The Amplifier Protocol (Amplifier 0)

by Meghan Ciana Doidge

  I switched the umbrella to my other hand, shaking Melissa’s hand. Her blood didn’t hold even a whisper of magic, so I had no reason to refuse the gesture. Her grip was strong. “Emma Johnson.”

  “You guys bought McGuire Farm last year,” she said. “That’s nice. It had been empty for far too long. Will you be revitalizing the gardens? The dahlias? We’d love to work out a deal with you on fresh produce. And flowers.”

  “Melissa.” The soft-spoken, balding man at her side smiled. Her second husband, Brian Martin. I’d seen both of their pictures in the local paper. “Let Emma say hello first, at least.”

  Melissa laughed.

  Christopher reached past me, offering his hand to Melissa. “Christopher Johnson.”

  She took it, shaking his arm enthusiastically while grinning back and forth between us. “Aren’t you two something lovely to look at on a cloudy day.”

  Christopher chuckled. “I was planning on filling the farm stand with any extra produce I manage to grow. And eggs when the chicks come into lay. The dahlias haven’t been mulched or lifted to overwinter, so I’m not certain how many will return. But I’m also putting in roses.”

  Melissa patted the back of his hand. “They’ll come back. You’re in the perfect spot. Fertile soil, southern exposure.” Then she seemed to realize she was still holding on to Christopher, and shook her head slightly as if embarrassed.

  But even without touching her to trigger my empathy, I knew she wasn’t embarrassed. Human interaction was so terribly odd sometimes.

  “This is my husband, Brian. Brian Martin. Together we run the Home Cafe. Jenni says you’re going to help look for Hannah. She left here around eight last night. It was a slow evening, and I was happy to pick up any of the tables that arrived in the last hour of the day.” She paused to breathe.

  Christopher took the opportunity to reach over and shake Brian’s hand. Touching mundanes was contact that his magic allowed. Most of the time. Prolonged or long-term contact could trigger a vision, though. But in the moment — while walking in the footsteps of fate, as Christopher would say — he never worried about repercussions, as I did. “Brian.”

  “Pleased to meet you.” Brian hunkered down, offering the back of his hand to Paisley. “And who is this?”

  “Paisley.”

  Christopher and I both paused, waiting to see if the demon dog would behave appropriately, and readying some excuse if she didn’t.

  Paisley padded forward, wagging her tail, then bumped her head under Brian’s open hand. He momentarily lost his balance, but then petted her robustly. “What a beautiful beast you are!”

  Paisley chortled, huskily agreeing.

  The dark-haired woman in green Gore-Tex thrust her hand toward me. “Lani Zachary, ex-air force technician. I just bought the mechanic shop on MacDonald Road.”

  I hesitated, staring at her hand and trying to assess the tenor of her magic for a moment too long. Her smile dimmed.

  Christopher nudged me with his shoulder, covering the gesture by thrusting his hands in his pockets.

  I snagged Lani’s hand right before she dropped it. No magic passed between us. “Emma.”

  “You’ve got that beautiful 1967 Clearwater Aqua Mustang. I’d love a look at her.”

  “Oh, sure.”

  “If you were interested, of course.”

  I blinked at her, not quite certain what she was asking.

  Her smile widened again. “If you were interested in continuing to restore her?”

  I nodded. The Mustang was the first truly frivolous thing I’d ever bought myself. I wasn’t even remotely a car fanatic. I had just seen it and wanted it. I’d known it would stand out terribly in a small West Coast town where it rained consistently for eight months of the year, but I’d found I couldn’t abandon it even after we made the decision to keep moving north of California.

  Lani’s hand tightened on mine for a brief moment, then she released me.

  “We were just waiting for you,” Officer Raymond said. “Harry and Tim Morris have the river covered.”

  “They own Cowichan Kayak and Tubing,” Melissa said helpfully.

  I nodded, though I’d already known about the Morrises. I had researched every business, every residence I could before we’d even set foot in the town. Before I’d bought the house and property mostly unseen.

