Page 33 of Bewicched

“They’re not all going to be walking with us, are they?”

The detective was just about to open her door but stopped and turned to me. “Is that a problem?”

“I’ll do better on my own. All their thoughts and emotions will be crowding me. Can you just—I don’t know—give me a walkie-talkie or something and we’ll go in and search alone?”

She shook her head. “I can’t do that, but I can keep the search party to a bare minimum. And we can walk behind you. Okay?”

“We can try that.”

Declan opened my door as Hernández stepped out and went to talk with another cop. “Can you get me into his room?” Declan whispered. “I need his scent.”

Nodding, I crossed to Hernández. “Detective, can I see his room again?”

“Sure. Let me introduce you to who we’ll be walking with.” She gestured to an older man with graying hair and hard eyes. “This is Captain Hauer.” Pointing to the woman standing next to him, she said, “This is Detective Rosen. She has medical training, in case we need it.” She tilted her head toward the uniformed man standing in the loose circle. “You remember Officer Cross. He drove you home yesterday.”

I nodded and smiled at everyone. There were still quite a few people standing around the lawn who hadn’t been introduced. “What about—” I looked at all the curious, suspicious, angry gazes not so subtly aimed at me.

“They’ll wait here,” the captain responded. “If they get a call,” he said, voice raised for all to hear, “they’ll go answer those calls. If not, they’ll wait to see if we need them to join the search. We’re all very concerned about this child.” He cleared his throat. “Many of us are not believers in psychic ability—”

“At all,” someone snarked, earning a look from Detective Hernández. Regardless of what she’d said, she’d probably had to deal with a lot of shit because of consulting me.

The captain continued as though he hadn’t heard. “But that doesn’t mean that we ignore possible leads. So, you do what you do, and we’ll do the same.” He paused, studying Declan. “And who are you?”

Declan held out a hand to shake. “Declan Adams. I’m her assistant,” he said with a disarming grin.

Detective Hernández waved us forward. “We’ll be right back. She wants to see the bedroom again.”

I tried to shake off the hostility of the men and woman milling about, but it wasn’t easy. Once we were in the house, I said, “Thanks for keeping the rest away from the search. The suspicion and hate rolling off them is hard to block out.”

Hernández looked surprised but nodded as though that was a completely normal thing to hear. She waited in the hall while Declan and I walked in. I knew the room probably smelled of dozens of people and fingerprinting chemicals, so I tried to find places where Declan could get a scent. I opened the closet door and looked around, then went to the narrow bed and threw back the covers.

Taking off a glove, I touched the sheet, mostly for cover so Declan could breathe in his scent, but was immediately hit by a vision, a small but powerful one.

When my knees started to buckle, I caught myself and pulled my glove back on. A chill ran down my spine as I glanced over my shoulder at the window. “Christopher saw the kid in his window. Just a silhouette, a shadow, but it scared him. He wet the bed, thinking his father had found them.”

Declan leaned into me, his back to Hernández, and sniffed, a strange look on his face.

15

Worst Walk in the Woods Ever

“We can go now,” I said, moving around Declan and heading for the bedroom door.

Once outside, we rounded the side of the house, moving into the forest beyond. Declan and I walked a good ten yards ahead of the police, which helped me clear my mind.

“The killer’s a kid?” Declan asked, his voice low.

I nodded.

He let out a long, slow breath, saying nothing as we walked deeper into the forest. When the path curved out of sight of the law, he leaned in and whispered, “When you had that vision in the bedroom, you smelled like the boy.”

My step faltered and his hand was at my elbow, keeping me steady. I didn’t know why that bothered me so much. I was an empath. I felt what they felt. The smell, though, indicated I might have been framing it wrong all these years. Perhaps what I felt in visions wasn’t an echo, but a shared experience. How, though, did I share anything with the dead? Ideas to ponder later. I had work now.

Squirrels chittered angrily and a bird squawked before flying off.

“It’s me. My presence is getting them worked up.” Declan lifted his head, scenting the wind. “Are you picking up anything—if that’s the right term?”

Was I? Who knew? There were too many people, too many distractions. Glancing over my shoulder, I watched the cops talking quietly to one another. “Can you hold up a minute?” I called to them. “I want to try something.”

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