“Why don’t I go check it out? You stay here in case he comes home.”
“Thank you.” A grateful smile spread across her face. “I called the police, but you know how they are. Until it’s dark, they won’t even consider looking for him. If he were two years old, they might get their asses in gear, but they think every black kid able to talk is mixed up with a gang.”
The police were overburdened, underfunded, and overwhelmed. They were also—for the most part—corrupt. Oh, they responded to homicides, vicious attacks, and burglaries, the latter mainly at wealthy estates. Over the years, you’d think things would have changed for the better in terms of racial tension. But the world only seemed to get worse and that tension had extended into the Crypto community. The cops were bought and paid for by rich humans, the vampires, and the Fae.
“Do you know what he was wearing?” If he was trapped or hurt in a hard-to-reach area, it would help to know if he was wearing bright clothing.
“If I remember right, he was wearing a red hoodie and a pair of blue jeans. I don’t remember what color T-shirt. I wish I had told him to take his bike, but it’s still on the porch so he must have walked over there yesterday.”
“Why would he take the shortcut?”
“If he’s tired, or he thinks he’s late, he’ll sometimes cut through there. If he had taken his bike he probably would have taken the long way.” She bit her lip. “I’m afraid.”
I took Angel’s hand and gave it a long squeeze. “We’re going to find him. We don’t know that he took the shortcut, but I’ll check it out. Meanwhile, you make yourself some tea and try to calm down. Don’t borrow trouble.”
She nodded, biting her lip. “It’s just that… Since Mama died, DJ and I are all that’s left. You know? My father’s dead, and DJ’s father vanished the minute he found out Mama was pregnant. Any aunts or uncles we have are back east, and we don’t have much to do with them. Or rather, they don’t have much to do with us. Mama’s sister, Maria, was pissed as hell when she found out that DJ was Wulfine.”
“About that—how much control does he have over his shifting? If something scared him, could he have changed shape? Does he have trouble transforming back? Should I be looking for a young wolf as well?”
Angel considered the question, then gave me a short shrug. “He’s still getting the techniques down for shifting. He can shift at will, though he’s shaky about it. The full moon still makes him shift. I take him out to the country a couple times a month so he can practice and run around in his wolf form without any worries. It always takes him a while to transform back. So I can’t give you an answer. I suppose it could be possible.”
I stood up, glancing around the tidy living room. The cottage was small, with two bedrooms, a living room–dining room, a bathroom, and a kitchen, but every surface sparkled, and what little clutter there was belonged to DJ. Angel had done her best to turn it into a home, and to make a safe place for DJ to grow up in.
“I’ll find him. I’ll do everything I can.” I gave her a hug.
She dashed away a tear. “Bring him home, please,” she whispered. “Bring my brother home.”
AS I HEADED back to my car, I pulled out my phone.
“Search UnderLake Park history.”
I figured it might be a good idea to get a better idea of just exactly what I was dealing with. Even though I knew the park was dangerous, I didn’t know all the specifics.
“Which city should I search?” the search engine asked.
“The UnderLake District, near Kirkland, Washington.”
Seconds later, a string of search links popped up on my screen. I noticed one of them was a news article and tapped on it first. I slid into the driver’s seat, glancing over the site. It was a local pseudo-news site, more touristy than anything but not clickbait.
The UnderLake Park, which borders UnderLake, Washington, and Kirkland, Washington, sprawls across five hundred acres. Part of the land was originally donated to the city by a monastery when it closed its doors. An additional fifty acres adjacent to the park was donated to the city by Trina Castle.
Ms. Castle inherited the Castle Hall estate when her mother and father were brutally murdered in their home. Police found blood everywhere, but no bodies. John and Vera Castle were never found, but DNA samples verified that the blood belonged to them, and the medical examiner stated that with the amount of blood found at the scene, there was virtually no chance either one could still be alive. No motive was ever discovered, although many theories were proposed, and the bodies have never surfaced.
