I opened my counseling-office door to let my newest patient in and, as always before a first session, wondered how this boy and I would navigate his dark waters. Well, this young man, really. Joe was nineteen, well-muscled although slim, with a hint of stubble on his cheeks. It was my own middle-age that made him seem like a boy. I shoved that perception down deep. Joe had a man's problems and surely considered himself grown up.
I waved at the chair and couch. “Sit wherever you like.”
He limped two steps, and looked from one seat to the other. “I don't have to lie down?” His voice was rough and hoarse, but not deep.
“Hell, no. Sit wherever you feel comfortable.”
He chose the couch, settling himself carefully at the end further from my desk. He looked tired, but calm. Considering he'd come from police custody to my office, I was pretty sure that was a facade. That idea was confirmed when Cleo, my Labradoodle, got herself up off her padded bed in the corner with a sigh of effort, and climbed up on the couch next to him.
Cleo is my therapy dog, sixty pounds of fuzzy yellow love on four paws. She has the best instincts I've ever seen for knowing when someone's hurting. She clearly felt this kid needed the full treatment, because instead of just leaning against him with her head at his shoulder, she made every effort she could to climb into his lap. He seemed startled at first, but then laid a hand on her head and gently ruffled her ears. She put a big paw further across his thighs to pin him in place, closed her eyes and leaned into the petting.
After a minute, I saw his tight shoulders begin to ease. I said, “Hi, Joe. I'm Doctor Smythe. That giant mound of dog-hair who's getting you to give her a free massage is Cleo.”
“What breed is she?” His eyes stayed fixed on the dog.
“Labrador and poodle mix. That's why she has that odd scruffy coat.”
“It's softer than it looks.” He kept petting her.
“Yes.” I waited a beat, then asked, “Joe, why do you think you're here?”
“Because I'm crazy?”
“Do you think you're crazy?”
He shook his head slowly. “I don't know. Maybe. The cops think so anyway. They should know, right?”
“Why do you say that?”
He laughed humorlessly. “Just like on TV. Shrinks always answer questions with questions.”
“Sometimes we do. I can't help you without knowing what you think and feel.”
“No one can help me now.”
I was used to blanket defeatism from troubled teens, but his tone was glacially bleak. “Why not?”
“I screwed it up. So bad.” He rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand, and bent closer over Cleo, pressing his face into her fuzzy shoulder.
“Tell me about it.”
“You won't believe me.”
“Try me.”
For several minutes he was silent. Just when I thought I'd have to redirect him, he said, “Okay, why not. I'll tell it one more time. The cops didn't believe me, my parents didn't believe me. Maybe the third time's the charm.”
“I've heard lots of improbable things. I like to think I have an open mind.”
He lifted his cheek from Cleo and gave me a long, slow look. His face was flushed, and the circles under his eyes were dark as bruises. His short brown hair stood in disordered spikes and his lashes were damp and clumped. I imagined he was a handsome kid most of the time, but now he just looked lost. I glanced down at his file in front of me. The police report stated... missing three days... evidence of possible abuse... delusional... dehydration and exposure... violence and resisting rescuers... I set fresh piece of lined paper over it, and waited to hear his story. “Tell me what happened.”
Cleo suddenly raised her head and swiped Joe's cheek with a big wet tongue. She's not a kisser, so this was a sign to me that the kid was near breaking. It hung in the balance for a moment, but eventually he gave a soft laugh and pushed her muzzle away gently.
“So... the beginning. It starts with Lance. Begins and ends there, and all of the middle too.”
Lance Graymark's name had been in that file too. Still missing.
“Lance and I...” He stopped. “You're a doctor, right? I mean, this is confidential, what I tell you. You can't tell anyone else unless I say so, right?”
“I have the duty to tell the authorities if you're an immediate danger to yourself or to other people. Otherwise it's private and confidential, absolutely.” But finding Lance might fall into the immediate danger category.
“Okay. Lance.” He cleared his throat. “So, I'm gay, right? I've known since I was, like, seven. I just felt different, when I was with other kids. And when I met Lance, when I was twelve, I realized exactly how different.”
Once again there was a long silence. Joe seemed to be looking through me at something in the distance. Eventually I had to prompt him. I'd canceled my other afternoon appointments for this, because the other boy was still missing and it might be life or death. And specifically for that reason, I needed to push him just a bit. “You liked Lance.”