  “We’re just looking for anyone who has laid eyes on Hannah in the last twenty-four hours.” Officer Raymond glanced at everyone in turn. “Try not to panic anyone, eh?”

  “What did her mother say, Jenni?” Melissa asked. “She could still be on her way there?”

  Officer Raymond nodded. “I called again about fifteen minutes ago. Hannah hasn’t checked in. Or answered her text messages or email.”

  “Hannah’s mother is down island in Victoria,” Melissa said, speaking to Christopher and me. “She runs a lovely secondhand clothing store on Fort Street.”

  I also had this information, via Hannah. She’d picked up the cashmere cardigan I was currently wearing under my jacket from her mother’s store when she’d gone home the previous weekend. But I nodded anyway.

  “Emma and Christopher are going to see if Paisley can pick up any scents from here, and around Hannah’s apartment.”

  “It’s been raining pretty steadily,” Lani said.

  Brian reached over and thumped Paisley on the back. “Are you a good tracker, girl? Have you got a good nose?”

  Paisley offered him a toothy smile, fortunately displaying only a single row of teeth. Though it was still possible she was contemplating eating Brian.

  I glanced over at Christopher. He nodded shallowly, rubbing the end of Paisley’s ear, drawing her attention to him.

  “Lani and Melissa will take the main street businesses.” Officer Raymond pulled out her cellphone. “You all have my number. I’ll be in the cruiser, doing another circuit.”

  I glanced at Christopher, questioningly this time. He nodded. Again.

  Apparently, we did actually have the RCMP officer’s number. Christopher had a cellphone. I didn’t bother with one. Neither of our magic interacted badly with tech — the Collective had been careful about breeding out any such weaknesses — but I had no need to keep in daily contact with anyone I didn’t already live with.

  “Brian needs to open the diner,” Melissa said. “He’ll make sandwiches, so be sure to stop back here when you finish up.”

  Brian nodded congenially. “And I’ll make sure to ask anyone who comes in —”

  A gray-haired, red-faced man charged around the corner.

  I moved, stepping around Christopher so swiftly that I startled the man. He stopped in his tracks, blinking at me.

  Christopher sighed softly, likely shaking his head behind me. But I kept my gaze on the mundane who’d been approaching with such aggression that I could practically feel it boiling off him.

  He gaped at me, opening and closing his mouth. I didn’t recognize him. My research hadn’t always included pictures.

  Lani laughed quietly behind me. “Apparently, we’ve discovered a way to shut Grant up.”

  “Finally,” Jenni Raymond muttered back.

  Both of them probably had no idea I could hear them.

  “How dare you,” so-called Grant howled. “How dare you accuse my boy of malfeasance!”

  Officer Raymond thrust herself past me, speaking over her shoulder. “We’ll meet back here in an hour unless one of us uncovers a lead.”

  “I’ll have your badge for this!” Grant screeched.

  Everyone else ignored him.

  “Malfeasance?” Christopher murmured.

  I turned my back on the blustering newcomer, whispering, “I’m guessing Grant’s his last name. Like Hannah’s boyfriend.”

  Christopher grunted then nodded, agreeing with the connection I’d made.

  Based on the huffing and posturing coming from the older Grant, I guessed that Officer Raymond had leveled the same accusation she’d shared with us when she�
��d knocked on his door a few hours earlier. The accusation she’d used to emotionally blackmail us into helping search for Hannah — that Hannah’s boyfriend, Tyler Grant, was physically abusing her.

  Christopher kept one eye on the RCMP officer while she attempted to mollify Tyler Grant’s father. I crouched down in front of Paisley, tugging a white tank top out of the front zippered pocket of my jacket. “Don’t eat this.”

  Paisley gummed the edge of the tank top playfully. Then she made a show of sniffing it, like she was attempting to pick up Hannah’s scent. It was my tank top, offered up to support the fiction that Paisley was going to be the one who eventually tracked Hannah down.

  I wasn’t certain what TV shows Paisley had been watching, but I’d never seen a police or tracking dog make such a show of snorting and snuffling, slathering the shirt with slobber while picking up a scent to track.

