by Sharon Pape
“In order to do some investigating of our own?” I asked soberly. Although I’d never met Ryan, he’d clearly meant a lot to Travis. And that meant a lot to me. I wanted to respect his loss, which meant no overt enthusiasm over a new case.
“We’ve already collared two killers before Duggan could—which brings me to my request. I need a diversion if I’m going to get past the cop on duty there.”
“I’m your girl,” I said, turning the shop’s OPEN sign to CLOSED before the words were out of my mouth. I glanced at Sashki on the window ledge. He was snoring away on his pillow, blissfully unaware of the woes that afflict humankind. If he wanted for anything while I was gone, Tilly and Merlin were a mere yowl away.
We drove the 45 minutes to Watkins Glen lost in our own thoughts. I spent the time working on a way to distract the officer. Breaking the law came with real consequences, so it required the most foolproof plan I could devise. I considered the spell of invisibility, but quickly discarded it. The spell only worked for the person casting it. I thought of and rejected half a dozen other spells for the same reason. I’d never realized how many spells worked that way. By the time we reached the outskirts of the county seat, I’d finally come up with one that could work. Hardly the sure thing I’d been aiming for, but at least it gave us a shot. Maybe we should have taken Merlin along. He could have made Travis appear to be someone else, maybe even Duggan. Then again, he might have changed him into another species entirely. And forgotten how to change him back. For better or worse, my magick would have to suffice.
Chapter 6
We were able to park a couple blocks down from the three-story apartment building where Ryan had been living. Travis turned to me. “We need a plan. What about damsel in distress. It’s an oldie, but a goodie.”
“Does anyone fall for that these days?” I asked. It made me think of a girl tied to railroad tracks by a man with a handlebar mustache and a fiendish laugh.
“I don’t know, but I think if I heard a woman crying for help, I’d at least investigate.”
“I suppose if I heard a man crying for help, I would too.”
A wry smile tugged at his lips. “I assume you have a better plan?”
“I have a spell that should work,” I said. It was one of Bronwen’s spells. I’d watched her cast it a few times over the years, though I’d never tried it myself. “It’s all in the bloodlines,” she used to tell me when I hesitated to try something new. “The blood of the Wildes runs through our veins. Your only enemies are lack of confidence and fear of failure.” And Detective Duggan, I would have added.
Travis shook his head. “‘Should work?’ Damsel in distress is sounding better by the minute. I think we’ll keep it on deck just in case.”
“I don’t intend to fail,” I said firmly and got out of the car. I must have been convincing, because he seemed a bit more at ease. At least one of us was. In a best case scenario, I would have been able to try the spell once before casting it. But we were out in public and I didn’t know how to downsize the spell to produce a tiny image that wouldn’t bring the fire trucks roaring to save the day. They’d be receiving a call soon enough.
Travis locked the car and joined me. “Exactly what does this spell do?” he asked as we headed north on Franklin Street.
I zipped my parka against the headwind and stuffed my hands in my pockets. “It creates a temporary vision.”
“You mean it makes people see things that aren’t there?”
“Yes.”
“What vision do you have in mind?”
“Fire. We need the cop on duty to leave the apartment unguarded long enough for you to slip in, find the thumb drive, and slip out again. Fire is our best bet.”
“The fire station is only a few blocks away,” Travis said, frowning as he considered it.
“The cop will call it in and evacuate the building. I’ll have to be in and out of the apartment in less than five. Not easy, but doable. I think I remember where Ryan kept the drives. How long will the vision last?”
“Ten minutes,” I estimated. I’d never clocked Bronwen’s visions. “But it will start to deteriorate before then.”
“Just to be clear, there isn’t any chance of a real fire?”
“No, it’s all about tricking the brain. Of course you’ll have to keep reminding yourself it’s not real. You’d be surprised how hard it is to run into a fire even when you know it can’t hurt you.” I spoke from experience, having tried it as a child.
When we reached the apartment building, a police cruiser was parked at the curb. We’d been walking quickly, but before opening the outer glass door of the building, we both stopped and inhaled deeply as if girding ourselves for our first foray into crime. If anyone happened to be watching, our little routine probably looked choreographed.
“You’ve got this?” Travis asked me.
“I’ve got it.” Failure could mean jail and a criminal record, so it was simply not an option. We walked in, passed through the second glass door, and emerged in the lobby, which was mercifully warm and windless.
“Anyone who sees us is a potential witness,” Travis whispered. “Don’t make eye contact. If we act like we’re having a serious conversation, most people will respect our personal space and look away.”
“Are you a reporter or a psychologist?” I whispered back.
“You’d be surprised what you learn in this business.”
The elevator was straight ahead of us, but Travis took my arm and steered me to the right where a door was labeled STAIRS. “Taking the elevator could be risky,” he said. “If there are other people on it, they’ll have time to get a good look at us. And they’ll see where we get off.”
“Stairs it is.”
When we stepped out of the stairwell, Travis opened the door to the third floor as quietly as he could and peered out. “The hallway’s clear. How close do you have to be to cast the spell?”