“Hah.” Joe's breath came out in a puff. “I fu...freaking worshiped him. Not that I was the only one. Lance is, well, he's smart, he's a good person, and he's like some cover model for a romance book. He's got that jaw, the face, the mouth, the dark eyes, the brown hair past his shoulders, the body, all of it. At twelve he was already hot. At sixteen he could make girls' panties fall off just by smiling at them.”
“So he's straight?”
“I thought so. He liked girls. I was his best friend and we hung out together, and he dated a lot of girls.”
“And you dated boys?”
“Well, no. He knew I was gay. I didn't hide that. But... there was Lance. I couldn't see past him to date anyone else. I did try a couple of, um, hand jobs in bathrooms. It was hot, all right, but it felt like cheating. So I stopped.”
“Did he know how you felt about him?”
“Not at first. But eventually, well, I'm a crappy actor I guess. He says so anyway. He could tell. He says he was waiting for me to say something or make some kind of move.”
“And did you?” The guys had been out camping when they were lost. I had wondered if camping had been a euphemism.
Joe looked down. “Yeah. Eventually. He just turned eighteen, a month ago. He's a year younger than me, but in the same grade. We'll start college in the fall.” He took a deep shuddering breath that echoed of barely-restrained tears.
“Going to the same school?” I tried to pull him back to the mundane facts.
“We're supposed to. If he gets... if we find him. If he's okay.”
His voice was still very ragged. I asked, “What are you planning to study.”
“Engineering for me. History and music for him.”
“You want to build machines or bridges?”
“I don't know. I want to make something that lasts, looking forward. Lance likes to look backward.” Joe gave me a little twisted smile. “Swear to God, he really is a romance hero. He loves chivalry and myths and old trad music. Plays the flute. Wants to study in England our senior year...wanted...” He swallowed hard, and coughed.
Redirect. “So you told him you were interested in him?”
“I kissed him. On his birthday.”
“What did he do?” The cops speculated that Joe might have lured Lance out to the hills and killed or imprisoned him there. One of my main jobs was to look for the truth or lies in his voice. I listened carefully.
But Joe's smile was soft and fond, without any anger in it. “He kissed me back. Asked what took me so freaking long to make a move.”
“What did?”
“I was scared. Being his friend was better than nothing, a whole lot better. If he'd shoved me away, I'd have died. And then there were his folks.”
“What about them?” When you have a missing person, look to the family and friends first.
“They're very bigoted, very much about family and heritage and Ye Olde Country. Even the girls he dated were usually
not good enough for them. They're wealthy, and he's the only heir to the empire. They want lots of little rabbits.”
“Rabbits?”
“Sorry, Lance's joke. Heirs. Grandchildren.”
“So they wouldn't like to have known he was gay.”
“They'd have arrested me for statutory rape. Then they'd have locked him in a tower and thrown away the key. They'd drop rich, sexy, blonde, perfect girls in the top until he, um, reproduced.”
“But he is gay?”
“He's bi. But he says...” Joe fought for control, found it, said in a strangled whisper, “Lance says that the only guy worth taking on his family for is me.”
“And did he take on his family?” Perhaps they'd spirited him off to some real-world version of that tower. There were plenty of turn-a-gay-kid-straight camps and isolated country estates. I knew the cops were looking at the family, looking hard, but if this was new information, it might provide a motive.
The boys had been missing for three days after their expected return from the camping trip, and the search had been intensive and broad. Eventually a party searching miles from the campsite had found Joe wandering, dazed, suffering from dehydration, incoherent and alone. The assumption had been that Lance was out there still, or perhaps had been kidnapped, but there'd been no ransom demand. If he'd instead been whisked away by his own family, that would explain a lot.
Joe said, “He was waiting to talk to his folks. He wanted, we wanted, to be a real couple before doing that. We'd kissed and fooled around a lot since the first time, but not done, um, everything. We've been planning this trip for weeks. A chance to be away together and really talk, and, um...”
“Have sex?”
“Um, yeah.”
“And did you?”
“Yes.”
“Absolutely nothing wrong with that. In fact, you're both eighteen and adults. I'd have been more surprised if sex wasn't part of a relationship between you.” And that might take Joe's doctor's report of signs of possible sexual abuse off the table. I didn't want to push, but that was a key point for the investigation. “Did you bottom for Lance, for anal sex?”
He looked down, flushing, and crossed his legs, bumping Cleo's chin. He patted her in apology. “Yeah.”
