Unleashing Echoes (Reconstructionist 3) Read online

  “The Convocation is fine with us continuing to investigate?” I asked. With two missing witch children now identified, it was likely that a team with more seniority and experience than Jasmine or me would be brought in. Not necessarily instead of us, but to take over and lead the investigation.

  “Kett won’t work with anyone else,” Jasmine said. “Or that’s what I told them, anyway. We have access to any resources we need. And a no-limit expense account.”

  “Less red tape. Wow,” Declan said. “Generous.”

  “You know it is, Declan,” Jasmine said sharply. “Kett’s involvement is the only thing keeping a lid on all this. And keeping us involved. Yale is unknown to the Convocation, especially since no one knows he also kidnapped me.”

  Since I had pretty much murdered two vampires last January, with Jasmine instigating the murder of a third by Kett’s hand, we had decided to not report my best friend’s kidnapping to the Convocation authorities. But now that we knew Yale had been kidnapping young witches, I was already beating myself up over the idea that keeping that secret might have been a mistake.

  “Are we waiting on the executioner to view the reconstruction?” Declan asked.

  Jasmine eyed me through the seats. “Is it as bad as the last one?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, though I couldn’t imagine too many things being worse than what Yale had put Coral and Ruby through. “I had to grab it without playback. But … the boy fights. The broken windows make that obvious. So if Yale tried to ensnare him, he was unsuccessful.”

  The driver’s-side door opened and Kett slid into the SUV, passing a battered Nike shoebox to Jasmine in the same motion.

  “Ah, crap,” she said. “What fresh hell is this?”

  “Jack’s room has already been stripped down and reassigned,” Kett said smoothly. “They kept this. Only this.”

  Jasmine pressed her hand to the lid of the box. “This is the sum total of a twelve-year-old’s life?”

  Kett didn’t answer her.

  Jasmine shook her head forcefully, wordlessly passing the shoebox back to me. I opened the lid, quickly glancing through the contents — a random assortment of keepsakes, including a basketball game ticket stub, worn photos, and a tiger’s eye. My stomach squelched wretchedly.

  “Magic?” Jasmine muttered.

  “Nothing of immediate significance.” I managed to keep my tone even.

  “I’ll go through it,” Jasmine said stiffly. “After we view the reconstruction.”

  I nodded, gratefully replacing the lid on the box and setting it on the middle seat between Declan and me.

  I reached for the reconstruction, which was still sitting on the armrest console between the front seats.

  Declan brushed his fingers across my knee comfortingly before placing them next to mine. Kett and Jasmine twisted in their seats, touching the other two edges of the cube.

  I triggered the playback.

  Within the reconstruction, Yale suddenly popped into existence. He hovered over a dark-haired, dark-skinned boy seated on the threadbare couch by the back windows of the recreation room. It was early evening, definitely after the sun had set but before full dark.

  “Jack Harris,” Jasmine said, confirming that she also recognized him from the picture she’d found attached to his file.

  “Like I said, dude,” Jack said, sneering up at Yale, “we don’t know you.”

  “We?” Kett asked.

  I paused the playback, studying the still image of the ruddy-haired vampire looming over the lanky boy. Yale was clad in a thin fisherman sweater and jeans artfully torn across the knees. Ironically, Jack was similarly attired, though his jeans weren’t intentionally ratty. “See the way Jack’s sitting on the couch?” I said. “I’m fairly certain there’s someone seated to his left. Someone without magic for the reconstruction to manifest, just as we couldn’t see Luci in the reconstruction of Colby’s rising.”

  “With the pink pencil,” Kett said, sounding almost impressed.

  “Someone he’s protective of,” Declan said. “By the angle of his shoulders.”

  “Jack’s shielding someone from Yale, even though it’s obvious he’s frightened,” Jasmine said. “See the whites of his eyes? The way he’s gripping the edge of the couch with his left hand?”

  “Continue, reconstructionist,” Kett said.

  I allowed the magic to flow underneath my fingertips and the scene started to play again in real time.

