Caretaker Read online

  “It’s true?” Derry asked. She stared at me, her body stiff, her face pale. She’d grown up over the last six months. She’d had her seventeenth birthday without Angus, but her mother had printed and framed a beautiful photograph of Angus and Derry, taken when Derry was eight years old. He’d held her small hand in his and stared down at her with so much love in his eyes it was almost hard to look at. Derry had clutched the frame and sobbed into her cake, inconsolable.

  I was sure the picture had been a terrible idea until she’d told me it made her believe her father would be all right.

  “He’s invincible,” she’d murmured. “And they can’t take him from us. Not for long.”

  “Trinity,” she repeated, stoic. “It’s true?”

  I opened my arms. “Yes.”

  She flew into my arms and the others followed, and I managed a smile as I was crushed beneath the weight of sweet shifter children, tears, and joy.

  “I’m going with you,” little Cory said, resolute.

  I knelt and took his hands. “I wish you could, sweetheart.” I didn’t want to get their hopes up just in case I couldn’t find the missing Madelyn Bennett, so I didn’t tell them I might be bringing their father home in a few days. I wanted to, but I resisted. “I’ll tell him you miss him,” I said, instead.

  “Tell him I’ve been taking care of the little ones while he’s been gone,” he said, fiercely. “Tell him I’ve got my shift.”

  I stared at him, stunned. “Cory. You got your shift?”

  He nodded, and before he could control himself, his eyes filled with tears. “I’m a man now.”

  He was nine years old.

  I stood, then pressed my fist to my lips and looked at Derry, who nodded. “He wasn’t alone,” she whispered. “Rhys and Clayton carried him through the night.”

  “Where was I?” I asked. “How did I not know this?”

  A child getting his shift for the first time was a huge deal. It was difficult, frightening, and stressful. But in the end, it was nothing but pure joy.

  “You’ve been busy.” There was not a single accusation in Derry’s eyes, but there should have been.

  I looked down at Cory, swallowing my own tears. “Your dad will be so proud.”

  He sniffed, then nodded, and his smile lit up his face. “Most boys don’t shift until they’re eleven or twelve.”

  I leaned down and hugged him, then stepped away from the horde of children. “I have to go.”

  I hurried up the stairs and into Angus’s bedroom, hesitating for a second as his faded, irresistible scent wafted to my sensitive nose. Then I rushed to the safe hidden on the wall of his closet, punched in the code, and placed Silverlight within its secure confines.

  “I’ll be back soon,” I promised.

  After I used my bathroom, I rushed out of my bedroom and into the hall, then remembered Rhys’s request that I wear the protective piece of jewelry he’d given me.

  I found the gift—a beautiful old pin--lying on my nightstand, exactly where he’d said it would be. He hadn’t bothered to put it into a box or protective bag, and I raised my eyebrow at his casualness. He wasn’t usually so careless with things that mattered to him.

  The pin was a rather large silver piece in the shape of an eye. A ruby decorated the center, bracketed on either side by two black, curved blades. I grimaced. “You’re a gaudy little bauble.”

  Sighing, I started to pin it to my shirt—I was wearing a faded blue t-shirt and jeans and the old brooch was going to look pretty damn odd—when the sharp pin slipped and jammed itself into my thumb.

  I yelped, then stuck my sore thumb into my mouth for a few soothing moments before affixing the brooch to my shirt. Finally, I ran down the stairs and left the house.

  Shane was leaning against my car, waiting for me, and he wasn’t alone. “You driving, baby hunter?”

  “Yes.” I walked toward him, my stare on the dark-haired man at his side. “You must be Rhys’s buddy.”

  He nodded and offered his hand. “My name is Alejandro Rodríguez. You can call me Al.”

  I laughed and took his hand. “Hi, Al.”

  “Shall we go?” He dropped his stare to my chest. “Nice.”

  “Hey,” Shane said. “Don’t make me kick your ass before we even get started.”

  Al turned to him, an eyebrow cocked. “What did I do?”

