I heard Bianca whisper my name, jolting me from sleep. Raina slept peacefully beside me, and I grimaced when the coffin’s hinges squeaked as I pressed the lid open.
Worry lines tracked her forehead as she assisted me out. “What is it, darling?” she said, and I brought my finger to my lips. Anticipating more squeaking, I grinded my teeth while lowering the lid, then escorted her into the hallway.
I swept my bangs from an eye and observed her sheepishly. The fear I’d experienced earlier seemed a bit overdramatic now. Her sword hung at her side, the blade noticeably dull in places and discolored by things I preferred not to think about.
“I shouldn’t have bothered you, Mom. I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“Nonsense. I have never known you to raise the alarm unless the situation warranted it. Now, tell me, what is it that frightens you so?”
“It’s Raina. You know how she sometimes has those . . . premonitions?”
“Indeed, I do. The child is most intuitive.”
“Well, she had a night terror that woke her from a sound sleep.”
The beginnings of a grin died on her lips. “Children often have those, you know. Whatever was it about?”
“The Harvesters attacking Tristan.”
A frown corrupted her beautiful face. “And what would you have me say to such an obvious possibility?”
“Wow! Really? Well, definitely not that,” I said, turning away from her, fraught once again with the level of fear that flipped my stomach.
“Forgive my bluntness, Celeste,” she said, sweeping a hand through my hair. “This evening’s battle was most harrowing. However, rest assured Tristan remains unscathed.”
“All I could think of was the time Nick and I were on the Cape May-Lewes ferry and Tristan came to our rescue when the Harvesters attacked—”
“And he was nearly destroyed. Yes, I remember it well.” Bianca sighed.
“Then you must realize why I had to know nothing’s happened to him.”
She squeezed my hand and pulled me close. “Iubirea mea, you cannot possibly think I would fail to alert you should such a cataclysmic event occur?”
“No. I mean, of course, I know you would.”
She raised my chin, the tip of her long fingernail pricking my skin. “Then let us put an end to this nonsense.”
“When will he, when will all of you, come home?”
“We shall drop in as often as the situation allows, but, in truth, I anticipate a protracted battle.” She emitted a long sigh. “Once we drive those abominations from one continent, they happily invade another, amassing more recruits with each passing day.”
“Then, why can’t I help? The Realm is outnumbered. It seems to me—”
“You are not ready, my darling,” she interrupted. I was ready to protest, to remind her I assisted the Realm in taking down the Harvesters last year after they’d breached the preschool and abducted all those children when she pressed a finger to my lips. “While it is true your assistance was invaluable, our enemy now outnumbers us four to one. The enemy with whom you fought were new in the blood, Celeste, their powers rather pedestrian when compared to those possessed by the fiends we battle this day.”
“Yes, I know. And like I said, that’s all the more reason I should be there with you, Mom.”
A sly smile played across her lips, and I knew she was aware of the things I’d left unsaid. “Yes, Celeste, but the powers Nostradamus gave you, though most impressive—unarguably superior to all within the Realm—are presently uncultivated.”
Even though I’d been successful in reversing the Hidden Cloak, I knew she was right. “Okay, but what about the potion? I know Torok Laboratories has stepped up production on the COVID vaccine, internationally. We’re slipping in the potion, right?”
She looked away, wringing her hands. “I’m afraid that is presently not a viable option.”
“I understand the time constraint, but if the lab is stepping things up anyway . . .”
She blew out a long breath. “I didn’t wish to alarm you, but we absolutely cannot. The Realm’s stockpiles have dwindled, Celeste. And should our supply become tainted, should every blood donor receive the vaccine that includes the potion, well, I don’t imagine I have to tell you of the repercussions.”
I shook from my head visions of the Realm, to include my parents, Nick, Tristan, and me, feeding on the innocent, once left with no other recourse. “But isn’t there a way to identify those who have received the potion and those who have not?”
She threw her arms around me and kissed my forehead. “Despite painstaking diligence, mistakes happen, Celeste. Mistakes we cannot afford. That and time is presently a luxury. I really must go, my darling. The battle awaits.”
With that, she was gone, her lavender and tuberose scent lingering in the air. She’d done nothing to minimize my fear. Instead, with this new revelation, she’d only compounded it.
I discovered Fane sleeping soundly beneath my bed, the duvet he’d tugged from the bed shrouding his body. A sudden shift in his position revealed unusually long eyelashes, which fluttered every now and then, and a smile as tender as it was rare. He looked every bit a sleeping angel, the fiendish side of him lying dormant while he dreamed of clever ways to upend my life. I thought to wake him, to tell him Tristan was safe and that he should let Raina know if they woke before me, but then remembered my promise to her.
Seated at the small desk beneath one of Tristan’s favorite paintings—Rembrandt’s The Return of the Prodigal Son, I drew a crude picture of Tristan. Beneath it, I wrote:
Dear Raina,
The Supreme Warrior sends his love.
I crept back inside the coffin and tucked it in her tiny fist.
That evening, I delayed my return to the station so that I could spend as much time with Raina as possible. We talked about Bianca’s visit, more specifically about Tristan. Despite my doing everything conceivable to convince her that he was fine, she clung to me most of the evening. For one fleeting moment, I considered quitting my job.
