Fantastical Island (Old School Book 2) Page 10

  Naomi tightened her hands around the warmth of her mug. “To hide any animal noise.”

  Corey nodded, once. He stooped and poked the fire, sending sparks flying up the chimney. They were dealing with creatures, probably land animals, trapped on a boat.

  “Who is this Svenson?” Cait murmured, her gaze on the low, flickering flames as if reading secrets in them.

  “A question to ask Roy,” Corey said.

  Naomi had left her boots at the back door. Now she curled her sock-clad feet under her on the old, comfortable leather chesterfield. “He and Janelle must have been planning this for over a year. They’ve had time to track traces of the island’s fantastical creatures. They set everything in place so that they could act quickly in spring when the creatures are kept close to home by the demands of raising young. This is a blitz with them starting with the easily identified and captured creatures and moving up to the more magical as the ecological web of interlocking glamours is shredded.”

  Corey dropped down onto the chesterfield. “It could be that this Svenson contacted Roy and Janelle after they were on the island, and put the idea of trapping the creatures…no, that doesn’t make sense. How would Svenson know to contact Roy?”

  “It’s probably best to assume that the couple are in the middle of a long-planned hunt,” Otis said. “But we shouldn’t assume they’re working alone. Although the fact Iovanius overheard Roy wondering how Svenson would react to a mothman, tells me that Svenson isn’t on the island to overhear the rumor.”

  “Or easily contacted.” Cait yawned and stretched in her armchair. “Sorry. I think the island air is making me sleepy.”

  “That and Uncle Otis’s generous hand with the whiskey bottle.” Corey smiled at her. “Why don’t we all sleep on the news of Roy and Janelle’s involvement? I could do with some quiet thinking time.”

  The sense of his suggestion was obvious. Otis set a fireguard in front of the fire, while Corey woke Cliff the behemi from his snoring position to the side of the fireplace and took the small flying pig outside for the night. Part pet, part wild animal, the behemi needed the freedom to follow its instincts.

  Cait and Naomi carried the empty hot chocolate mugs through to the kitchen and rinsed them before climbing the back stairs together.

  Corey locked the back door and followed them up, third in line. He touched Naomi’s shoulder, smiling at her briefly as he said goodnight, before walking on to his bedroom.

  Naomi regretted that they hadn’t found time and space for a more private goodnight, but mostly she was tired and vaguely depressed; unhappy that such ordinary people as Janelle and Roy could be unleashing devastation on Catalina Island by trapping and selling its fantastical creatures. They would destroy the island’s magical ambience and its unique status as a hotspot and for what? For money.

  It had been one thing to talk of stopping anonymous hunters. Now that they knew Roy and Janelle were involved, it was different. The excitement of being on an adventure had died. She couldn’t even summon a spark of satisfaction that her and Corey’s mothman lure had worked so well to identify the hunters.

  She dropped into bed, worrying.

  Would Corey be able to think of some ploy to scare Roy and Janelle away from the island?

  “Have you seen Corey?” Otis asked Naomi as she entered the kitchen the next morning.

  She glanced at the clock. It was ten to eight. “No. I’m sorry I slept in.”

  He waved that aside. “Coffee’s made. There’s bread in the fridge if you want toast.” He stood at the counter looking out the kitchen window at the side garden. Pale pink hibiscus flowers were bright against the muted green foliage.

  Naomi frowned. She hadn’t thought Otis to be the type of person who fussed. “Does Corey run in the morning? Could he be jogging? Maybe he’s gone into town for something?” She swallowed some coffee and sighed contentedly as the caffeine hit. Come on, brain. Wake up.

  “He’s not answering his phone,” Otis said. “In fact, it’s returning an out of service message.”

  She scanned the kitchen counter and table, then the floor. “He didn’t leave a note?” Usually a single man in his twenties didn’t have to account to anyone for his early morning whereabouts, but this wasn’t exactly an ordinary time. Corey wouldn’t have left them to worry about him. “He wouldn’t have gone after Roy alone, would he?”

  Otis shook his head. “Corey isn’t stupid enough to play the hero.”

