The Law of Quiet, page 8
Trev tried hard not to let it show, but the abandonment hurt him too. That she and Duncan had devolved into bitter exes fighting over him didn’t help. “Shit.”
Lyleigh grabbed one of Nona’s hands and held it. “He asked if his dad left because you spend so much time with other people.”
“Oh my gravy.”
“But then he asked if all men were that insecure.”
Nona blinked. “What?”
Giggling, “Not in those words, but that’s the gist of it. He didn’t understand why Duncan was like that. He knows his mom always comes home to him. Sometimes she gets delayed, but she always comes home and gives him big hugs and kisses and when she’s home, she’s the best mom ever. Even his friends think so. Other moms and dads leave home for a long time for jobs and they stay together. His dad must be broken.”
Tears pricked at her eyes, and she coughed.
Lyleigh sighed. “How’d you manage to turn a spawn of Duncan into the coolest kid ever?”
Somehow, a laugh came out. “He does have an auntie who helps.” She dragged her sister into another bone-crushing hug.
“Can we open that bottle of pinot you wouldn’t let me drink while you were gone?” Lyleigh grinned.
“Sweet cheese and crackers, I could definitely use some wine.”
The next evening saw Lauren arriving home to a full house. Her housemates were entertaining Amber in the living room, their laughter cutting short when Lauren stepped inside and the dogs bum-rushed her. There was a smile on Amber’s face, and she greeted Lauren with a pleased hug, but there was a tension in her shoulders that said she was hiding something. That she hadn’t called or texted Lauren to warn of the visit made her nervous. An hour later, after Grace left for a night shift and Jeff took his dogs for a walk, Amber’s smile morphed into a furious scowl.
“What the fuck happened up there?” Amber demanded.
“Um?”
Folded paper was yanked from a pocket and shoved into Lauren’s face. “Blizzard Strands Unlucky Hikers For Days”, was in bold print across the top.
“‘Despite arctic temperatures and whiteout conditions, experienced guide manages to find shelter just in time?’,” was Amber’s disbelieving snarl as she quoted the article. “Are you trying to get yourself branded?”
“You came all the way from Chicago to yell at me about hiring an experienced guide who knows those mountains?”
“Yes, it’s such a surprise that the lokref with heated blankets for wings and her cute guide survived the arctic temperatures.” She continued her tirade. “And managed to find shelter in a fucking whiteout.”
Lump in her throat, heart thudding against her ribs, Lauren stared at her. The silence between them was thick and alive. It wrapped around her chest and squeezed, made it even harder to draw in air without looking like a terrified rabbit. Lying to Amber about this was stupid. But if Amber didn’t know for certain, she couldn’t be called an accomplice, couldn’t be called a criminal, couldn’t be branded or taken away from Royce.
“You don’t want to know what happened, Amber.” Lauren eventually spoke, her words ragged, barely more than a whisper. “You have Royce to think about.”
Amber’s eyes narrowed a breath before she softened and breathed, “Oh. Shit.”
She nodded.
“What about this guide, did you warn her?”
Another nod.
“And you’re not going to contact her again?”
“Never.” Lauren promised and carefully omitted the part about having left a feather with Nona. It had been an impulse, a reaction to the thought of what if the commandant found out anyway.
Amber’s hands went to her neck and she paced a few times before stopping and staring at Lauren. “Tell me what happened. Tell me all of it.”
She hesitated.
“You’re family, Ren. To me and Royce. Tell me everything so we can prep for the worst.”
Another email was glanced at, deleted. The next could be interesting. Tibbits tagged it for a follow-up. The third made her eyebrow twitch. Lauren Trent’s name was in a news article involving a blizzard that had stranded a dozen hikers, killed a few people in their cars, sent more than two dozen to the hospital for various injuries. Frostbite had claimed quite a few toes and fingers.
Trent had been with a guide, a local, who had managed to fight gale-force winds and whiteout for over two miles to locate a cabin where they took shelter. Neither suffered any injuries. There was a quote from Trent about how scared she’d been and how lucky that her guide was experienced enough to have found the cabin. Nona Hummel had a humble quote about experience and luck being on her side.
