Page 10 of Wake the Dream

Although the old clock tower in the center square had yet to chime seven—a reverberating ding-dong she could hear even several blocks away—Illaria decided to give her detective a call.

She scoffed.Herdetective. Sure. A good-looking man overall, he had too much flippant assertiveness for his own good. It rubbed her the wrong way. He wanted to present the image of friendly confident neighborhood law enforcement officer, but she knew better.

Cops could not be trusted to do their jobs. They were too full of self-indulgence to make a real difference, and everyone in town knew enough to handle their own problems.

Again, the initial call to the station had been a courtesy.

Even so, she dialed the number the detective had given her—along with the offer to call anytime, which they both recognized he hadn’treallymeant—and listened to the rings. Might as well probe him for new information. Maybe he would prove her wrong.

Kieran Shanahan answered on the sixth and final ring with a growl that made her think she’d accidentally dialed the swamp monster.

“Shanahan.”

God, even those three syllables in his infuriating tone set her teeth on edge. “It’s Illaria,” she stated, trying to keep the groan to herself. “I’m calling to see if you have any news on my sister.”

She made out the sound of sheets rustling. He must still be in bed.

“Look, lady, I’m running on about four hours of sleep here. No, I haven’t received any news because unlike you, I’m human and I need to rest to be useful. I’ll get back to you as soon as I’ve started the day.”

The call ended on a click and Illaria stared at the phone. He’d...he’d hung up on her.

Was he serious?

She resisted the mighty urge to throw the phone at the wall and watch it burst into pieces. It wasn’t the phone’s fault. The detective, like his comrades, chose to be an asshole, so she couldn’t blame anyone or anything but him.

Which meant she had to take matters into her own hands. That was no surprise, she thought with a grimace. How would this be any different from the last time? When she and Yelena had been young and in need of assistance when their parents disappeared and no one did anything?

Preparing for the day, she dressed for the weather and noted the creeping fingers of frost on her window panes. Another cold one in March. Would spring ever come?

Wrapping a red scarf around her neck, Illaria ventured out the front door to the one place she didn’t want to go.

There were all manner of paranormal and supernatural creatures living in Hedgehill Marsh. The town founders, a group of centaurs determined to find a place out of the shadows to coexist, had centuries ago stumbled by accident on the ley lines and magic and raised the buildings from the ground up. The town grew and evolved with the times, expanding and spreading to the circle of land deep in the forests of Oregon. Grew until they pushed against the boundaries of the powers keeping them protected. Hell, the Marsh even had a movie theater, perfect for teens to neck in the darkened back rows.

As a haven, the place drew mythology from across the spectrum, some less savory than others. The beast Illaria sought now, oddly enough, was one of her own kind. A fellow Fae trapped on this side of the border. Illaria refused to think of them as refugees. Displaced souls.

She was content enough, wasn’t she?

But where the hell had Yelena gotten to?

Illaria stomped along the sidewalk in boots that came to her knees and did little to protect against the vicious slash of cold. The buds on the trees, making a valiant attempt to push for an early spring, were covered in a thin layer of ice.

The old hag she sought lived across from the grocery store in a one-room apartment she rented above an empty storefront that had gone out of business years ago. No one really liked her, if Illaria was being completely honest. Because Caryss had the personality of a hungry and enraged wildebeest.

But Caryss was the last of the old Fae left on this side, the original magic born out of strife and bloodshed. She acted every bit the part, too. She’d ripped out her teeth one by one and replaced them with spikes of iron.

Once again, Illaria was left to wonder what the normal tourists passing through saw when they looked at Caryss, telling fortunes for humans on the streets in summer. They saw nothing good, surely. The old witch dressed like a bag lady to those who recognized her for her true self.

The only good thing about the hag? She knew things. She saw things others did not.

Of course, her sight came at a price, always. Illaria hoped she would be able to pay.

She stomped her way down the streets, her breath coming out in great white clouds.

The first-floor business used to be some kind of video store, Illaria remembered, although she’d never paid much attention. Or maybe it had been a coffee shop. Honestly, she had lived in town for the past fifty years and never really came to this street on purpose.

It was out of the way from her job at the art gallery, number one. Number two, she and Yelena had tried to stay away from Caryss. It made life easier for the involved parties.

Now she walked straight into the iron-toothed lion’s den by choice.

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