Now

My first conscious thought is pain. My head throbs violently, igniting bursts of color beneath closed eyelids. Before my brain can tell my body no my eyes pop open and my head turns. Nausea. Agony. The world goes dark again.

Minutes later. Or hours. This time, I keep very still. Eyes closed. Long moments of tortured breath, each inhalation a hot explosion in my chest, a throbbing nightmare in my head. Slowly, carefully, I move my left hand. Fingers brush rough fabric. An edge. A wall. My injured brain tries to catalog the details, to form a conclusion. Too much. Darkness again.

A hand holds my arm. Something cold brushes across the inside of my elbow. A needle prick nearly lost in a sea of far worse pain. Spreading warmth. I feel a sublime smile soften my lips. Relief. I slip quietly into another oblivion.

I open my eyes.

“Fuck,” I mutter out loud, wincing when my voice scratches its way out of my throat. Breathing steadily through my nose, I close my eyes again and try to take stock of my current situation. No idea where I am, or how much time has passed. Check. I ticked that off under a mental column I titled ‘The Bad News’. I know my name is Rella. That gets a check in a column called ‘Hey! Maybe I don’t have a concussion after all!’ Vague, disjointed memories flit though my head. I remember pain. It’s not as bad as it was. I turn my head experimentally, and there’s only a weak surge of nausea in response. Definite positive check mark. It might even be safe to try opening my eyes again. They feel as though I've recently been face down on a beach, but progress is progress. Indistinct shapes and shadows define my existence for several minutes and when I can finally focus I don’t see much else. I’m in a tiny room. I examine it from my small uncomfortable cot with as little actual movement as possible. White on white, the walls are bare and institutional. There’s a sink and toilet combo in one corner, and a metal folding chair in the other.

My cot creaks when I shift and I assume it is of the metal folding variety as well. I roll my eyes up to the wall at the head of the cot and see the door. Or what I presume is the door. There’s no knob. Fighting down a bubble of anxiety, I note that there is a slot for a key card. There’s also a small window at the top, and a flap at the bottom. The window has metal mesh in the glass. I flash on half a dozen movies featuring mental hospitals and squeeze my eyes shut, a familiar wild panic I haven’t experienced since childhood flooding my system. But no. That’s not what’s happening. Breathe in. Breathe out. I am not crazy. Why am I here? Conor! Conor. They hired me to find him, I must be…

Oh God. They’d taken me from my apartment. They'd known when I was alone. They'd been watching. Waiting. I can feel the panic rising again, and this time it’s harder to quash it. I spare a moment to pray that my cat is safe, and that someone will notice I’m gone before she gets too hungry. I look down at myself, take inventory of my injuries, and notice that I’m clothed in white hospital pajamas. There’s a sick little moment when I realize I've been cleaned and dressed by a stranger. A hot trail streaks down my cheek, and I lift my right hand to wipe it away. There’s a thick bandage across my palm and an ace bandage wrapping my wrist. I stare at it blankly for a moment before lowering it back to the bed. The pain the small movement results in is bearable, and I take comfort from that. I think I might be able to sit up. This feels like a momentous decision. It takes longer than it should to accomplish and I end up leaning against the wall, breathing heavy with exertion, head swimming. The pain stabbing through me with each breath is familiar, but dulled. It’s not until that moment that I remember the needle. I’m pretty sure it was morphine, and if this is what I feel like while I’m on it I really don’t want to know what it’s gonna be like when it wears off. I eye the door and its window. It seems impossibly far away in the small room. I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, bare feet hitting cold concrete. Standing unsteadily, I lean against the wall and sort of shimmy-slide across the room. I celebrate a moment of triumph when I reach the door before I peer through the mesh veined glass at the world outside my cell.

There’s not much to see. A hallway, more doors, all with key card entry like mine. The end opens up into a wider room. I see part of a stainless steel table, like the kind used in a morgue, and shiver. There are no real clues as to where I am. The key card doors suggest I’m in a building owned by the Chrysalis Corporation, the group I’d been investigating, but whether it’s the same building I’ve already visited or another location is impossible to tell. I didn’t see enough during my brief foray into the enemy's den. Although, now I suspect that the enemy has seen plenty of me. Goddammit. So much about this investigation seemed too easy, now that I can look back from my current predicament. I just hadn't realized how out of my depth I was. I’m a small time PI, damn near a hobby, and it wouldn’t even pay the bills if I hadn’t made a bit of a name for myself among the city’s less (more) than human inhabitants. And now here I am, trapped and defenseless, like the (mostly) human I am. How did I get here? Oh yeah. Nicolas.