  “You don’t want to be here,” Yale said, glancing around the room disdainfully. “Here is ridiculous. You’re better than this. You know you are. I can take you somewhere where your talents will be unleashed.”

  Jack glanced to his left as if listening to someone else speak. His expression was tense, wary.

  “Can we see Yale’s face?” Kett asked.

  “No, sorry. I had to grab it quickly. No other angles or zooming.”

  Within the reconstruction, Yale shifted, reaching forward and moving so quickly that his arm blurred. He snapped his fingers in front of whoever was sitting to Jack’s left. “That’s enough from you.”

  Jack flinched, pushing away from the vampire. Then, realizing he wasn’t about to be hit, he glanced over at the invisible person beside him. His tense expression drained into disbelief.

  “What did Yale do?” Jasmine whispered. “He can’t kill someone by snapping his fingers, can he?”

  “Ensnared,” Kett said. “Calling his or her attention to him with the finger snap. Then once he had eye contact, he took control.”

  I swallowed away the discomfort that rose with Kett’s explanation. I had just watched the executioner beguile two humans so that I could collect the reconstruction we were currently viewing. As such, being morally outraged at Yale’s ability to do the same was hypocritical.

  Within the reconstruction, Jack reached for the unseen person seated next to him, shaking them. “What have you done?”

  “It’s no matter to you, fledgling,” Yale said. “You will come with me. Willingly.”

  I could hear the magic in Yale’s words, even if I couldn’t see it.

  But Jack simply leaned across whoever was on the couch beside him, shielding them with his body. “Like hell I will.”

  “Interesting,” Yale murmured. “Not many witches, and certainly none untrained, can shake off the compulsion of a vampire.”

  Jack’s face crumpled into heart-wrenching fear in response to Yale identifying himself as a bloodsucking immortal creature. Even with his mundane upbringing, Jack would know to be wary of such things — and might have been even more so because he wielded magic himself, uncontrolled and unintentional or not. The boy’s eyes darted around the room, looking for help but afraid to call out.

  “Brave,” Declan said. “He doesn’t want to get anyone else involved.”

  “Shortsighted,” Kett said. “I doubt Yale has the ability to hold more than one or two enthralled at a time. Even a vampire wouldn’t want to involve too many mundanes, for the risk of attracting the attention of the Conclave.”

  “Before or after he slaughtered all of Jack’s friends?” Jasmine sneered.

  “I have already apologized for not being omnipotent, witch,” Kett said coolly. “I am also not the only one in this vehicle who has allowed so-called evil to go unchecked.”

  “Hey,” Declan said, though his protest felt halfhearted. Because Kett was right. No Fairchilds — not even the three of us — had much of a moral leg to stand on when it came to comparing reputations.

  “Pay attention,” I said. I had paused the reconstruction for their round of bickering, then restarted it just in time to see Yale reach for Jack.

  As the vampire’s fingers brushed against his arm, the twelve-year-old flung himself back on the couch. Then, without him speaking a single word, wild magic exploded from him — a completely instinctual casting.

  The wave of energy buffeted the vampire, shattering every window in the room.

  Yale stumbled back fr
om Jack, momentarily pressing against the outer edge of the tight circle I’d cast. Then the vampire lunged forward in a blur of red-streaked magic, snatching Jack off the couch and disappearing from the reconstruction.

  “He’ll be powerful,” Declan said. Then he added heavily, “If he’s still alive.”

  “He’s alive,” Kett said.

  I lifted my gaze from the cube, already nodding in agreement as I met the vampire’s dispassionately certain gaze.

  “What?” Jasmine asked, glancing between the two of us.

  I tapped the cube. “Unlike with Ruby, Yale made Jack an offer.”

  “I can take you somewhere where your talents will be unleashed,” Declan quoted. “Ah, shit.”

  Kett nodded.

  “He’s collecting young witches,” I said. “But to what end? And why break the streak by kidnapping Jasmine?”

  “Maybe kidnapping Ruby and Jack was what Yale thought I was going to uncover,” Jasmine said thoughtfully. “When he realized I was investigating for Kett.”