  I grinned and reached out to squeeze Shane’s arm. “He was complimenting the pin Rhys gave me. But thanks for defending my honor.”

  “Fuck,” Shane muttered under his breath, then yanked the car door open and climbed into my backseat. “I’m going to sleep. Don’t wake me until we get there.”

  Alejandro chatted the entire hour it took to get to Byrd Island, and I was grateful he was so talkative. It helped take my mind off the monstrous butterflies trying to escape my belly.

  I had a couple of inches on the new guy, and his delicate bone structure, quick black eyes, and full lips made him pretty but didn’t exactly scream “tough guy.” He looked delicate, sweet, and innocent. There was no darkness in his eyes.

  I wasn’t used to that. “How long have you known Rhys?” I patted my phone, tempted to call Rhys to ask him if he hadn’t sent the wrong guy, but I restrained myself.

  “Since I was seven years old.”

  I glanced at him. “Long time.”

  He smiled. “Yes.”

  When he saw I had no more questions or comments on the situation, he began chatting once again. Meaningless drivel that provided background noise until at last, I parked the car.

  “We’re here.”

  He stared through the windshield at Lake Crane, shuddering. “I don’t like water.”

  I looked heavenward and sighed before rousing my hunter partner. “Shane. Wake up. We’re here.”

  He sat up immediately. “I’ll go see about hiring someone to ferry us across.”

  “Okay,” I said. “And hurry. We don’t have a lot of time.” But the thought of crossing over to Byrd Island filled me with dread. Not because I was afraid of water, as poor Al was, but because I was about to see Angus.

  And that scared the hell out of me.

  I didn’t move, not even after Shane climbed from the car. Alejandro got out and leaned against the hood, staring at the lake.

  Shane was back in five minutes. “Let’s go. Guy will take us from Pier 7 in ten minutes.”

  I got out, my entire body shaking. “I don’t feel well, Shane,” I whispered.

  He shook his head, stared down his nose at me, then finally, he pulled me into his arms. “This is what you’ve been after for six months.”

  “Why am I so afraid now that I’ve got it?”

  He tightened his arms around me briefly, then set me away from him. “I’ll leave Al to protect you, and I’ll visit Angus alone.” He patted my head. “Wait here.”

  I straightened my spine and narrowed my eyes. “I will not.” More than a little ashamed of myself, I swept past him and his smirk and strode to Pier 7, my outrage temporarily larger than my anxiety.

  I shivered all the way across the lake, my gaze never straying from the island in the distance. The huge prison, tall and angular and cold, loomed large and ominous against a pretty blue sky.

  A feeling of doom settled into the pit of my stomach and refused to budge. My gut tried to keep me safe, but my heart made me rush into danger as fast as I possibly could.

  It’d be interesting to see which one killed me in the end.

  Chapter Four

  It took fifteen minutes to get to Byrd Island.

  With Shane on one side and Alejandro on the other, I stood on the dock, clutched my pass, and waited for the shuttle that would take us to the prison.

  The island was beautiful. A tiny piece of sunny, peaceful, isolated land upon which had been built barracks for employees and guests who needed to stay over, the warden’s small cottage—though, from what I’d heard he stayed only on the weekends, preferring the comfort of his city home. The
re was a helipad, a chapel, and a dining hall for anyone who wasn’t an imprisoned supernatural.

  The contrast of the ugly, hulking horror of a prison was startling and extreme, like a rotting, putrid face on the body of a gorgeous woman.

  And it was just as scary. At least to me. The cheerful brightness couldn’t conceal the ominous malice of the prison island.

  It was surprisingly busy. Three uniformed workers clad in white overalls stood smoking and laughing, and a uniformed security guard strolled by, giving us a cursory glance and a quick nod as he passed us. Two skinny dogs had a quick scuffle and then raced away, barking.

  And every single bit of it felt…wrong.

  “Are you all right?” Al asked me.

  “She’s fine,” Shane said.

  I just nodded.

  The shuttle rumbled toward us and after we climbed on and took our seats, I took a few deep breaths, forced my body to relax, and tried to calm down.

