by Anna Abner
Talia stared at a photo of a handwritten letter. The words were written in old-fashioned cursive, and their message cut deep into Talia’s heart.
Because Talia has not kept up her end of our agreement, Sylvester will suffer prolonged agony before leaving this world in pieces.
Just like that, tears built up and rolled over both cheeks. “What is this?” she demanded. “Where did it come from?”
“It was in my mailbox.” Mom’s voice broke. “My God, T, what have you done?”
The phone’s screen went gray and then black.
“You said you didn’t know why Sylvester was taken,” her mother pressed. “You said you didn’t have anything to do with it.”
Talia passed the phone to her mother and wiped her face with a rough, paper napkin.
“What have you done?” Mom’s voice grew angrier, more accusatory. “You said you were innocent!” She shook the table, slamming it into Talia’s ribs. “What have you done?”
“Ma’am.” Rebecca re-appeared, flicking her eyes momentarily at Talia before focusing on her mother. “You can’t act like that in here. It upsets my customers.”
But her mom was in a full-tilt rage. “My baby’s going to die,” she shrieked, pointing at Talia, “and it’s your fault!”
“Come here, and tell me all about it.” Rebecca enveloped Mom in her peachy tan arms, guiding her to the lunch counter. She gestured to the waitress and a mug of steaming hot tea appeared in front of them.
Talia looked on helplessly. No matter how hard she tried, she was never good enough. Not smart enough, not strong enough. Not sexy enough.
“It isn’t your fault,” Cole said.
She tried to pull the ragged edges of herself back together, but none of the pieces seemed to fit the way they used to.
“Do you hear me?” he pressed. “None of this is your fault.”
“I couldn’t make the Dark Caster proud of me,” she murmured, her eyes going unfocused. “He said he wanted to be proud of me, but I’m a huge disappointment.” And now everyone knows it.
She glanced up and caught Becca staring right back. Seen talking to herself. Perfect. Talia ducked her head.
“A man who’d hold a child hostage to gain your cooperation is not someone whose opinion matters.” Cole snapped his fingers to get her attention, and she flinched at the sharp sound, but refused to lift her gaze. “You’re doing the best you can in a difficult situation.”
“I suck at this.” She laid her head on the table, tapping her forehead several times, just wanting the awful feelings to go away.
But they wouldn’t.
“You’re a good person,” Cole said, as if he actually believed the words. “But you’re stuck in the orbit of a madman. You can never be evil enough to satisfy him. You were doomed to fail from the jump, and he knew that. He knew you’d never join his cabal. And he used you anyway.”
Somehow, Cole’s stern voice made his statements sound plausible.
“Hey.” Rebecca stood over her. “Was that really your mom?”
Talia searched the small diner for the hunched figure of her mother, but she was gone. “Yes.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” Rebecca asked, surprising Talia. “I have experience with shitty mothers.”
“She’s not shitty,” Talia answered in a monotone. “She’s just emotionally trashed. Sylvester’s her grandson, but she’s raised him as her own since he was six days old.”
“And he’s missing?” Becca slid into the spot Mom had vacated.
“The Dark Caster has him. Somewhere.” Damn tears. She snatched another wad of napkins out of the dispenser. “I was supposed to do whatever spells my handler told me to cast, and when I proved myself they’d release Sylvester.”
“Oh, geez,” Becca said, shaking her head. “Darlin’, they were never gonna let him go. He’s probably already dead.”
Talia nodded because the lump in her throat prevented actual speech.
“You have my sympathy.” She clasped Talia’s limp hand briefly, and then glided away to refill drinking glasses and pass out hot plates of food.
Uncomfortable silence descended. God, Cole had witnessed her mother’s breakdown. And here she thought she’d outgrown being embarrassed by her mother when she’d graduated high school.
But this was a new kind of humiliation—the guy who’d screwed her and rejected her now watching her unstable mother throw a temper tantrum in public.
She glanced at him, and it was on the tip of her tongue to tell him the truth.