  She smiled as she raised her coffee mug. He was right. Corey had nothing to prove to anyone.

  “I don’t like it.” Otis pushed away from the counter and picked up the landline phone fixed to the wall. “I’m calling the harbor master’s office. Corey might have gone out to see where Roy’s boat is anchored. If it’s moved.”

  Without talking to any of us? A shiver skidded down her spine.

  Naomi took her coffee out with her to the back veranda. She noted Corey’s boots standing there beside hers. Perhaps that was why Otis thought he might be on the water? Corey wouldn’t wear his boots on a boat. But the man had to have more than one pair of boots.

  Commonsense warred with an eerie, ominous feeling.

  She looked around. Despite the amulet around her neck, she couldn’t see Cliff the behemi. She went searching. The flying pig’s bed, a sack stretched on a low metal frame, occupied a sheltered corner of the side veranda. The behemi wasn’t there, either. Beside his bed, his water bowl had a couple of leaves in it and a sheen of dust on the surface of the water.

  Corey was a responsible pet owner. He’d ensure his animals had fresh water daily. True, the behemi was half-wild and could seek out other water sources, but Corey never shirked his responsibilities. If Corey was awake, out and about, why hadn’t he refilled the water bowl?

  She whirled around, balanced her coffee mug hurriedly on a window sill, and dashed inside. She found Cliff’s food bowl in the laundry room on a shelf above an airtight container of pig food. The bowl was dry, as if it hadn’t been used that morning.

  “Otis.” She hurried into the kitchen. “Is Cliff usually fed in the morning?”

  “Half a cup,” the old man said absently. Then he swung away from the phone to face her. “Cliff hasn’t been fed?”

  “It doesn’t look like he has—and Cliff isn’t in the yard.”

  “I noticed that, but I didn’t think to check if Piggy had eaten.” He brushed past her to stand frowning at the empty food bowl. “No one’s seen Corey at the harbor.”

  Naomi’s gut tightened with real fear, but she fought it back. “If he went out before light…”

  Otis shook his head. “Even then, someone would have noticed. There aren’t any secrets on Catalina—ha! I guess there are,” he corrected himself unhappily. “Those hunters kept their purpose here quiet.”

  She put their shared fear for Corey into words. “Roy and Janelle couldn’t have caught Corey. They didn’t see him last night, I’m sure of it. He would have said something if he’d thought they did. He must have had an idea overnight and dashed off to put it into action. Phone coverage on the island does have gaps at times. He’ll be back soon and think we’re crazy for worrying.”

  Otis frowned at her. The laundry room felt small with the two of them, and their worry, in it. “Do you really believe that?”

  She put a hand on her tummy. “Logically, that has to be what’s happened. But in my gut…I think something’s happened to him. Corey agreed with you that Cait and I had to move in here so that our forces weren’t split. I guess he could think that as women we need protecting, but still, I don’t believe he’d leave us to worry about him.”

  Otis put a hand on her shoulder. “Good girl. He wouldn’t.”

  They walked out to the veranda and stared at the beautiful day. The air was still. The morning quiet. Birds flew around the lemon tree and hibiscus shrubs, chirping and darting after insects that hummed over the patch of garden golden with Californian poppies. It all looked so ordinary, even prosaic wi
th the towel Corey had dried Cliff with hanging on the clothesline.

  “The police won’t accept a missing person’s report yet,” Otis said. “And anyone we talk to would only say Corey’s gone fishing or hiking or why the heck don’t we give him some privacy.” He struck the veranda railing with his fist.

  Cait pushed open the screen door. She’d obviously been listening. “Naomi and I have friends.” The two women exchanged a look. “One is a finder talent. The Old School will get Corey back.”

  Sadie would definitely help, but Naomi wished she felt half as confident as Cait sounded. The Old School members weren’t here, and in a missing person’s case, time was of the essence. Corey’s rescue, if he needed rescuing, was up to her.

  Corey opened his eyes to darkness. The gag in his mouth tasted of grease and sea water. His head ached, with a particular pain centered on the back of it. The floor was moving.

