Hollis stopped on the sidewalk two buildings down from the bank and zipped her jacket against the increasing chill, sighing and watching her breath fog in the air. “That makes four elders from two of the other families, not counting all the Cavendishes in Nellie’s bank. I’m beginning to think I don’t need to meet other elders or family members, not for this.”
Bishop said, “So still the same. The psychics have shields that look unusual compared with what you’re accustomed to seeing, more dense and held closer to their bodies, but no sign anyone is trying to get through them.”
“No sign at all. Only with Finn. Maybe he’s just a target because he’s the one in charge of the investigation. No way to really know why until we know who. I’m glad his shield is so solid. I’m also glad you talked him into staying with Nellie at the bank.”
“He knows it’s reasonable with the Five being targets, never mind a possible direct attack on him.”
Hollis eyed him, a little amused. “And he gets to spend more time with Nellie without all her guards going up in addition to that dandy shield you taught her to build.”
Polite, Bishop said, “You, of all people, should understand that some things take time and patience.”
It was hardly something she could argue with. “Don’t worry, I won’t embarrass either of them about it.”
“I know you won’t.”
Shifting her weight in a restless movement, she only nodded. “But I do think we should join the others in looking for Megan. For where he buried her. And someplace even remotely likely where he could have held her, and a place where he could have buried the second victim, Cole Ainsworth, assuming it’s him. And wherever he might be holding the third victim. Even if we still don’t have word of another person missing, Megan was sure. I’m sure, for that matter. Two more besides her, the third one taken sometime last night.”
This time she sounded as restless as she looked.
Bishop said, “Even a small town takes time to search, time to determine who isn’t where they’re supposed to be. Some people don’t have set routines to make tracking them easy. Complicating it even further is that there are quite a few away at college or traveling for business or pleasure; it’ll take time to make sure of them.”
“I know. And even with Finn’s authority and so many in Salem comfortable with psychic abilities, it’s fairly impossible to put the town on lockdown when we don’t have a body or remains. Still. It bugs me.”
Like anyone else who had ever worked with her or simply understood her, Bishop took serious note of anything that bugged Hollis.
Still, at this point all he could really do was take serious note. “His deputies are canvassing the town. Businesses, residences. And working to trace those who are reportedly out of town for various reasons. Everyone’s having trouble with cell reception, and landlines have been dropping calls and showing other signs of interference.”
“The energy?”
“Looks like.”
Hollis shifted again slightly, frowning. “So it’s getting worse?”
“Well, stronger.”
She looked at him. “I still can’t tell where it’s coming from. Or even what it’s coming from.”
Bishop nodded slightly. “Unfortunately, all the interference means we’re stuck with far slower methods of getting in touch with possible witnesses and the residents in general.”
“Maybe we should get help with that.”
Bishop nodded again. “I have someone at the mountain house following up.”
Hollis wasn’t very surprised. “Then we should know something soon.”
“I hope so. And our search teams here are checking the spots Finn marked on the maps for us. He knows this valley and the mountains all around, and if he believes those are likely places where someone could have been held without being seen or heard, then we certainly need to eliminate them. They at least offer us starting points.”
Hollis looked at him, suddenly curious. “You sent Miranda and Reese off each with one of Finn’s deputies to search, and Quentin and Diana are together, also searching. I know you’d met the elders back in January, so you being the one to take me to meet some of them made sense.”
“So?”
“So why do I get the feeling there’s something else in your devious mind, Yoda?” She was the only one of his agents to use that rather mocking nickname. To his face, at least.
He didn’t bother with denial. “The crows.”
She frowned. “I haven’t seen a single crow all morning. I assumed they were doing what the female—what Tia—told Nellie they were doing—patrolling the valley.”
“Probably. But I had a hunch they might more likely approach you without Reese being present. Even shielded, his energy can be felt from quite a distance, especially when he’s with you.”
Hollis didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “And you sent Miranda off, too, so it wouldn’t look so obvious?”
“One of us was needed in the search, and I needed to introduce you to some of the elders.”