~

Two weeks ago

It was late. Much later than I’d usually be at my tiny office above the junk shop. Antique Store. Whatever. My best-friend-turned-receptionist extraordinaire Randi had already flounced off to whatever hot new club had caught her fancy on this Tuesday evening. I don’t know how she does it, but I know she’ll be here bright and cheerful as her pink and platinum hair tomorrow morning, while I hide behind my office door guzzling coffee in the dark until I know I won’t scare off any clients with my morning grump. Sighing, I stretched backwards in my chair until my back popped before clicking over to a new tab in my browser, searching classified ads and message boards for possible business. I got by ok on the mundane work - divorces, cheating spouses, custody battles, the usual PI fodder - but that wasn’t what I was in it for. What really brought in the money, as well as the guilty thrill of danger I thrived on, were the other cases. If you knew where to look online, or in dark alleys, (or above your neighborhood junk shop), there was a whole lot more weird in this world than people gave credit for. I was one of the weird, an empath, and I used that to help others like me. Wiccans mostly, but I’d run across a few honest to God psychics along the way. I’ve always imagined there was more out there. I didn’t know that I might be better off not knowing.

“Do you always talk in your sleep Ms. Chase?”

I jerked upright in my chair, automatically raising a wrist to check my chin for drool.

“Um… no? I mean…I don’t…Who?” I shook my head, trying to clear it, and scrubbed locks of dark hair our of my eyes.

“I apologize, your door was open, I did not mean to startle you.”

“Uh huh…” I said, staring now that I could see. There was a man hovering uncertainly in my doorway, probably not much older than me, maybe in his early 30s. “Yeah, yeah, sorry, I was…Won’t you come in?” I gestured to the chair in front of my desk. He crossed the office and gracefully sank into it, flashing the bluest eyes I’d ever seen along with a tired smile. He reached a pale, long fingered hand across the desk and introduced himself.

“My name is Nicolas Culhwch, and I need your help Ms. Chase.”

I adjusted my perception and picked up the brain buzz I usually got around the real deal psychics, and some of the more devout wiccans, but I couldn’t for the life of me tell which category to place him in. I smiled.

“Tell me more.”

The next day found me two hours away from the city, deep into an area of Long Island I’d never even known existed. Having already gotten myself lost once I frowned down at the hand-drawn map in my lap, hoping I wasn’t driving in circles. Nicolas hadn’t given me an actual address, rendering my GPS useless, and I’d been on this road for half an hour now and seen nothing but trees. I was even more convinced than before that Nicolas was some kind of weird, and that whomever I was about to meet would be as well. I hoped I’d be able to tell which flavor.

Finally, another ten minutes down the narrow road, a gate cut off further access. I pulled up alongside a call box and rolled my window down.

“Hello, this is Rella Chase, Nicolas Culhwch sent me,” I half shouted into the speaker, predictably slaughtering the pronunciation on Nicolas’ unusual last name. A tinny voice replied something lost to a burst of static and the gate buzzed open. I followed a long leaf littered drive for another ten minutes, at least, before I pulled up to a beautiful house that would look more at home in an English countryside.

“Maybe I need to rethink what I’m charging for this one,” I mused as I got out of my warm car and dashed to the front door, ringing an ornate bell. I bounced on my feet until a college-aged-girl opened the door, allowing me inside the blessedly warm foyer.

“Hello,” she said in a soft, lyrical accent. “I’m Lisbeth Calloway, please, this way.” I followed her down the hall, bypassing a set of stairs, to a comfortable looking living room. Lisbeth gestured to a grouping of chairs near a blessedly crackling fireplace and disappeared to collect her housemates. I let my eyes wander the room aimlessly while I waited. Nicolas hadn’t told me much at my office last night. I knew that someone he knew was possibly missing, but that his family was reluctant to file a report. I hoped that meant there was a chance I’d find Conor Calloway in a drunk tank, or seedy motel somewhere sleeping off a fabulous bender; but I knew it was more likely that this was a coven or similarly secretive group that didn’t want the attention of an official investigation. I completely understood the urge to keep out of the mundane world’s eye, but I wasn’t entirely sure how qualified I was to work a missing person case.

A soft clicking caught my attention just before the largest dog I’d ever seen joined me in front of the fire. He was a beautiful animal with thick, lustrous fur in patterns of silver, grey and white, and husky-blue eyes. He sniffed my hand and apparently decided that he liked me because he whined low in his throat and rested his head on my knee. I smiled, scratching him behind the ears, and sinking my fingers into the deep ruff around his neck.