  I’m on a boat.

  His arms were tied behind him and his ankles bound. There was no give in the ropes. He grunted as he shifted to a sitting position. The movement made his head pound and little stars detonate behind his eyes. His stomach churned nauseously and he breathed carefully through his nose. With the gag in his mouth, being sick was not an option.

  He didn’t know how long he’d been unconscious or how much longer he’d be alone in the hold. If he was alone. In the darkness, he had to rely on his hearing to learn his surroundings.

  He could guess that he’d been kidnapped. The last thing he remembered was waking at dawn and going outside. Cliff the behemi had been pleased to see him. But the behemi was far from being a guard dog. Someone had sneaked in and struck Corey on the head.

  I hope they liked carrying me out of the yard, he thought sourly. He was far from lightweight.

  The darkness couldn’t tell him how long he’d been unconscious.

  He didn’t feel as if he’d been drugged, so he assumed his unconsciousness had been due to a blow to the head. He felt bruised and sore, but not stiff as he would have been after hours and hours of unconsciousness. The bruises were probably due to the difficulty of transporting his unconscious body to the boat.

  He needed to explore his options and get out.

  There were faint rustlings and the sound of a small pump, like one that would aerate an aquarium. If there were captured sea serpents in the hold, the hunters would need an enclosed tank for them, otherwise the creatures would escape.

  Am I on Roy’s boat, the Buccaneer? He decided to go with it as a working assumption. His and Naomi’s clever notion to identify the hunters at the lighthouse yesterday seemed to have rebounded.

  Dammittall. He wished that he could see what surrounded him. As it was, he had to blindly edge backwards on his heels and his butt, feeling out his prison with his bound hands. Wood, metal, wire—he jerked as a damp and friendly snout pushed from the other side of the wire mesh to touch his fingers. “Cliff?” But the gag rendered Corey mute. All that emerged was a muffled gurgle.

  Nonetheless, Cliff responded with a squeal.

  The squeal cut straight through Corey’s headache and made it worse, if that was possible. He sagged forward to rest his head against his knees. He’d gotten Cliff trapped as well as himself.

  Not my fault. And even if it was, wallowing in guilt wouldn’t help anyone. He hadn’t expected to be assaulted in his own yard. He’d thought he’d been cautious and smart and, most of all, undetected, at the lighthouse last night. Yet Roy—or someone—had crept around Bunyip House and kidnapped him. Cliff must have been a bonus.

  But why kidnap me? He resumed his slow progress across the floor of the hold, finally reaching a gap where the smooth glass of what had to be a fish tank ended. The water pump was loudest there. He wriggled into the gap until he reached the bulkhead and, using its support, maneuvered himself upright.

  Damn his head pounded. It had to be concussion. He leaned the side of his face against the top edge of the fish tank and found the corner of it. Slowly, with slips and frustration, he got the gag out of his mouth. It was looser than the ropes that bound him, which helped. The ropes wouldn’t be so easily disposed of.

  Gag lowered to his chin, he sucked in deeper breaths. The smells of the hold came stronger to him: sea water, animal feces, straw, dirt and diesel. Nothing he hadn’t expected.

  At the far end of the hold, a hatch opened and light flooded down.

  Janelle’s pretty face considered him, then she turned her head and shouted. “Roy, he’s awake. Get the phone!”

  “We know a finder talent,” Naomi said to Otis. She glanced at Cait. “Protocol is that we channel the request for Sadie’s assistance through Vanessa, but given that we think Corey may have been kidnapped.” Or worse. Her body felt heavy with dread and Otis looked stoic, but fear glimmered in his green eyes. “Sadie’s a friend. I can phone and ask her for help directly, not as part of the Old School.”

  As worried as they all were for Corey, Cait still paused to consider her answer.

  Naomi understood. She turned to Otis before he could urge them impatiently to get on with things. “Sadie will need a photo of Corey, something for her finder talent to latch onto. Do you have one?”

  Otis barged into the house, the screen door clashing shut behind him.