  I was about to see Angus. I was about to give him some hope.

  He was getting out of there. Not today, but soon.

  Very soon.

  I should have been ecstatic, but I didn’t half believe it myself. And I was just afraid.

  When we came to the gates that surrounded the prison, everything changed. There was no lush green brightness inside those gates. The area surrounding the prison had been planned with grimness and starkness in mind—perhaps they hadn’t wanted the prisoners to partake of the beauty that belonged to the island.

  “Like night and day.” Al pulled at the neck of his shirt and cleared his throat, and I knew I wasn’t the only one to feel the wickedness.

  “Hard to breathe here, isn’t it?” I murmured.

  “Going to be worse inside those walls.” Shane pointed his chin at the looming building. “Prepare yourselves.”

  “That’s an impossible request.” I tried for a smile and failed miserably.

  “Have a good day,” our driver said as we left the vehicle. “I’ll return in one hour.”

  “An hour,” I said. “That’s not enough time.”

  He looked surprised. “Visitors are allowed an hour.” He pursed his lips. “Not that the inmates get many visitors. I’ll be back in an hour, either way. If you’re late, you can always walk back to the docks.”

  I took a deep breath, but the air in the shaded courtyard was damp and musty and old, somehow, and the sun didn’t touch us.

  The bus lumbered off, leaving the three of us staring at the huge, silver-plated portcullis that stood between us and the interior of the prison. A metal sign, rusty and dented, decorated the green-tinged façade.

  Visitor’s Entrance.

  Ring bell for admittance.

  I strode forward and pressed the large, dirty red button on the side of the wall. I expected someone to call out, to demand to see our identifications or passes, but after a brief pause, the portcullis began to slide up.

  We walked into the prison, and I kept my mind on one thing. Angus. Angus was inside, and I was about to see him.

  When my fingers brushed Shane’s hand, he shivered, then laced his fingers with mine. He didn’t look at me, and his face didn’t soften, but he squeezed my hand.

  Shane could be an asshole.

  But sometimes, he could be exactly what I needed.

  We entered a set of double doors and found ourselves in a large waiting room with scuffed tile floors and scattered seating, with a bank of windows against the left wall.

  “Help ya?” a woman called.

  We walked to the windows, and with every step, my stomach got tighter.

  “We’re here to visit Angus Stark,” Shane said.

  Al stuck his hands into his pockets, then crossed his arms, his nervousness as apparent as my own.

  Only Shane seemed completely at ease, but I knew him. He was as tightly wound as the rest of us. He was just better at hiding it.

  “Visiting hours are every Thursday from 8:00 a.m. to 11:00 a.m.” The woman pointed at the clock on the wall behind me. “It’s currently 4:45 p.m. And it’s Tuesday.”

  I slapped my pass down on the counter. “We have passes signed by Judge Bennett.”

  Shane and Al tossed theirs to the countertop as well.

  The woman heaved a heavy sigh. She dragged the little pile of cards through the window, peered at them, then muttered something under her breath that sounded unflattering toward the judge.

  Finally, she shook her head, shrugged, and slid them back to us. “All right then. Cindy!”

  Another uniformed guard stuck her head into the little room. “Yeah?”

  “Visitors for Stark. Take them over?”

  Cindy leaned forward and peered at us through the window. “Are you kidding me?”

  The first woman shrugged. “Bennett sent them.”

  “Sent them?” Cindy studied us, and I got a terrible feeling she was going to turn us away, passes or not. But in the end, she gave the first woman a mystified look, hit a button, and buzzed us through to the hall.

  When we walked through the doors, a male guard was waiting with her. “Got any weapons on you?” he asked.

  “Nope,” Shane told him.

  The guard crossed his arms. “I would take your word for it, but I believe I’ll search you instead.”

  Shane shrugged. “Knock yourself out.”

  Cindy elbowed the male guard, her stare on me. “Larry. It’s Trinity Sinclair.”