“Kai this is not the time.” The new voice, with a distinct edge to it, startled me. People don’t usually have such an easy time sneaking up on me. The dog snorted out a warm breath before getting to it’s massive feet and lumbering out of the room.

I stood, offering my hand to the newcomer, “Rella Chase.”

“Ryan Curtis,” he said. “Thank you so much for meeting with us.”

He was probably the same age as Lisbeth. I lifted my eyes to the door, watching as more people filtered into the room, taking chairs and leaning against walls. I started feeling a little nervous as the diverse group settled themselves without a word, and I let my eyes drift out of focus as I concentrated, trying to pick up on who or what I was dealing with. I was less surprised than I should have been when I got back nothing I understood. What did surprise me was that it was different from whatever I had felt around Nicolas. I widened my perception even further, trying to get a feel for the whole room rather than tap individual brains, and felt the shift when the last man walked in. The way everyone else’s energy turned to him. Tuned to him. Many faces in the room turned ever so slightly toward him as well, though they all kept their eyes lowered. Respect. It would be so easy to read it as fear, but that wasn’t what connected these people. It was respect, and a deep love, and…worry. They were all very, very worried.

I snapped my shields back in place and turned my attention to the man who was so obviously in charge, but he only inclined his head and had a seat in the last vacant chair, directly across from my own. I sat back down, pulling a small notebook out of my bag and fishing around for a pen.

“I guess you want to know about Conor, huh?” Lisbeth spoke up. She was leaning against the mantel, staring down at her bare toes. I nodded, finally found my pen, and poised it above a fresh page.

“He’s my brother,” she began, “I mean, we’re all family here, but Conor and I are blood. We came to live here at Newydd Bleiddwn Estate after our parents died in an accident in Wales four years ago.”

I paused my writing, feeling my brow crease at the unusual pronunciation. Ryan leaned down and whispered the spelling in my ear with a vague gesture indicating the house. I jotted it down, and glanced back up to Lisbeth.

“He wouldn’t just disappear like this without saying anything. We haven’t gotten any ransom calls, or anything like that, but I just know that something must be wrong,” her voice shook a little, and she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment before she continued. “It’s been over two days now…” She trailed off with a hand to her mouth.

Ryan continued for her, “He doesn’t have any enemies that we know of. We’re close, all of us, and Conor’s never been in so much as a bar fight. Everyone loves him.”

“Ok,” I said, pursing my lips as I thought. “Can anyone remember anything out of the ordinary before Conor disappeared? Anything could help. It could even be something small; something you hardly noticed at the time.” A low murmur travelled the room, along with a lot of shaking heads. God, I’m so out of my element here.

“I keep trying but I just can’t think of anything,” Lisbeth said sharply, stepping away from the mantel to pace around the living room. One of the guys that had been sitting on the floor got up and went to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. His hair was dyed a chaotic rainbow of colors, standing out in spiky contrast to Lisbeth’s smooth black locks as he bent his head to rest atop hers.

“It’s ok if you can’t remember anything, there’s no guarantee there is anything for you to remember,” I said, feeling guilty for upsetting her more. I tried to change the subject, “This is a lot of people for one house, do you all live here?”

“We’re very close, we don’t mind sharing,” Ryan explained, “we have more family and friends scattered around the city, and we’re together as much as possible. Honestly, we would all live here if we had more bathrooms. But, there isn’t anyone in our group we haven’t known for years. Definitely no one we would suspect. And I think if anyone had seen or heard anything weird from Conor recently they would’ve spoken up by now.”

I sighed, closing my notebook. “I should tell you that the police would definitely be better equipped to deal with this sort of thing than I am. Would you like to tell me why all the secrecy?” I asked, hoping to prompt them to come out to me as witches or whatever else they might be. I got a roomful of guilty looks, but no one said a word. I grit my teeth a little in frustration. It was always a touchy thing, trying to get a client to trust me enough to divulge something like that. I had hoped that since Nicolas hired me, specifically, that we wouldn't have to go through this particular song and dance. But, just because it seemed obvious to me that they were something other didn’t mean that they realized I was too. And there was always that slight chance that I was wrong, that I was simply picking up on the heightened emotions of regular old humans. If that was the case and I straight up asked if they were witches I’d get the ‘oh shit, she’s crazy’ look. I hate the ‘oh shit, she’s crazy’ look. Instead, I asked whether someone could get me a recent photo of Conor. Nicolas had told me that the last time he saw Conor was at the ferry terminal. He had a house on Staten Island that he and Conor were planning to spend the weekend at, but at the last minute Nicolas had gotten a call about some business he had to take care of downtown. He said he waited for the boat with Conor before sending him on ahead. But, when he got home a few hours later, expecting Conor to be almost through cooking dinner, the house was still dark. He checked his alarm system, and realized Conor had never arrived. No one had seen or heard from him since. This in mind, I knew what my next step was, and explained as much.