“I don’t have to be all that close, but I need to get a peek at Ryan’s apartment, at least the door, in order to visualize it properly. After that I can do the rest out of sight.”
“It’s going to be a challenge.We don’t want the cop on duty to see you while you’re getting your peek. Fortunately, the hallway turns a corner before we reach the apartment. We just have to hope the cop is facing the other way long enough for you to poke your head around the corner and see the door. Will that do?”
“It has to.” I gave myself a silent pep talk. Believe in your power; fear nothing.
“Okay, let’s go.” Travis took the lead. I followed close behind him.
At the corner, he turned to me. “There’s no sense in us both risking a look. It has to be you.”
“What if he’s looking right back at me? Shouldn’t we have a plan for that?”
“Sometimes you have to stop thinking and just act.”
“Right.” It was now or never. I moved my head as close as I could to the corner of the wall and took a quick look. I drew my head back so fast I slammed into Travis, who’d inched up behind me. When I turned around, he was holding his nose, his eyes watering from the pain. “Sorry, I’m so sorry,” I mouthed. “Are you all right?”
He nodded, but I was pretty sure he just wanted to keep me from going on about it. He was already retreating to the stairs. “Well?” he asked, once we were safely behind the door.
“He didn’t see me. He was doing something with his cell phone. He wasn’t anyone I knew either. But I did get a good look at the door. It’s beige and could use a new coat of paint. The apartment number was black wrought iron and there was a peephole. Details help. Should I start the spell?”
“The sooner the better.”
I closed my eyes, focusing on the image still fresh in my mind.
Fire crack and fire leap,
Fire hiss and fire sizzle.
Smell the smoke and see t
he flame.
Trick the eye and fool the brain.
No harm come and nothing burn.
When I’d repeated the spell for the third time, Travis stepped into the hallway to listen for sounds of activity. He ducked right back inside. “Sounds like the cop’s running down the hall, banging on doors to get people out. They’ll all be using the stairs. You need to go now and wait in the car like we planned.”
“Good luck,” I said, hating to leave. What if something went wrong and he needed me? “Maybe—”
“Now, Kailyn!” He cut off my argument by making his way back into the hall as the first tenants were rushing into the stairwell. I started down the stairs with them. Grim-faced men and nervous women holding on to young children, carrying babies, as well as assorted cats and dogs and birds in cages. I wished I could tell them not to be afraid, but they wouldn’t have listened anyway. At the second-floor landing, we were forced to slow down as more tenants piled onto the stairs. The sirens of approaching fire trucks mixed with those of the police and emergency vehicles, stoking everyone’s fears and thrusting them into overdrive. Someone stepped on the back of my shoe, causing me to stumble. I would have gone down and knocked over the person in front of me, if I hadn’t been holding on to the banister—a domino cascade with live dominos.
When we reached the lobby, everyone ran for the outer doors. I ran with them, afraid if I took my time strolling out of the building, I would attract attention.
Firefighters brushed past us, racing into the building in full gear, axes in hand. Outside others were hooking up fire hoses to hydrants. Now that the tenants were outside and out of danger, the urgency was gone. They were milling around, phoning loved ones, talking to neighbors, trying to comfort children and pets. Some were crying, silent tears streaming down their faces, no doubt worried about what would become of their homes and possessions.
The police were telling everyone to move away from the building for their own safety and to let the firefighters do their job. I worked my way around them feeling more awful by the second. I told myself it was a good thing it was the middle of the afternoon on a weekday. At least many of the residents were at work, most of the children still in school, but I didn’t feel any better about it. What had we done?
I walked down Franklin, past the looky-loos. Running now would only make me appear suspect. The wind was at my back, pushing me along as though complicit in my escape. By the time I reached the car, I was alone on the street. I unlocked the door and slid inside. My heart was pounding. What was I thinking? I’d only wanted to help Travis investigate Ryan’s death. He’d been so devastated by it. But in retrospect, I was guilty of a major lapse in judgment. Although no damage was done by the conjured fire, a lot of people were suffering fear and anxiety. Children would have nightmares. I’d failed to consider the wider ramifications of my actions. And I had no one but myself to blame for it. I’d pulled the wool over my own eyes.
Minutes later Travis opened the car door and slid beneath the steering wheel, interrupting my mental lashing. He held up Ryan’s thumb drive. “Mission accomplished.” There was no joy in his words, only relief.
I couldn’t muster up any enthusiasm. “We should never have done this. Did you see the faces of the people who ran out of the building? Did you hear the kids crying?”
“I know,” he said evenly. “I did some second guessing about it too. But it was the best way for me to get the disk. It could be the single most important clue to finding Ryan’s killer.”
“The ME released his report?” I couldn’t believe he hadn’t told me right away.
“No, but the more I thought about how he clawed at his throat, I’m sure he choked to death.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I just nodded. That thought had certainly crossed my mind as well. But there were too many unanswered questions for me to buy into his certainty and I didn’t want to argue the point. Besides, he was entitled to his theory, until it was proven right or wrong.