Tibbits frowned. Her fingers danced as she brought up every related article, blog, and report that she could find or hack into. She studied the blizzard, the area, its people. Agents were sent to get to know Nona Hummel. One was told to get as close as possible, and when they had Hummel’s trust, ask about the blizzard, learn anything possible about that trip with Trent.
Weeks passed. Tibbits was studying a lokref astronomer who had theories about interstellar travel. His work was fascinating. She enjoyed reading his papers and following his blog, and it bothered her more than she wanted to admit when she discovered that his pedestrian boyfriend knew about lokref. She wished the astronomer had bonded with the man. He hadn’t, and she had to submit her report to Commandant Meisenger.
The astronomer was brought in for interrogation and a trial where he was found guilty of breaking Xuande’s Law of Quiet. He was branded with nullen ink, never to summon his magic again. The pedestrian met an unfortunate end while on vacation with his friends in Jamaica.
A shiver passed through Tibbits’ lean frame. Branding not only kept the magic locked inside, but it was said to be eternally painful. She pitied the poor man and expected for his interstellar studies to be hindered, if not outright cast aside.
Trent’s file was pulled up. Mostly unimpressive save for her talent with the spear and the unique aspects of her wings. Except for the black feathers, she would have been a good knight, smart, willing, strong-willed, brave. Age and experience would have tempered her proclivity for impulsive actions. Lokref would have liked and followed her for her charm and generosity. Privately, Tibbits wasn’t sure the legends about dark feathers had enough merit to be acted upon as ruthlessly as the commandant demanded.
She clicked through updates from her agents tailing Trent and Hummel. No change to Hummel’s story about the events during the blizzard. Hummel and Trent didn’t stay in contact though Hummel admitted she might have liked to be friends with the other woman. She had an ex-husband, a child by him that she almost had full custody of. There were rumors about Hummel’s sexuality that the ex had spread when they were first going through divorce. The agents couldn’t find anything to corroborate the rumors. Hummel spent her energy pursuing clientele and taking care of her child. There was little chance that Hummel would ever pursue Trent for friendship, even less as a romantic interest.
As for having any knowledge of lokref, she had stories her grandfather had spread. Stories about a false angel that had terrorized him one summer night. The woman put no stock in them. She believed he’d been hurt by a stranger. She didn’t believe that stranger was anything but a regular human, and alcohol had probably skewed his recollection, as he’d been known to drink too much. She wasn’t religious though she believed in a higher power. Overall, the woman was practical, simple, and domesticated. Not the kind that Trent ever showed interest in.
About Trent, the agent noted no change in her regular habits. She continued her work as a mechanic, staying employed at the garage, buying and fixing cars to sell, tinkering with the car she would race in better weather. Her internet activity showed no interest in returning to Colorado or communicating with Hummel. Monitored phone calls and texts didn’t reveal anything pertinent. Neither did Knight Garrettt-Mansour’s.
Tibbits prepared a small report about Trent as she did every few months for the commandant. She made note of Trent and Hummel’s lack of interaction and advised that she saw no evidence of misbehavior or warrant for Hummel’s disposal. It made her feel a little lighter to hit send on that email.
nine
Randal
Nona’s baby boy had been missing for four days. Four excruciating days of crying, screaming, pacing, vomiting, and needing to do something, anything to find him! And now, now she was learning that it wasn’t her asshole of an ex who’d taken him as everyone had first assumed. She couldn’t even be angry with him anymore. It was his mentally unstable mother she was furious with. And the idiot she’d hired.
An arrogant prick who thought he was a woodsman, but couldn’t light a fire without kerosene or navigate a marked trail without a damn GPS. Randal Williams. Incompetent coward. He’d gotten scared by a ranger on a routine patrol who hadn’t had the slightest clue he’d had Trevor, was simply checking to see if Randal had seen anything suspicious. Randal shot the deputy, run into the forest, and probably gotten his dumb ass so lost that he couldn’t find his way out what with having left his GPS behind in his panic.
