All around Mount Hope, the streets were riddled with drug gangs and violence. Every single guy and girl in that place had a weapon on them, but they weren’t inherently bad people. They were out there surviving in a way that nobody could understand, unless you came from the same place. Most of them only used their weapons in self-defense, though drive-bys and gang shootings were par for the course. I’d seen it happen. One night, I’d witnessed a bunch of kids running for their lives as bullets sprayed from the windows of an SUV. There were good people, too—people who wanted to get out, people who wanted the best for their families, and people who avoided those who ran the neighborhood, the gangs and pimps and drug-runners. As with all places, the bad and good existed in a delicate balance, but this area of San Diego had played a big part in who I was now. I’d learned a lot.
“Do not approach anyone who looks shifty,” Channing warned. “No confrontation unless absolutely necessary.”
“Everyone looks shifty,” Wade muttered, gaining another hard look from me. Ah, Wade Crowley and his upper-class, magical privilege. Sometimes, his naïveté shocked me.
However, he wasn’t the only one who appeared to be unsettled by his surroundings. I could feel wariness spiking off all of them in sharp waves that ran cold in the pit of my stomach, like swallowing minty-fresh chewing gum. Aside from me, the only person who didn’t seem fazed was Santana, whose calm demeanor kept me from sinking into the others’ fear. I clung to her serenity like it was a life raft. In this neighborhood, I needed to keep my wits about me.
“How are you so calm?” Wade asked, as I maneuvered the group out of the way of the stoop boys. They were loud and rude, but their bark was worse than their bite. They were the kind who’d wave guns around to intimidate, but wouldn’t have the balls to pull the trigger, since it was broad daylight on a main street.
“I lived here a few years ago,” I replied.
He stared at me, aghast. “You lived here?”
“Yep, so I suggest you listen up,” I said, casting a pointed look at Channing. “I know my way around this neighborhood. I can keep us out of trouble.”
“The mark was spotted going into a dilapidated house on Raven Street. Do you know where that is?” Channing asked.
I nodded. “This way.”
We walked along the northern edge of the cemetery, with the graves of fallen veterans on our right. Moving along Market Street at a quick pace, a group of rangy-looking teenagers turned the corner and started coming in our direction. I recognized the gang colors, and hurriedly ushered the rest of the group down Quail Street. If we wanted to avoid confrontation, we needed to avoid the gangs in this area. They didn’t appreciate strangers, especially ones who looked so out of place.
Cutting right at the end, I led the guys toward the street we were looking for—Raven Street. An apt name, considering the tangible gloom that settled over the houses. Pink-walled houses and rusty fences greeted us, with twisted trees in the front yards. Sofas and various other junk items were thrown wherever, while a couple of palms swayed in the cool breeze that blew through the neighborhood.
“Let’s go door-to-door, see what people know,” Channing instructed, taking out a police ID.
I shook my head. “Nope, no IDs. Not here. Not if you want anyone to actually talk to you.”
“What do you mean?”
“They won’t speak to us if we look like we’re from the police or the FBI, or any of those places,” I explained. “We just need to ask like normal folks—pretend we’re looking for a friend, or a cousin, or someone’s daughter. Say that Marjorie has gone missing and we’re worried something might have happened to her. Say we want to find her before she gets into any trouble. That’s the only way you’ll get these people to talk.”
He seemed a bit put out that I had more knowledge about the area than he did. “Fine, no IDs,” he said, after a pause.
“Excellent,” I replied, trying to keep the note of victory out of my voice. “Let’s split up and go in pairs. Meet back here in an hour?”
Channing shook his head. “One of us will be with you at all times. Stella, you go with Wade and Harley. I’ll go with Raffe and Santana. No arguments.”
You just had to have the last word, didn’t you?
“Works for me,” Stella chimed in, flashing a quick smile at Wade. I realized a second too late that I was giving her the evil eye. Both of us turned away, somewhat embarrassed. Not that I had any reason to be. I was just looking out for a friend. Sure… super convincing, Harley.
