Wicked Wings (Lizzie Grace 5)

It seemed to be the month for boys getting lost. I could only hope they hadn’t fallen down an old mine shaft as well. “Do you have any idea where they are?”

She nodded, her annoyance obvious. “Up in the Manton’s Gully forest.”

“And they have their phones with them?”

She was obviously aware of the point I was about to make, because she immediately said, “Yes, but they’ve wandered into an area not covered by Google Maps and they’ve gotten themselves lost.”

Given Google Maps covered pretty much everywhere, that was quite a feat. “So why come to me rather than the rangers? You’ve a reasonable idea where they are, so it shouldn’t take long for a ranger to find them.”

“I know, but I don’t want to land the boys in trouble.” She hesitated. “They’re a little too near the Marin compound, you see, and I don’t want to draw any unwanted attention to them.”

“Because they’ve been warned about trying to enter the Marin compound several times before?” I guessed.

She grimaced. “Yes. They don’t mean any harm, but the elders don’t see it that way.”

“Would you still feel that way if it was a bunch of teenagers raiding your home?”

Surprise flitted across her expression. “Well no, of course not, but it’s hardly the same.”

It was, but she obviously was never going to get that. I sighed. “If you want me to find them, I need something of your son’s—something he wears every day. I also won’t be doing it for free.”

Not when I didn’t like the woman.

“Oh,” she said, somewhat surprised. “How much would it be?”

I gave her our general rate for personally finding things, and she blinked. “That seems overly high to me.”

“Mrs. Rankin, if you want me to work outside of my usual hours, then you pay penalty rates. Or go to the rangers. Your choice.”

“Oh,” she repeated. “Well, I guess I have no option. We could use his school shoes—”

“I’ll need something that has had constant direct contact with his skin.”

“Which they do.”

I blinked. “He doesn’t wear socks?”

“No. Apparently, it’s a fashion statement.”

“In my day, a fashion statement like that would have landed you in detention.” Which made me sound older than Methuselah, I thought, amused.

“Oh, it still does, but it’s considered a badge of honor.”

One that obviously didn’t bother his mother. “Fine. Go get a shoe and I’ll see if I can get any vibes off it.”

“And if you can’t?”

“Then you’ll have to do things the old-fashioned way and organize a search party.”

“That would take far too long,” she said, her tone cross. “And, as I’ve already said, I can’t afford to have this brought to the attention of the elders. It might get us thrown off the reservation.”

If her son couldn’t be bothered following the rules, then perhaps that was for the best. But I bit back the comment and simply told her to go get the shoe. As she did, I walked down to the reading room and filled the backpack with the usual assortment of holy water and potions, and then grabbed my knife and its sheath. There was no way known I was going anywhere at night without a little extra witchy protection behind me. The Empusae might not have been active last night, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t be tonight. Didn’t mean she wasn’t circling the whole reservation, just waiting for the right moment to swoop and attack.

With that cheery thought lingering, I threw the pack over my shoulder then grabbed my phone and keys. Mrs. Rankin reappeared just as I was making a coffee. I didn’t bother offering her one. I wasn’t in the mood to be that generous right now.

I screwed the cap onto my travel mug and then walked over to the table on which the shiny black shoe sat. I picked it up, opened the psychic gates, and immediately felt a response. It was distant, but nevertheless strong. There was no sense of danger coming with that pulse, no sense of urgency. Her son might be lost, but he and his friends weren’t overly concerned about it.

“Okay, I’m getting a clear response—”