strong damn powers going off the grid meant serious trouble.
I spotted one of our Sports, stopped in the middle of the street about three blocks from where Simon’s house should be. The nearest intersection was clear. I hovered the puddle-jumper over it, then pushed down on the controls, dropping us a few feet at a time until the skids hit pavement. I shut off the engine and practically leapt out onto the street.
The Sport’s engine was off, the doors shut. I yanked one open and found the keys still in the ignition. Thatcher opened the passenger-side door and looked around. No blood, no broken glass, no signs of a struggle. I relaxed my shoulders and stretched my neck out so I could see both the backseat and the rear compartment— nothing there, either.
When my neck settled back into place, Thatcher was staring at me with open surprise.
“What?” I snapped.
“Nothing.”
“Good.” I hit my com. “Duvall to West. Car’s empty, no sign of a fight.”
“Copy. Lacey and Marco are on the ground, too, nearby.”
“Copy that. Out.”
I repeated it for Thatcher’s sake, then moved out to the middle of the street. Few people lived in this neighborhood, so the chances of finding someone who’d seen what happened was slim to none. Not for the first time, I wished for a more useful power. Something that could help us track down our friends. Gage should be out here with his Super Sniffer, not me with my stupid bendy body that didn’t even work right.
A raven’s cry broke the quiet. I pivoted and ran back toward the puddle-jumper. Raven-Marco darted into the street from that intersection, then hovered there until I caught up. I followed him down another block, past a mix of homes and boarded-up businesses, to a dank alley that reeked of rot and tepid water. Lacey Wilson’s dragonlike wings peeked over a pile of rubble that had once been part of one of the buildings lining the alley. I jumped over the debris with ease and landed in a puddle that splashed something wet and nasty up onto my boots and the legs of my uniform.
Lacey was kneeling next to Aaron, who was hog-tied, blindfolded, and gagged. As she worked at the knots on the ropes, Aaron didn’t struggle, didn’t even move. They wouldn’t have bothered tying him up so well if he was dead, but that didn’t stop a brief flare of dread from clenching my guts tight. I scanned the alley—no Ethan.
“He’s alive,” Lacey said without looking up from her work. “Damn it, these are tight.”
“Let me.” I nudged my way in and squatted down in the grime and muck. Bones and skin stretched as I elongated my fingers into thinner points, giving me an advantage with the knots. Lacey scooted away, and a moment later I heard her on the com, giving someone our exact location.
Thatcher crouched by Aaron’s head and gently removed the gag and blindfold while I worked the final few knots. I got him unwound from the ropes, and we arranged him more comfortably on his back. Lacey said he was alive, but I couldn’t help feeling Aaron’s pulse for myself. It was slow, but steady, and I rubbed his chest with my knuckles like I’d seen doctors do on television.
“Aaron, it’s Renee,” I said. “Wake up for me, pal.”
“I don’t feel any swellings,” Thatcher said, carefully prodding at Aaron’s head. I was silently grateful. Aaron and I weren’t really friendly, but Ethan loved him, so he needed to be okay.
Raven-Marco cried out again from the mouth of the alley, and the familiar rumble of a Sport engine was followed by brakes squealing. Then we were surrounded by activity, and I stepped away so Noah Scott could get at his brother. I stared down at the pair of them, unsure why the sight was so strange, until it hit me that Noah was out in a public street. Dahlia wasn’t in control.
Even more bizarre was the fact that Teresa had come with him, and she wasn’t saying a thing about it.
Gage was there with her, too, and Marco had shifted back.
“I have searched the other nearby alleys,” Marco said. “There is no sign of Ethan.”
“What about their car?” Gage asked.
“I smelled nothing unusual there or here, but your nose is more sensitive than mine.”
Gage closed his eyes. He breathed in deeply through his nose, held it, then exhaled slowly through his mouth. Repeat times four, then he blinked at us. He looked a little green. “The alley stink is overwhelming, but there’s nothing that stands out. No unfamiliar aftershaves or perfumes.”
He moved over to Aaron and did the same thing, trying to get some kind of scent marker off his clothes or the rope. When he looked up at us, he didn’t bother hiding his frustration. “Nothing.”
“Take Marco and Lacey back to the car with you,” Teresa said. “See what you can find there.” Her face was tight, outwardly calm, but I knew her too well. Inside she was falling apart knowing one of ours was missing.
The trio left the alley. Teresa squatted next to Noah, who was still trying to coax Aaron awake.
“There’s no exterior sign of trauma,” Thatcher said. He’d moved a few feet away, as though afraid to intrude on our private moment of worry. I kind of respected that sensitivity (just don’t tell anyone).
“He must be drugged, then,” Noah said. “Aaron’s hybrid-Changeling ability makes it damn hard to knock him out otherwise. They’d have had to hit him in the head with a bowling ball.”
That mental image made me shudder.
“Let’s get him out of the alley, at least. Lying there won’t do him any good.”
Teresa looked up, right at Thatcher, her eyebrows arched in surprise. Surprise he was being helpful, or surprise that he’d beaten her to the suggestion, I couldn’t begin to guess. “Good idea,” she said.
Noah and Thatcher did the heavy lifting, while Teresa and I went ahead to open the back doors of the Sport. At the moment, Noah didn’t look like he could lift a toddler, let alone half of a grown man—just like Dahlia earlier, he was pale and looked like he had the flu. Something was definitely up with Double Trouble, but now wasn’t the time or place to ask.
Maneuvering Aaron inside the Sport was a sight to see—he was nearly six feet tall and had to weigh in at about one-seventy—but Noah and Thatcher managed. I pulled a blanket out of the rear compartment and tucked it under Aaron’s head. He was filthy and reeked of the alley, and just as Noah knelt on the floor next to him, he let out a pained groan that got our collective attention.
“Aaron? Come on, wake up, bro,” Noah said. “Fight it.”
Score one for Changeling physiology.
It took nearly a full minute of face-scrunching and head-twisting for Aaron to pull loose from the sedative’s hold and get his eyes open. I had a bad angle of his face, but I could clearly see the relief on Noah’s. Aaron mumbled something I couldn’t hear.
Noah looked pained. “We aren’t sure.”
Aaron tried to sit up, only to fall back against the seat with a grunt.
“Give yourself a minute.” Noah pressed both palms down on Aaron’s chest.
Aaron clasped one of Noah’s wrists and said, “Need to find him.”
“We will. What do you remember?”
“Body in the street. We stopped. Got out. This.”
“Setup,” Teresa said, more to herself than to him.
Aaron made a noise that was probably his version of
“But why only Ethan?” Thatcher asked. “Why not take both of them?”
“One is easier to manage than two,” Teresa replied. “It’s also possible they weren’t sure who or what Aaron is, so they didn’t want to risk trying to handle him. Ethan’s abilities aren’t a secret.”
“Should’ve been more careful,” Aaron said. “Shit.”
“He’ll be fine,” Noah said. He sounded as if he believed the words, but he might have been humoring his brother. He swiped the back of his hand across his forehead—was he sweating? “He always is.”
That sounded more like Dahlia coming through. She and Ethan were practically in each other’s pockets lately, and the dual panic she and Noah must be sharing had to be overwhelming. I couldn’t imagine sharing a body and mind, much less having two sets of emotions to deal with at once. I could barely manage my own emotions most days.
Teresa’s cell rang, and she stepped away to answer it. “Hey, Simon,” she said before she moved out of