“But it was your choice?”
He nodded. The next silence was far longer.
I eventually said, on a rising tone. “... and you liked it, and you'd do it again in a heartbeat, if he asked you?” It was risky, putting those words in his mouth, but time was of the essence. He might have hated it, of course, or might regret it now, but the sudden shift of his body and that tiny smile playing across his lips suggested otherwise.
He turned a startled look on me, and then his eyes filled. “Yes. Exactly. I would. Oh, I wish to God I could.”
“Tell me where you think Lance is now,” I said softly, just flat out.
“He's under the hills.”
“Dead?”
“No. God, no, I hope not. He was all right when I saw him.”
“When was that?”
“The last day, when we... when it happened.”
“Tell me.”
He hesitated a long moment. “You'll think I'm crazy. They all do. The cops and the doctor, and his folks, even my folks. Everyone thinks I'm crazy. Or I'm high on drugs, or just plain lying. They think I killed him. I didn't. I swear. I love him. If there had been a way to save him, I would have. I'd have stayed in his place. Gladly. But she wanted him. Everyone wants Lance.”
“Who did?”
“The Queen under the Hill. Mab.”
I blinked. He'd been so rational to that point, this came right out of left field. No wonder they sent him straight to me, though. “The fairy queen?”
“Yeah.” He laughed and it was a horrible sound, not amusement at all. “Fitting, right? The queen of fairies took a liking to a fairy. But it wasn't right. It wasn't fair! Lance isn't like that. He just did it for me. It was my idea, it should have been me that paid. So stupid. And of course once she saw him, between the two of us, she wanted him. I'd have been useless to her anyway.”
“Slow down. Start at the beginning.” I'd have to sift the truth from the delusion carefully. It was likely there had been a woman involved, I thought. The way he spit out Mab's name held real venom. Lance's mother perhaps? Even a grandmother?
“The beginning?”
“You went camping. You were together.”
“Yeah. It was great. Even when I sprained my ankle. Here, look.” He pulled out his cell phone, and clicked around and called up a picture. “Here. Check this one. We took a bunch of pictures, with the timer, and I downloaded some, before the cops took my real phone, the bastards. My mom gave me hers - look.” He held it out.
I looked at the screen. Two young men, barely out of boyhood, dressed in swim trunks. One guy, who was clearly Lance, stood staring at the screen, dark eyes wary as he gazed out from under straight brows. I could see what Joe had meant - you could imagine this young man, posed with his long wavy brown hair artfully windblown, clutching some half-clothed maiden to his chest under a title like “The Knave's Passion” on a book cover. Instead, he had Joe slung over his shoulders. Joe's face was turned to the camera with a quizzical expression, just a hint of a smile quirking his lips. It could have almost been a straight-guy-rescues-buddy pose, except that where their hands met for balance, their fingers were entwined.
“The very first day, I twisted my ankle. Lance wanted me to go back to town and get it looked at, but it wasn't that bad. I convinced him it would be better to let it heal up than hike out on it. But he was, oh man, he was so damned sweet with helping me out and trying to keep me off it. That picture was two days later. We were clowning around with the camera, and I said we needed one to commemorate the way he'd been half-carrying me everywhere. And he just swung me up there.”
“He seems serious,” I said.
“That's Lance. He can crack the worst jokes, or totally be pulling your leg, and he'll have that same look. It takes, like, a Monty Python marathon to get him to smile, or just the perfect bad pun. But when you do manage, his smile was is worth it. Girls have been known to faint.”
“And other boys?”
“Not that I know of. I mean, sure, other gay guys had to want him. Everyone wanted him. But he said I was his first guy.”
“Do you know anyone who might have stalked him? Anyone who might have been jealous? Might have wanted him for themselves?”
“I hadn't noticed. But it hardly matters, does it? Mab got him first.”
“Tell me about Mab.” I thought I'd kept my tone bland, but he glared at me.
“You think I'm crazy too, don't you?”
I said carefully, “I think that when someone tells me that their friend was kidnapped by the queen of the fae, I'm entitled to a bit of skepticism.”
“Heh. True.”
“So convince me.”
“It was Midsummer Eve. It was all my fault. I suggested it. We'd planned to hike up Tyne's Peak, to see the longest day of the year end there, but my stupid ankle messed that up. So I said, let's celebrate on the little hill instead, with wine and song. Lance liked that kind of romantic crap.”
“You didn't?”