“The best thing I can do for now is find out if anyone saw him get off the ferry on Staten Island and if he was alone if they did. I’ll ask around on the Manhattan side too, in case he rode back on another boat.”

“Of course, I’ll go find you a picture.” Lisbeth hurried from the room, grateful for something to do. The guy with the crazy hair took up her post by the mantle, training bright blue eyes on me, and a shiver ran up my spine. I shook it off and turned my attention to the man sitting across from me.

He was nodding his head absently, frown lines creasing his forehead. He leaned forward, hands clasped and elbows on his knees, “Thank you, Ms. Chase, for agreeing to help us. My name is Raine, and I suppose you could say I’m the head of this motley family.” He gave a close approximation of a smile, “Money will be no object, and we will do anything it takes to assist you in your investigation. Please, don’t hesitate to ask if there’s anything you need.”

Crazy hair pushed off the mantle and stretched tanned arms over his head. I took a brief moment to wonder what good deed I’d done to deserve all these gorgeous men to enter my life, and then immediately chastised myself for even thinking that. When crazy hair walked toward me with a smile lighting his freaking aquamarine eyes, I actually felt myself blush. I hate blushing.

“Rella, pleased to meet you, I’m Kyle and I would love to help you in any way I can.” He grinned one of those grins that make most girls melt into mushy little puddles. I put all my effort into remaining firmly upright and solid.

“I… uh… yeah, you too…” I stuttered. Yeah. Totally solid here. As a fucking rock. He looked me up and down, and there was nothing gentle about his expression. I pulled my hand out of his, cursing my fair complexion as the blush deepened. This was not professional. This was definitely the exact opposite of professional.

“Kyle, cut it out, how do you know she doesn’t have a boyfriend,” Ryan snapped.

“In other words: you saw her first?” Kyle asked with a raised brow. “I wouldn’t be so sure.” Lisbeth stopped in the entryway, eyes locked onto Ryan’s face.

“Shut it, Kyle! You know that’s not what I meant! This is fucking serious!”

I felt Lisbeth’s relief slip past my shields, and didn’t miss the slight smile she hid from Ryan. Nor did I miss Raine’s eyeroll at the entire spectacle. Thankfully, Lisbeth saved us from wherever this conversation was going by handing me the picture. It featured (gasp) an attractive young man with unkempt dark hair partially obscuring beautiful grass green eyes, a matched pair to Lisbeth’s. My own eyes are a strange shade of lavender, and I suddenly felt like the universe was telling me they aren’t really all that special after all, and to that end everyone I met on this case would have stunning eyes and perfect faces. Conor, indeed, had a strong jaw and slightly crooked nose that actually managed to add to his attractiveness by ruining what would otherwise be a model perfect profile. My awe at all the beautiful people was swiftly turning to a disgruntled sense of inferiority.

“Thanks, this will help,” I said, paper-clipping the photo to a file folder sticking out of my purse. “Before I leave for the ferry, do you mind if I take a look at Conor’s room?”

Kyle made a move toward the hallway but Raine slid in front of him. “It’s up the stairs, second door on the right,” he said. I climbed the stairs, grateful to be alone. I stopped at the threshold and surveyed Conor’s room from the door. There were CDs piled precariously in a corner, and a few stray articles of clothing laying around. The bed was unmade, as if he’d only just got up and would return at any moment. I stepped inside, feeling like an intruder in a stranger’s private space. I ran my fingers lightly along the smooth edge of an old chestnut dresser. Magazines littered its surface. None focused on travel or otherwise enlightening subjects. There was an open paperback, pages down, on the nightstand - Bill Bryson’s Into the Woods. He was about halfway through. The closet was full of clothes, running high to creamy pullover sweaters and dark jeans. There was a battered looking suitcase shoved in the back. Nothing I saw here suggested a man that had run off, not by choice. I closed the door quietly behind me and went back downstairs.

My clients were still gathered in the living room, and they turned towards me expectantly when I entered the room.

