AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Umm, hi,” says a man with a somewhat hesitant, shaky tone of voice. “Do you accept missing persons cases?”
“I do.”
“Can you help me find my sister?” asks the guy. Kudos to him for cutting to the chase about as fast as any potential new client.
“Quite possibly, yes. I will need some more details, of course.” I sit on the edge of my bed.
The guy clears his throat. “Let me start over. Sorry. I’m a bit emotional. My name is Scott Fulton. My sister Gemma has been missing since Friday before last. The police aren’t having any luck finding her. I’m not sure how much you might be able to help but I had to try. One of the cops gave me the number for a detective… a guy named Sherbet, I believe. He suggested I call you.”
Oof. Sherbet? That must mean the police are either baffled or he suspects this disappearance to have supernatural overtones. A referral from him always gets my attention. It’s almost like hearing the detective say ‘this is above our pay grade, Sammy; you should help this guy.’
“I know Detective Sherbet. If he thinks I can help you, I’m listening.”
“What do we do next?”
“Let’s meet? Would you prefer to stop by my office or get coffee?”
“You mean now?”
I shrug, though he can’t see my shrug.Friday before last.So, at least eight days. Hate to say it, but if it’s already been that long, the odds of finding Gemma alive are tiny. After the first forty-eight hours, the game usually changes from rescue to a search for justice… or answers. After two days, the chances of a happy ending to a missing person case are statistically suboptimal. “If you want. Or first thing tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow morning would be better,” says Scott.
We make plans to meet at a Starbucks just after nine and hang up.
“Anyone want dessert?” calls Anthony from the kitchen.
I hurry back down the hall. “Absolutely. What did you make?”
“I’m guessing angel food cake,” deadpans Paxton, once again pausing the movie.
“Or something French no one here can pronounce, tastes amazing, and has enough calories in one bite to sustain a person for three days,” I say, chuckling.
Anthony leans into the archway to roll his eyes at us. He chuckles, shaking his head, then holds up a baking sheet covered in dark brown discs. “Just chocolate chip cookies.” He grins. “Dipped in Ghirardelli dark chocolate and flaked with pink sea salt.”
I shake my head. “There it is.”
Chapter Four
A Little Catty
Tammy awoke with a dull headache.
The little hut of woven branches, flowers, and mushrooms she’d been living in for the past almost ten years was gone. She sat up in a bed she almost forgot about, in a room that felt as if she hadn’t seen in a lifetime. Her ordinary T-shirt and sweats felt confining, too tight, too inflexible. The modern bedroom struck her as both comfortingly familiar and starkly alien.
In a groggy haze, she stumbled out of bed and made her way down the hall to the kitchen. She went out the back door to the yard and got halfway to the bushes in the corner of the fence before she remembered bathrooms and toilets existed. Thankfully, her brain woke up before she did anything more embarrassing than walk outside.
“Duh.” She rubbed her forehead, turned around, and went back into the house.
After reacquainting herself with modern plumbing, Tammy staggered once more to the kitchen and stood there feeling the worst jetlag ever known by humankind. Maple and the other faeries had a giant ‘farewell’ party for her last night. She’d grown up all over again from eight-ish to around eighteen. Rather than going to school, she’d spent what felt like years frolicking in the forest in between learning how to tap into the magic her bloodline carried, communing with natural spirits, and feeling the energy of life.
Two disparate histories collided in her brain. At any given moment, her ‘real’ life felt like a dream and the faerie child upbringing seemed real. The next, the faerie village faded into fantasy as life with Mom took firmer hold of her thoughts. In a crazy, unexpected twist, Mom’s stories of how weird her mother was made sense. Not so much how grandma paid so little attention to her kids that Mary Lou had to step in and take care of them, but the eccentric hippie stuff. It made Tammy wonder if Mom’s mother might be far more interesting—as in magical—than either of them ever suspected.
Ugh. Could she have kept distance from the kids to hide the supernatural stuff? Maybe. Or maybe she was a crappy mother. Who knows?
Years of memories from two different childhoods streamed together in a disorienting blur. It felt like she’d been away from her modern home forever. Yet, at the same time, yesterday felt like yesterday.
“Tam…” Mom, still wearing the t-shirt and sweat pants she’d slept in, hurried over. “Are you all right? You look…”