But what good would it do? Apart from clearing her slate clean, he’d only look at her the same way her mother looked at her. The way Harvey, Michael, and the Carver looked at her. Never good enough.
No. She couldn’t let the cabal tear her resolve to pieces.
She pulled herself together and straightened her shoulders.
Today she would summon more spirits. And research the Carver. She and Cole would find Sylvester.
But first, she dealt with the current catastrophe.
“I’ve got to see my sister,” Talia announced, climbing out of the booth. “She doesn’t live with Sylvester, but she’s going to freak out when she hears this.”
“Of course.”
“Adrian has a lot of problems,” she tried to explain. “She wasn’t capable of raising a child when she gave birth to Sylvester. Mom stepped in and took custody of him. She raised the little runt.” She smiled, remembering Sylvester tiny and pink in a clean onesie. “She was his mom.”
“We’ll figure this out,” Cole said.
Talia noticed he didn’t say, We’ll find him, or He’ll be home soon because even when trying to boost her spirits, Cole couldn’t bring himself to lie. They both knew the Dark Caster was going to kill Sylvester. If he hadn’t killed him already.
“Thanks,” she said, grateful for the sympathy.
They got back into her car, and she steered south.
Cole’s arm crossed the distance between them and plucked her right hand off her thigh, twining his fingers with hers. He didn’t say anything, didn’t do anything else, he simply held her hand. For some reason, she feared his sweet act of support and sympathy would break her permanently. She sniffed, but she didn’t pull her hand away.
“Do you have any kids, Cole?” she asked.
“Not yet.”
“Any nieces or nephews?”
“No,” he said. “I’m the oldest.”
“My sister Adrian,” Talia said, feeling she should warn him about what he was about to walk into, “made every wrong turn from the time she was twelve. Hung out with kids our parents called bad influences. Drank. Stole from the mall. The cherry on top of the cake was her getting pregnant at fourteen and having no clue who the dad was.”
“Is she okay now?” Cole asked, frowning.
“She’s better.” Adrian probably wouldn’t ever be okay, but she was functioning. “She’s been through rehab a few times, had some close calls with the police, and she has never been a mother to Sylvester.” Sure, she’d show up to birthday parties. Sometimes. Or arrive two days late for a planned visit. “Thank God our parents were there to raise him or… I don’t even want to think about the alternatives.”
“How old were you when Sylvester was born?”
“Fourteen,” Talia said. “Adrian and I are twins. Not identical. Obviously.” She remembered holding her nephew until he fell asleep in her arms, all warm and soft. “Even though Adrian hasn’t done much for Sylvester besides give birth to him, this whole situation has hit her extra hard.” She glanced his way. “I want to warn you. She may or may not be stable. Or sober.”
“I can handle it,” he assured. “Are you going to be okay?”
She snorted. “I’ve been dealing with her dramatics my whole life. I’m pretty numb to it at this point.”
Adrian lived in a one-bedroom apartment in the newer part of Auburn near the Marine Corps base. Lots of young military couples and singles. She enjoyed living ther
e and was popular with her neighbors.
Talia led Cole up the concrete stairwell to her sister’s second story apartment. With a heavy heart, Talia pressed the doorbell, listening to its hollow tinkle through the walls. She didn’t have the slightest idea what she’d say to her sister to reassure her, or even if Adrian would listen to her.
“What a coincidence,” Adrian greeted. Her sister was crazed, shaking and reeking of alcohol. Their mother must have sent her the picture of the letter.
“Have you been drinking?” A relapse could mean disaster. Adrian had been out of rehab less than a year.
“How could you?” she demanded.
And then Talia noticed the photograph in her sister’s hand. “Is it the letter?” Talia asked. “Because it’s not true, Addy, it’s—”
“It’s not the letter!” Adrian shrieked, shoving the photo at her.
“What, then?” She flipped the picture over, and the floor dropped out from under her. “This can’t be.” The image didn’t make sense in her mind. She couldn’t process what she was seeing.