Castle Hall sat empty for several years until Trina Castle donated the estate to the city, claiming she couldn’t bear to live there. The old mansion still stands on the grounds, half a mile from the crumbling monastery, abandoned and in a state of disrepair. City officials have repeatedly discussed razing it, but nothing has ever been done. There are claims that the mansion is haunted, and amateur ghost hunters have visited the estate numerous times. The Castle Hall estate was established in 1920, passed down through the Castle family until the disappearance of John and Vera Castle in 1998.
Over the years since then, five unsolved murders—all gruesome—have happened within proximity to the Castle Hall estate, and numerous reports of missing persons have been logged within UnderLake Park as a whole. Speculation abounds about the possibility of a serial killer but has been repeatedly denied by the police.
I blinked. I knew the park was dangerous, but had no clue of its bloody history. I pulled up my maps app and traced the route that led through the shortcut. Angel watched from the front porch as I eased out of her driveway and headed toward the trailhead.
The entrance to the park was wide and broad, marked by long cedar logs to which the UnderLake Park signs were attached. I turned onto the paved drive and immediately felt the shift in energy. The park was a tangle of old growth, mostly fir and cedar, their trunks massive with moss dripping from their branches. The branches formed a canopy over the road, entwining over the narrow road. Two cars could go abreast, barely, and there were no shoulders on which to turn off if you had car trouble. Over the years, the forest had thickened and a riot of vegetation flourished, spreading out to surround the tree trunks and cover the ground.
Stands of birch, with its startling white bark, dotted the park, breaking up the constant clamor of forest green and the dark trunks of the trees. Light could—and did—peek through the foliage, but only in patches, and as I crept along, looking for the trailhead that led to the shortcut, I found myself quickly descending into a brooding watchfulness. I opened my window even though it was chilly and humid, and listened to the call of the birds.
To my left, a murder of crows had set up a racket, and to my right came the shriek of a red-tailed hawk, which was setting off the crows. The hawk was hunting, that much I could tell, and as I listened, a gust of wind came rushing through. For a moment, I could swear I heard voices on it—talking, as though a group of people was passing by. I squinted, but could see nothing. I wasn’t good at catching a glimpse of the Unseen, although I could sense when they were around. Angel was better at that than me.
As the energy settled around me, I felt like I had entered claimed territory. I was an intruder here, and there were eyes all through the forest. I breathed a sigh of relief when I finally arrived at the Wonder Trail, the shortcut DJ usually took, and guided my car into one of three parking spots. Turning off the ignition, I leaned back in the seat, listening.
Below the layer of the crows and hawk, below the voices I had heard, there surged a current of energy. I followed it, sourcing it back to the trees and the soil and the animals that made up the forest around me. City park or not, this was a Wild Place, and even though I was Fae and used to them, that fact made me nervous. Wild Places could be dark and brooding areas, and they were dangerous for the unwary—human or otherwise. They were tied into the very heart of the planet, the deep forces that made up the bones of the world and there
were spirits and creatures in them that were far more deadly than anything walking on two legs.
I focused on lowering my vision to below the level of the trees, diving deep into the core of what made up UnderLake Park.
The sentience that ran below the surface of the park was thick, like a shadow creeping through the night. It coiled around the roots of the trees, trickling through the soil like rivulets of water, seeping into the rocks and vegetation. It crept up the tall trunks to filter between the branches and around the limbs of the trees. It seeped into the water and the debris that littered the forest floor.
Foggy and dangerous, it had an edge that could slice through flesh like a razor blade. The spirit was angry, with a voracious appetite that felt like it would never be satiated and it churned with all the fervor of an ocean wave, threatening to sweep me under as it rolled by.
“Holy fuck,” I muttered, pulling myself out of the trance. I hadn’t expected to key in so easily. Most places that had experienced great violence had some sort of sentience, but this was like a monster, frothing below the surface as it waited for the next victim. And I could only hope that the chosen target hadn’t been DJ. If he was in here, I had to find him and fast, because there were numerous dangers that lurked within the woodland.