We separated into our trios, and my group took one side of the street while the others took the opposite row of homes. I led the way, guiding Wade and Stella around snapping dogs and Keep Out signs. Most of the pups in this area looked and sounded fierce, but few really were. Plus, I’d always had a soft spot for pit bulls. They had a bad rep, but I thought they were sweet, and fiercely loyal. The Taylors, whom I’d lived with before the Smiths, owned a gray pittie called Barker. I’d loved him more than any human, preferring him to the family. Things didn’t end well with them, thanks to their son’s roving eye and wandering hands. Hardly my fault that he was carted off to the emergency room. In the end, the only thing I was sorry for, after leaving the Taylors behind, was not seeing Barker again.
As we went from door-to-door with no luck, I thought about the conversation I’d had last night with Alton. Like we’d expected, he’d been thrilled and disappointed in equal measure. He wanted Jacob and Isadora within the confines of the coven, but he’d sort of come around to their reasoning for staying away. I guess it excited him even more to know that he might be receiving a fully-fledged, in-control Portal Opener, even if he had to wait for it. Delayed gratification at its finest.
The Shapeshifter had proven to be a slightly more troubling topic of conversation. We’d told Alton everything about the individual, and about the person they’d impersonated. I mentioned seeing a hand that didn’t belong to Preceptor Bellmore, though that didn’t really give us any more information. It simply took Preceptor Bellmore out of the line of fire. After returning the previous evening, we’d been informed that the real Bellmore was just fine, and had been working late in her office when the attack happened.
What had surprised me most of all was Alton’s confession that they’d already been monitoring the Shapeshifters in the coven, ever since the Finch incident. I couldn’t get my head around it, even now. If they’d been watching the Shapeshifters, then who attacked us? Alton hadn’t given us any answers. Truthfully, he didn’t seem to know. With the storm, he’d told us there’d been a few glitches in the cameras and the transmissions coming from most of the tracer beacons. He hadn’t thought anything of it, at the time, but he’d since realized that it had been used to the spy’s advantage. We’d been well and truly played.
We’d all come away from the conversation with the understanding that the Shapeshifters would have to be monitored even more closely, from now on. I presumed that was why he’d put Garrett on surveillance duty with Astrid, keeping him under the coven’s roof instead of out in the field.
Yeah, but it can’t be Garrett. Surely not. He didn’t know anything about Finch, and I bet all these minions must know about each other. They can’t be working rogue. Garrett had seemed genuinely hurt after discovering the truth of Finch’s betrayal, and I couldn’t fathom it being him. Still, we couldn’t rule anyone out at this point… aside from Preceptor Bellmore. Those hands might not have been one-hundred-percent masculine, but they definitely hadn’t been the preceptor’s.
Leaving those thoughts behind, I moved my focus back to the task at hand. We reached the fourth house along our side of the road. An elderly woman opened her door, and she seemed wary of us—and understandably so, given the neighborhood.
“Sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if you’d seen this girl anywhere?” I asked, showing her a photo. “She’s my baby sister and we’re worried she might be in some trouble. Anything you can do to help us would be amazing.”
Her expression softened. “Sorry, I haven’t seen a girl like that around here. Nobody smart lives on these streets anymore. It’s all thugs and junkies.” She paused. “I hope you find her. This place can make folks disappear like that.” She snapped her fingers for effect. “It’s like the Bermuda Triangle.”
“Well, thank you for your help,” I replied. “I hope we find her, too. If you hear anything, here’s my number.” I handed her my card, which she took with shaky fingers. There was still a way to go before we reached the top end of the street, and I was starting to wonder how Marjorie was hiding so well.
As we went through another handful of houses, I noticed that Stella had been oddly silent since we’d parted with the other three. There were no flirty looks, no giggles, no toying with her hair. She seemed to have drifted off into a world of her own. However, as soon as we crossed the road to reconvene with the others, it all changed. We’d canvassed about half of the buildings on the street with no luck. It seemed all of us were considering a change of strategy.
“Any luck?” Channing asked.
“Not from the residents, though the company isn’t too shabby,” Stella replied, smiling in Wade’s direction. My body bristled with annoyance. She’d been quiet for ages, and now this?
Channing seemed surprised. “So nobody has seen her?”
“No, they haven’t. Have they, Wade?” Stella addressed only him. Well… seems like I might as well not be here.
Wade shook his head, and I felt a jolt of joy from him at Stella’s attention. “No, there haven’t been any sightings so far.”
“Not for lack of trying though, right?” She nudged him in the arm. I stared in disbelief. Santana seemed to be stunned, too, though Raffe stayed very… well, Raffe. A mixture of churning emotions that I couldn’t read properly.