I was at my wit’s end when Tristan materialized before us. My eyes rolled over his sinewy muscles, glossy dark hair, and the bloody sword he’d attempted to hide from us, slung low behind one hip. I saw the urgency in his eyes, and I knew he already had one foot out the door.
“Tell me the reason behind all this commotion,” he said, scooping Raina from my lap. “For, as you can see, I am in one piece, am I not? I still have my fingers,” he said, tickling her until she couldn’t draw a breath, “and my nose,” he said, grinning, after which he sniffed her exaggeratedly from head to toe as though he were a dog tracking a scent.
Raina’s giggles subsided, and she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. “I was horribly frightened, Tristan. I thought I shan’t ever see you again.”
“Yet, here I am,” he said, winking at me.
“Won’t you stay, Tristan? Please say you will,” she said, a tiny hand reaching up to brush his cheek.
“You know I cannot, Raina,” he said, kissing the top of her head while pulling me close. “But I shall count the minutes, no, every single second, until I see you again.”
She shook her head and tightened her grip.
“Raina,” I whispered, “the sooner the battle is won, the sooner Tristan can return. So, give him a kiss for good luck, and I’ll give him one, too.”
She pulled away and looked into my eyes. “Yes, then he shall be doubly lucky.” She smashed her lips against his cheek and wiggled her head. “Time for your kiss, Mummy.”
Tristan leaned down and our lips met and smoldered, sizzling flickers enhancing the pure joy behind Raina’s dark eyes.
“Adieu, my loves,” he said and then he was gone.
“No! No! Tristan, come back,” Raina called into the night.
Fane came to the rescue with candle in hand and shut off the lights.
He responded to my confused expression. “Prepare to be amazed, for it is said that I, and I alone, am the master of shadow puppetry.”
“Fane, are there no limits to your talents?” I gushed sarcastically.
He narrowed his eyes and smirked. “Raina, wish Mummy a wonderful eve as the Adventures of Magical Creatures will soon begin.”
“Can’t she stay?” Raina blubbered, swiping bloody tears from her eyes.
“I’m afraid not. You see, Morgawr is quite shy, and he shan’t stay long unless Mummy departs. Consider this but a tantalizing preview,” he said and faced the wall, the candle at his back, arms contorted and flapping, hands booked together and opening then closing, casting a shadow on the wall that resembled a winged sea monster.
Raina squealed her delight, hopping on one foot then the other “We bid you good eve, Mummy. Please go now,” she called over her shoulder.
Fane looked from me to the door and flicked his wrist.
“Thank you,” I mouthed.
Quaid was already in the bullpen when I arrived, his feet propped up on his desk as he skimmed a report. “No luck with FRT. No DMV matches either and no hits through Clearview.”
“Shit,” I said, shoving my chair into the desk. “I find it hard to believe those men have never had a felony conviction or a driver’s license.”
“Reminds me of a slew of armed robbery cases I solved in the nineties,” Quaid began. I resisted an eye roll and prepared for one of his mind-numbing trips down memory lane. “Stephen Tiller. When I frisked him, I found a New York, a California, a Montana, and a Missouri driver’s license, not one of them bearing a close resemblance. He’d worn a different disguise in each photograph. Criminals are smart.”
“We’ll see about that.”
He clacked his pen against the desk and grinned. “That’s what I like about you, Crenshaw; you’re ballsy. By the way, some woman called, said she couldn’t remember your extension. She wants a call back.”
“What woman?”
He reached across his desk, groaning when the edge compressed his plump belly. He squinted as he attempted to decipher his own handwriting. “Mannie Martin.”
“Quaid! It’s Mamie Martin. The same woman I talked to before. You were sitting right here.”
He shrugged and passed me the note, which included her phone number.
I glanced at the schoolhouse clock above the doorway, grimacing when it verified that I’d spent twenty minutes on a useless conversation with Quaid. I punched in Mamie’s number and resisted gnawing my fingernails while I waited for her to pick up.
“It’s you again,” she greeted past a snort. “And if you’re thinkin’ I know that on account-a I got caller ID now, you’re dead wrong. Who else calls an old woman in the dead of night? It sure as hell ain’t some lover boy.”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Martin,” I said and glared at Quaid. “I just got your message.”
“It’s missus, like I told ya before. I hope your snoopin’ skills are better than that memory of yours.”
I cleared my throat, along with the blistering remark on the tip of my tongue. “What can I help you with?”
She laughed, her laugh sounding more like a death rattle. “What can you help me with? I’m the one handin’ out the favors here, girly.”
“Yes, ma’am, and I appreciate any information you can give me. Did you remember something else?”
“Indeedy-do. That one feller that threw that girl in the car—like she weren’t nothin’ but a sack of taters—had one of ’em tattoos on the back of his shaved head. Looked like someone had carved it into his thick skull with a dull needle and then asked a kinygardener to color it up.”
My ears perked up. “Can you describe it?”
“At first, I didn’t know what to think of it. But later when I was sitting there drinkin’ my afternoon Miller Lite, waitin’ on Judge Judy’s television program, it come to me. It looked to be an upside-down crucifix. Like one of ’em devil worshipers I seen on a PBS documentary.”
“That information will undoubtedly prove beneficial, Mrs. Martin. Thank you—”
“I ain’t done yet. That same piece of horse dung had a scar, too. On one of his cheeks. Coulda been his left one. I don’t remember, so I can’t be sure.”