Grateful for my tracking skills, I retrieved my backpack from the backseat, then jumped out of the car and locked it. I kept a pack with all my tools ready to go. Rope, a first-aid kit, a spare knife, water bottles, food, a thermal blanket, and a flashlight took care of most of my needs.
While most of my jobs were simple track and catch, occasionally I found myself on a search and rescue mission, and I wanted to be prepared. I slipped the pack over my shoulders and headed down the trail, into the forest.
Some forests were dark and brooding, obviously dangerous places for creatures of any sort. Others were welcoming, while still others gave the illusion of tranquility, when in truth, they sought to lure in victims. As I headed to the entrance of the trail, I listened to the trees murmur around me and quickly realized that, though they were dangerous and didn’t trust humankind nor any of its ilk, neither would they play favorites. They would harbor both good and evil, favoring neither.
Pausing at the entrance, I inhaled a deep lungful of air, paying attention to the scents.
My sense of smell was heightened, thanks to my Fae heritage, and as I let myself sift through the layers, I searched for anything that would tell me whether DJ had come this way.
Beneath the fragrant smells of water dripping from the cedar and fir branches, I could smell moss and the mildew, the tang of decaying leaves that had fallen from the trees last autumn, the smell of mushrooms and fungi that were so prevalent in the woods here.
I patiently sifted through them, discarding the ones that were obvious. Below that I could smell the faint stench of skunk. One must have passed this way within the past twenty-four hours. And a faint musk hung in the air, suggesting that a deer or an elk had crossed through the park. Lowering my sense of smell even further, I stretched out my awareness as far as I could. There, on the edge of my perception, I could smell chocolate and nuts, and fear.
I began to head along the trail, staying on the center of the path. Overhead, the canopy of trees wove their branches across the path, forming a lattice-work roof.
Deciding it best to trace the chocolate, I focused my attention on the scent. That was the only clue I had. DJ loved chocolate, I knew that much.
About five minutes in, the scent abruptly veered left, into the undergrowth. I had been watching the ground carefully, looking for any sign of footprints or anything to tell me that he had come this way. Even though it had rained, the soil of the path was compacted, with few mud puddles. Pausing, I stared into the foliage. Finally, deciding that following the scent would be my best chance, I turned to the left and forged my way into the tangle.
Within a few minutes, I found myself at the top of a ravine. The grade was steep and I paused to yank a broken branch off of a nurse log to use as a walking stick. Grateful for the nonskid tread on my boots, I began to make my way down the slope, half-sliding, half-stumbling down the hill.
At least it wasn’t raining, although clouds had socked in and we were due for a good spring drenching. A rustle to my left caught my attention, but it was only a small animal, out hunting. A breeze coasted past and I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply as I tried to read whatever I could from the flowing breeze. Once again, the smell of chocolate came over me, coming from down below, and I picked up my pace as best as I could.
The ravine was steep and slick, but the trees were thick enough that I was able to weave my way, using their trunks to steady myself. It was slow going as I slogged through the undergrowth, and I tested each step to make certain I wouldn’t turn an ankle, but as I built my rhythm, the going began to get easier.
“Thank gods I wore long sleeves,” I muttered out loud. I passed through a tall stand of stinging nettles. The barbs on the plant caused severe welts, even for the non-allergic.
A moment later, I realized a low mist was beginning to rise. I froze, sensing a faint sentience to the fog. Wrapping my hand around the hilt of my dagger, I breathed softly as I waited. There was danger everywhere within this park, and I wondered whether whatever had killed John and Vera Castle was still around. Maybe not a serial killer in the usual sense of the word, but a deeply entrenched danger? After a moment, the mist rolled lightly across the ground, ignoring me, and I continued.