It was a picture of Talia in the Carver’s house, arms folded over her cute paisley work blouse. Lying on the floor behind her was Sylvester—bound, gagged, and blindfolded.
“No,” she said to no one in particular.
Cole loomed over her.
Sylvester was wearing the same shirt he’d been abducted in. Blue with white stripes. The shirt described on his missing poster.
Chapter Fifteen
“What is this?” Talia tried to pass the photo back to Adrian like it was hot.
Adrian seized the photo and held it to her chest. “How could you?” she demanded, her lower lip trembling. But she couldn’t contain the grief and rage inside her. “How could you!” she shrieked.
“Talia?” Cole got between the sisters. “Maybe you’re doing more harm than good by being here.”
Her head fell back and the popcorn ceiling tilted. “I stood next to him?” No. “But that’s not possible.”
“Let’s go,” Cole said, tracing his fingertips down her bare arm.
The touch sent a shockwave through her, snapping Talia back to the present.
“Yes,” she said, recognizing the agony her presence was inflicting upon her twin sister. “We’ll go.”
“You can’t run,” Adrian said. “I’ve already called the FBI.”
Talia fled, not even closing the door, but she heard Cole’s voice echo in the concrete stairwell.
“Hugh, buddy, do they always treat her like this?”
“Like she is their whipping girl?” Hugh’s solemn voice. “‘Tis why I cannot leave her, sir, even after all these years.”
She pretended she hadn’t overheard, torn between shame the two men knew so much and relief she wasn’t alone with it anymore.
Few friends knew the details of her childhood. Even fewer men.
But she was okay with Cole knowing. Somehow, in the last day, his quiet strength had snuck up on her.
“They’ll arrest me,” Talia panted, skipping downstairs. “They’ll read the letter and look at the picture, and they’ll arrest me.” She reached for Cole without meaning to. “How can I do anything to stop the Dark Caster if I’m behind bars?”
“No one’s going to arrest you,” he assured, but his words lacked conviction.
A car pulled up in front of the building, and a stern young man in a suit climbed out. “Miss Jackson?” he called. “May I speak with you for a moment?”
She knew the man. Agent Gallo was one of the local agents in charge of Sylvester’s abduction. He’d been grim, but friendly when he met with the entire family hours after Sylvester’s abduction. He did not look very friendly right then.
“Alright,” Talia agreed.
“You don’t have anything to be afraid of,” Cole said.
She wasn’t afraid. She was terrified.
It had never occurred to her the DC would frame her.
Talia glanced at Cole once, and then was forced to ignore him.
“Join me in the car, please.”
Mustering her courage, telling herself she wasn’t going to prison today for a crime she hadn’t committed, she sat in the passenger seat as Agent Gallo’s female partner traipsed upstairs to talk to Adrian.
“We’ve received new evidence in your nephew’s case.” He watched her, and Talia got the feeling he was reading her every tick and eye flutter.
“Do you think it will help you find Sylvester?” She swallowed in the hopes it would steady her voice. “Because all I want is my nephew returned home safe and sound. It’s been 10 days,” she reminded him.
“Have you seen this new evidence?” he asked.
He must know she had. He’d spoken to her mother. They were sitting in front of her sister’s apartment for God’s sake.
She nodded gravely. “My mother showed me a picture of a letter. My sister showed me a photograph, and both have my name and likeness in them.” Talia swallowed, doing her own reading of expressions. She couldn’t pick up anything from the man. “But you don’t think I actually had anything to do with Sylvester’s abduction? Because that is absurd.”
“Did you have anything to do with it?”
Talia clamped her hands in her lap to force herself to sit still.
“No,” she answered firmly. “If someone is trying to incriminate me then it’s a hoax or a doctored photograph or some sicko trying to wreak havoc with a grieving mother’s life. But I can promise you I had nothing to do with his kidnapping, I don’t know where he is, and I have never stood beside him when he was bound and gagged.” She covered her mouth for a moment, struggling for control.