  “But then why try to set up the meet-and-greet with the Conclave?” Declan asked, shaking his head. “It doesn’t add up.”

  “Or Yale was playing two games at once …” I kept my gaze on Kett. “And the connection between kidnapping the children and Jasmine was nothing but coincidence.”

  “You still think he’s kidnapping the kids for someone else? Maybe for a fee?” Jasmine asked. “I haven’t found any obvious financial connection. And the second so-called game? Something to do with Jasper? Something to do with the Conclave?”

  I shook my head, addressing Kett. “I need to speak to Yale.”

  He nodded, but he didn’t look pleased. “I’ll make another call.”

  “Good,” Jasmine said. “There’s a diner across from the group home. We’re going to get some hopefully perfectly greasy fries while we figure out our next step. And, side note, if I was a creepy vampire, the diner is exactly where I would have sat to stalk my prey.”

  “Not in a shadowed doorway?” Kett asked blithely.

  “Nope, that would draw too much attention. But buying a few coffees a couple of evenings in a row … that’s the place.”

  Kett nodded thoughtfully, then exited the SUV.

  I tucked the reconstruction into my bag.

  Jasmine opened her door, glancing back at me grimly. “Bring the shoebox.”

  Declan grabbed the box before I had a chance to, though, then climbed out of the vehicle. I followed at a slower pace, my mind whirling with questions. I had a terrible feeling that there was more to the investigation than a vampire snatching witch children. But what that might be, I didn’t know.

  As we walked the block and a half to the diner on the opposite corner from the group home, Declan fielded a phone call, frowning at his screen. Jasmine and I continued on as he fell back to take it.

  Kett had disappeared before I’d exited the SUV, and I didn’t bother asking Jasmine or Declan as to his whereabouts. It was unlikely the vampire had shared his itinerary with either of them. I had asked him to facilitate a conversation with Yale, and I knew he would try to make that happen.

  The diner didn’t appear to have a name, or any signage. Its exterior brick had been painted over in brighter patches of green, presumably covering graffiti, and the ‘Help Wanted’ sign taped on the front door was sun bleached. Thankfully, though, the air-conditioning was on full blast and the vinyl booths along the length of the front windows were clean.

  A clock on the wall told me it was approaching four in the afternoon as Jasmine and I commandeered the center booth that a pink-haired server waved us toward. A group of teenagers sat in the far corner, away from the windows. I wondered whether they were from the group home, or were maybe visiting friends who resided there. I wondered also if the invisible person who Jack had tried to protect in the reconstruction was among their number, though I had no urge to interrupt their intermittent conversation.

  Drawing unnecessary attention to Jack’s kidnapping was a bad idea. The kind of idea that got mundane minds wiped. And magic was tricky even when it wasn’t being used on the nonmagical, making it unlikely that whoever had been next to Jack could have shed any light on the situation anyway. That was what was so inherently satisfying about reconstructions. Not even the most skilled Adepts could hide their wrongdoings when revealed in one of my collections. I just had to find the right moments. Then eventually, slowly but surely, we’d figure out what had happened to Ruby and Jack.

  Upon sitting, Jasmine immediately opened her laptop and began systematically digging through and logging the contents of Jack Harris’s keepsake box.

  I was seriously pleased to find that the diner offered old-fashioned milkshakes, ordering three — chocolate, strawberry, and vanilla — when the server approached the table with glasses of water in hand.

  She was young enough that I briefly wondered if she lived at the group home, or at least knew some of the residents. But again, it would have felt intrusive to ask, and I wasn’t sure how it would benefit our investigation. So I kept quiet, letting Jasmine discreetly wield her tech magic across the table from me.

  Jasmine would uncover our next lead. I had contributed as much as I realistically could with the reconstruction, but I still felt oddly restless. Plagued by the nagging feeling that there was some connection I was missing at the root of our investigation. Perhaps it was simply that I was at loose ends personally — with whatever was going on with Lark that needed my attention, and the formal inquiry I’d vowed to open into Jasper’s nefarious deeds.