“Yeah, yeah. Well, since no crows are about—”
She broke off to watch a rather large crow alight silently on one of the pretty benches placed here and there along Main Street, this one only about a dozen feet away from them, then returned her gaze to Bishop. “You planned that.”
“How could I have planned it?”
“If I knew that, I could collect a lot of money from just about everybody else in the unit.” She sighed, again misting the chilly air before her.
Bishop glanced around them. “Not many people out this morning, and nobody close. Now would be a good time to find out if the crows do know where Megan is. They’ve had time today to look specifically for the sort of signs indicating a grave, or a place where someone could have been held.”
However uncertain she felt about communicating with crows, Hollis was restlessly aware of time ticking, of someone recently taken who might yet be alive and able to be found in time, of remains to be found that might help point them toward what was so far a very quiet sort of killer in their experience.
Deadly quiet.
Calm, Bishop said, “I’ll be close enough to help if anything else happens when you drop your shields.”
“I don’t even know why they’re so solid today. My shields. They’ve been like Swiss cheese lately.”
“Maybe it’s a defensive response because of the energy.”
“Maybe.” Hollis was willing to accept that, even though energy hadn’t affected her lack of a shield before. And although she hadn’t had any idea that Bishop might be able to project his own formidable shield—or in some other way deflect any energy attack against her while she left herself vulnerable to attempt to talk to a crow—she trusted him.
They all trusted him.
So Hollis turned and took several slow steps to halve the distance between them and the crow.
She lowered her unusually solid shields cautiously, almost immediately aware of both a strengthening of that crawly sensation on the back of her neck and, much stronger, way too many human feelings here in town, virtually all of them from nonpsychic people.
Worried people.
Her newish empathic ability was proving to be a real bear, even though what she felt right now wasn’t as strong as what seemed to be usual for her, and she thought it was all coming from fairly nearby. Frowning, she closed her eyes and did her best to block as much of that emotional baggage as she could, even as she murmured to Bishop, “Don’t be surprised if I burst into tears. Somebody fairly nearby is having a very emotional fight with her boyfriend.”
He didn’t have to tell her to try to block that out, just waited and watched both her and the crow, and opened up that alert place in his own mind that was more than the spider senses and something other than telepathy.
Something unique to him, and something that had not, so far, been blocked or affected by the energy in this place or all the shielded minds around them. Or both.
Hollis opened her eyes suddenly and stared at the crow, unaware that her unusual blue eyes had taken on a luminous glow. “Huh. It’s Tia, the one who talks to Nellie. Yeah, I get the sense she’s one of their leaders.” She paused, adding, “Oh, yeah, definitely. Queenly. Proud of herself, this one.”
Aware of flutterings in his own mind, Bishop wasn’t surprised to see Hollis wince.
“I wasn’t being sarcastic, Tia. You understand us when we talk out loud, don’t you?”
After a moment, she glanced over at Bishop. “She does. Most of them do, at least enough to get the gist.” Then she frowned again as she looked at the crow regarding her so steadily. “Well . . . it’s clearer for them with empaths, for some reason. Understanding us when we talk out loud as well as opening up to them. Most telepaths are . . . too . . . something. Structured? Orderly. I don’t quite get that concept. Never mind, Tia. I had a visit— Oh. You know about that. Okay. Do you also know where we can find Megan?”
The crow uttered a soft, curiously sad sound, and lifted both wings to flap them without taking off.
Hollis turned to Bishop, her eyes still luminous and distracted. “She can take us. Show us.” She went still again, frowning a little. “Oh. It’s—she’s—up near where Reese and the deputy are searching. What I think I got is that the crows only found Megan really early this morning, about the same time I was talking to her spirit.” She grimaced. “I really hope it’s a grave and not remains, because—”
Bishop waited a moment, then said, “If they only just found her, they could have left her untouched.”
The crow uttered a slightly rougher “Caw” and flapped her wings again.
Hollis looked back at the crow. “I think we’ve insulted her. Oh. Damn. Megan put out corn and sometimes fruit for crows she saw. She was always nice to them. And they liked her.”
“Apologies,” Bishop said gravely to Tia. “And condolences.”
“She understands you. Which doesn’t surprise me for some reason, even though you’re primarily a telepath. And she accepts the apologies and the condolences.”