“Not in books and stuff. But with him?” Joe's voice softened and thinned. “With him, I loved it. Anything that made him look at me like that.”
“Tell me about the whole day.” Perhaps someone had planned to kidnap Lance, and had somehow drugged or confused Joe. Or perhaps Joe was deluded. Or lying. “Tell me everything you did.”
“We, um, slept in. Kind of.”
“You had sex.”
“God, it sounds like some kind of porn that way. Yeah, we did stuff. It was so freaking red-hot, and hell, it was sweet. I felt like I had all the time in the world in that tent with Lance. I don't want to tell you about it. That was ours.”
“The details don't matter, unless they're bothering you. Did you argue? Are you upset about anything
that happened there?”
“Hell, no. Except that if I'd known, I'd never have gotten out of bed. I'd have spent the whole day holding him, you know? I'd have never let go.” Joe's voice broke. “It was perfect and I could have just stayed there, but I got hungry.”
Cleo nuzzled her nose against his ribs. I said gently, “I bet Lance did too. He looks like a young man with a healthy appetite.”
“Yeah. I guess. Anyway my stomach was rumbling, so we got up and had breakfast, which was kind of lunch. Then we went swimming, because I could do that without bugging my ankle.”
“Where'd you swim?”
“There's a lake there, near where we camped. It's pretty small and shallow, which keeps the water warm.”
“Were there other people there? Did you see anyone else that day?”
“Yeah, I guess. There's a beach, on the opposite side. There were people over there, hanging out and swimming. I don't remember any of them though. They were across the water. Some kids, I think, with their parents. Maybe a couple of college girls.”
“Could Mab have been there?”
He gave me a cool look. “Not likely. But the stories say the fae can wear a glamour, like a disguise. Lance says so. So who knows where Mab was. I doubt that hanging around on a little crowded beach is her thing though.”
“Go on. The two of you went swimming.”
“Yeah. Then we went back to the tent, and, um, messed around some more. Then Lance went for a run around the short loop trail and I took a nap.”
“When he came back, how did he seem?”
“Hot. And tired and quiet and normal. Just Lance.”
“Did he say he met anyone, or talked to anyone?”
“Nope. Not that he said.”
“And then?”
“We built a fire and made dinner, and talked for a bit, dumb stuff about baseball and college and figuring out what to pack. We talked a bit about how he was still dealing with his folks getting mad about college. They wanted him to go to Princeton, but I didn't get enough scholarship money to go there. We both picked Berkeley. It's far, far away too. His folks didn't like that, especially since he wouldn't tell them why.”
“Did he seem very upset about it?” With any disappearance, there was always the chance it was voluntary. Could Lance have picked this as a chance to make a fresh start, and drugged Joe to make his getaway?
“Not really. Oh, he was a bit frustrated. But Lance has been battling with his folks' expectations since the day he refused to go to a prep boarding school. He picks his battles, and tries not to let it get to him.”
“Still, fighting with his parents has to be pretty hard for him.”
“He doesn't really fight. He slides out from under, just nods and then goes his own way. He's stronger than you'd ever guess.”
“Do you think he might run away from them now?”
“Lance? Nah. He's eighteen now. If he needs to, he'll walk away. We talked about that, how if they make it too hard, he'll just have to choose. And he'll choose me and Berkeley and history. Not being straight and Princeton and pre-law.”
“So you don't think he might be in hiding right now, trying to make a fresh start?”
“I told you, I know exactly what happened and where he is. It's trying to make people believe me, to believe we need some, um, occult kind of help, that's making me crazy.”
“Okay. Tell me about Mab.”
“Mab.” His eyes got a far-away look. “You can't imagine... Let me start at the beginning. We'd brought some wine along. And yeah, I know we're under age.”
I waved my hand. “Not a concern right now. I assume neither of you has a drinking problem.”
“I drink, I fall down, no problem.” He shook his head. “Nah, we both drink some, but not a lot.”
“So you opened a bottle.”
“We went up the little hill, and lit a new fire there, right on top. And we sat by it, passing the wine back and forth. Lance hates the taste of beer, but he likes red wine, so that's what we had. The fire through the bottle looked like light in the heart of a ruby. We'd look through the bottle, take a sip, pass it back, watch the ruby turn to an emerald as the level went down.”
“Whose idea was that?”
“Lance's, I guess. He's the poetic bastard, but when he says it, I see it.”
“Go on.”
