“How does that sound to you, Thatcher?” I asked. He gave the idea two thumbs up. “And what about you, Harp?”
Where Thatcher’s eagerness made his whole body vibrate, I couldn’t deny that the resonating silence of Harper’s hesitation made my heart hurt.
“Mom?” he started. “Can you take me off speaker phone so I can say something?”
I palmed my phone, walked around the island, and stepped onto the front porch. “It’s just you and me, sweetheart.”
“I didn’t ask for any of this, Mom. I didn’t ask for a father who’s a power junkie and who doesn’t give a fuck about who I am and what I want. I didn’t ask for a mother who lied to me about who she really is either. And I didn’t ask for wings.” He chuffed out his breath. “But I love you, Mom, and I love Thatch, and I’m probably going to need a lot of therapy at some point in my life.”
“I’ll start a money jar today.”
He snorted softly. “I want my life to be as normal as fucking possible while I finish high school. I want to go look at colleges and do stupid shit with my friends and spend time with Lei-li where we’re not having to be under adult supervision twenty-four seven. If you can promise me that, Mom, I’m on board. One hundred percent. But I need some freedom and space and normalcy. And I want to drop Dad’s last name.”
I glanced into the house. No one had moved, but they were talking. Maybe Thatcher and Sallie were expressing similar thoughts. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and spoke a vow I prayed to Goddess I would not regret. “Harper Jones, I promise you a normal life.”
“Thanks, Mom. And just to be clear, I expect my normal to be off-the-charts magical.”
I returned my cell phone to the counter. “Harper? I have you three on speaker phone.”
Thatcher’s notifications were firing. “Harp, man, I can’t keep up with texting, but yeah, Sallie and I agree, magical normal’s the new normal.” He turned off the ringer and pocketed his phone. “Sorry.”
“At this rate you’re going to need a bunkhouse, Calliope,” said Wes, interjecting a bit of comic relief.
“Funny you should mention that because yeah, I don’t know what other options we have.” I was ready to table this discussion and get on with breakfast. “Christoph, you can have my office as soon as I transfer everything I need into my bedroom.”
“Bunk beds!” said Thatcher, high-fiving Sallie.
I cleared my throat. “Two more items. Stay with me. I met Jessamyne.”
“Who’s that?” asked Thatcher.
“An old friend of Tanner’s,” I said. “She brought Cliff and Abi to the hospital late last night. After we’re done here, I’m calling to see when I can visit. I want to believe Jessamyne did what she said, but I won’t until I see the Pearmains in person.”
“Do you want anyone to go with you?”
I shook my head. “If I can’t reach Tanner and have him meet me there, I’ll go in alone. I might have to finagle my way past the police. But Officer Jack’s an old friend.”
“Do you know where Tanner is?”
Busted. I shook my head again and rearranged the tea cups and saucers in front of me. “I do not.” Picturing Tanner in pursuit of Jessamyne did not give me the warm and fuzzies. “Anyone have anything else to say? Harper, Leilani, James: comments, thoughts?”
“We’re good, Mom,” said Harper. “Is it okay if James and Lei-li come over for brunch?”
After a raucous family meal, I left the cleaning up to the teenagers with the excuse I needed to call the hospital. The number was in my phone—had been since my ex and I had moved to the island with two rambunctious little boys in tow. “Hi, this is Calliope Jones. Friends of mine were brought in last night, and I was wondering if they were up for seeing visitors today?”
“What are their names?”
“Abigail and Clifford Pearmain.”
“Let me ask at the nurses’ station.” Voices in conversation and attendant hospital beeps and rattles filtered into my ear then an “Oh,” and everything was muffled until a different person spoke. “Who did you say is calling?”
“Calliope Jones.”
“May I ask what your relationship is to the Pearmains?”
“Family friend,” I answered.
“They were signed out about an hour ago by their granddaughter, Jessie Pearmain.”
Sucker punch to the gut.
“Can you tell me when they’ll be back?” I asked, keeping my voice calm.
“They’re on their way to a private clinic. I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you, Ms. Jones. If you need more information, you’ll have to speak with Officer Kaukonen at the RCMP station.”
I thanked the voice for their help, thumbed the off button, and placed my phone face down on my desk. Jessamyne had the Pearmains. Again. I flipped my phone over and pulled up another number.
“Officer Jack Kaukonen.”
“Jack, it’s Calliope.”
“Calli,” Jack said, “what’s up?”
Crap. Should I dance around or go right to the point? “The other night, when you stopped at the house, you said you smelled something coming.”
“Yes,” he answered, drawing out his response. “I did.”
“You met that something early Friday morning, after your stop at my house. You helped that something bring an elderly couple to the hospital. That same something got those people checked out of the hospital this morning.”
“What?” The scree of metal chair pieces rubbing together scratched at my eardrum.
“Abigail and Clifford Pearmain are part of an extremely sensitive and ongoing investigation into a series of deaths on this island and at other orchards in the Pacific northwest,” I explained. “All of the dead are Magicals. Hidden folk.”
“Calliope, stop right there. I’m coming to your house, and we’re going to