I came across a small puddle of water at the base of a tree, and squatted beside it. Placing my palm on the surface of the water, I reached deep with all of my senses, searching for the essence behind the element. All elements were sentient to a degree, and if there were any elementals around, I should be able to pick up on them. At least water elementals.
I could feel the connection of the water in the puddle to the water running through the roots of the trees, to the water dripping off of the needles and branches of the trees, to the moisture in the air. And then…behind that, a presence.
Is anyone there? Will you speak to me? I sent out the emotion, a questioning energy. Elementals didn’t respond to words, but to feelings and images.
A flicker of awareness signaled that I had caught the attention of the water elemental. I hesitantly reached out, extending my respect, and the elemental reached back, lingering around the edges of my aura. It was hesitant and wary, but seemed open to communication.
I formed an image of DJ in my mind, surrounding him with a sense of worry. I pushed a sense of urgency into every ounce of my inquiry, focusing on the danger that I thought he was in.
A moment later the elemental responded. The image of the streambed formed in my mind, deep inside the ravine, and I saw what looked like a concrete culvert. I sensed a warning in the message, but couldn’t see what I was supposed to watch out for. The elemental broke off contact, and I whispered a Thank you.
I leaned back against the tree, considering my next move. If I could trust the elemental, then DJ would be somewhere near a stream. Maybe he was caught in a culvert and couldn’t get out? And if there was a stream, it was probably at the bottom of the ravine.
The question was, which way should I go once I found it? I thought about calling out for DJ, but something stopped me. This woodland would be the perfect place for the goblins to hide in, and while I could take care of myself, DJ couldn’t.
Unable to shake off the feeling that there was something dangerous nearby, I began to descend through the ravine again, trying to make as little noise as I could.
Finally, I reached the bottom, and sure enough, found a small stream, about ten feet wide. On the other side, the ravine climbed back up.
I looked to the left and then to the right. Both directions vanished into the forest, curving out of sight. Frowning, I reached into the layers of scent again, searching for the scent of chocolate. A few moments later it bloomed again, coming from my right. At least the going woul
d be easier, now that I was on level ground.
I made my way parallel to the stream, following the smell of candy. The water wasn’t extremely deep, but it ran swift, with foaming whitecaps as it burbled along.
I navigated around tree stumps, slogging around the soft banks of mud as I eyed the ground for any sign of footprints. I had gone about twenty yards when I caught a flash of something bright off a bush off to my right. Hurrying over, I saw that it was a red bandana. When I picked it up, I saw a smear of chocolate on it. There was a candy bar wrapper at the base of the bush as well.
I pulled out my phone and called Angel. Reception down in the ravine was full of static, but I managed to get through.
“What’s DJ’s favorite candy bar, and do you know if he had a red bandana with him?”
When she spoke, I could hear the fear in her voice. “Yes, he did. And it’s Choco-Nutmallow.”
I stared at the wrapper in my hand. Choco-Nutmallow, all right. DJ had come this way. “Don’t panic. I haven’t found anything to show that he’s hurt, but I’m on track. I’ll call you later when I have anything else to report.”
I pocketed the bandana and the candy wrapper, and started out again. The bush wasn’t far off from the stream, so I decided to keep going along the streambed.
Not far ahead, I spotted a disturbance in a pile of leaves. It looked like somebody had been rolling in them, or scuffling in them.
I knelt to examine the ground. Here and there I could see a footprint—the tread of a boot heel, I thought. And it looked like some of the surrounding plants had been trampled. Unless I missed my guess, some sort of altercation had taken place here. I inched ahead, looking for any sign I could find that DJ had been part of the tussle.
The moss wasn’t conducive to prints like mud or dirt were, but I spotted a few places where boots had made some sort of an indentation. But it couldn’t be DJ—not for that deep of an impression. He was too small. Either someone heavier had been through here, or several people had been walking in formation.
The Silver Stag Page 3