Then two things happen at once. The neighbor to Frey's right opens his door. "Hey," he shouts. "What's going on?"
In the same instant, Suit One puts a knee to my chest and heaves.
The sudden appearance of the guy in the doorway distracts me. Suit One's knee catches me off guard. Before I can recover, I'm flying off him to land in an ungraceful heap at the neighbor's feet.
He reaches a hand down, but rather than help me, it gets in the way of my leaping up and the two of us do a kind of weird dance trying to get disentangled. By the time I get my feet back under me, the suits are up and away.
The neighbor is a kindly looking old guy, with a Mr. Rogers smile and a shock of wiry white hair peeking around the edges of a faded baseball cap. He frowns at me. "Are you all right, Miss?" He pushes the cap back and scratches his head. "What just happened? Should I call the police?"
But I'm looking after the Blues Brothers, who are racing back toward the parking lot.
The neighbor puts a hand on my arm. "Were those men coming out of Daniel's apartment?" he asks. "He's not home, you know. He's at school."
I'm trying to regain my balance and pull at my sweater, which has ridden up embarrassingly high. My eyes are following the suits, and just as I decide to go after them, the old guy says, "Wonder if they're kin to that sweet young niece of Daniel's?"
That snaps my attention back. "Niece?"
The old guy's little prune face is wreathed in a wide smile. "Met her last night. Daniel was taking her to dinner." He taps a forefinger near the corner of his right eye. "These old eyes don't miss much. I was right there at my window when they came out. Just like this morning. Naturally, I did the neighborly thing and came out and introduced myself. Daniel said the girl was visiting from Boston. That's where he's from, you know."
I don't share with him what I know - or what I want to do to "Daniel" when I get my hands on him. I can't believe he'd expose Trish to danger by taking her out in public. If it was Trish.
The guy now has my complete attention. "What did the girl look like?" I ask, trying not to sound as concerned as I feel.
"Oh, she's a cute little thing. About thirteen, I'd say, a little thin. Blonde hair down to here." He touches his own shoulders. "Beautiful eyes."
"Did you get her name?"
"Trish," he replies promptly. "Course, it was strange that Daniel came back alone. I meant to ask him about that this morning, but he left before I could."
Came back alone? That's all I need to hear. I thank Mr. Rogers for his help. He starts to say something else, but I don't wait nor do I try to keep the speed down as I race back to the car. This time I leap the fence with barely a backward glance. Let any pain in the ass who saw that try to explain it.
By the time I get to Mom's school, I'm sick with anger and trepidation. I park in the faculty lot and go directly to Frey's classroom. His radar picks me up before I reach the door.
Anna. She's safe.
He's standing at the podium in front of a class of about forty students. It's the only thing that keeps me from marching in and tearing his throat out. I can get all the information I need from his blood.
I know that, he tells me. So calm down and listen. Trish is safe. I took her to a place where she can be protected twenty-four hours a day. I'll take you to her after school.
You'll take me to her now.
I can't. I have students here. And you have more important things to deal with. Go see Trish's mother. Find out who hurt Trish. Until we put those men away, she will never be safe.
While we're "talking," he's actually lecturing the class in his real voice. Something about parts of a sentence. I watch, biting on my lower lip, uncertain what to do next. Then he's in my head again.
Close your eyes.
What?
Close your eyes. I'll show you that Trish is all right.
I have no idea what kind of parlor trick he's about to perform, but I follow his instructions. I close my eyes. A picture starts to form like an image appearing out of the fog. Trish. Sitting at a desk. She has a book open in front of her and a woman sits beside her. The woman points to something in the book and they both laugh. A real laugh. Trish looks relaxed and - happy.
Is this a trick? Where is she? Who is she with?
I'll show you this afternoon. Anna, you have to trust me.
No. I don't.
The picture dissolves as we speak. I shake my head to clear it and rub at my eyes. There's a curious tingling in the back of my neck, like a subtle muscle ache after a heavy workout.
Sorry about that, Frey says. It's an unfortunate side effect of the visions.
He pauses, picking something else out of my head. There were men at my condo this morning. They were looking for Trish, weren't they?
It's my guess. Believe it or not, your neighbor scared them away. He also told me about meeting your "niece." You should have told me what you were planning.
You wanted Trish safe. She is. Carolyn Delaney may be able to tell you who those men were. You need to speak with her. Now.
Our eyes lock together over the heads of his students. Amazingly, the kids seem completely oblivious to my presence. Perhaps a being who can project images can also cast spells that anesthetize those around him to everything except that which he chooses.
Daniel Frey has a lot of interesting powers.
I shake my head again. The cobwebby remains of the vision fade like an overexposed photo. The vision seemed very real. And Trish looked happy. But I won't know for sure if it was more than a trick until I see Trish for myself.
My eyes find Frey's again. Okay. I'm going to trust that Trish is all right. For now. I'll be back at three to pick you up. If anything happens to her, I'll kill you. Slowly.
He allows a tiny smile to touch the corners of his mouth, the only acknowledgment of my statement.
But he believes me. My telepathic powers may be limited compared to a shapeshifter's, but not my physical ones.
And so I'm back on the road again. I feel like I've spent most of the last few days in my car. My nerve endings tingle with anxiety for Trish, tension over the prospect of facing Carolyn, and anger towards the sick fucks who take pleasure in stealing the joy of life from children. I only hope I can restrain myself when I find them. These last few months had me convinced I could lead a "normal" life. Working with David, visiting with my parents, going to Culebra when I needed to feed. It almost felt natural. But in just two days, I've been knocked off kilter.
First with Max and now with a rush of murderous rage toward Carolyn that scares me. Not because I'm afraid I can't control it, but because I'm not sure I want to.
Coming face to face with Carolyn will be a supreme test of self-control. But I need to keep foremost in my head that she has the key to protecting Trish. She knows who, besides herself, exploited her daughter. I will choke on my anger if I need to. I will be calm and reasonable in my approach. I will point out rationally why it is in her best interest to tell me what I need to know.
My fingers are gripping the steering wheel so tightly, the knuckles are white. My teeth ache from a clenched jaw.
So much for calm and reasonable.
Carolyn will talk to me.
One way or the other.
The apartment complex is just ahead. As I make the turn into the parking lot, a police car blocks my way. A young patrolman slouches against the door. He straightens up at my approach, and indicates with a wave of his hand that I should pull over to the side of the road.
I do, my eyes on the scene behind him. There are more police cars, strobe lights flashing. And a lot of uniforms and plainclothes cops milling around. But there's no urgency in their manner. And when the Coroner's wagon pulls around me and the patrol cop waves him in, I know why.
