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Mattie stood at the bottom of a hill and stared upward, breathing in the salty air of Seattle and then exhaling in a long sigh. “Do we really have to climb that?” she groaned. “Whose idea was it to build a major city in such ridiculous topography?”
“I don’t think they quite thought it through like that,” Trevor agreed. He consulted his GPS. “But, yes, we do have to walk up the hill if we want to get to West Magic.”
Mattie was exhausted. The past few days had been a blur of crash training – Mattie with Ida and Trevor learning from Tom. Mattie could now close a door without fearing for the solidity of the house, but she didn’t feel anywhere near ready to take on the Auditors.
Nevertheless, she had insisted that they leave – the longer Tillie was missing, the more likely she would stay missing forever, and it didn’t help that Ida kept referencing her aunt Ines, who was sounding more and more like Tillie every day.
Mattie sighed again and the pair began the long hike up the hill. They paused halfway up.
“Are we there yet?” Mattie asked. “I still say we should have called Cam; he would have been totally willing to chauffeur us around town.”
“His wife hates you,” Trevor pointed out.
Mattie shrugged. “That’s her problem. Anyway, we could have crashed at their house. Now we’ll have to walk back down this hill again just to waste our money on a motel.”
“It just feels a little bit sketchy.” Trevor raised an eyebrow. “Taking advantage of your ex like that.” He consulted the map on his phone. “Anyway, it’s only four more blocks.”
Mattie glanced upward again. “Oh, good. Only three of those are hill. And it’s not like that with Cam. It’s been ten years, and he’s happily married; we’re just friends.”
“If you say so. I’ve noticed that whenever someone’s current partner doesn’t like their ex, it’s usually because they can sense unresolved feelings,” Trevor said. “But I guess you know your own relationships better than I do. Ready?”
Mattie took a swig from her insulated purple water bottle and adjusted the straps of her backpack. They had come straight from the airport after their red-eye and still carried everything they’d brought on their backs. “Now I am.”
As they crested the hill, Mattie paused again to take another drink. She wandered forward a few paces to better hear a flannel-shirted guitarist picking out a complicated tune on his strings. She dug in her pocket. “Hey, Trevor, you got any change?”
“Hmm?” He turned. “Oh, yeah, I think so.” Trevor pulled out a black leather coin purse and dropped a few quarters into the busker’s tip jar.
The musician glanced up at the tinkle of the coins hitting the glass of the blue vintage mason jar he was using to collect his earnings. “Thanks,” he said without pausing his fingerpicking.
“You’re really good,” said Mattie. “I always wanted to learn the guitar, but I played the flute first, and was never quite able to make the transition.”
The guitarist laughed. “I can see where that would be tricky.”
Just then, a slim blonde woman in a red peacoat hurried past. She knocked the tip jar over with her foot, spilling coins everywhere. The woman kept walking without giving the jar or its owner a second glance.
“Excuse me,” called Mattie.
The woman kept walking, and Mattie jogged forward, grabbing her arm. “Hey! You knocked over that guy’s jar.”
The woman sneered. “And?”
Mattie’s eyebrows rose. “And you should fucking pick it up.”
“Why don’t you pick it up, if you’re so nice?” The woman began to turn away again. Mattie stuck out a foot to trip her, and she stumbled, grabbing onto the brick corner of the magic shop to regain her balance.
“‘Nice’ isn’t really a value of mine,” said Mattie. “I would go more with compassion and respect for my fellow humans. Now pick up this fellow human’s jar.”
When the woman turned back to Mattie, her face was twisted with rage. “Listen to me, you little busybody. You have no idea who you’re dealing with, do you understand me? I could end you and your little friends here. Fucking end you. Do you hear me?” She gestured toward the busker. “This jobless idiot sits here day in and day out and if it isn’t him, it’s one of his equally grubby little pals, living out pathetic little lives on the streets of this city, and anytime you or one of your hippy-dippy compatriots gives them a pittance of your own money, you just encourage them. I’m sick of it. I work hard for my money. Yeah, I kicked over his little cup. Big deal. In the grand scheme of things, who cares?”
Mattie looked her in the eye. “I care.”
“Well, bully for you,” said the woman. She turned again and continued on her way, pulling a set of keys out of her pocket as she walked forward toward a nearby shop door. She paused and unlocked the shop, opening the door with a clatter of bells and stalking through it without another glance toward them.
Mattie looked at the sign in the shop window. West Magic Supply.
“Oh, crap,” she said. “That was Fawn Thompson, wasn’t it?”