Bishop inclined his head, still grave, to acknowledge that, and they both watched as Tia flapped her wide wings and, this time, lifted almost straight up from the bench, more or less hovered above them for a moment, and then began to fly toward the nearest slopes.
They didn’t run, but wasted no time in getting off Main Street and following the bird, who clearly understood the limitations of legs rather than wings, since she stopped now and then to perch on a light post or tree limb or something else long enough for them to catch up, and seemed indeed to choose the easiest path for the following humans.
Tia led them steadily as they left the downtown area behind and began to climb the slope of the eastern mountain looming above the town.
NELLIE LOOKED UP as Elinor Cavendish appeared in the open doorway of her office, and it didn’t take the frown of worry pulling at her cousin’s brows, the anxious eyes, to alert her that something was wrong.
“What is it, Ellie?”
Finn, who had been sitting in one of her visitors’ chairs and using her phone every half hour or so to keep in touch with his people at the law enforcement center, looked around, then slowly rose to his feet.
“I— Nellie, Simon’s late. And he’s never late. He wasn’t supposed to come in until ten today because of getting extra hours lately. I know he stayed later than most of us last night; the security guard let him out.”
“Maybe he’s working at home. He does that sometimes, right?”
“Yeah, but he lets me know when he’s going to do that. His schedule today was to be here.” She swallowed hard. “It might not have bothered me, but . . . if somebody’s after family members, well, that’s a worry, right? And Simon’s so dependable. He should be here. Or he should have called in.”
Nellie thought of the brisk, friendly, very intelligent cousin who was at the top of her list as a likely successor to herself if necessary, and felt the bottom drop out of her stomach.
Finn spoke up before she could. “You’ve called his place?”
Elinor nodded. “Half a dozen times in the last forty-five minutes. Thinking maybe he was in the shower or something. But . . . I don’t think that’s it. I think somebody needs to check on him.”
Finn swore, not quietly, and reached for the phone on Nellie’s desk.
“SO FAR,” DIANA said to Quentin, “we haven’t strayed any great distance from where other people seem to walk or hike regularly up here. Would a killer really hide or—otherwise dispose of a body in an area like this?”
“It’s on the map Finn marked.” Quentin stepped on a short, thin piece of dead tree branch, and when it snapped rather loudly noted the way his wife and partner started. He took her hand.
“Jumpy for a reason? I mean, aside from the obvious ones.”
Diana halted to stare up at him. “I think all the obvious reasons are enough. That weird energy of the valley is . . . irritating even up here. Maybe especially up here. It’s very cold and looks like snow. We’re searching for a body, or remains, or a grave. Maybe all three. We know there’s a killer about, possibly up here with us—and he knows the valley and these mountains a lot better than we do. We’re in the middle of a really dense forest, trails or no, it’s unnaturally quiet up here, and the light looks funny. It does, right?”
“There seems to be a weird tint to it,” he agreed.
“Gray,” Diana said. “It’s got a gray tint to it.”
“I was thinking of fog so, yeah, gray.” He lifted their clasped hands, and both looked at the sleeves of her bright green sweater and his darker but still clearly blue sweatshirt, their flesh-colored hands. “You’re awake, aware, and with me,” he told her, sensing as much as hearing doubt. “Not in the gray time.”
She heard a little laugh escape her, feeling no amusement. “Sorry for being jittery. I don’t know why, but more than once since we got here I’ve felt like if I could only turn my head at the right moment, I’d see the—the edge of the gray time. Like a . . . cloud of fog rolling toward me. Sneaking toward me. Maybe even hunting for me.”
As he always did, Quentin took her concerns seriously. “Has that ever happened before?”
“Not that I remember.” She shook her head. “We keep bumping up against things I can’t remember.”
“No, only the possibilities of what you may not remember. Diana, I think we’re all being affected by this place, more and more as time passes. I know I feel . . . unnaturally alert, even for the kind of search we’re doing. I’m pretty sure Reese has both his shields shored up, and Bishop said something earlier about Hollis’s shield being stronger than usual today. For whatever reason or reasons, it’s affecting us. This place. The town, the valley. These mountains. By the—what did Bishop call it?—the isolated and insular nature of Salem and its people.”