  Cait looked sympathetically after him. Then with a deep sigh, she gave her shoulders a little shake, like someone accepting a burden. “The protocols exist for a reason. Before we established the coordinator’s role that Vanessa currently fills, some of the Old Girls with more unique talents burned out, overwhelmed as everyone made emergency demands of them.” Women with talents like Sadie’s. “Plus, in the longer term, protecting Vanessa won’t help her to heal.”

  “But—”

  Cait held up a finger. “Vanessa won’t thank you for going around her, but for now, I think you’re right. She’s buried her trauma, or tried to, but it’s leaking out. We don’t need to remind her of it when we don’t have emotional support in place for her. I agree with your decision to phone Sadie directly.”

  It was a long-winded way of saying yes, but the yes was what mattered.

  Later they would have to figure out how to help Vanessa recover from her ordeal. As much as Vanessa tried to simply resume her old life, she and her world had changed. The Old School needed to assist her in adjusting.

  After Corey was safe.

  Naomi scrolled through her phone for Sadie’s number.

  Inside the house, a phone rang.

  “Hello? Corey?” Otis’s voice was loud, worry turning up the volume. “The hell you say!”

  Naomi ran for the kitchen, Cait on her heels.

  Otis stared at them, his face red, then slowly draining of blood. He leaned against the wall. “It’s not possible. Hell’s blood, woman. We haven’t seen the creature in years.” He beckoned to Naomi to lean close and listen.

  Janelle’s voice, Southern sweet yet ruthless, spelled out her demands. “Bakus bond with their human families. They hang around when there are children. There are no children in the Madrigal family, so no baku. But it will sense your emotional disturbance. If you want Corey returned to you, capture the baku and bring it to the Buccaneer, Roy Bysshe’s boat, before midday. The boat is anchored north east of the lighthouse.”

  “How the hell am I to bring a baku to you?” Otis asked in a strangled voice. “Nothing evil can remain near a baku.”

  “I am aware.” Cold amusement sounded in Janelle’s voice at his inference that she was evil. “My family’s baku drove me from my home.”

  Naomi wrapped her arms around herself, chilled at Janelle’s vengeful, bitter tone. Corey’s kidnapping wasn’t just a business transaction. Janelle’s hunting of fantastical creatures had an emotional component that added dangerous unpredictability to her actions. She wanted revenge.

  “You will find a pair of enchanted silver hobbles on Corey’s new girlfriend’s bed at the boarding house. They will contain the baku’s power. If you tell anyone or use any magic in a m
isguided attempt to double-cross me and retrieve Corey, he dies. Be very careful and bring me the baku. You have until midday.”

  “Wait!” Naomi cried. “How do we know Corey’s alive?”

  “You mean you won’t take my word for it?” Janelle laughed. “Roy, have our guest say a few words.”

  “Don’t do this. Go to the police!”

  There was the sound of a thud and Corey’s voice vanished.

  Janelle was still laughing. “How very predictable. Feel free to take his advice, but then, he dies. The police aren’t equipped to deal with magic.” She disconnected.

  Otis dropped the phone. It swung on its cord.

  “Does she have magic?” Naomi asked. “If she did would Corey tell us to get the police involved? He wouldn’t risk getting the police involved if they’d be outclassed.”

  “They’re less outclassed than us,” Cait said grimly. “And midday doesn’t give us time to call in help.”

  It was just over three hours away. Naomi shelved her questions, worries, everything, and ran for the kitchen door that led directly out to the side veranda. “We need to know what we’re dealing with. I’ll get the hobbles from my room. If they’re there.” She didn’t have magic, but she’d been trained to recognize signs of what she was dealing with, and Otis specialized in paranormal energy. Surely the hobbles would tell them something.

  She crashed out of the kitchen and raced around the corner of the front veranda, leaping down the steps and racing for the boarding house. Head down, feet flying, she was locked in her own world of worry.

  She grabbed the frangipani tree by the boarding house’s porch and swung to a stop. Her lungs were burning from too much panic and too little breathing.

  “Naomi?” Her landlady was drinking her coffee on a corner of the porch. “Heaven’s dear! What’s wrong?”