“One thing I know for certain,” I said hoping to end the discussion on neutral ground, “Ryan couldn’t have asked for a more devoted friend.”
Travis didn’t say anything for a minute and when he did, his words were heavy with emotion. “I haven’t been completely honest with you. Ryan wasn’t just a friend, he was my brother.”
Chapter 7
“I don’t understand,” I said. Travis had never mentioned a brother. When he’d talked about his childhood and his family, it was always his mom, dad, and him. Plus Ryan’s last name was Cutler, not Anderson.
Travis was staring straight ahead through the windshield. “It’s complicated.”
“If you don’t want to go into it now, that’s okay,” I said, though my Nancy Drew alter ego was kicking me in the shins.
He turned to me. “I’ve been avoiding the subject, because I’m not exactly the good guy in this story.”
So that was the reason he’d avoided telling me about it until now. I put my hand over his on the console between us. “It can’t be harder than it was for me to admit that I’m not your typical girl next door and that my family has more in common with the Addams Family than The Brady Bunch.”
“Yeah, and remember how well I took that news.”
“I promise not to run,” I said. “In fact I dare you to scare me off.”
His mouth curved up in a rueful smile. “Well, when you put it that way, how can a guy resist?”
“C’mon, give it your best shot.”
“Okay, here’s the unvarnished story.” He looked down at our joined hands as if it was easier not to face me. “Up until my freshman year in high school, I was a happy, slightly spoiled only child in a middle-class household. Ryan was a freshman in the same high school. We had a lot of classes together, but we ran in different circles. Never clicked as friends. There was this silent kind of rivalry between us that I don’t think either of us signed up for. I bested him academically; he beat me out for quarterback. Stupid high school crap. One afternoon he’s called out of class and he doesn’t come back. We’re all wondering what kind of trouble he’s in. Was he suspended? Expelled? That night my mom tells me his parents died in a car crash. One minute Ryan has a family and the next he’s all alone.”
“No siblings?” He shook his head. “No grandparents or aunts and uncles?”
“Nope, not a one. So Ryan winds up in the foster system. Enter my mom, social worker extraordinaire with friends in all the right positions to bend a few rules and overlook a few others. She knew the Cutlers casually from school functions and was heartsick about Ryan’s circumstances. The next thing I know, we’re his foster family.”
“Did your mom run it by you?” I asked.
He shook his head. “I guess she had to run it by my father though, get him to sign some papers and be approved.”
“Wow” was all I could think to say.
“Yeah,” he said wryly. “Mom is a steamroller when she has a cause.”
“I take it the transition wasn’t easy for you.”
“To be fair, it was harder on Ryan. But that wisdom was a long time coming. I felt like my home, my whole life had been invaded. I tried to be cool about sharing my room, my parents, my world, but most of the time I know it came across as grudging.”
“You were fourteen for goodness sake. I don’t know if there could have been a worse time for that to happen. For both of you. How did he handle it?”
“He was stoic. I never saw him cry. Made me think he didn’t even appreciate what my family was doing for him. What I was giving up for him. My mother tried to help me understand. She said he was numb. When pain is too difficult to bear, the psyche copes by repressing the emotions. ‘What about my pain?’ I asked her. ‘What about what I’ve lost?’ It took me years to recognize how selfish and crappy that was.”
“So at some point your parents adopted Ryan?”
“Fast
forward to May of our junior year—May tenth to be exact. The day is etched into my mind. They told him they wanted to adopt him, make him their son in the eyes of the law. It was like lighting the fuse to his emotions. He blew up, said he didn’t want any part of it. He was proud of the name Cutler and it had been left to him to see that it survived.”
“He could have hyphenated the names.”
“My mom told him that. She said he didn’t even have to change his name. He thanked my folks for everything they’d done for him, but he’d had wonderful parents too and he refused to think of anyone else in that way. I could tell my mom was disappointed, but she said she understood. To me it was the final insult. Which made no sense, because I’d been against the idea until he turned them down.
Anyway, Ryan and I muddled through the last years of high school, living as separately as we could under the same roof. I knew it saddened my parents, but I didn’t care. The whole damn thing was their fault to begin with.” Travis paused to look up at me. “Ready to run yet?”
“Not even close,” I said softly, not wanting to interrupt the flow of his words.
“Man, I couldn’t wait to go off to college and be done with him. My grades got me a free ride to Duke. He was offered a football scholarship to Penn State. Distance didn’t make our hearts grow fonder. I dreaded going back home for the holidays. Summers, Ryan found jobs so he could stay in Pennsylvania. I was thrilled. At least I expected to be. The longer Ryan stayed away, the more I found myself thinking about him, which irritated the hell out of me. The first time he didn’t come home for Christmas, I finally had to admit that I missed him. My small family had been more than enough for me all the years before Ryan joined it, but somewhere along the way, in spite of myself, he’d become an integral part of it. I could tell my folks felt the loss too, but to their credit, they never blamed me. I think they took it as their failure, which only made me feel worse.”