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Chapter 1
Aubrey
“George! You get your big, fat butt down here,now!”
As soon as the words left my mouth, I realized how insane the situation was. It was Thanksgiving in Maryland, the sky a deep gray, the chill wind whipping snow all around me—snow that was accumulating at my feet more and more with each passing second.
Instead of being back at the farm in front of a crackling fire with a big plate of turkey and stuffing and all the fixings in front of me, I was out in the cold chasing around the unruliest llama I’d ever known in my life. And in my line of work, I’d met a lot of llamas.
“George!”
He didn’t care. The big, white beast glanced in my direction from a hundred paces away for just long enough to snort, his big tongue hanging dumbly out of his mouth. If I didn’t know that this particular goofy expression was his default look, I would’ve sworn that he was mocking me.
I broke into a run, trying to cut the distance between us a bit. As soon as he realized what I was doing, however, he broke out into a trot, heading further up Halbrook Trail, the wooded path that seemed to be his favorite place to go when he pulled one of his frequent escape acts.
“Ah, hell.”
I took off my hat, shaking the snow out of the brim before starting after him. My mouth was watering as I hurried, thoughts of buttermilk biscuits topped with fresh clotted cream and homemade jam filling my mind. My best friend and roommate Aggie and I had decided to go all out this year, waking up at the crack of dawn to prepare the feast of a lifetime. We’d stocked up at the store in anticipation of the snowstorm ahead, both of us looking forward to a few days of burrowing in, eating our leftovers, and watching whatever was good on Netflix in front a roaring fire.
Sounded like heaven. That is, until I happened to look up through the window over the kitchen sink to see that George was missing.
“George!”
I was beyond frustrated. I’d been chasing the animal for a good half an hour, and my legs were starting to burn underneath me. Wanting to get to him as fast as possible, I broke out into a jog, heading up the snaking path of Halbrook Trail, the winding, snow-dusted dirt road leading me up through the hills overlooking the land I called home.
A few minutes of jogging and still no sign of the jerk. Needing a bit of a break, I reached into my pocket and took out the small thermos of cider that Aggie had sent me off with. I unscrewed the cap and sipped, the warm, tart deliciousness washing over my palate. As I enjoyed the cider, I took a moment to look out over the rolling expanse of my land.
Downing Farm, named after the man who’d started it all the way back in colonial times, was a hell of a place. Situated in the hills of the central Maryland panhandle, it was a little slice of heaven that had been in my family for generations, passed down to me when my father died last year.
It was a hell of a lot of work. Chasing down ornery llamas was the least of it all. As I stood there at the middle point of Halbrook Trail, admiring the view of the seemingly endless landscape dotted with birch, cedar, and butternut trees, with small ponds here and there looking like little teardrops, the daily grind of keeping the place up and running seemed to fall away.
I could spot the farm itself from where I stood, the two-story farmhouse situated in the center of it all, the big red barn off to the side. Truth be told, Downing Farm was more of a ranch these days, with more space dedicated to pigs and cows and, of course, llamas, than crops. But shaking off an old name like that was no small thing, so I let it slide.
Another chill wind hit me as I stared out onto the landscape, reminding me of the task at hand. I pulled my scarf tight around my neck and returned my attention to the trail, catching a quick flash of George’s white-and-black-spotted fur as he peeked around the trunk of one of the many trees.
“George!” I called out as I hurried in his direction. “You get back herenowor no more play time for you and Larry for the next… hundred years!” Larry was George’s brother, and by this point I was damn sure that the two of them got a sick thrill out of egging one another on, each encouraging the other to get up to the sort of trouble that kept me up all damn night with worry.
More snow began to gather, and I broke into double-time pace as I hurried up the trail. My neck of the woods could get some serious storms, and the last thing I wanted was to freeze to death in the process of chasing down a damn llama.
“George!” I shouted up the hill. “Alright, you drive a hard bargain, but here it is—you come out now and make this easy for me, and I’ll make you a little plate of Thanksgiving goodies.No telling Larry about it though, got it?”
No reply, of course. I kept on trudging, the snow deepening by the second.
Right in the middle of my trek, however, I heard something strange. At first, it sounded like the groaning of a branch about to give way under the weight of snow. A quick glance up let me see that, while the snow was gathering, we were still a ways off from that sort of thing happening.
I held my position for a moment, trying to catch another bit of the strange noise I’d heard.
Nothing. I sighed, chalking it up to one of the animals in the area. Then, right before I took a step, I heard something else. This time, there was no mistaking what it was.
The sound was the soft sobbing of a child.
A whimper drifted through the air, catching my heart and attention. The whimper was followed by sobs, then a gentle, “oww.”
My heart racing fast, my eyes wide, I listened carefully. More whimpering sounded from what seemed to be to my left, near the ravine along the hills of Halbrook Trail.
I cleared my throat and spoke. “Is someone there?”
The whimpering stopped, like a plug had been pulled. I listened some more, hoping to hear it again so I could pinpoint the direction.