“Dammit, Mattie!” said Trevor. He was crouched beside the busker, dropping the last of the scattered coins into the jar. “I mean, you’re right, and you wouldn’t be you if you hadn’t done what you just did, but – dammit, Mattie!”
“Yeah, that’s Fawn,” said the musician, his lips twisted in a wry frown. “She’s a real piece of work. I’m not jobless. I have a job – it’s playing music.” He lowered his voice. “And she’s weird, too. She told me once she could put a spell on me, and you heard her a minute ago... She can ‘end you?’ What is that? Thanks for sticking up for me.”
“You’re welcome,” said Mattie with a sigh. “Unfortunately, I think by doing so, I may have burned a bridge I really needed to cross.”
“Maybe she didn’t get a good look at me,” said Trevor. “I can still go in and ask about Tillie.”
“Here’s the thing, though,” said Mattie. “If she doesn’t know Tillie, that won’t help. But if she did know Tillie, she would have recognized me.”
“Oh, shit,” said Trevor. “You’re right. Except – wait, we know that she knows Tillie, because she called Tillie. And why did she keep saying that Tillie wasn’t in, if Tillie had never been there to begin with?”
“Because she’s psychotic,” guessed Mattie. “Well, it can’t hurt for you to go in and ask – can more damage really be done at this point?”
She turned her head as the door to West Magic opened up again.
“You and you.” Fawn pointed to Mattie and Trevor. “Get away from my shop or I’ll press charges.”
“Charges?” Mattie yelled. “What charges?”
“You assaulted me,” said Fawn stiffly. She had her red coat draped over one arm. “You put your filthy hands on me.” She shook her coat at them. “There’s grease on this now. I’ll have to have it cleaned, which is not cheap. And who knows what further plans you would have had if I hadn’t escaped your clutches.”
“Oh, please,” started Mattie.
Trevor nudged her. “Let’s just go. She’s not worth it.”
Fawn rolled her eyes. “Whatever you have to tell yourself.” She pointed to the busker. “You get the fuck out of here too. You’re trespassing.”
“This is a public sidewalk,” the busker said. “I have every right to be here and you know it.”
“You’re impeding traffic to my store,” said Fawn. “Who are the cops going to believe? I’m a respectable shop owner.”
“You own a magic shop,” the musician snorted. “You’re the laughingstock of the block.”
“Why, you little–”
The busker stopped her with a dismissive gesture. “I’m going, I’m going. This guy’s right – you’re not worth it.” He began to gather up his things. “Come on,” he said to Mattie and Trevor. “I’ll buy you guys a coffee to thank you for what you did. You’ve got some class. Not like some.” He glared at Fawn as he accepted Trevor’s help in rising up off the ground.
“I’m Phil,” he told them as he led the way into a fragrant coffee shop right next door.
“I’m Mattie and this is Trevor.” Mattie ran a tired hand through her hair. It felt like they’d lost before they’d even really begun.
Each time they’d called the shop, Fawn had told them that Tillie wasn’t in “right then.” And when they’d asked when she would be, they’d been told that she was “not at liberty to give out that information.”
Which was fair. Mattie had worked in a café all through college, and creepers used to call and ask for peoples’ schedules sometimes. The best policy was always to refuse, because, well, they were creepers. Fawn had no way to know she and Trevor weren’t.
But now it appeared that Tillie hadn’t been there at all. Did Fawn even know Tillie? Why would she have phrased it that way if Tillie wasn’t working for her?
How were they going to find out if Tillie had been there? She turned to Trevor. “We need to regroup. What’s our Plan B?”
“We don’t have one. Why didn’t we do a Plan B? We had twelve hours of flight time, and all we did was read,” said Trevor ruefully. “We should always do a Plan B.”
“Where are you guys from?” asked Phil.
“St. Louis,” said Trevor.
Mattie opened her mouth to say that she lived in Portland, but closed it before any words got out. Did she live in Portland? She no longer had an apartment or a job there.
You might as well say she lived in that tiny town in Utah where all of her stuff was stored.... There was nothing left for her in Portland except for a divorce court date. When was that, again? She couldn’t remember – she’d have to check her phone.
Which she also didn’t have anymore.
Suddenly, Mattie felt so alone and lost that her blue eyes filled with tears. She wiped at her eyes as surreptitiously as she could and turned her attention back to Trevor and Phil’s conversation. Trevor was talking about Tillie, although Mattie noticed he was carefully avoiding any mention of magic or secret societies.
