His gaze was distant, mind elsewhere. A blink as he reluctantly returned. 'Oil, mainly.'
'Cool. Mine's ink, as you might have guessed.'
She chatted for another few minutes, Jeremy murmuring appropriate responses and complimenting her work. He gave no sign of his preoccupation or his impatience. Only someone who knew him would pick up the subtle hints, that cool veneer to his words, that emptiness in his eyes. I laid my fingers on his arm.
He nodded. 'We should be going.'
'Here,' she said, plucking the business card from his hand. She wrote two numbers on the back, then smiled at him. 'My home and cell. In case you ever want to discuss runes or art.'
Art, my ass. But I followed Jeremy's cue, smiling and thanking her for her time.
As we stepped onto the sidewalk, I said, 'Those are two of the runes on the babies' blankets. The ones Elena said you had quilted for them.'
He nodded.
'Like the symbols in Clay's room. On his comforter and his walls. Elena said you found Clayton's comforter years ago and painted the walls with the same symbols, to match. She said you had the babies' blankets done that way as a joke. Only you didn't find that comforter, did you? You had it made. Like the blankets. And they aren't a joke.'
He looked over sharply, brows arched.
'Where do they come from?' I asked. 'The symbols.'
A pause, then he tapped the side of his head. 'As for how they got in there?' An odd look crossed his face, frustration with a chaser of something sad. 'No idea. I just…'
He shrugged and kept walking, as if he wanted to leave it at that. Then, when we were almost in the car, he said, 'It's a… compulsion, I suppose. With Clay's room when he was younger. With the babies now. Even Elena has some in her bedroom.' A twist of a smile. 'Hidden, of course. If she found them, she'd think I was mad.'
She wouldn't think that. But she'd ask questions, probing and worrying, exactly what he didn't want.
'Do you think they're connected to the other things?' I asked. 'Your visions? Your… sensing?'
'I've thought about that, but I don't see how. Maybe they're just…' he shrugged, 'images I saw once that made an impression subconsciously.'
'Do you want to go somewhere, maybe get a coffee, talk about it?'
He blinked, as if startled by the very suggestion. Maybe even taken aback. Then he shook his head. 'We have to meet Hope.'
That was all he said. No 'maybe later,' not even an 'I don't want to talk about it.' All day I'd been fighting a mounting frustration, pretending I wasn't just a bit disappointed with the way things were going. Last night had been… special. Cliched, yes, and an odd choice of words to describe a night spent hiding from an S and M cult and running through rat-infested tunnels, but I really felt that shared experience meant something.
I'd been saying that a lot lately. Meant something. Coming to L.A. meant something. Touching me all the time meant something. Talking to me about his duties as Alpha and the dangers of a relationship meant something. Drawing my picture meant something. But I was beginning to wonder whether I was just seeing what I wanted to see.
WE MET Hope. She'd done some research on missing children. The results were not encouraging.
In a city the size of Los Angeles, kids go missing. Most are not the sort whose pictures ever appear on milk cartons and transport trucks. As Jeremy said, these would be the children the group had targeted.
Next, we mulled over Eve's proposal. Was there a way to uncover the bones without 'satanic cult' being splashed across the six o'clock news? Hope would think about it. Jeremy probably could have asked Elena the same thing. But had he called Elena, she or Clay-if not both-would have been on the next plane out. As far as they knew, we were conducting exactly the sort of investigation Eve had groused about-reading books, researching news articles and canvassing safe supernatural contacts.
AT 4 P.M. we found ourselves at Botnick's shop again, preparing for another break-and-enter. Hope had asked to come along, on the chance she'd pick up some chaos vibes and help us unearth any occult evidence we'd missed.
She stood guard at the parking lot entrance and I watched from within the lot, in case anyone stepped outside while Jeremy reopened the window behind the trash bin.
'Done,' he said as he walked up beside me.
'More of a challenge for you this time, I hope?'
His brows shot up. 'Challenge? Heavens, no. Why would I want that? I'm a responsible Alpha, and as such, I hope all such dangerous endeavors are as straightforward and risk-free as possible.'
I smiled, put my hands against his chest and lifted onto my tiptoes. He lowered his head, getting close enough for me to reach.
'Speaking of challenges,' I muttered.
'Speaking of risks,' he murmured back.
I met his gaze. 'I'm willing to take them. Whether you are is, I suspect, another matter.'
He hesitated, and I knew I'd guessed right.
'It's not-' he began.
'Okay, it looks like-' Hope's voice, across the lot. 'Uh, sorry. I thought I heard voices.'
'You did,' I said, stepping away from Jeremy. 'We should get inside while it's clear.'
GETTING INSIDE wasn't the only thing made more difficult by daylight. Although the windows were smoked glass, anyone peering in could see us. But the alternative was to wait five hours.
Hope had contacted Karl earlier and hinted that his skills might be needed, but she'd pretended the occult case was her work assignment, not mentioning Jeremy or me. Jeremy seemed reluctant to get Karl involved. I could chalk this up to Jeremy enjoying the 'challenges' of doing it himself, but knowing his feelings about Karl, I suspected there was more to it.
'I'll start in the office,' Jeremy whispered as he adjusted his gloves.
'Can-?' Hope began, then pulled a face and reached for her cell phone. 'Sorry. I'm supposed to be investigating crop circles. Thankfully, I can write a crop circle story in my sleep.' A glance at the phone. 'Oh, it's Rona Grant. Should I-?' She glanced at us.
'Go ahead,' Jeremy said. 'Perhaps she has something.
She didn't. Hope kept the phone a half-inch from her ear, volume jacked, so even without werewolf hearing, I could listen in.
Seemed May had asked Rona to follow up on whether any of those contact names had panned out. Hope strung her a story with the ease of a professional huckster, insinuating that we were indeed making use of those contacts, when we'd dismissed the lot of them yesterday. She probed around the subject of Botnick-nothing overt, just leading questions that might have gotten Rona talking about the cult leader, but obviously the woman had no interest in steering us down that seedy path. So Hope promised to keep her in the loop and hung up.
'As I was going to say, can you spare Jaime to show me those dissected bits?' Hope asked. 'Not that I have a prurient interest in seeing dried-up body parts, but you were wondering whether they were taken from someone who was already dead… or someone they helped get that way.'
'And you'll be able to tell. Jaime? Would you rather take the office?'
'Dried bits don't bother me.'
WE CREPT to the storage room. Just inside the door, Hope stumbled. I went to catch her, but she brushed me off, regaining her balance herself. She turned, hands out, fumbling, as if dazed. Her face was white, her eyes wide and unseeing.
Having a vision. I knew better than to interfere-it's like shaking a sleepwalker awake. Instead, I stayed there, ready to grab her if she fell.
Her hands found the curtain and she grabbed it, as if for support. For a moment, she clung to it, head dropped forward, eyes closed, breaths coming deep and fast. Then her head whipped back and she gasped, eyes flying open.