“Miss Jackson,” the agent said, “please be aware that we’re going to be investigating your background. Very soon, we’re going to be privy to everyone you ever met and every step you’ve taken from birth to this spot right here. If there’s anything you want to share with me, I’m listening.”
“I already told you everything I know, which is almost nothing.” She reached for the door handle. “I have to go.”
He didn’t say anything else or try to stop her, and she got into her vehicle and drove out of the parking lot.
“Next time you talk to him,” Cole said from her passenger seat, “you should have a lawyer present. I didn’t like the way he looked at you.”
“The only thing worse than losing Sylvester,” she said, shaking her head, “would be spending the rest of my life in prison for the crime. The Dark Caster is a sick son of a bitch.”
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“Adrian’s picture was taken at the Carver’s house.”
“Talia, no,” he said, turning to face her more fully. “The FBI will have you under surveillance from here on out. You can’t go to the place where the picture was taken five minutes after seeing it. They’ll arrest you.”
“It was taken at the Carver’s house,” she said. A child was in danger, and Talia put aside any selfish desires. She would do whatever it cost to save Sylvester. Hell, she’d already done more than she’d ever anticipated.
“At least be smart about this,” he pressed. “Park a few blocks away. Cloak yourself in magic. Sneak in the back door. Something.”
“Fine,” she said, forcing herself not to blow through a stop sign like a guilty person might do, but made a full stop instead. “Put a spell on me, but I’m going inside that house. Maybe Sylvester’s still there.”
“Or maybe they photoshopped the picture,” Cole said. “Maybe it’s a cruel prank to rile you up.”
“It’s working,” she grumbled.
Two blocks from the Carver’s house was a gas station. Talia went into the bathroom, but thanks to a spell, everyone except for Cole saw a tall frat boy walk out. They hurried down an access lane, staying out of sight of the main street, and crept up on the house from the back porch. A window was open. Cole climbed in, and then unlocked the back door for Talia.
“It was taken here,” she said, hurrying i
nto the living room and dropping to her knees. “Right in front of these windows.” She ran her hands over the carpet, dashing from one end of the room to the other. “Sylvester?” she called, desperation making her frantic. “Are you here, baby?”
“I don’t sense anyone else,” Cole said. “I’ll do a couple spells, though, okay? Just to be sure?”
But she wasn’t listening. She scurried in and out of bedrooms and the hall bathroom, brushing her hands against every inch of floor. If he was there, she was going to find him.
She heard Cole and Hugh casting in the front room, but she tuned it out. Sylvester was there. He had to be.
“Talia?” Cole pulled her to her feet, though she struggled to remain on the floor. “Honey, he’s not here.”
“No. I saw the picture.” She wrenched from his grasp and crawled into the hallway. “He was here. He could still be here.”
“We don’t even know if the picture was real.” Cole urged her upright. “They’re toying with you. Please, don’t let them.”
She nodded her head once because he made sense, and then she burst into loud, messy tears. “Where is he?” She collapsed against Cole’s solid chest, holding on tight. “He’s just a little kid. He doesn’t deserve this.”
“No, he doesn’t,” he cooed, stroking her hair from the back of her skull down between her shoulder blades. “Neither of you deserve this.”
“They killed him,” she sobbed, and Cole was the only thing holding her upright. “I know they did. He’s already dead.”
“Enough of this.” He swept her up into his arms and carried her out the back door. “I’m getting you out of here.”
* * *
Rebecca swept through Holden’s front door, a bounce in her step, excited to tell him about her productive day.
“I’m glad you’re home,” he greeted, appearing in the rear hall.
Home. What a wonderful word when shared with the person you loved most.
Though his remodeled farmhouse in Richlands wasn’t hers, she’d been living in it for weeks. Briefly, she’d toyed with the idea of getting her own place, even temporarily. But she hadn’t. Waking up everyday beside Holden was too addictive to give up.