“And we thought she might have started working at that shop because we know she was in touch with the owner and it just kind of seems like something Tillie would do. When we spoke to Fawn on the phone, it sounded that way too,” he ended lamely.
Phil studied Trevor for a long moment before speaking. “Look, it’s none of my business, but it feels like you’re leaving a few things out.” He held up a hand to forestall Trevor’s impending interruption. “Like I said, it’s none of my business. You seem like good people and I’m inclined to do you a solid. I’ll keep an eye on the shop, and on my days off, I’ll ask another friend to post up in that spot and watch it. I’ll let you know if we see your sister.”
“Wow, thank you!” said Mattie. “That’s so nice!” Her eyes threatened to brim over again.
Phil laughed. “It’s not ‘nice.’ It’s compassionate and respectful of my fellow human being. And it’s the least I can do.”
They reached the front of the line, faced with a frowning barista with black-dyed hair cut in heavy bangs. Both of her arms were inked with huge colorful hibiscus flowers from shoulder to wrist. “Can I help you?” she asked in a monotone without looking up from her cellphone.
“Eight-ounce americano for me, please, room for cream, to go,” said Phil. He gestured toward Mattie and Trevor. “And whatever they’re getting.”
The barista put down her phone and raised her eyebrows at them. “Well?”
“Oh. Sorry. Chai latte, please,” said Mattie. “Breve.”
The spiky-haired young woman behind the counter emitted a world-weary sigh. “Size?”
Mattie gave her a sunny smile. “Eight-ounce, please. I’ll take mine for here.”
The barista rolled her eyes. “Oh, goody. And for you?” She directed her heavy-lidded glare at Trevor.
“A cappuccino, same size,” he said.
“Suit yourself,” said the barista, dourly. She scowled at them as she punched their order into her system without looking at the screen. “Thirteen-eighty.”
“Is she going to poison our drinks?” Mattie muttered to Trevor as Phil handed over his card.
“Looks like someone else is actually on the machine,” he responded, nodding his head toward an equally grim young man slamming around pitchers and portafilters behind the coffee bar.
“Uh-huh. So is he going to poison our drinks?”
“It seems likely,” Trevor said.
“Well, at least then we won’t have to worry about Auditors,” said Mattie.
Trevor slung an arm around Mattie’s shoulders. “See, that’s what I love about you, Matts. Always looking on the bright side.”
Phil finished paying for the drinks and ushered them toward a couch to wait.
“She sure was sweet, huh?” said Mattie.
“Welcome to Seattle,” grinned Phil.
***
The next hour was spent brainstorming Plan B while sipping on their actually amazing drinks. Where they lacked in customer service, those coffee slingers absolutely knew their way around an espresso machine. The chai turned out to be a locally-made concentrate and was delightfully spicy, the latte made with the perfect thin layer of foam on top.
“I still say we give it a couple of days before we call again,” Trevor said, scooping mounds of flawlessly executed foam from his cup with his tiny spoon. “What if she puts two and two together?”
“But what two is she even going to put together with the other two?” asked Mattie, exasperated.
“What?” Trevor squinted at her. “Was that a real sentence?”
Mattie took a deep breath, collecting her thoughts and her patience. She set down her hemispheric mug. “You’re saying if we call her or send someone to ask about Tillie, she might associate that with us, right?”
“Right. And get her guard up. We need to wait for her to calm down and forget she saw us,” said Trevor.
“But if she didn’t recognize me as looking like Tillie,” argued Mattie, “she’s not going to connect us with her. We didn’t mention Tillie at all. Anyway, she’s a speller, right? Take it from me, she isn’t dwelling on this. She’s probably moved past it already.”
“So we send someone else in and have them ask about Tillie,” said Trevor. “And see if she gives away more in person than on the phone? But who?”
Mattie smacked her hand flat against the table. “I’ll say it one more time! We need to call Cameron!”
Trevor frowned. “Your ex, though? Do you really want to get him involved?”
“You have to admit he’s completely inoffensive. No one would ever suspect he was up to anything at all. He’ll go in, be his charming self, look around, ask some questions, get some answers.”
“I don’t know,” said Trevor. “It just seems like it’ll complicate things. You guys dated for a long time.”
Mattie waved away his objections. “A long time ago. I’m going to call him.”
“You have his number memorized?”
“Oh, right, I keep forgetting my phone is gone.” She sighed. “Well, I know where he lives.”
Trevor’s eyebrows shot up. “And you’re going to send him a letter?”
