Cast in Stone

by Bilinda Sheehan

  I nodded and touched the wood carvings, half-expecting to feel power flow up through my arm. When nothing happened, I let out the breath I’d been holding.

  “It won’t bite,” he said.

  “Coming from you,” I said, picking it up, “can’t be too careful.”

  “Ouch!” He raised his hands to his chest in mock pain. “I was going to ask you if you wanted to hang and wait for me to lock up so we could go for something to eat, but after that remark…”

  Laughing, I started toward the door. “I’d love to, but I gotta get back. I’ve got some errands to run, and honestly, a hot bath is calling my name. Nothing like getting your ass beat to teach you about muscles you never even knew you had.”

  Adrian followed me out from behind the counter. “Jenzie,” he called after me, and I turned back in puzzlement.

  “Promise me you’ll be careful.”

  “I’m always careful, you know that…”

  “No, I mean really careful. I don’t know what it is that wants Carolyn, but between the visions I had of her death and not being able to see your future…” He sounded genuinely upset.

  “I promise,” I said.

  “I can’t lose you too.”

  “You won’t. I’m too stubborn, and anyway, look at what happened to the last guy that messed with me.” Merely saying the words brought bile coursing up the back of my throat, but I managed to keep my tone light and my expression neutral.

  Adrian needed to be reassured, and if dredging up my past and feeling a little uncomfortable could give it to him, then I was willing to go there. Even if it meant that the memory of Kypherous’s lust-filled eyes turning to stone would fill my mind, just as they did every time I tried to find oblivion in sleep.

  “Good,” he said, but I could tell he wasn’t entirely convinced. “Now get going before the motorways snarl up with evening traffic.”

  Plastering a grin on my face, I pushed open the door and stepped back out into the afternoon sunshine. I tilted my chin and basked in the warm glow, letting it wash away the memory. Now feeling a little more settled, I popped the lock on the car and slid behind the wheel, setting the package of candles and the wooden box on the passenger seat. I contemplated giving in to Adrian’s offer to get a drink; I could definitely have done with it, but staring down at the box made up my mind for me.

  If I was going to be the type of person Adrian seemed to believe I was, then I needed to start acting like it. Even if I didn’t want to, and even if I didn’t believe it myself. So long as he believed it was possible… Well, there was a reason he was a psychic and I was not.

  Chapter 8

  Carolyn had already settled Merry into bed by the time I returned to the house, and after telling her of the special box Adrian had given me, I left them alone to their nightly routine. It was strange having guests in the house; I was so used to being alone. Even my years in Kypherous’s dungeon had meant spending long swathes of time without company, and honestly, I preferred it that way.

  With Carolyn and her daughter in the house, truth be told I was finding it difficult to settle.

  Sitting in the tub, I did my best to scrub the scent of ogre from my skin, but it still lingered. Chances were it would take several baths and showers to truly get rid of the entire stench. With a sigh, I lay back and closed my eyes, allowing the fatigue of the past several days to wash over me. I wasn’t good at the whole sleeping eight hours a night thing; I was lucky to get one hour that wasn’t plagued by nightmares and terror.

  But after a kill, sleep came easiest. Knowing I had put a stop to some scum-sucking asshole… well, after that, I tended to sleep like a baby.

  My cell phone chose that moment to ring, the sound shattering the calm. Groaning, I reached out and grabbed it from the edge of the sink.

  “Yeah?” I said, forgoing the usual pleasantries.

  “Need you to get down here, we’ve got a bit of a situation,” Rachel said. Rachel Needham was one of the organisers for the counselling program I worked with, and though we definitely weren’t friends, I respected her work and vision. She, on the other hand, thought I lacked vision, but she was more than happy to use my other, lesser-talked-about skills when the shit hit the fan. Calling me at this time of night could mean only one thing, and it wasn’t to discuss the upcoming fundraiser.

  “What kind of situation?” I sat up a little straighter.

  She sighed, and I could hear papers being shuffled about on her desk. “Do you remember the teen who came into the office three weeks ago, pretending to be eighteen, and I had to turn her over to social services?”

  “Yeah,” I said, an uneasy feeling filling the pit of my stomach. “I mean, I didn’t meet her, but I saw her. Tracey, wasn’t it?”

  There was a moment of silence, and I could practically imagine the cogs turning in Rachel’s head.

  “Yeah, Tracey Farley,” she said, and the pause caused the hairs on the back of my neck to stand to attention. “Well, they’ve filed a missing person’s report, and I need you to come down here and give a statement.”

  I could tell from the hitch in her voice that she wasn’t telling me everything.

  “Cut the crap, Rachel. What’s really going on? And why do you need me? I just told you I had nothing to do with her.”

  While it was true, I had still seen the girl. She’d had that same haunted look in her eyes that I’d come to know from the women who passed through the shelter doors.

  “I screwed up, I know that, but…” She coughed and cleared her throat. I could practically hear her rearranging herself, brushing her hair back behind her ears as she straightened her shoulders and attempted to shake off whatever she was really feeling.

  “Look, I need you here because she’s missing,” she said. "I don't like this any more than you do, but I know if anyone stands a chance of finding her it's you."

