Dark Fae (21 page)

He smiled and pulled me against his chest. “Not to me
it don’t
.” He kissed me, his li
ps sending little bursts of shivers
through my body.
This was where I belonged, right here with Bres, a man who loved me no matter who I was, or what I could do. Me, he just loved me. Suddenly I understood my mother’s longing for Wil
, to be loved for who you were, and not what you could do for people
or the world
.

As we walked,
two
familiar
horse-
shaped head
s
rose out of the water. The Aughisky trotted
out of the ocean, water spraying up around them as they moved
towards us, tossing their slick black manes.

The one closest to me had been my mount
,
and he was the one who spoke.“You saved the world from Chaos. We would be in your service,
Lady of the Sea,
if you’d have us.”

“I am no one
,”
I said
.
“I don’t have any powers left. You’d be better off serving Ashling.”

They snorted and pawed at the sand. I lifted my hands in mock surrender. “Okay, fine. Serve away.”

Bowing with one knee, they lowered their heads. “Ride with us.”

Bres and I shared a look. “Race you to the far end
,” was
all he said before we were leaping on the Aughisky backs
,
and galloping down the beach.

Wind whipped through my hair and stole the elastic, leaving my curls to trail out behind me.

Gripping the Aughisky with my legs, I held my hand out towards the water. There, just below the surface of my skin was a whisper, a faint touch
of power that
I recognized
, one that I thought I’d burnt out saving Ashling
.

I swirled my hand
,
and the water leapt towards Bres and his mount, slowing them down
just
enough that we raced
past them.

With a laugh I called out
over my shoulder
, my eyes meeting Bres’, “I think I’m going to win after all.”

If you enjoyed this book, please leave a review on Amazon, it not only means a lot to the author (yes, that would be me) it also helps others see that this book was enjoyed and would be worth a try!

Turn the page for a peek at an exciting new Urban Fantasy from Shannon Mayer
coming soon!
!

Welcome to the world of Rylee Adamson, a woman with a unique ability, some wild friends

and a
unstoppable
drive to save those who can’t save themselves.

Children.

1

The couple in front of me, their hands gripping one another, dark circles under their eyes and sallow skin from not enough food, water or sleep were no different from any other parent who’d lost a child. Except for the faintest glimmer of a possibility, a scrap of hope that someone had thrown them, sending them my way
;
that was the only difference. A difference they were banking on. Every parent’s worst nightmare is the only reason I am the best at what I do. Or maybe more accurately, the
only
reason I do what I do.

“Please, the police, they say that there is nothing
; that they can’t help us
.
They say t
hat she’s gone, and there are no clues, and they just can’t find her. Please!” Maria, the mother, pleaded with me, her whole body begging for me to do what no one else would even dare
offer her hope on
. Her voice was cultured, upper crust and very East coast snob. But right now she didn’t look it. Clothes rumpled, designer still but not pressed or even that clean, hair in disarray and bags under her eyes. A very childish part of me took pleasure in seeing the mighty brought low. I only
wish it wasn’t because her kid
had been snatched.

I didn’t answer her right away, though I had already decided to help them. Her fear and hope was filling the room with an almost tangible weight, and it choked me, kept me from saying a single word. I wouldn’t leave a child out there if I could find her, not even if the kid’s parents were wankers. Which looking at the child’s father as he puffed up and prepared to verbally assault me was obviously going to be the case. I was guessing he was a lawyer,
or
maybe a judge.

“Damn you!” He shot to his feet, clothes hanging off his frame like he was wearing his older brother’s hand me downs, his fists at his side vibrating. “Why did you make us come all the way here if you’re not even going to try and help? To the middle of North Dakota of all places, to what, tell us ‘Oops, sorry, not going to happen?’ What kind of sadistic bitch are you?”

I let him, Don I think his name was, continue his tirade as he stalked around the cheap hotel room, but didn’t interrupt him. No point. He would talk until finally the silence would catch him and smother his words. Maria sat her body all a quiver, her husband’s anger a palpable taste that obviously upset her. It rolled off me which only seemed to energize him further, give him more fuel for his childish temper tantrum. The only parent’s anger that ever bothered me was my own and they were both gone. I waited, and another minute passed before he ran out of steam and stood blowing like a spent beast pushed too hard, too fast.

“Are you quite finished Don?” My voice was low, calm. He nodded once, a sharp movement that in another circumstance would have me reaching for one of my blades if I’d had them on me. I motioned to the couch. “Sit next to your wife. Speak when spoken to, answer my questions and other than that, shut the hell up.” He sat and I gave myself a mental pat on the back. Good job Rylee, for a moment there you almost sounded like a grown up in control of a situation. My vision of him as a lawyer dried up when he didn’t even bother to argue. Old money then, working for Daddy’s company all his life.

I looked down at the pictures on the cheap hotel coffee table. A little girl, seven years old or there about, with deep auburn hair, not so unlike my own and hazel eyes, quite different from my own tri-colored ones, smiled up at me. Each picture held a different pose, a different place. The park, Christmas sittings, dinner parties. And each picture held a small, seemingly insignificant blush of light, close to the girl.

“What’s her name?” My first question of the entire meeting was met with silence. I glanced up only to see Maria close her eyes and tears trickle down her cheeks. Don met my gaze; his hazel eyes the perfect mirror image of his daughter’s.

