser. “Can we have a minute?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  I thought about not talking to her at all. Not asking her why. Was that really something I needed to know? I could tell from Joaquin’s thoughts and memories what an incredible dad he was. And husband. He had given their marriage his all, but it was never quite enough for her, and neither of them were happy.

  But there was one question burning in my brain. I needed the answer, not only for Joaquin, but for the detectives on the case as well.

  I walked up to her. She was a pretty brunette with creamy skin and, well, she looked completely normal. No one would’ve suspected she’d abducted her own child. In fact, no one did.

  “I just need to know one thing,” I said to her.

  She kept her jaw wired shut, not realizing she didn’t need to speak. I read her instantly, and she was so much like Johanna, the coven member I’d just stripped of her magics, it was unreal. Vengeful. Malicious. Only Diane didn’t have magics. Nothing I could take from her, except maybe one thing, but I would get to that in a minute.

  I stepped closer and lowered my head. “The blood.”

  I saw it instantly. Her father was a doctor, and they’d hatched the plan together. After the initial abduction, he’d taken Milo’s blood a little at a time. It took him over a month to accumulate enough blood to fake the crime scene. Then, when the time came, her mother took his backpack to the warehouse, spread the blood around, and called in a tip from a burner saying she found the body of a young boy. Just as they’d hoped, the police believed the killer came back for the body to hide the evidence. The blood, combined with the phone call, was enough to convince them Milo had been killed. They didn’t stop searching so much as divert their efforts to more pressing cases.