Mattie grinned at him. “Oh, I think you know what we’re going to do.”
“Again with the barging in on people,” Trevor groaned. “Why? Why with the barging in?”
“Got a better idea?” Mattie drained her last sip of chai. “I feel like if you had a better idea you’d have said it by now, and you just haven’t. Sooooooo....”
“Fine.” Trevor stood up. “Let’s get this over with.”
***
“Nice neighborhood,” commented Trevor as they disembarked from the bus in Queen Anne.
Mattie looked around and shrugged. “I guess the podiatry game is going well. His house isn’t as big as these ones, though.” She gestured toward the grand homes they were walking past. “It’s a couple blocks down. I think.”
“You think?
“It’s been a couple of years since I’ve been here,” she said, defensively.
“And you’re sure this is going to be okay?” Trevor fretted. “What if he isn’t home?”
“Then we’ll wait,” Mattie said. “Or come up with Plan C.”
“We should have come up with twenty-six of these things – A through Z,” Trevor muttered.
“Come on, this is it.” Mattie stopped in front of a two-story white house with a manicured lawn in front of it. A Japanese maple stood in the center of the yard.
Mattie led the way up the driveway. She paused on the front porch. “Actually, this doesn’t look right.”
“Maybe they’ve changed up their porch décor since you were here last,” Trevor suggested.
Mattie turned around, peering up and down the street. “I think maybe this isn’t the right house.”
Trevor sighed. “Okay. So where is the right house?”
She led the way back out onto the sidewalk. There was another white house two doors down that also had a Japanese maple in the yard. Mattie stood between them, biting her thumbnail and swiveling her head back and forth.
“Mattie?” said Trevor, his voice sharp. “Which house is Cameron’s?”
“It had a balcony, I think,” she muttered.
“Neither of those houses has a balcony!” said Trevor.
“Okay, so it’s not either of those houses,” said Mattie. “Let’s keep walking.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Trevor marched over to the sign at the next corner, pointing up at it. “Are you even sure this is the right street?”
Mattie squinted up at it. “Yeah. I remember that he lives on Lynn St. I remember that I thought it was funny because Lynn was the name of the girl he dated right after he and I broke up.”
“Okay,” said Trevor, continuing down the street. “Well, that’s not that funny, but I feel a little better. Let’s just keep walking, then. So, it’s a white house with a Japanese maple and a balcony.”
“It has a balcony, for sure,” said Mattie.
Trevor paused again. “It’s not a white house?”
“I think it is,” said Mattie. “It might have been a pale blue. With white trim.”
“And the maple?”
“Yeah, it definitely has a maple. I think. Probably. Totally. Yes.”
“Mattie!”
Then she saw it. “There! That’s the one!” She skipped ahead and stood in front of a pale green house with a huge oak tree in front. A tire swing hung from one of its limbs. “See? Balcony!”
“Mattie, this house looks nothing like the other one,” said Trevor. “How can you be so sure?”
Mattie grinned and pointed to the mailbox at the curb and the square lettered stickers which spelled out B-O-L-I-N. “It’s the Bolin residence. Plus, balcony.”
Trevor smiled and shook his head. “Mattie, half these houses have balconies. You’re ridiculous.”
She nodded vigorously. “Yes, I am. But I found it.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “You sure did! Let’s go a-barging, then.”
They walked up the driveway, sidling past the black SUV parked there. That seemed like a good sign that someone was home. Mattie hoped it was Cameron and not Rebecca. Trevor was right – Rebecca didn’t like her and only tolerated their continuing friendship. One of those people who just couldn’t let bygones be bygones.
Mattie rang the bell and they waited. After a couple of minutes, the door opened a crack and a sliver of wary face peeked out.
Then the door was flung open and Cameron stood there.
But it was not the Cameron she was used to seeing. Cameron usually looked like your stereotypical 1950s professional man – clean-shaven, well-scrubbed, and wearing a navy blue suit. This Cameron looked like he’d been living under a bridge for two weeks – scruffy chin stubble, ragged bathrobe, hair sticking up every which way, and the smell....
“Mattie!” he yelled with a huge smile. Then his smile faded, his face going somber. “You’ve come back to me in my time of need.”
“Cameron?” she said. “Are you okay?” She looked more closely at his red, puffy eyes. “Have you been crying?”
Then she caught sight of the empty bottle dangling from his fingers. “Have you been drinking?”
Trevor snapped his fingers. “Social media! That’s what we should have done instead of barging in. We should have sent him a message on literally any social media platform.”
