Remember, duckie, Pa’s voice echoed in her mind.When people underestimate you, it’s easier to turn the tables on them.
The stranger made no move to leave. Merely gazed at her from the darkness. Daring her to unveil him.
There was something unearthly about him, she thought as she drew closer. Something that didn’t belong in the chic atmosphere of La Rêverie. Emeline searched the ground for his shadow, to check its shape. A ridiculous habit instilled in her by Poor Mad Tom.
You can always tell a shiftling by their shadow.
Emeline shook off the thought.
It was too dark to see, anyway.
She was only a few steps away when her phone buzzed. Her footsteps slowed as she pulled it out of her back pocket. Expecting it to be Joel, her manager’s son, Emeline glanced down, ready to silence it.
But it wasn’t Joel.
The name of Pa’s neighbor lit up the screen: Maisie Decker. Emeline had given Maisie power of attorney in order to make things easier for everyone.
What if it’s about Pa?
Still glowering at the shadowy stranger, she answered the call.
“Maiz?”
“Hey, baby girl.” Maisie’s warm voice usually made Emeline think of her cinnamon rolls. Fluffy and gooey and sweet. Now, though, she heard the worry in it.
Something’s wrong.
Emeline plugged her ear to block out the noise of the pub. As she did, someone bumped her shoulder, brushing past her. The pub seemed to shimmer around her, and the sudden smell of crushed pine bloomed in the air.
It made her glance up, to the shadows where her stranger had been standing.
He wasn’t there.
Emeline spun, scanning the pub. But there was no sign of him. He’d disappeared, taking her Hydro Flask with him. As if he’d stepped straight out of this world and into another.
Unless I imagined him too …
“Ewan said I wasn’t allowed to bother you except for emergencies. But it’s been almost twenty-four hours and—”
Emeline’s pulse beat loud in her ears. “What’s been twenty-four hours?”
“Ewan’s gone, sweetheart.”
Gone.
A winter-cold chill swept through Emeline. “You mean—”
“He’s missing,” said Maisie. “He’s been missing since last night.”
The room started to spin.
“The nurse called after midnight. Said he wasn’t in his bed. He must have wandered outside and got lost. That’s what they think.”
Theybeing Heath Manor—the care facility where Pa lived. The one Emeline had moved him into this past April when he fell, broke his hip, and could no longer live in their old farmhouse alone. Emeline had canceled her gigs, driven seven hours back to Edgewood, packed up his things, and checked him into the closest care home.
Twenty-four hours.
Surely, someone would have found him by now.
