It wasn’t a question, but I answered anyway.
“Nope,” I said. I released my grip on the chair, pushed hair from my face, and pulled it into a messy bun. “Ceff’s bringing food, sleep will have to wait.”
There would be no chance for sleep until I’d interviewed every last parent standing outside my office. I glanced out the window and sighed. The crowd of fae wasn’t getting any smaller.
This wasn’t a case of one runaway juvenile bugbear. We were dealing with the kidnapping of dozens of fae children. To say we were unprepared and understaffed was an egregious understatement. I was glad that Ceff had decided to stay. We could use all the help we could get.
I pulled myself up and went to sit behind my desk. I wasn’t running away from Jinx’s reproachful stare, really.
I thumped down in my chair and prepared myself for the case. For though we had numerous clients, it was one case—it just had to be. I closed my eyes and thought about frantic parents finding the beds of their children empty this morning. I imagined frightened kids huddled somewhere cold and dark. Rage burned in my chest and I watched the sparks of gold behind my eyelids begin to disappear. I bit the inside of my cheek and remembered the families outside, desperate to save their children. I grasped my anger with both hands and held on tight.
Pain and anger had saved me before. Hopefully, they could burn away the stress, worry, and fatigue until this was all over. If embracing my anger toward the kidnapper—the true monster here, no matter what my clients looked like—helped to control my wisp powers, all the better. Walking around the city with glowing skin would make my job more difficult, especially if the fae courts stepped in.
It was hard to locate missing children while buried in a pine box.
Damn, why did it have to be children? I pounded my fist on the desk, knocking over a coffee mug filled with pens, pencils, and scissors. I flicked a glance at my reflection in a large pair of scissors that landed on my desk blotter. My skin was no longer glowing, thank Mab. It was time to get to work and bring these kids home.
I opened a drawer and pushed in the messy contents of my desk. I could sort through the detritus later. For now, I had a job to do. I lifted my chin and turned to Jinx.
“Let them in,” I said.
Chapter 9
I met with crying gnomes, limping henkies, growling goblins, wailing banshees, and fluttering sprites—to name a few. Every faerie who approached my desk had lost a loved one—a child, sibling, or grandchild—in the night.
Though some of the fae races who visited had unsavory reputations, they all seemed genuinely distressed. Ceff was quick to remind me that all fae have difficulty conceiving. Faerie children therefore are a rare gift, treasured by their families. The raw pain on his face drove the point home. The loss of Ceff’s sons had nearly destroyed him.
I didn’t turn a single client away—no matter who, or what, came to us for help.
The last client walked out our door with a loud shriek, and I sighed. I rubbed my face with shaking hands. I needed a shower and a toothbrush. Too bad I didn’t have the time, or the energy, for a trip upstairs.
Jinx hurried to the door, turned the lock, and flipped the sign from open to closed. She’d cancelled our regular clients for the day, rescheduling our appointments until later in the week. That meant we were double-booked, but I had bigger things to worry about than scheduling issues.
If I didn’t get some sleep soon, I’d be no good to any of my clients. I’d have to ask Jinx to pencil me in for a nap. I leaned back in my chair, blowing strands of hair from my face. I rubbed gritty eyes and ran a tongue over teeth tasting of coffee and old pizza. I must look like something the cat sidhe dragged in. I pictured Sir Torn dropping me on the stoop and snorted, a giggle trying to escape.
I smoothed a gloved hand over wrinkled clothes, avoiding the looks of Ceff and Jinx. The last few hours had been a blur. Jinx and I had interviewed dozens of worried families, but the worst was yet to come.
Ceff had brought us food and coffee while we worked, a kelpie king turned office errand boy. After we ate, he cleared pizza boxes from the conference table—a flea market purchase that Jinx had insisted on for our growing business, which thankfully had no visions imprinted into the shiny pressboard and metal—and began setting up rows of plastic bags. Each bag contained a small item and was labeled with the name of the family and the missing child the item belonged to. Every bag represented a child who was missing.
The table was buried beneath them.
I’ve never attempted to retrieve visions from so many items, but I was about to try. I flicked my eyes away from the table, letting my gaze land on my gloved hands now fidgeting with a paper cup. Ceff had kept the coffee flowing, as if by magic. Perhaps it had been.
I drank the last sips of coffee in one gulp and tossed the cup in my overfull wastebasket. Jinx had discarded her own wastebasket in the back alley, beside the dumpster we shared with the bar that backed onto our building. We hadn’t wanted to offend our clients, many of whom had a heightened sense of smell, with her fouled bin, so now we were sharing mine. The coffee cups and broken pencils spilled out onto the floor at my feet.
After hearing about a toddler, no more than twenty-four months old, stolen from his crib, I’d started waging war on office supplies. My desk was littered with fragments of wood and graphite. And pencils weren’t the only casualty of the morning.
Jinx, in a fit of pique, had smashed the receiver of her retro-styled phone back into the cradle so hard, it was now held together with duct tape and nail glue. The front of our office also showed signs of abuse. It looked as if we’d corralled a herd of angry cattle into our waiting area.
It’s amazing the amount of damage a mob of desperate faeries can cause. I didn’t blame them, they’d lost their children and it’s not like they could go to the human police for help, but we’d have to make repairs. Jinx, always the pragmatist, was adding a fee for physical damages to our bill. Of course, we’d never collect a penny if I didn’t find those kids.
I swallowed hard and dragged myself from my chair. My knees creaked and my legs trembled as I walked with heavy steps to the conference table. I’d missed my morning run. That meant more laps around the Old Port and along the harbor tomorrow, if I survived the day. I tried to distract myself with plans for my altered workout schedule, but my eyes were drawn to the bags that held so much hope for the parents of the missing children.
I lowered myself onto the floor beside the table, back against a row of filing cabinets. Sitting on the floor meant I had less distance to fall, a lesson I’d learned after cracking my head more than once. I pulled my knees to my chest and looked up into Jinx’s worried face.
“Hand me the first bag,” I said.
I reached out, hand shaking. Too much caffeine? Maybe it was time to lay off the coffee.
Jinx bit her lip, but nodded and grabbed a plastic bag off the table. Before she could pass it to me, Ceff stepped between us. He knelt in front of me, knees almost touching my booted feet. Lines creased his brow and pinched the corners of his eyes. I wanted to reach out and wipe the lines from his face, but instead I hugged my legs closer to my chest.
“You don’t have to do this,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.
“Yes, I do,” I said. I looked him in the eye to let him know I was serious. “It’s the job.”