Lila slipped out of the sedan. She buttoned her blackcoat over her family’s coat of arms and left her scarf in the sedan, the entire slash of fabric betraying her inclusion in the House of the Crimson Wolves. The local militia would already be on alert with Chief Vance looking over their shoulder. Having two guests from Saxony would only annoy them further.

Vance eyed the little gnomes down the walk. “The Thomases usually have anywhere from three to six foster children. Not children of oracles, mind you—workborn children, mostly.”

“Anything suspicious come up in a background search?”

“They’re anything but suspects.” Vance bristled. “They’re saints.”

“Everyone’s a suspect. How many kids are inside?”

“Currently, none. Up until last week the couple cared for three siblings, but the children’s parents completed all their classwork. After Family Protection Services assigned their live-in counselor, they moved back in with their parents to complete the trial period.”

“You think they’ll pass?”

“Four months is a long time.” Vance shrugged, leading the group toward the house. “FPS chose the Thomases as the perfect foster placement for Rebecca. Not only was their house empty, but the couple is extremely experienced and kind. They have remarkable rapport with children from all backgrounds. They didn’t even mind the Norrington patrols.”

Lila stopped. “Norrington patrols?”

“Yes.” Vance winced. “My men were here during the abduction. They noted some thrashing noises from the north and west sides of the property around change of shift. They investigated and found nothing. We suspect that’s when Rebecca was taken. It was quiet for the rest of the night.”

“So they fell for the most basic of distractions and didn’t think to check on the kid?”

“No, they did not.” He nodded at the blackcoat at the front door. The poor sergeant had crossed his hands over his chest, not to look imposing, but because he might send the gnomes tumbling around him at any moment.

Once inside the home, Vance led them toward the parlor, introducing them to the couple, both approaching fifty by the lines on their faces and the gray in their hair. Lila could have used her full name without the couple becoming suspicious. The husband merely scratched his beard and shook hands with anyone who offered it, and his wife barely lifted her gaze from the floor.

They tugged their robes closed at the neck as they sat down.

“Did you find something?” the woman asked, her voice trembling. “Did you find Rebecca? She’s alive, isn’t she? She’s okay?”

“We haven’t found her yet, Mrs. Thomas, but we’re doing everything we can,” Vance assured her kindly. “My two colleagues are here to help.”

Shaw sat beside Vance, perhaps keen to dive right in, asking the very same questions that the couple had been asked a thousand times that night.

Lila avoided the couch, choosing instead to sit on the coffee table directly in front of the couple. She took up the wife’s hand and gave it a sympathetic little squeeze. As a rule, she didn’t like interrogating witnesses, not unless she knew a person was guilty.

She tended to just talk. “I have a little brother. Ten years younger than me, Mr. Thomas. I don’t know what I’d do if he was taken in the middle of the night.”

Mr. Thomas nodded and bent his head, staring at a frayed cushion on the couch. While he grew lost inside his head, Lila pressed Mrs. Thomas’s hand once more. She said nothing more to either of them, just watched their faces, making her own as blank as possible.

Predictably, they began to speak, mostly to fill the awkward silence.

“We were just so tired,” Mrs. Thomas explained clearing her throat. “That’s no excuse for sleeping through it, though. I’m normally a very light sleeper. We’ve kept foster children for twenty years, and I’ve always woken up if one of my kids sneezes or sniffles. Some of them cry, you know. Either they miss home, or they’re nervous about what will happen when they go back. There’s a lot of calming involved in being a foster parent. Tears and tempers alike, especially before family therapy appointments. But I didn’t wake up this time. When it counted the most, I slept while someone took that baby.”

She gripped Lila’s hand even harder. “Oh gods, she must have been so scared.”

“She probably was. You feel horrible for it. I hope I would feel horrible too if someone took my little brother while I was asleep. I suppose that’s how you feel when you care.”

“I do care.” A tear rolled down the woman’s cheek, but she didn’t brush it aside. “I don’t know why I didn’t wake up. Why tonight? I always wake up. Why did it have to be tonight?”

“Like you said, I suppose you were just tired.”

“We both were,” Mr. Thomas said, giving a little cough. He noticed the tear falling down his wife’s cheek and pulled a cotton handkerchief from his robe’s pocket, putting it in her free hand. She smiled up at him for his kindness and dabbed at her eye.

Oracle’s light, they were in love. Real love. Not just soul mates or friends or playmates. They had bonded so completely that they could see no one else but their partner, could never bond with anyone else after meeting one another. Not while they loved, not even after.

They’d married and declared it to the world.

“We were both groggy,” Mr. Thomas said. “It kind of hit us at once.”

Tags: Wren Weston Fates of the Bound Crime
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