“And the energy.”
“And that.” He continued to hold her hand as they moved on to follow the very faint trail that looked to be made by regular hikers, and which appeared to be leading them toward a clearing in the distance. They were not climbing now, but traveling horizontally.
“I guess all that makes sense.”
Quentin looked at her. “You’re still bothered. About something else.”
“Well . . . something about that spirit guide was off. I don’t know what, but I’m just wondering if I missed something. I mean, Bishop proved I could be deceived in the gray time when he sent that other psychic in to do just that to teach me to be wary. One of his lessons.”
“Maybe a necessary lesson,” Quentin said.
“His lessons are always necessary—I’ve learned that much in the past few years. And very necessary then, considering Samuel did the same thing to try to trick me. Though I still say sending that other medium in to pretend to be you just gave Samuel the idea for later.” She frowned at the memory; she had forgiven Bishop when he’d confessed because they all did, but it still bothered her both because he had done that and because he’d found another psychic outside the unit who had been familiar with the gray time and able to enter it at will.
Until then, she’d believed it was a place or time completely unique to her own abilities. Bishop had told her the other medium experienced the gray time differently from her but hadn’t explained just what he meant by that.
Quentin said, “Bishop also said it wasn’t likely you’d encounter many spirits there just to deceive you. Samuel was . . . well, unique.”
“I know.”
“And that the psychic he sent in not only tended to avoid the gray time but had a few personal problems that pretty much precluded his going in for no good reason.”
“Yeah, I know. And I believe him about that.”
“So what was it about the spirit guide this time that bothered you?”
“I don’t know—that’s the problem. There was just something odd about him. The way he looked. The way he acted. Weird as it sounds, there’s a feeling, maybe an extra sense that works only there, in the gray time, of what’s normal. That visit wasn’t normal. Daniel wasn’t.”
“I wonder . . . Maybe he came from Salem.”
That startled her, but as she considered the idea she found her mind didn’t reject it. “I’ve never really thought about where they come from. As in, any particular place. I mean, there were all those spirits at The Lodge, from there, but that was different. I saw most of them there, the way mediums usually see spirits, not in the gray time. Well, sort of. And I was different then, a lot more uncertain about things. To say the least. But I know more now. I’m sure of more. In the gray time . . . guides are usually unconnected—or seem unconnected—to whatever it is they need me to do. Detached, in a way.”
“Just there because they were sent?”
Diana understood the question. “Yeah, pretty much. It was the way it always felt with the guides, as far as I can remember, that they’d been sent to do a job. That it was why they made contact with me. I had the same guide more than once, and whatever they told me was never . . . personal. Not about me. Not about them. Their job was to guide me wherever it was I needed to go, tell me what I needed to know. A task they’d been set. But Daniel . . . he didn’t feel that way. He was just . . . different. Even before he showed us the zombie murder victims. I don’t know why.”
“Salem is odd all the way around. And like I said, it has to be affecting us—is affecting us—likely in ways we aren’t even aware of. We should keep taking that into account.”
“Is that supposed to reassure me?”
Quentin smiled faintly. “Not really. It doesn’t reassure me. It’s . . . an anomaly. And we’ve all learned to be wary of those. Signposts to pay attention to. It may turn out not to matter. To us, to what we came here to do. Or it may be important. Either way, we keep it in mind.”
She walked beside him in silence for a bit, then said, “If Daniel is from Salem and wanted our help, why ask for it in the gray time? I mean, actually there. It seems like a much harder way to do it. Why not just appear to Hollis?”
It was Quentin’s turn to walk in silence for a few moments, his eyes roaming their surroundings just as hers were, trained to be aware of everything around them no matter what else was going on. Then he said, “Are you afraid he’s trapped in the gray time?”
“Well—” Diana stopped abruptly as they reached the edge of a smallish clearing. Staring across it at an odd tumble of granite boulders placed as if some giant had piled them there, watching as a little boy walked calmly around them and disappeared behind them, she said, “No. I’m not afraid of that. Not anymore.”