  Larry paused with his hand on Shane’s back and scraped his stare over my scarred face. ”Hunters. I’ll be damned.” He held out his hand. “We don’t see many of your kind around here.”

  “Are you working a case?” Cindy asked. “Is that why the judge sent you?”

  I shook Larry’s hand and lied to Cindy. “Yes. Top secret though.”

  They seemed impressed, but at last, the male guard turned back to Shane. “I hate to ask, buddy, but rules are rules. You sure you’re not carrying?”

  “I’m sure,” Shane said. “I left all my weapons at home.”

  But the guard was no dummy. “Sorry, man. Gotta check. You sneak something in there, it’s my ass.”

  Shane sighed and faced the wall.

  When the guard was finished, he’d pulled thirteen weapons off Shane’s body, and both he and Cindy were laughing.

  “I don’t blame you for trying,” Larry told Shane. “I wouldn’t want to go inside without my weapons, either.” He patted the holstered gun at his side. “Thank God I don’t have to.”

  Cindy had grabbed a clipboard and cataloged each weapon as it was removed from Shane’s person, then handed him the form to sign.

  Al and I were next, but neither one of us had so much as a blade on us. Cindy took our cell phones and asked us to sign the form as well.

  Ten minutes later, we were finally on our way to see Angus, the two guards in tow. We picked up a third guard as we left that building and walked across a small enclosed yard.

  A loud, raucous buzz sounded and the doors in front of us opened before we reached them. Someone, it appeared, was always watching.

  And then we walked through those doors and entered hell.

  The room was a huge, open area containing scattered tables and chairs, with stairs leading up to the second level. There was no sound, and that absence of sound was deafening.

  Cells lined the walls.

  “Incoming,” Cindy yelled.

  And suddenly there was a flurry of movement as prisoners rushed to face the far walls of their cells. With their backs to us, they fell to their knees, leaned their foreheads against their stained brick walls, and waited for us to pass by.

  The prisoners had absolutely no privacy, and a few of them, males and females alike, were naked. That made it easier to see their prominent bones and the scars that decorated their flesh.

  Cindy, catching my look, explained.

  “We take their clothes if they misbehave. It’s a punishment that’s really losing its effectiveness. What do they care if they’re naked or
not?”

  Suddenly, I didn’t like Cindy.

  My throat hurt with the violent thickness of my tears.

  The cells were tiny, holding only a mattress on what looked like a concrete ledge, and a filthy toilet. Nothing else. No pictures of family, no decorations, no books.

  I walked past cell after cell, a lot of them empty, but some holding kneeling, silent supernaturals. I inhaled rage with every breath.

  I felt them.

  They hadn’t given up. They were just waiting. Waiting for a hand.

  Waiting for a champion.

  I became aware that Shane’s grip was about to break my fingers. “Ease up,” I said, my voice empty, despite the overwhelming emotion in my heart.

  It took enormous effort to remain calm, to keep my face blank, to not fly into a rage and attack every human I came across.

  And I did it. I let the rage come, but I tamed it.

  It was a proud moment.

  Cindy narrowed her eyes, and I saw the threat there. I saw the bully she was. I saw her. I shouldn’t have been surprised at her meanness. It would take a certain kind of person to work there. “What’s wrong, Sinclair?”

  “Not a goddamned thing.” My voice was icy enough to burn my throat.

  She widened her eyes and recoiled just the tiniest bit, because maybe she saw something in my face, something I was trying to hide. Something that scared her.

  “Stone cold,” Alejandro murmured.

  I felt it. Day by day, horror by horror, I was getting a little colder.

  After a while, I stopped peering into cells. But I wouldn’t forget.

  “Stark’s in BSec,” Cindy said when one of the guards started to lead us to the left. “It’s this way.”

  “No, he’s in DSec.”

  “He got moved weeks ago. Where have you been?”

  Shane and I glanced at each other. “What are those names?” I asked.

  “Sections of the prison.” There was a tiny amount of grim pleasure in Cindy’s voice. “ISec is Iron Section, which we just left. BSec is Blood, DSec is Dark, and PSec is Paranormal.”