“Fair enough,” said Mattie. “Too late now.”
“Come in, come in. Travis, good to see you again, my man, how’ve you been?” Cameron stepped aside for them to enter.
“It’s Trevor, actually,” he said absently as he followed Mattie into the house.
Mattie looked around, eyes wide. She’d been here once before, and it had been magazine-spread immaculate. Today it looked like the house equivalent of, well, drunk Cameron.
“Trevor, of course, I’m sorry. How’ve you been?” Cameron grabbed Trevor’s hand in both of his and began pumping it up and down.
“I’m good,” said Trevor, gently grasping Cameron’s arm in his other hand and pulling his own free. “And how are you? You seem.... How are you?”
Cameron leaned close to Trevor. “I’m great. I mean, between you and me, I’ve been better. Don’t tell Mattie, but she’s right about the crying. And the drinking.”
“Yeah, I can hear you, Cam,” said Mattie. “Listen, we came to ask you for a favor, but I think maybe you could use a little bit of taking care of yourself. I’m going to guess, from the state of things, that Rebecca is not here?”
“Mattie, you’ve always been so in tune with the world, you know, you just, you always know just what’s happening around you,” said Cameron. He staggered over to Mattie and leaned his head against her shoulder. “You are one hundred percent correct. Rebecca is gone. Goooooone. Gone away.”
“Well, I’m sorry to hear that,” said Mattie, turning her head slightly in an effort to escape the smell of red wine and unwashed ex-boyfriend. It was mostly unsuccessful. The smell permeated the space. “Let’s go ahead and get you into bed right now. I think you’re going to feel a lot better after you sleep this off, and then we can talk about what happened, okay?”
“Okay,” said Cameron. “You’re so great.” He tried to stroke her hair and got his fingers tangled in it. “And so pretty. You don’t look a day over thirty-five.”
“I’m thirty-four,” said Mattie, gently extracting her long hair from his sticky hand. “Which way is your bedroom?”
“No, really,” said Cameron. “I mean it, Mattie. You’re sooooooo great. You’re the greatest.”
“Thank you,” said Mattie. She met Trevor’s dancing eyes over Cameron’s head. “You’re great too. Where’s your bedroom?”
“I don’t know,” said Cameron. “Did you check upstairs, maybe? I feel like bedrooms are often on the second floor, right? Why do you think that is?”
“There’s no way he’s getting upstairs,” laughed Trevor.
“Is there a bedroom downstairs, buddy?” said Mattie.
“I think so,” said Cameron. “It seems like I remember that. Maybe it’s a den. Is a den like a bedroom?”
“Sometimes,” said Mattie. “Trevor, do you think maybe you want to help?”
Trevor headed down a hallway to check for a spare bedroom.
Cameron raised his magnum to take another swig of wine.
“No, no.” Mattie deftly caught the bottle before it could reach his lips. “I think we’re done with that for the moment.” She pried it from his fingers and glanced at the label. “Seriously? You usually have such great taste. Did you get this at a gas station?”
Cameron nodded. “I sure did. It was econom- econinomical and convenient.” Then he clutched his stomach. “Where’s your bathroom?”
“We’re in your house, Cam,” said Mattie.
“Too late!” yelled Cameron, and then he leaned forward and vomited into a basket of throw pillows.
“I found a bedroom,” said Trevor from behind Mattie.
“Thank goodness,” she muttered.
As Cameron straightened back up, Mattie guided him toward the hallway. “Come on, old buddy. Let’s get you all tucked in.”
“You’re s’r’sly the best,” Cameron mumbled. “Don’t tell whatsername I said so.”
“Who?” said Mattie.
“R’becca. Stupid wife. Left me.” Cameron began to cry again. “She’s so great. I miss her so much.”
Trevor and Mattie supported him, one on each side, into the bedroom and onto the bed. Mattie spotted a wastebasket in a corner and placed it on the floor beside Cameron’s head. “Sleep it off, okay?”
He was snoring before they left the room.
***
Mattie met Trevor’s eyes as she closed the bedroom door. “Okay, I admit it. Barging in was maybe not the best idea.”
He shook his head with a chuckle. “No, I have to disagree. That poor bastard needs us.”
“What about Tillie, though?” said Mattie, leading the way back out into the living room.
“You know what?” he said. “We’ve been rushing after Tillie so fast we’re probably missing something. Let’s take this as a sign that we deserve some respite. Let’s take a few hours and make twenty-four more plans, so we’re prepared for anything. And let’s clean this house while we do it because this place is insane.”