“It got late. We started the second bottle. The stars were out and the air was still. It was perfect. Knife-edge perfect, like it will never be again.”
“Then?”
“I asked him to play his flute. It was stupid, really. But I like to watch him play, his lips and how his eyes close, and the way he tips his head. I wanted to see it.”
“He had it with him?”
“Always. He plays every day.”
“So did he?”
“Oh, yeah. He laughed. So gorgeous. He said, 'Sure. Any requests?' and I said, 'Play something with fairies', just teasing him because he likes that old folky crap and it was Midsummer night. And he did. Better than ever, drunk as he was, he played Tamlin. The bottle fell out of my hand, when I was listening, and spilled on the ground. And she appeared.”
“Mab?”
“Yes.” Joe pushed up off the couch suddenly, dumping Cleo to the floor. She whined but stayed by his knee as he turned to the window. “I know how crazy this sounds. Do you think I don't know? I don't do this crap! This is all Lance, with his fancy name and his head in the clouds, and his damned fantasy books. But it happened. And no one will ever believe me!”
“Go on,” I said evenly. “What happened?”
He kept his gaze fixed on the blue sky outside. “She said, “Who summons me, with libation and song?' And we laughed. It was just... impossible, you know. There she was, beside the fire, in a green and gold gown and tiny gold shoes, and hair like the flames. It was crazy. We laughed.” He made an odd retching sound, and pressed a hand to his stomach. “She didn't like that.”
“What did she do?”
“She waved her hand.” He made a small negligent gesture in the air with his free hand. “And we couldn't breathe any more. Neither of us. I fell on my knees. Lance was pawing at his throat. His face turned red and then pale, and he staggered. And then she let us go.”
“And then?” I tried to think about those symptoms. A toxic mushroom, perhaps, causing swelling of the throat and hallucinations? Joe had had a tox screen in the hospital, looking for drugs and alcohol. But you could never test for everything.
“Then she said, 'I'm bored, mortals. 'Tis a fine night, but few in this land know the old songs and the old ways. Play for me, bard.' And she gestured at Lance. He picked up his flute. He moved... Oh, God, he moved in jerks, like a puppet. Not like himself. He put it to his lips, but the sound was bad. Thin and sharp like a cry. And then he said, 'I can't play this way.' She let him go. He almost fell over. She said, 'I am Mab, and queen, and you'll do as I command.' He said, 'You can't make me play.' Dumb bastard, just like with his folks, rock-headed when he didn't want to be commanded.” Joe wrapped his arms around himself and rocked back and forth, staring at the sky. His breath was coming faster and faster, and I was worried he'd hyperventilate into a panic attack.
“Sit down,” I suggested. “Let Cleo get back on the couch with you and calm you down a bit.”
He whirled around. “How can I calm down? Mab has Lance, and no one believes me. Or... or maybe I'm crazy. That's more likely, isn't it? I'm crazy and Lance is gone. Did I push him off a cliff? Did he drown in dark water? Is he out there somewhere, calling for me, waiting to be rescued while my stupid, crazy brain dreams up fairy queens?” He tugged at his hair so hard that a tuft came out in his fingers. A little trickle of blood made its way down toward his eyebrow. “Please, doctor, am I crazy?”
I passed him a tissue, and helped him press it to his scalp. “Suddenly going insane is only slightly more likely than fairy queens,” I told him. “If this is all just your imagination, then I think there's a chemical explanation. Y
ou're not crazy, but you could have been high, or hallucinating.”
“Maybe. Bad wine. Maybe there was something.” He collapsed back down on the couch as if his knees suddenly gave out. Cleo sat on his feet and put her chin on his thigh. “It felt so real.”
“Maybe we can tease the truth out of it. Go on with your story.”
“So... Lance defied Mab. And she waved at me again. And it was like I was on fire. Holy shit, it hurt. Hurt worse than anything, ever. I started writhing around, and maybe screaming. She watched for a minute, like she liked it. My eyes were blurry, but I saw her smile. Then she said, 'Play for me, bard, and make it good. And maybe I'll release him.' So Lance did it. He played the flute. Shaky at first, but she eased me enough so I could stop screaming. Then he did better. He played, oh God, for hours. Whenever he'd try to stop, she'd set my feet in the flames again.”
“Can you describe her?” I wondered what Lance's mother looked like. Could she have drugged the boys to separate them? Would a mother do that?