“Your mother.” She wished she could bring Trevor back with the rabid glower she was aiming at Duncan. “Hired Randal to steal my son.”
“And he didn’t deliver my son like he should have two days ago. I didn’t know about this, Nona. I would never have agreed to something this idiotic.” Duncan spat at her. “My lawyer was sure he could get Trevor from you. Why would I be part of his kidnapping when I was assured his custody?”
Scratch that, she could be angry with him. Furious. Absolutely fucking livid.
Investigators, Duncan, and well-wishers gone for the evening, Nona made a choice that definitely wasn’t the smartest, but it was what her maternal instincts demanded. She texted her sister and packed her spring weather gear, adding a fresh set of Trevor’s clothes, a couple flares and flaregun, three days of rations, a local map, and a two-way radio tuned to the emergency frequency. Pack tossed into the passenger seat of the car, Nona found herself calm. Her worried, angry shaking had stopped. She was focused. She had a plan.
She was going to get her son back.
Instead of parking at the nearest trailhead, Nona pulled off the highway as close as she could get to where Randal had last been seen. She tossed back the last of the coffee in her mug and grabbed her pack, locked the car, flicked on her headlamp. A soft, misty rain pattered on her head and nose. Her breath puffed white. Damn Duncan’s mother! Damn Randal! Trevor didn’t deserve this!
Angry again, she stomped into the shadows and within an hour, she found the meadow where the deputy had been shot. Randal’s initial direction was easily parsed by his and Trevor’s footsteps in old mud. But like the police before her, she quickly lost the trail on the rocky slope and had to guess which way he might have fled. It was difficult putting herself in his shoes. She shivered in disgust as she tried to fathom what he’d been thinking, where he’d want to go.
He’d still want to be paid and avoid manslaughter charges, so he’d keep Trevor alive. He’d want to move quickly. There was a tiny airstrip a few miles away. It mostly handled the tourists who could afford aerial tours of the mountains. A couple firefighter helicopters called it home. Randal had a pilot’s license. Or used to. Nona was pretty sure he’d lost it for a DUI offense a few years back. That was why he’d turned to land-based guide work. Incompetent jerk.
Destination chosen, she put in a few hours hike uphill. The light mist turned into real rain. What had been an annoyance became a real danger. Slippery rocks and mud threatened her footing more than once. Around midnight, she cursed the weather and pitched her tent. She’d catch a few hours rest, refresh her eyes, and attack the trail with the sun on her side. She set her watch alarm and stuffed herself into her sleeping bag.
Sleep didn’t come quickly, nor did it leave her feeling rested. She sprang up eagerly anyway. Her gear was quickly stowed, and she set off for the airstrip. When she thought she was only a couple hours behind Randal, she came across cougar scat under a rocky overhang. It was relatively fresh, with small bones -probably rabbit- gleaming within. Maybe a day or two old. And small. It probably wasn’t eating well.
Oh no.
A hungry cat would lick its lips at the sight of a little human. A desperate one would eye an adult man the same way. Nona felt for the reassuring weight of her rock axe and hurried forward.
When she was starting to think about breaking for lunch, she caught a whiff of rotting meat. The wind was bringing it from up ahead. As her heart jumped into panic, she made herself survey the area, put her axe in her hand, ready the little whistle she kept in her vest pocket. Nothing close. She pushed forward.
The stench only got worse. It wasn’t quite the puke-inducing odor of trash baking under the summer sun, not in this cool weather, yet it still made her stomach twist. Her breath caught when she saw a boot sticking out from under a pile of pine needles and scrub. She gasped when she saw the blue of a coat too.
Her first thought was Trevor. She flung away the detritus, revealing a shredded coat, ripped open stomach. She coughed and turned, breathing shallowly, blinking rapidly, willing herself not to vomit. The body wasn’t Trevor. It wasn’t him, but she needed to know who it was. She needed to know if it was Randal or someone else.