“India.” His voice choked over the syllables. They knew, like all my potential clients knew, that if I asked for the child’s name, I was in, that there was no turning back.

I held another picture up. The same hair and eyes as the first, the face was a little thinner. A year or two older than the first picture. And the same strange light, this time a little brighter.

“How long has she been missing now?”

Don answered. “Six months tomorrow. What are the chances that she’s already . . .?” He choked up and couldn’t finish the sentence.

I stared at the two pictures for a long second before answering, feeling for India.

“She’s still alive. I can tell you that much. But finding her will depend on a lot of factors.” What I didn’t tell them was how close their daughter was to breaking; her inner shields that kept her from being controlled were thin and weakening fast. Not a good sign. The other part of that was that I couldn’t pinpoint her, which meant that she was on the other side of the unseen veil, another very bad thing. There were hundreds of entrances and not necessarily all connected. I was going to need some help on this one.

Maria frowned, a perfect line creasing her brow. “We went to a psychic, but she said that India was beyond our reach . . . we assumed that meant. . . ”

I cut her off with the wave of a hand. “Most psychics are frauds. The real deals don’t advertise their services.”

It was Don’s turn to frown. “Is that what you are? A psychic?”

“No,” I shook my head and didn’t give him anything else. I wasn’t sure how much truth these two could handle in such a short period of time.

I scooped the two pictures, tucked them into an envelope and tucked that into my jacket pocket.

“I don’t know how long it will take. There are to be no phone calls, private investigators or drive bys. Don’t involve the police anymore; if you do I don’t know that I’ll be able to get her back for you. Do you understand?” I looked from one to the other, they both nodded.

Maria’s eyes were still closed tight, her hands clasped in front of her, her lips moved soundlessly. Praying probably. The couch creaked as I stood. “Anything else I should know about India before I go? Even the insignificant could be important.”

I wanted them to tell me what I had already guessed. Wanted for them to come clean. But already they were withdrawing, the guilt of hiding what might help showing, but too afraid to say it out loud was written all over their drawn and haggard faces. I pressed my lips together and started out of the room towards the front entrance, my boots clacking on the cheap linoleum.

“Wait.” Maria’s voice and the shuffling of papers called me back. I paused and glanced over my shoulder. Maria stood in her clothes that no longer looked fashionable, her hands clenching a stack of paper.

“Don’t! She doesn’t need to see those.” Don appeared in the doorway and reached for the rumpled stack.

“And if we don’t, and she can’t find India, what then? Do you really think she will come back a second time when we’ve withheld information?” Her voice was sharp and Don shrank back from her sudden outburst. Perhaps she wasn’t the vapid twink I’d originally pegged her for.

Maria held the papers out to me again. I reached for them, felt the static charge race up my arm at the first touch of skin to paper.

The drawing on top was simple and it reflected the pictures of India in my pocket. A stick girl with dark red hair with a circle drawn beside her head, a child’s rendition of the orb in the pictures. The girl in the drawing was smiling. That was a good sign. As I flipped through the remainder of the stack, I quickly realized that India wasn’t only in trouble because she was missing; her powers were coming into their own earlier than they should have been and they were beginning to drown her out. Each subsequent picture had an additional circle and by the last picture the little stick girl was covered by them, her face no longer smiling.

“She started drawing these the moment she could hold a crayon. Circles, always circles.” Maria wrung her hands, and then fluttered them towards me. “We didn’t know what to do. Do you really think you can find her?”

I held her gaze, knowing that if she saw me look away at that moment that she would never completely believe me, that she wouldn’t trust me to find India. Without that trust, I would have the cops on my ass the whole way through this case and that was the last thing I needed. They’d just get in the way. Again.

“Yes, I can find her. There hasn’t been a case yet where I haven’t.” Liar liar pants on fire Rylee.

Handing the drawings back to Maria, I asked, “Is there anything else I need to know?”

Maria shook her head in the negative and clutched the pictures to her chest.

“She likes tigers. Cats, any kind of cats.” Don came up behind his wife and placed his hands on her shoulders. “And she loves to braid things, hair, thread, yarn. Even paper.”

I let him talk; let him think he was helping. Maria caught my eye and I shook my head, no need to cut him off at the knees. She gave the briefest of nods and for a moment I felt a mild connection with the woman. Frightening.

I left them, holding onto each other, watching me, their only hope to regain their daughter, walk down the carpeted hallway and step into the stairwell. I didn’t wave and neither did they.

Besides the cool wind waiting for me to step outside, there were also two FBI agents. My usual stalker, O’Shea and what appeared to be another new partner. Imagine that. Considering O’Shea’s lack of people skills it was no surprise. He went through partners like a woman changes her clothes.

“Adamson.” O’Shea barked at me. I flinched at the use of my surname, a name I didn’t use anymore. Not since I’d started searching for kids nearly ten years ago.

His partner, a shorter version of O’Shea, I barely noticed. No angry vibes coming off that one. With O’Shea as his partner, I suspected he was taking a regular dose of Adavan just to get through the day. I would be, if I were in his shoes.

“What?” I snapped back, my distant teenage persona coming to the surface. He
really
brought out the best in me. He didn’t look like your typical Irishman, with his dark eyes and hair. But his temper fit.

“I know what you’re doing. Stay the hell out of FBI business or I’ll have you up on charges so fast even your ditzy little head will spin.” O’Shea said, using his height to loom over me.