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There weren’t words for how much I hated Colby had been the one to update me.
>And?
>>It belongs to the first victim. Luke Reynolds.
Had we been able to ask the parents, they might have told us their son wore his sister’s hand-me-downs. Or they might have told us he was obsessed with the characters printed on the shoe and didn’t care if he had to wear girls’ shoes to get them.
I would never have an answer, and for some reason, that single detail haunted me.
>Thanks for letting me know.
>I thought you were playing.
>>I set an alert on my phone for database updates from the Kellies. And the local cleaners.
>Smart.
>You should get back to your game. Those orcs need a good scourging.
>>Do you remember all the times you asked me if there was anything you could do to help?
Help her cope with losing her life, her family, her entire self.
>Yes.
>>This helps. Doing something helps. Stopping people who prey on other kids helps.
I shut my eyes and forced myself to remember she wasn’t a normal kid. She was a familiar. Before that, she had been fae. She would only pop the lid off any box I tried to cram her into, because she was more than the brave little girl I found in the woods that night, the one who begged me to save her.
>Okay.
That was all I could manage without pushing, and that always got us nowhere fast.
>>Besides, all my friends left to eat dinner. I promise to go be a kid in like thirty minutes.
Her friends spanned the country, and the globe, so they tended to switch up mealtimes so they could eat as a group then get right back to the serious business of murdering orcs, looting bodies, and, apparently, rescuing kittens who probably hacked up flaming hairballs or had spikes on their rough tongues for licking the flesh off their enemies.
>We’ll be back soon.
>>I’ll be in our room.
With that exchange done, I filled in Asa, which never got weirder. I was so used to the guys overhearing my phone conversations, they didn’t need me to spell out the information. But texts were one medium where paranormal hearing wouldn’t slip you a cheat code.
“Do you think all the victims were dumped in the harbor?”
“All the victims were bled out where they were taken, but not when they were taken. In each instance, the killer circled back. A ritual element, perhaps? From there, the killer must have relocated the bodies to a secure area where they could cast the carving spell without interruption. The skins require time to cure. The killer likely disposes of the bodies while they’re waiting. I can see the harbor as a dumping ground. It’s close, easily accessible, and it all but guarantees discovery.”
Most killers who evaded capture for this long did so by avoiding those kinds of simple mistakes.
This one? I couldn’t pin down. The wreaths, if they were genuine tokens of regret, hinted the killer might have given us the leg on purpose. But if Tracy was now our template, had the kids been unraveled too?
Why put so much effort into small bodies? Who could wear them? Surely not the killer.
Unless…
Had the killer pretended to be a child to lure the other children away from safety?
Always nice to discover new breeds of monsters. As if I didn’t already have enough trouble sleeping.