“She was tiny, but... but large. No, not large, she was... she filled the space. You couldn't imagine a place big enough to contain her. She barely came up to Lance's shoulder. Her hair was red, like fire. Or maybe gold. Both maybe, and her eyes, green eyes, chips of ice. Her skin was white. Her voice. It was soft but strong, like silk and iron. It held you until she let go. She was Mab. We laughed, at first, but she was Mab.”
Not much of a description, but I'd pass it along, if I could get his permission. Anything might help. “Then what?”
“Dawn was coming. She said we were dead. No, she said our lives were forfeit, for calling her without protection around us. Lance was angry, because she came to us of her own accord. We didn't go after her, or plan to call her. Why should we die for that? She said, 'I like your nerve, bard, and your music. I'll offer you a bargain. Come to my realm, to play for me, and I'll let your leman go unharmed.' I thought she'd said, 'lemming' - I said, 'What the hell about a lemming?' She made me scream, until Lance said, 'Stop it, please, my lady! Leman, Joe. Hush. That's you.' He asked her, 'How long would I have to play for you?' She said, 'Until I tire of you.'”
“Did you think this was real?”
“The pain was real. I've never... I burned myself once, on a woodstove.” He tugged up the leg of his jeans to show a shiny old burn scar below his knee. “That hurt like hell. But this? This made me want to be dead. And all she did was wave her hand. I believed in it then.”
“And now?”
“Lance is gone, right? Gone where the best search teams his parents' money can buy can't find him.”
“So far.”
“They won't. I know they won't.” He hugged himself again. “Lance said, 'A day and a night.' Mab laughed. She said, 'You don't value his life very highly then?' Lance said, 'Name your price.' She said, 'Seven years. I'll let him win you back in seven years.' I asked, 'Wait! Win how? Can't you take me instead?' She smiled and it was sharp, like a shark's. She said, 'He's prettier. And far more gifted. No. But if you stay true for seven years, then you may come back here on the solstice night. If your love is still pure, I'll give him back to you then.' Then she touched him, ran her hand down his chest and I swear, he got this blissed out look and he was, you know, hard. And she said, 'If he still wants to go.'”
I had to wait, while he cried into his hands. His shoulders shook. The sobs were deep and hoarse, like a man grieving, not like a boy. When it eased, I passed him more tissues. “Then what?”
He cleared his throat, twice. “Not much more. We argued, but she had all the power there. As the sun began to come up, she took Lance's hand in hers. He raised his flute to his lips with the other hand, and blew. It was that nasty sharp stuff, her doing not his. But he couldn't speak through it. He looked at me. His eyes were on mine all the time. Until the first ray of sun hit the ground in front of them. Then they were gone, and the fire was out, the ashes cooling in the pit. And I was alone.”
“What did you do?”
“I searched. I looked everywhere. I called his name. I promised him... promised her... I looked everywhere. Then I ran. I wasn't... I couldn't see properly. I don't know where I went. There were brambles and rocks and, and someone found me in the end. We went back and searched, both of us, while someone else went for help. But he was gone. And like an idiot, when more searchers began coming I gave them the truth. Over and over. Until they strapped me to a stretcher and took me to the hospital.”
“You told them Mab had taken him under the hill.”
“Yeah. I guess. Variations on that. No one believed me, of course. How can they? Even you can't. But it's the truth, I swear.”
Poor boy. I could tell that he believed it, or wanted to. Whatever had really happened out there, he'd concocted this tale to cover it. Maybe his mind couldn't handle the truth. Or maybe he'd been drugged. It would take time and work to figure out just what was happening in his brain, and to finally tease out the truth of the events of that night. I was desperately afraid it would be too late for Lance, by the time we managed it.
I said, “Sit there and relax for a bit. I have a few calls to make.” The hospital still had his first blood samples. I'd suggest adding a few drugs and toxins to their screening list.
Joe huddled into the corner of the couch. Cleo leaned into him and he hugged her tightly.
“Try to breathe slowly,” I said. “I'll be right back. Try to think of anything that might help us figure this out. Did you see anyone else? Did Mab remind you of anyone in real life? Who might want to kidnap Lance?”
I left quietly, and tried to avoid seeing the bleak, betrayed look he gave me. Poor boy. He wanted me to buy into his story, of course. He was distraught, and at some superficial level, he'd convinced himself the whole fantastic tale was real. Whether he was another victim, or the guilty party, he'd need gentle handling not to break him, as we uncovered the truth.