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Worry gnawed at my stomach as I ran down the stairs in Viv’s wake, fully aware that the deafening silence meant she hadn’t found him hiding in my room. If he wasn’t in any of our rooms, that didn’t leave a whole lot of places for a small child to hide. The kitchen cabinets were tiny and packed full. The old couch and the armchairs in the living room were too low to the ground for even a small body to fit under. Which left exactly nowhere for a scared little boy to hide.

Why didn’t you come find me, Merry? I asked silently, even though I suspected I knew the answer. Merry was a happy little kid who hated it when people argued. If he thought Viv and I were getting into it, he wouldn’t have wanted to come anywhere near us. So where did you go, then, Merry? Where are you hiding?

I’d told Art to trust me, and I had lost one of his kids. Forget keeping a few secrets from him; this was the thing he’d never be able to forgive. Shame washed over me, temporarily obliterating the panic apparently numbing my humanity.

I lost Art’s kid. What am I going to tell him? How am I going to tell him?

A sob pushed its way up my tight throat, rising from the depths of my roiling stomach, and I slapped my hand across my mouth before it could get free. I blinked back the tears prickling my eyes. My gut churned more violently as I tried to imagine dialing Art’s number and telling him his adorable mini-me was missing. I choked back down the bile flooding my mouth at the mere thought, trying not to gag.

I didn’t have to call Art right away. I could wait and let him know a little later. He was probably in the middle of his big meeting anyway. Telling him that Merry was missing when he couldn’t do anything about it would only stress him out needlessly. But even as I thought that, I recognized the instinct for what it really was, and the missing piece of the puzzle fell into place.

I hadn’t shielded Jim for his own good. I’d done it for mine. Because, when his delicate emotional balance was upset, he’d turned what he couldn’t handle back on me. I’d done us both a huge disservice by enabling that behavior, but that was neither here nor there. What mattered was that, as he kept telling me, Art could handle his own emotions. He didn’t need to dump them on me. He wanted us to support each other. Instead of doubling my emotional load, Art halved it.

The realization made my head spin, and I almost broke down into gasping sobs as I sent Art a text that I knew would gut and panic him, and I wouldn’t be there to soften the blow. The best I could do was promise to keep him updated as we kept looking for his son—sweet little Merry, who was probably terrified and wondering why we hadn’t come to his rescue yet.

Or maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he wasn’t answering us when we cried his name because he couldn’t. My breath caught and my heart thundered as I pictured him injured and unresponsive. My brain spun faster than ever as I considered every possibility and rejected each one as too improbable or too horrible to contemplate.

Stop! I yelled into my head, bringing the whirling thoughts to a crashing stop. This isn’t helping. Facts help. Not panic-fueled conjecture. The shop was closed up tight. Nial had even helped me board up the windows in preparation for the storm. Viv and I had checked all the spots where we knew Merry liked to hide. We had to be missing something. What I needed was someone who could see things others couldn’t. But for the first time in weeks, Grandma was nowhere to be seen, and I was entirely on my own.

Another loud CRACK of thunder shook the house.

“You don’t think…?” Viv’s voice trailed away as if she couldn’t bear to finish her question.

“That he went outside?” I finished in a whisper as my blood froze and my mind stuttered.

Art’s tea leaves had shown me a golden blur swirling and lost in a sea of black. It was midday, but with the storm raging right over us, other than the occasional golden flashes of lightning, it was almost as dark as night outside.

I shook my head vehemently, refusing to believe it. “No. He wouldn’t. You said it yourself. He’s scared of the storm. Why would he go outside?” I stopped talking and took a deep breath. The more shrill my voice got, the more scared Viv looked, and terrorizing the kid I hadn’t lost wasn’t going to help anyone.

“Because he knew how worried I was about Rory,” she said in a tiny voice almost too soft for me to hear. “Or because Pipsqueak got out, and he followed her.”

“Oh sh—” I slapped my hand across my mouth again before the whole word could get out, but not in time to keep Viv from hearing what I was about to say.

She wailed and dropped to her knees. “You think he’s out in the storm, and it’s because of me!” she cried.

“Hey! Hey! It’s okay. It’s going to be okay!” I said, dropping to my knees next to her. “Let’s not panic quite yet,” I said, my eyes darting around the room looking for any sign of the little boy. My breath hitched and sighed with relief as I pointed. “Look! His shoes are still by the door where he left them yesterday. He wouldn’t have gone outside without his shoes!” I reasoned.

Viv looked at me like I was the dumbest person she’d ever seen. “You did,” she deadpanned. “He’s been talking about it ever since.”

“Ah, sh…” I breathed, sitting on the floor next to her and rubbing my face tiredly. “Okay. I think it’s time to call in reinforcements,” I said.

Viv’s face brightened. “You’re going to call Dad? He’ll totally know what to do.”

I shook my head. “Already texted him. He’s stuck until the bridge opens again. I’m calling Peggy and Fiona. If anyone knows where a little boy could have gotten to on a day like this, it’ll be them.”

THIRTY-THREE

“Och, loves. Ye must be worried sick,” Peggy clucked the instant she and Fiona arrived, soaked to the bone just from running the twenty feet between our two homes.

While we’d waited for them to arrive, Viv and I had checked every room in the house a second time, calling Merry at the top of our lungs, but we hadn’t found a single strand of his golden hair or the cat’s silvery fur.

“We brought ye both some tea,” Fiona said, waving an insulated teapot. “Mam thought that ye could maybe…” She waved her fingers in front of her eyes in a gesture that I assumed meant have a vision.

I grimaced, fighting off the dark, swirling memory of the last time I’d attempted to read tea leaves. “I don’t know if that’s a great idea. Peggy, didn’t you say that being too close to what you’re trying to see can distort the visions?”

“Aye. It can. But if ye’ve searched the house top tae bottom twice, and the wee bairn’s been gone a while, it canna hurt tae try, can it?” Peggy reasoned gently.

I eyed the tea warily. “I guess it can’t.”