I gave a low whistle. “One of us should figure out how to sign in. Or hack our way in. For now, I can ask Christoph for more information about my father’s side of my family.”
“While you all work on that, I’ll take dish duty,” said Rowan. “If there’s anything needs doing after, let me know. I can stick around the rest of the day and night, but I’m on call this weekend.”
I smacked my forehead and groaned. “Crap. I woke up thinking it was Saturday, and it’s Friday.” I spun in my seat and patted my pockets. Kerry, my office assistant, was going to give me an earful. “Has anyone seen my phone?”
“In the charger on the counter,” said Wes.
Ugh. I had a fleeting moment of wishing I was independently wealthy and could use all my time and resources in the pursuit of furthering my magic. And hosting magical gatherings, complete with one of those professional waffle makers and a bigger coffeemaker. My fantasy—and my call to Kerry—were cut off by the sound of sobbing.
“I’ll get her,” said Rowan. She darted past me and headed toward the back porch. I followed right behind.
Thatcher was standing, his arms around Sallie, bewilderment disfiguring his usually joy-filled face. “Mom. Ro. We need help.”
Rowan’s training in human and Magical healing took over. She guided Sallie indoors and waved at us to follow. “Thatcher,” she said, her voice measured and steady, “do you know if Sallie’s on any medications?”
He shook his head. “Her purse is upstairs. Want me to get it?”
“Please.”
Sallie, choking on her tears and struggling to speak, became a dead weight in Rowan’s arms. As they folded to the floor, Sallie began to gag. She clawed at her throat, and short blades emerged from her fingertips and retracted, leaving ragged punctures and scratches on her skin. Her ears burst into points along the upper curve and reformed as her features shifted nonsymmetrically.
“Guys,” I yelled, “we need you.” I held Sallie’s wrists then made room for Wes and Kaz to drop to their knees and assist Rowan. They turned the teen onto her side and cradled her head as she cycled through a series of erratic shifts, threw up her breakfast, and went limp.
“Mom?” Thatcher waited at the bottom of the stairs, a purse edged with fringe hanging from one hand. “What’s happening with Sallie?”
“She’s been away from her parents long enough for any glamour they use on her to have weakened.” Kaz looked up at me. “Especially if Josiah and Garnet have been confined to a lined cell.”
Lined cells. I hadn’t considered what it would take to confine Magicals, but there must be far more than bars and locks wherever Malvyn had taken the Flechettes.
“Mom?” Thatcher hadn’t moved, other than to raise an arm and show me his wrist. “Look.”
The braided bracelet Sallie made for him was coming apart, the ends actively untwining until the strands fell to the floor, sizzling.
“Bring me her purse and go get the paper towels,” I said, “and a plastic trash bag. Under the sink.”
The contents of Sallie’s bag spilled out when Thatch dropped it, but nothing looked suspicious. Rowan held Sallie’s hair away from her face, as Kaz and the other three men crouched around the girl. I shook out the purse before squeezing the sides, bottom, and cover flap, looking for something, anything, that would explain the seizure-like activity.
I curled my fingers around Sallie’s neckpiece, a black leather dog collar with burnished metal spikes and two faux owner tags. A faint sensation like a constrictor snake preparing to coil and squeeze ran across my skin. I extended my arm. “I saw Sallie wearing this at the market the day I met Tanner. Could it be spelled?”
“She took it off last night, Mom, after Mal and James left.” Thatcher nudged Kaz and Wes aside and crouched near Sallie’s head. He tore off a handful of paper towels, wiped her face first and then the floor, and bagged the mess without flinching or gagging. Going to his feet and hurrying to the kitchen trash, he said, “Please don’t let her die.”
I darted glances to Rowan and the others. “Is there even a chance of her dying from whatever this is?”
“Either she wears the collar to keep her glamour intact, or someone—most likely her parents—makes her wear it. It could be an ornament that assists with self-control, or it could function as a controlling element,” said Tanner.
“She made my bracelet.” Thatcher returned and sat, cross-legged, at Sallie’s head. “But she didn’t make the collar. She told me her parents made her wear it. She hates it. It’s real leather. And she doesn’t eat meat. She made our bracelets out of that vegan leather stuff.”
“I can stay and take care of Sallie.” Rowan spoke to Thatch. “Can you help me?”
He nodded, jaw muscles clenching, his gaze never leaving his cousin’s pale face.
We turned Thatcher’s room into a mini-medical ward. Rowan put in a call to a witch who specialized in working with the fluctuating hormones of magical teenagers. She added her suspicion that Sallie was going through a kind of withdrawal from whatever influence the collar provided. By the time the teen was tucked into Thatch’s bed, she was awake but groggy, with a death grip on my son’s arm and the occasional fingernail extending and sharpening into a pointed claw. When that happened, Thatch slid one of his fingers between the claw and his skin, much like one would do with a cat kneading a blanket with too much enthusiasm.
I backed out of the room, closed the door, and ticked off everyone’s whereabouts on my fingers as I returned to the first floor.
River, Rose, and Belle were with Peasgood and Hyslop at the Pearmains’. Malvyn was in Vancouver with Josiah and Garnet. James was ensconced at the Brodeur house with Leilani and Harper. Rowan,