  Christopher laid his hand on my shoulder, slipping his fingers underneath my loose hair and jacket collar. He settled his fingertips along my upper spine, directly over top of the blood tattoo that tied his magic to me.

  I was conscious of Lani Zachery’s gaze, but I kept my attention on Paisley.

  Brian kissed Melissa, then stepped into the diner, flipping the ‘Closed’ sign hanging in the door to ‘Open.’

  The older Grant’s rant increased in volume behind me, as did Officer Raymond’s responses. But I didn’t bother following their conversation. We needed to move. Quickly.

  “Okay, Paisley,” I said, speaking louder than necessary. “Track.”

  Paisley huffed at me like I was the one overacting. Then she crossed to the door of the diner with her nose hovering over the concrete sidewalk.

  I straightened carefully so I didn’t knock Christopher’s hand away. I met Lani’s too-interested gaze, then looked away. Paisley was making a show of picking up Hannah’s scent, tapping her paw in various places around the door.

  “Let’s move?” I asked quietly.

  Christopher nodded, dropping his hand. “Let’s go find Hannah.”

  “Paisley appears to have a scent,” Lani said, though she’d been more focused on me than on the pit bull.

  I nodded, smiling tightly. Then I spoke to Paisley, loudly and clearly. “Show us, girl.”

  Paisley made a show of snuffling her way back across the sidewalk, where she paused to tap the curb emphatically.

  Christopher chuckled under his breath.

  “We’ll see you back here,” Melissa said. “I’ll take the north side of South Shore Road, Lani.”

  The ex-air-force-tech-turned-mechanic nodded in response, though her gaze flicked between me, Christopher, and Paisley. She smiled when she caught my eye.

  I turned away, following Paisley across the street between slow-moving cars.

  “Witch, I think,” Christopher said quietly. “Doesn’t know it, though. We’re tweaking her instincts.”

  I nodded. Lani Zachery most definitely knew something was up with us. And when we found Hannah, her suspicions would be confirmed. But what that meant long term, when she didn’t even know that she carried latent magic, I had no idea.

  Paisley made a show of tracking along the edge of the opposite curb. The thrift store that Hannah ran was only three storefronts to the north.

  “You sound like a little piggy,” I said, nudging Paisley’s backside with my knee.

  She looked up at me, snarfling a bit more. Then she dropped the pretense, leading us around the block.

  Hannah’s apartment was situated over the thrift store. Both locations were dark, empty of people. Paisley tracked up and down the painted wooden stairs at the back of the gray stucco building. Then she moved out across the small parking lot there. All the spots were empty.

  Christopher slipped his cool fingers into the back of my collar, wrapping his hand around the base of my neck. Magic shifted between us without being called or directed. I let it move as it willed. Amplifying Christopher’s power without a clear focus could have an adverse effect, casting the magic too far forward in the timeline that stretched endlessly before us.

  “Hannah Stewart,” I whispered, infusing my words with as much intent as I could muster. “Where are you?”

  Paisley crossed back toward us, sitting on her haunches and blinking up at me.

  “She left by car?” I asked her.

  She pawed the ground.

  “Isn’t it supposed to be once for yes and twice for no?”

  Paisley lost interest in the conversation, wandering off to investigate the garbage bins.

  “Hannah Stewart,” Christopher murmured.

  “Where do you see me, Knox?” I whispered, reverting to his childhood nickname. It was an intimacy I didn’t often allow myself. “Where am I about to be?”

  Magic welled under Christopher’s now-warm palm, sending a hum down my spine. “Ah,” he sighed. “Pigs. Farm. Long dirt drive. Outside town. More pigs.”

  “More pigs,” I echoed, rapidly thinking through all the research I’d done into the area.

  “Brown house. Two floors. Broken tractor.” Christopher dropped his hand from my neck, shoving it into his pocket. “It’s raining enough to muddy the edge of the drive. Paisley is leading.”

  I glanced over at him. The white of his magic ringed his light-gray eyes.

  He smiled, blinking the power away. Showing me he was okay, in control.

  “Meadow Lane Farm,” I said.

  “Owned and operated by the Grant family, I presume?”