“Well, at least we won’t have to waste money on staying in a hotel,” Mattie said. “We’re definitely staying here for as long as we’re in Seattle.”
“Really?” Trevor raised an eyebrow. He picked up the basket that Cameron had just puked into, holding it out at arm’s length. “Yeah, actually, now that you mention it, I think accommodations in exchange for extreme maid duty seems fair.”
“I think that’s trash now,” said Mattie, nodding at the basket in Trevor’s hand. She wrinkled her nose at the smell.
“No, I’ll just take it outside and hose it off,” he said.
Mattie followed him through the large, airy kitchen, which was strewn with dirty glasses and half-empty take-out containers. “Jeez, how long has Rebecca been gone, do you think?”
Trevor paused and scanned the mess. “I’d say about four days. And I’m guessing Cameron has been drinking steadily the entire time.” He gestured toward the door with the basket. “Do you mind?”
“Open sesame,” said Mattie. Her hands glowed and the trail of mystical light drifted toward the door, which unlocked itself and drifted open.
“Ah, so gentle with Cameron’s house,” teased Trevor.
“Well, like you said, the poor bastard’s already been through a lot,” said Mattie.
They went outside onto the deck and found a green hose coiled up to one side, attached to a spigot.
Trevor gingerly dumped the pillows out onto the wooden slats of the deck and set down the basket on its side, bracing it against one of the built-in benches lining the edge.
Mattie waited for him to step back and then turned on the hose, squeezing the nozzle to shower the soiled contents with water. As she watched the pillows skitter across the deck only to be stopped by the benches, she began to think out loud. “Okay, so Plan B is still viable, depending on whether sober Cameron thinks we’re as great as drunk Cameron did. Cleaning his house should help with that. But if he won’t help, what’s Plan C?”
“Or if Plan B goes nowhere,” Trevor pointed out. “If Cameron goes and asks about Tillie, but still can’t get a straight answer or if she just tells him Tillie isn’t in town and has no plans to be. What then?”
“There’s still Phil and company keeping watch over the shop,” Mattie pointed out. “We can call that Plan C, right?”
She walked closer to the pillows, spraying them at closer range as they became clean-ish again.
“We’ll want to stick those in the wash, for sure,” said Trevor. “I guess our plan really needs to depend on our end goal.”
“Find Tillie.” Mattie frowned at him. “Isn’t that our end goal?”
“Not really,” said Trevor. “Our end goal is Tillie being safe. Right?”
“Well, yes,” said Mattie. “Find and save Tillie.”
“I’ve been thinking, though,” said Trevor. “What if Tillie doesn’t need saving? What if she’s just holed up somewhere right now, studying how to be a speller and a stitcher as well as a seer, and she just doesn’t even need us? Maybe she’s got the Auditors as stumped as she’s got us, and we’re just wasting our time.”
Mattie frowned. “Are you suggesting we stop looking?”
“No,” said Trevor, slowly. “Certainly not yet, at least. I’m saying there may come a time when it makes the most sense to stop looking. And I’m saying we should be careful, too – what if our search ends up putting her in more danger?”
“You mean, like, what if someone attacks one of us and takes our phone and uses its contents to help find her?”
“Don’t beat yourself up, Mattie,” said Trevor. “I really don’t think there was anything on that phone that could lead them to her.”
“No, but you’re right,” she said. “We’re just bumbling around – no idea what we’re doing. How do we even expect to be able to help Tillie at all?”
“Well, I was thinking,” said Trevor. “And this is probably Plan, like, W, but what if at some point, we turned you into her?”
Mattie raised her eyebrows. “What?”
“Hear me out. What if we made you look like her – and then made them think they killed you?”
Mattie’s arm jerked as she spun toward Trevor, the hose spraying him.
“Hey!” he protested. “What was that for?”
“Well, it sounds an awful lot like something that could get me actually killed!” she yelled, spraying him again to drive the point home. “Let’s not trade one dead sister for another!”
“It was just a thought,” he mumbled. “I mean, what else would get these guys off her back once and for all? It seems like they’re determined to hunt her down and they don’t seem like the types to accept defeat. So the only thing to do is give them victory. Or perceived victory, anyway.”
“Yeah, I see your point,” she said. “Plan W, right? So pretty much a last resort?”
“Definitely,” he reassured her. “I mean, technically Plan Z is the last resort, but this is pretty close.”
“So, what’s Plan Z, then?” she asked.
“Giving up, I think,” said Trevor.