Belle placed a small plate of red cookies on the tray and then began pouring our drinks. Hints of lemon and passionflower teased the air; it wasn’t strong enough to overpower the taste of the English Breakfast tea, but it would, hopefully, help soothe the older woman’s jangled nerves.
Marjorie cleared her throat and said, “They don’t believe she’s in trouble. They just think she’s run off again.”
“So she’s run away before?” I asked.
“It was a regular event when her father and I first separated, but it had stopped until about two months ago.”
“What happened to set her off again?”
“I wouldn’t let her go out with her boyfriend.” She accepted the cup of tea with a tremulous smile. “My mother had a set like this. She used to bring it out when we were having a ‘proper’ English afternoon tea.”
Which was why I’d chosen it. While this particular cup hadn’t belonged to Marjorie’s mother’s set, as far as I was aware, something about its resonance had suggested it would raise happier memories—and Marjorie very much needed those.
I offered the older woman the milk jug, then, when she shook her head, poured some into my own tea. Two teaspoons of sugar followed rather than the usual one, as I suspected I was going to need the energy boost to get through the night. “Is there a chance she’s simply run off with the boyfriend?”
Marjorie shook her head even before I’d finished the question. “The first thing I did was ring and check with his mom. Jason is home, and hasn’t heard from Karen in over a week.”
“Is that usual?” Belle asked.
Marjorie shrugged. “Who can say? They’re teenagers. One day they can’t keep their hands off each other, the next they’re not talking.”
“What about her friends? She did go out with them, didn’t she?” I said.
“Yes, but they said she got a call about nine and claimed it was from me. That I said she had to go home.” Tears filled Marjorie’s eyes and she rapidly blinked them away. “It wasn’t me, of course, and that’s the last time anyone saw her.”
Which sounded suspiciously like Karen was meeting someone she either didn’t want her friends to know about, or that she knew they wouldn’t approve of. If I’d been a cop, the first thing I would have done was get hold of the kid’s phone records. But I wasn’t, and I had no idea if the rangers here had that sort of power. Castle Rock was the capital of the Faelan Reservation, which was one of only seven werewolf reservations here in Australia. Rangers—who were always werewolves nominated by the council elders rather than those who lived within the reservation—had full police powers when it came to dealing with their own kind, but were somewhat more restricted when it came to the humans living within the reservation. Which was rather archaic, given humans now accounted for nearly 40 percent of Castle Rock’s regular population—and that figure increased dramatically over the summer months, thanks to the mineral springs located in the nearby town of Argyle.
Of course, archaic pretty much described the world in general. There might have been huge leaps in technology and medicine, but magic and tradition still ruled in many ways.
And what that all meant was, if something bad had happened to Karen, then the rangers would be forced to call in the Interspecies Investigations Team. And that wouldn’t go down well with either the rangers or the pack elders.
And unhappy elders generally meant an unhappy town.
I took a sip of tea and winced a little over its sweetness. “Are the rangers searching for her?”
“Yes. I asked them to send some trackers into the scrub.”
Meaning Marjorie had some pull in this town. But given the hills surrounding Castle Rock were heavily forested, a werewolf’s keen nose probably was Karen’s best hope if she was lost out there somewhere. “Then I suggest your next move should be to go home a
nd wait for their call—”
“No! I can’t. I won’t.” Marjorie’s expression was a mix of desperation and determination. “Surely you can understand that? Surely, if you were in my place, you’d be doing everything you can to find your child?”
Old pain rose, and I briefly closed my eyes. I had been in the same position, even if the life in question had been that of a sister rather than a daughter.
The past is never a good place to dwell, Belle said gently. Especially when there’s nothing you can do to change it.
I knew that, but knowing never stopped the guilt. Never stopped the nightmares that still plagued me. I took a somewhat shuddery breath and said, “I do understand, Marjorie, believe me. It’s just that—”
“Please,” she said, her voice soft. Beseeching. “You’re Karen’s only hope. I just know it.”
I leaned back and rubbed my arms. Every instinct I had was screaming any search—be it mine, or the rangers’—was going to end badly. Was it selfish of me to not want to confront all that again? Probably. But the real question was—could I live with the guilt and the what-ifs if I did walk away?
Probably not.
Besides, the moment I’d allowed Marjorie to step through the door and tell me her story, I’d basically forsaken any hope of refusal. Hard-hearted, I was not.
“No matter how certain you might be,” I said slowly, “there’s no guarantee that I’ll be able to find her. Psychometry—or any other psi talent, for that matter—isn’t always as reliable as true magic. Maybe you’d be better to seek the help of the local witch—”