  I nodded grimly. “They used to have a lucrative pig business. There’s still remnants of it that come up in internet searches about the area.”

  “And the farm has withered and died under Grant’s not-so-tender care? Since his wife … what? Left him? Or went missing, like Hannah?”

  I didn’t have an opinion or any verified information to offer, so I focused on the immediate. “We should have brought the car.”

  “You aren’t going to want to leave it behind. We’ll be walking at some point. We’ll hitch a ride with Jenni.”

  “No, we won’t. Constable Jenni Raymond is useless.”

  “She’ll just slow us down?” he asked mockingly.

  I didn’t bother answering, turning away from the conversation. “Come on, Paisley. Christopher says you’ll pick up Hannah Stewart’s scent at a pig farm.”

  The demon dog cocked her head thoughtfully. Then she stepped into the shadows gathered at the base of the garbage bins and disappeared from sight.

  I stared at the empty space. Not even a hint of Paisley’s magic remained. Then I glanced over at Christopher, who was holding back laughter.

  “I shouldn’t have mentioned pigs, right?”

  He lost his battle, chortling. “Don’t worry, she’ll wait for us.”

  “Before or after she slaughters a pig for dinner and dessert?”

  He laughed some more.

  “Pigs are sentient beings, you know,” I said crossly. “Smarter than dogs and cats.”

  That amused Christopher even more.

  I walked away. Not in a huff, just on a timeline. We were going to need a ride, and I only drove my Mustang.

  Meadow Lane Farm was situated on the outskirts of Lake Cowichan, actually closer to the nearby village of Youbou than it was to town. Its remoteness might have had something to do with the bylaws of operating a pig farm too close to a body of water or a residential area, but I wasn’t certain.

  The Mustang chewed up the wet pavement, window wipers rhythmically slapping the steady rain away, and I was pulling through the open gate onto the dirt driveway only fifteen minutes after I’d turned the key in the ignition.

  Christopher remained silent as I chose to park on the road side of the barn, rather than drive all the way up to the house. Officer Raymond had already been on the property earlier in the day. And no matter how scent-blind she was, even she couldn’t have missed sensing Hannah Stewart if the missing woman was currently in the house.

  I stepped out of the car, droppi
ng the keys in the front zippered pocket of my Gore-Tex jacket. I tugged the hood over my head but didn’t cinch it. It already dampened my hearing too much.

  “I suppose protocol would be to text Jenni our location.” Christopher stepped around the car, jacket on but not zippered.

  “Not our protocol,” I said, casting my gaze across the vast expanse of the property. The pens nearest to us were empty, and had been for long enough that grass had grown up around their fence posts. The barn was on the edge of rotting away, in dire need of repair.

  “No,” Christopher sighed, his tone remote as he lifted his face to the rain. “Not our protocol.”

  I glanced over, trying to assess his mental state without triggering him further. We hadn’t worked together the way we would need to this afternoon since last fall in San Francisco. And even that had been more of a rescue than a dual assignment. That final contract had insured — with the right investments — that I wouldn’t have to take another contract for at least a few more years. I hadn’t wanted Christopher involved. I’d kept him away from anything I’d had to do with the Adept underworld. It was bad enough that even a subset of magic users knew I existed, without them laying eyes on a clairvoyant of Christopher’s power. But I’d been willing to risk too much for the security and stability the money that backed the contract promised.

  The sorcerers who’d hired me to amplify a group casting had ensnared me in a blood ward, forcing me to amplify them while slowly draining my magic. They’d bled a young witch in order to hold me at bay, fueling their blood magic with a painfully slow human sacrifice. I might have been able to break free, but doing so would have killed the witch. And as absurd as the thought had seemed in the moment, I found that I couldn’t be responsible for the death of an innocent. I couldn’t willingly add another stain to my soul.

  Christopher had saved me from being murdered — or worse, from another life of slavery. Though he liked to insist that he’d simply been an agent of magic. Him, his sword, and Paisley. But as a result, any Adept who’d managed to walk away from that warehouse and was able to tell the tale knew there were two of us working together. An amplifier and a clairvoyant.