  I supposed that was high praise coming from someone like Rachel, and under better circumstances I might have derived a sense of pleasure in knowing she recognized my talents. But hearing the guilt in her voice, and knowing she was keeping the truth from me, I took no pleasure in it.

  "How do you know she hasn't just run away? You know, like with her friends or something," I said, struggling to get my exhausted mind in gear. But it was sluggish, the heat from the bathwater lulling me into a sense of calm that wouldn’t help me. No, I needed to be alert if we wanted any chance of finding the girl.

  "I know she's missing because I know who took her,” Rachel said, dropping her voice to a whisper. Her hushed tone told me instantly she wasn't alone, or that she believed whoever was nearby was listening in on the conversation. If they were listening, then it was because they’d gotten the same feelings from her that I was, that she knew more than she was letting on.

  "Are you going to keep me in suspense, or do I have to guess?"

  "Her father has her, I’m certain of it. After we got social services involved, she was sent into emergency foster care. She ended up in a children's home, and from there she was going to be placed with a temporary family depending on what the investigation found. But I lost track of the case, there was so much else going on and… you know how it is?” Rachel sounded desperate, and I knew all she wanted was for me to agree with her and reassure her that she’d done nothing wrong. “But she came in here yesterday," she added, and I could practically hear the guilt in her voice.

  “Wait, what?” I said, caught off guard. “She came back yesterday? What happened?"

  "This isn't something I want to discuss over the phone, Jenna."

  “Let's be clear here, Rachel, this isn’t something we should be discussing at all, yet here we are.”

  She sighed, and I could practically hear her heartbeat ratcheting up several notches. She definitely felt guilty over something, that much was for sure, but unless she told me the truth I would be going out there with only half the story, and I’d discovered through the years that half-truths didn't lead to the best outcomes.

&
nbsp; "Fine, she was in here yesterday. I saw her and called her foster carer to come pick her up.”

  “Did she say anything to you? Did she say why she was there?”

  "She had some bruises, and I think maybe she was frightened, but I can’t be sure… Christ, Jenna, what was I supposed to do? This wasn't my case. I did everything by the book. And we had two new women come in yesterday, and there was so much paperwork to deal with.”

  "Rachel, what exactly did she come to you about?" I asked, dreading the answer.

  "I don’t know. I told her to speak to her foster carer, that there was nothing we could do for her, and it’s true. This isn’t our jurisdiction. You know we can’t interfere where minors are concerned. There’s a protocol, and we don’t even fit on the same ladder when it comes to kids.”

  "Yeah, you keep telling yourself that. Meanwhile, that little girl is out there facing God knows what because you turned her away." I ended the call abruptly, anger boiling in my veins. Deep down I knew that there was nothing Rachel could have done—the system was flawed. But she should have called social services herself, told them about the bruises… rather than believe it was already getting taken care of. Even if she had, though, it might not have changed the outcome, which was truly frightening. The system was broken. The lack of funding and support meant it was a complete screw-up, which resulted in innocents slipping through the cracks. But that knowledge didn't make Tracey’s disappearance any easier for me to stomach.

  Hurrying out of the tub, I wrapped a towel around my body and darted for my bedroom, pulling on clothes as fast as my damp skin would allow.

  From the moment Rachel had called, I’d had a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach that I just couldn’t shake. I hadn't known about the bruises the first time around, and I wanted to believe that Rachel hadn’t known either. But even if I had, what could I have really done?

  Killing preternatural beings that crossed the line and murdered humans was all well and good—part of me even felt it was fair game. After all, what chance did the humans have against a monster who was built to prey on them?

  Of course, the same could be said for a child against an adult. They, too, had no hope, not unless they could find somebody to listen to them, someone who cared enough to solve the problem.

  But this world was sorely lacking in those people, and the vulnerable always suffered the most because of it. I’d lived through my own version of that, but at least I had grown physically stronger, strong enough to put an end to my abuser.

  Some never got that chance.

  Chapter 9

  The Land Rover’s tyres screeched as I brought the car to a halt on the wet tarmac outside the small office building where I volunteered and sometimes worked.

  I didn't consider being a shoulder to cry on for the countless women whose partners decided to use them as punching bags to be work. Nor did I consider training them to defend themselves against future attacks to be work either. But it paid the bills.

  As far as I was concerned, I was simply paying my dues. I’d found the strength to defeat my demon, and I wanted nothing more than to give these other women that same strength so they could defeat theirs too.

  I hopped from the Land Rover and quickly locked the door. It was still misting, and I could feel the moisture soaking through my thin jacket. Hurrying across the pavement, I pushed my way into the office. The front foyer was full of police officers.

  The uniformed ones were child’s play to pick out, but, for me, the plainclothes were just as easy. There was something about the way police held themselves, something in their presence that made them stand out.

  The foyer wasn’t particularly small, but it was crammed with bodies, which made me wonder if they were organising a manhunt. If that was true… My heart sank into my shoes as I caught sight of Rachel across the hall. Her face was blotchy, telling me she'd been crying. Clearly something had happened since she had rung me, because I’d heard no hint of tears in her voice then.