  All of it needed to be dealt with before the time limit on the contract with Kett ran out. And I hated it when my personal life intruded on my professional life. I also had no idea how to initiate contact with Lark unless I was standing within the brownie’s personal territory, whether my apartment or Fairchild Manor.

  And even though I was concerned enough that I might have asked my Aunt Rose for a favor, sending her to the manor in search of the brownie and incurring a debt by doing so, it was highly unlikely that Lark would appear for the healer of the Fairchild coven. Brownies were notoriously selective about who they chose to communicate with and serve, following a code that had more to do with personal preferences than any sort of easily defined morals.

  Through the front windows, I saw that Declan had followed us to the diner but not entered. So apparently, I wasn’t the only one who was restless. He was slowly pacing back and forth in the tiny parking lot that occupied the front half of the diner’s property, his phone glued to his ear. His responses to whomever he was speaking to appeared to be short and brusque. Perhaps Grey had called to follow up on the group home visit. Or perhaps Copper was checking up on him. Declan looked up and met my gaze through the window, and I smiled rather than dropping my eyes. I was tired of feeling guilty about staring at him. He was my concern, always.

  Declan ended the call, shoving his phone back in his pocket and striding into the diner. He nodded to the server, who nearly walked into the stools lining the front counter upon seeing him. She recovered her step without Declan noticing her interest in him, and he slid into the booth next to Jasmine.

  “All right?” she asked, not looking away from her laptop.

  He grunted, grabbing a menu.

  “Wisteria ordered milkshakes.”

  “Good,” he said. “And?”

  I shook my head.

  Instead of waiting for the server to return, Declan exited the booth abruptly and approached the cash register. I heard him order onion rings and fries, along with a bacon-cheeseburger. The pink-haired server stared resolutely down at her notepad as he spoke. Her cheeks were pink as well.

  “They’ve broken up,” Jasmine said quietly.

  “Who?”

  “Declan and Copper. She’s been texting. He moved out while she was away. Which, if he wasn’t my brother, I would have said was a pretty vile play.”

  “Might have been a long time coming, but badly timed,” I said, instinctively
defending Declan though I knew nothing about his relationship. I’d never met or even spoken with Copper. “Wait. You’ve been reading his text messages?”

  She shrugged.

  “Do you read my text messages?”

  “Yeah, because you put all your secrets in writing.”

  Declan slipped back into the booth. “What secrets?”

  My heart hollowed suddenly, and I looked out the window. “I don’t have any secrets from you. I never did. All I have is what is, what will be. The unalterable future.”

  Jasmine glanced up from her screen. “Wisteria —”

  “No,” Declan said sharply. “We aren’t doing this here. Not now.”

  Jasmine shut her mouth, accepting her brother’s rebuke without protest. Though she pressed her ankle against mine underneath the table as she slid one of the photos from Jack’s keepsake box across to me. “Jack’s mom.”

  I glanced at the smiling woman in the picture. She was holding a tiny baby. Then I flipped it over. Two names and a date had been carefully printed on the back. Jack and Melody Harris. April 2005. The handwriting looked childish, as if it might have been Jack’s, not his mother’s. My heart pinched.

  I flipped the picture back over and focused on the joy etched across the woman’s face.

  “He would have known how much she loved him,” I whispered. “How much she wanted him, just by having this picture.” The photo was worn at the edges from being handled. I slid it back to Jasmine but she didn’t pick it up.

  “More than we had,” Declan said. “And we survived.”

  “So far …”

  Movement out the window drew my attention. A dark-green rental car pulled into the lot, taking one of the three empty parking spots.

  “I have a picture of Dahlia holding me as a newborn,” Jasmine said. “She sure as hell ain’t smiling in it.”

  Declan snorted, laughing.

  A tall, thin woman stepped out of the rental car, her shock of coppery red hair shimmering in the sunlight. She glanced up at the diner — where the sign should have been — then down at her phone, as if she wasn’t sure she was in the right place.