“I believe you that he didn’t just leave,” I said. “I’ll go ask around at the ferry terminal, and I’ll get back to you with what I find.” I reached out a hand to Raine, and he shook it, his grasp firm and dry.

“Want some company?” Kyle asked brightly from behind me. I whirled round to face him, startled.

“Um,” I said eloquently.

“Kyle…” Ryan started warningly.

I looked from one to the other, then up at Raine who shrugged gracefully and left the room. I could almost hear the laughter in his walk.

“Well, it might be kinda boring, just wandering around, questioning people.”

“I don’t mind, I don’t have anything else to do, and I’d like to help,” he said, practically radiating sincerity.

“Oh… well, then…” Crap. “Sure, come along.”

Why the hell not? He certainly was fun to look at. Ryan stormed out of the room, and Lisbeth ran after him, leaving an odd trail of humor and worry in her wake. I grabbed my coat and headed for the door. Kyle was retrieving his own jacket from a closet when the front door opened. A burst of icy air rushed in, and two women stood in the doorway staring at me. The taller, older one reminded me of Raine, but her stern expression made me falter. The young girl’s eyes shone with a golden light above a delicate upturned nose. For a moment we all just stood there looking at each other, then the girl sort of sidestepped behind the woman, hiding her face in a mass of dark hair.

“Uh oh,” Kyle said behind me.

“What do you mean uh oh?”

The taller woman narrowed hey eyes and looked me up and down, making me uncomfortably aware of how small I am. It was what she did next that shocked me though. She walked straight up to me, invading the shit out of my personal space, and smelled me.

“What the hell are you doing?” I shrieked, tripping over my own feet trying to back away from her. I would have hit the floor if Kyle hadn’t caught my arm. The black haired woman made a sound low in her throat, almost a growl, and her lips drew back in an ugly snarl.

“Um, hi Alexa, this is Rella,” Kyle said.

Her head snapped up, and she looked at him as if he’d done something very wrong. I’d never seen a woman act this way, hell I’d never seen anyone act this way. Alexa dropped her head down to look at me again. Her whole body quivered with energy. It was rolling off of her in waves of sticky hot aggression, and my natural shields weren’t enough to keep this much tangible power out of my head. My vision went bright white, and the floor dropped away. Everything was all mixed up, her feelings, mine, clashing in a fight for control until I couldn’t even breathe. It was too much, it was filling me up and I couldn’t contain it, and I knew, I knew this wasn’t mine, this overwhelming power. God, but she was strong. I couldn’t possibly fight her; she’d kill me. With that thought, everything snapped back to reality.

Alexa had backed up, and she had a funny look on her face. I wanted to say something to her, but my voice wouldn’t work. Before I could try to speak again Kyle grabbed me round the waist and ushered me out the door and into my car.

“What the hell just happened in there?” I demanded, dizzy and shaking.

He sat sideways and stared at me. "I was about to ask you the same question."

“Ask me? I wasn’t the one sniffing the company!”

“But you dominated her,” He almost looked awed.

“I what? I didn’t do a goddamn thing, I just stood there!”

“You’re not normal, are you?”

My mouth dropped open. Not normal? Nope. Not normal at all. I couldn’t believe how quick he’d noticed. Usually, people knew me for at least a week before I started freaking them out. I didn’t want to explain myself to this stranger…not when I didn’t know for sure…I rested my forehead against the steering wheel, waiting for the dizziness to pass. I slanted my eyes to the right, appraising Kyle. He was looking at me in much the same way. I opened up and tentatively reached out, I felt the same sense of otherness I had inside with everyone else. No, I couldn’t be absolutely sure, but…I felt like these people would understand me. Like maybe they wouldn’t look at me like I should be institutionalized, as had almost every other soul I’d ever tried to tell my secret to. Because maybe they had some secrets of their own. I decided to trust my empathy.

“Ok, um, I do have a kind of…thing.”

“What sort of thing?”

I sulked for a minute, fiddling with my keys, not sure where to begin or how much to say. I tried hard not to care what he thought of me. What anyone thought of me. It rarely worked.

“It’s a sort of, um, hereditary condition? I guess?” I winced at the question in my voice and forced my posture straight, trying to get a grip on myself, God that encounter must have shaken me more than I thought. “I’m an empath; I can feel other people’s feelings. When she was sniffing me I could feel her aggression, and her strength.”

“It’s more than that,” he said decisively, as if people told him they were empaths everyday.