She turned back and finished exposing the corpse. Most of it was intact, ignoring the defensive wounds on its arms and legs, the ripped out throat. Randal’s features remained recognizable. She whirled about, every sense straining for the vaguest hint of Trevor. She followed the drag marks back to Randal’s abused pack. A muddy handgun was nearby. The whole area was scuffed from the fight. No Trevor. Heart thundering at her ribs with fear and hope, Nona screamed.“Trevor!”
Over and over, until her voice was hoarse, she called for him. She circled the area. Nothing. No trace. Buzzing from the radio at her hip reminded her that she could call for help. Hope surged through her.
Three hours later, with a helicopter overhead and Randal’s body stuffed in a bag for the morgue, neither Trevor nor his trail could be found on the rocky slopes. Shaking, she screamed again. A wordless, horrible thing that spat her panic, her terror, her hopelessness at the world. The deputies around her shifted and muttered to each other.
One tried to console her, but she shook them off with a violent snarl and stalked off to pace and pull at her hair. What the fuck was she going to do now? It’d been almost a week since her baby was stolen. A week! Trevor was smart, had lived up here most of his life, had the advantage of it being spring and his mother’s constant lessons on survival. The snowpack was melted. Temperatures had been decent. But he was only a boy. It was raining. And a cougar that was willing to attack an adult human could’ve made short work of...
Crying, tugging at her hair, her fingers caught on a thin braid. A thin leather cord wound through it, decorated on the end with colorful glass beads and two feathers. One a pale ivory, the other ebony and scarlet-tipped. Her thoughts slid sideways. Trembling and panting, she yanked the feathers out, held them up to her eye, dropped the ivory one.
The one in her hand was Lauren’s.
Could she help? Nona almost laughed at herself. Her first thoughts weren’t of the impossible concept that a woman who she barely knew would hear Nona calling her through a feather. A silly feather! Not at all. Nona wondered if said woman could help find Trevor. Lyleigh would tell her how she really needed some sleep if she was contemplating magical help.
But she hadn’t been there to see Lauren’s wings or feel their incredible warmth or watch her chop wood with a spear made of magic. Nona held the feather tight in her fist.
“Lauren,” she begged. “God, Lauren, please. Help me.”
Gasping at the vise suddenly gripping her chest, trying to crush it, Lauren stumbled mid-stride from her car, falling forward and sprawling across the pavement. She tasted hot iron on her tongue.
“What th-”
Lauren, whispered across her mind.
“Nona?”
The pressure released. Changed. It became an insistent tug, an unfailing compass, in what must be Nona’s direction. Okay. Wow. Lauren got to her unsteady feet. Nona was in trouble. She needed help badly enough to actually use the feather. Panic abruptly reared, tried to cloud Lauren’s thinking, but she kicked at the fog of emotions and managed clear thought. Call Amber. If she wasn’t busy jumping Royce’s bones, she’d help.
Hand halfway to her pocket, she remembered she’d dropped her phone last night, watched the screen fuzz to a solid, useless yellow. She’d handed it off an hour ago for repair. “Okay, I’ll go back to the house and,” foot halfway in that direction, the tug became a hard yank that tried to rip her heart out of her chest.
She turned back to Nona’s direction, and the pressure relaxed.
“Holy balls,” she wheezed, holding her chest. “Ow.”
Help me, was a desperate, searing plea that completely dispelled the idea of wasting time on getting Amber’s assistance. Without stopping to think of what would happen if she was seen in broad daylight in the middle of suburbia, Lauren brought out her wings and launched herself skyward.
On her knees, clutching the feather, staring up into the rain, Nona finally laughed at herself. “What did I expect? For her to suddenly appear? She can fly, not teleport.” She rubbed at her eyes. They felt raw. From crying or having had her contact lenses in too long? Probably both. Lyleigh was always after her to take her contacts out after the prescribed three weeks. Four to five was what usually happened. How long had it been this time?
“Ms. Hummel?”
She allowed the deputy to pull her up, put a cup of hot lemon tea in her, and convince her to get a few hours rest. Only because she was exhausted to the point of stumbling over nothing and having the shred of hope that Lauren’s arrival would bring did she crawl into her sleeping bag and close her eyes.