  "Rachel,” I called out across the crowd, wading my way through those gathered to where she stood. “What happened, what’s going on?"

  She lifted her face to me, and her blue eyes swam with unshed tears. "They think she's dead," she said, and a lump of ice formed in my chest.

  "What makes them think that?" I asked, struggling to keep my voice steady.

  "They found her father's car abandoned just outside of town. Jenna, they found blood in it."

  "Where? Where did they find the car?"

  Rachel gave me a confused look. “Whitly Fort, why? There's nothing you can do now. Police are organising a search of the area. Looking for a body…” Her voice broke and I turned away from her.

  While I hadn't known Tracey personally or even spoken to her, I had seen her in the office. Her long, dark hair swept up in a high ponytail, the grey skirt of her uniform a dead giveaway for her age despite the makeup she’d caked on her face to appear older. But I remembered her eyes most. They held the same look I’d come to associate with those who were hurting.

  Frightened, but not yet broken.

  Desperately reaching out for someone, anyone, who could help her, who could hear her. I’d seen that look and I'd ignored it; we’d all ignored it. I'd allowed Rachel to call child protective services. I headed for the door and pushed out into the night air. The mist settled on my face and into my hair, chilling me to the bone. She was out here in this somewhere, alone… hurt, or if Rachel was to be believed, dead.

  Climbing back behind the Land Rover’s steering wheel, I started the engine and pulled onto the road. The headlights illuminated the white lines ahead of me, and without thinking I headed toward where the police had found her father’s car.

  There had to be something I could do. I couldn’t just sit idly by and wait for news. Perhaps, if I was lucky, they would allow me to join the manhunt. Sure, I hadn't been able to help her before, but at the very least I could do this. Guilt ate at me as I pressed my foot down on the accelerator.

  I spotted the police cars along the road and pulled up behind one of them.

  Forensics were already on the scene. Just seeing them milling around in their white overalls had my stomach churning. If they were here, then more than just blood was found in the car.

  A young officer in a high-visibility police jacket approached the car and knocked on the window with a grim expression. As I rolled down the window, I could see the little droplets of water that had beaded across his face.

  “You can’t park here, the whole area is cordoned off,” he said gruffly, the lower half of his face hidden by the collar of his coat.

  “I work with the coroner’s office,” I said, lying through my teeth as I peered over his shoulder toward the crime scene.

  “Who called you lot? We don’t have any bodies yet,” he said, and I snapped my attention back to his face. He definitely wasn’t lying. “Can I see your ID?”

  “No body, but…” No body meant there was still a chance Tracey was alive.

  “You’re one of them reporters, aren’t you?” he said.

  “Not a reporter.”

  “Miss, this is a matter for the police. We can’t have citizens poking around. Now please, move along.” His tone of voice was rapidly edging toward irritated.

  “Look, I can help…” I trailed off, suddenly unsure how I was supposed to qualify my answer. How, exactly, could I help? Granted, I had better eyesight in the dark than the humans did, and my sense of smell was definitely heightened, but other than that? I’d never taken part in something like this, and I didn’t have the first clue about forensic protocol or even what methods they would use for searching.

  “If you have any information on this case, then I would urge you to return to town and drop into the station. But we don’t need the help of a civilian here.”

  Plastering a smile on my face, I nodded and started the engine once more. There was no way he would let me anywhere near the area, and even if I managed to give him the slip, I’d just c
ome across another officer and end up in a cell before the night was over.

  “Are they hoping to bring her back alive?” I asked innocently, studying his face.

  “That’s always the hope in a situation like this,” he barked, his expression twisting into a grimace. “Now beat it before I arrest you.”

  I put the car into gear and drove away, watching the scene disappear in my rear view mirror. They hadn’t found them yet, so there might still be time. If she was still alive, then I could definitely help. I was certainly familiar enough with the area.

  I followed the road for a few miles before pulling over into one of the lay-bys. Killing the headlights, I stared out into the darkness, allowing my eyes to adjust. Once I could pick out the tree line to my left, I climbed from the car and headed for the gate nestled between the stone walls.

  Jumping the gate was easy, and I landed on the other side with a soft thud, my heavy boots sinking into the rain-damp grass without so much as a whisper. I moved quickly along the edge of the wall, searching for the perfect spot to cross the wide-open space. I had no idea how long I would have before the police started sweeping the area. They would move outwards in all directions, and a car abandoned on the side of the road would certainly draw their attention.

  Deciding I couldn’t wait any longer, I started across the field as fast as my legs would take me. The further in I ran, the longer the grass became. On a dry day, traversing the field would have been a piece of cake, but tonight, with the rain growing heavier and my booted feet sinking with each step I took, my progress was slowed considerably. The grass was denser here, and the faster I moved, the more it slapped against my thighs. The rainwater soaked through my jeans, chilling me to the bone.

  Reaching the tree line, I glanced back over my shoulder, scanning the road in both directions, but I saw no sign of light or movement on the horizon. As I stepped between the trees, the low-hanging branches tugged at my jacket. I jogged steadily forward, ducking beneath the heavier limbs and jumping the fallen logs that littered the forest floor.