“Uh, right, sure, whatever. What did you mean when you said I ‘dominated’ her?” I asked, shifting the conversation before I had to explain my empathy any further. The fewer details the better. People never like it much when they realize that when I say, ‘I can read other people’s feelings’ I also mean I can read their feelings. Kyle was projecting nothing but reassurance and acceptance, but at my question he threw in a dash of excitement with a chaser of consideration, as though he too was unsure of how much he could say.

“She was displaying her power, trying to subdue you in case you were a threat. Alexa’s way too territorial. And then, all of a sudden you gave off this burst of power, like pure energy, and it was too much for her. She couldn’t compete with you, so she backed down.”

Well sure, cause that made sense. I rubbed my temples silently for a minute. He was feeling like he’d said more than he should have, and I could tell there was a lot more he wasn’t telling me. It was infinitely frustrating to be told that yes, my new clients were, in fact, residents of the weird, maybe even something weirder than I’d ever come across before, and then see him shut down about it before he’d even begun to explain. I’d never met another empath besides my dead father. The psychics and witches were close, but they weren’t like me, not really. What if these people could help me learn more about myself?

“You do realize that none of that makes any sense to me, right?”

“I’m sorry. I’ll have to talk to Raine when we get back. I can’t tell you anything else right now.” He gave me a crooked grin and shrugged.

He was genuinely sorry, and as irritating as waiting to get an explanation was,

I did have work to do. I shoved my key in the ignition and settled in for the long drive back to Lower Manhattan.

The drive back was a little shorter since I had Kyle to keep me from getting lost again, but it was still over two hours (and a very cold boat ride) later that we split up at the terminal on Staten Island, with me taking the picture because he could give a better verbal description. We asked everyone and anyone from terminal workers to food vendors to commuters. When I ran out of people to bother, I grabbed a coffee and sat down. No one had seen Conor get off the ferry, but Nicolas seemed pretty damn sure he got on the boat. I could only think of three possibilities, someone forced him to disguise himself somehow, he rode right back to the other side without disembarking, or he took a very cold swim in some very nasty water. That last one made me shiver. I looked for Kyle, thinking we may as well ask around on the other side now, and saw his brightly colored head hurrying towards me from the other end of the terminal.

“Rella, someone saw him.”

“What? I talked to twice as many people as you and got nothing, are you sure it was him?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. Look, I know this sucks for you, I know this isn’t what you expected when you said you’d help us, but I have to talk to Raine before I can tell you more,” he said.

I felt a frown wrinkle my brow. How did they expect me to work like this?

The next boat was about to board, and we joined the mob of people standing at the gate. I tugged my scarf tighter around my neck and tried to ignore how Kyle pressed himself against my back in the crush of commuters. When we finally made it up the ramp and onto the boat, I beelined for concessions and ordered two beers. I silently handed the second one to Kyle, popped the top on my own, and took a long swallow before slumping into a seat. We watched St. George slip away behind us, the quiet more or less companionable. I finished my beer too quickly and made a snap decision to grab another, my car could stay where it was for a while if I caught a buzz.

“Uh, are you ok?” Kyle asked when I sat back down beside him.

I scowled down at my drink before nodding, “Yeah, yeah I’m fine.”

He gave me a skeptical look but didn’t push.

“Ok, so maybe not exactly fine, but I’ll be ok.” I was frustrated bordering on angry with the way this case was going so far. I wanted answers, about what happened back at the house with Alexa, about whatever they weren’t telling me about Conor, about what these people were, since they so obviously weren’t norms. I sighed. None of this was Kyle’s fault. I shouldn’t take it out on him. I forced a small smile, made easier by the fuzzy warmth the second beer was already providing. “Really, I will.”

Kyle nodded, apparently satisfied, and chucked his empty into a garbage can. He pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket and held it out to me. “Here, this is the description of the man Conor was seen with.” I nodded, glancing at it before shoving it into my pocket. The man I would be looking for was tall with short bleached-blond hair, slicked back, possibly blue eyes, and thin. He also had some kind of tattoo on his left arm, but apparently the witness didn’t get a good look at it. Well, it was somewhere to start. I guess.

By the time we disembarked I was pleasantly buzzed and in a much better mood for it. I figured I’d head to the office for a while before coming back for my car.

“Hey, can you take a train home? I’m not gonna be driving anywhere for a while,” I said, a little guiltily. I hadn’t factored Kyle into my plans for the rest of the day.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine, don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll probably just head out to Nicolas’ place for the night anyway.” He flashed that melt-me smile, squeezed my shoulder, and took off. I watched until I couldn’t see his bright hair in the crowd anymore, wondering just what I’d gotten myself into.