“Me too.”
“There must be something else we could be doing.”
“We’ve done everything we could think of — putting up flyers, calling all Georgia’s friends and family, getting the word out on social media.” I shrugged. “I’m not sure what else we can do.”
Liar, a voice whispered in the back of my head.There’s one other thing you could do. You just don’t want to do it…
I tried to push the voice away, along with the surge of guilt it inspired. I didn’t quite succeed. Probably because… well, the voice wasn’t wrong. Icouldtry to trigger a vision. But even if I made the attempt, there was no guarantee I’d be successful. There was even less of a guarantee I’d learn anything useful.
Even if there’s an infinitesimal chance, it’s worth a try,the voice derided me.This is Rory we’re talking about…
I sank my teeth into my bottom lip, wishing the voice would shut the hell up. I wanted to bring Rory home. Of course I did. Just like I’d wanted to bring little Joey Crawford home, when I walked into that Baltimore precinct with the best of intentions.
In the end, he’d come home in a body bag.
Six years had done nothing to numb the pain of that experience. I was excruciatingly aware of how wrong things could go when working with the police. The plain fact was, I didn’t know whether I’d be helping or harming the investigation by getting involved. I didn’t trust my own instincts when it came to my powers. They were unpredictable at best, unnerving at worst. Pretending they were the answer to all our prayers for Rory’s safe return wouldn’t do anyone any good.
Least of all me.
It would only lead to disappointment, blame, and, ultimately, the same ostracizing attitude that drove me out of the state of Maryland as fast as the bus could carry me.
Better to let the authorities handle it this time.
I’d learned my lesson.
Coward, the voice whispered.
“Imogen?” A voice cut into my conflicted thoughts. “Are you okay?”
My head snapped up. Gwen and Florence were both staring at me with identical looks of concern. Flo was holding two steaming coffee cups. I hadn’t even heard her return.
“Sure, I’m fine.” I smiled weakly. “Just tired. I could use a nap.”
“And a shower,” Flo added, eyeing my mussed hair. “No offense.”
Gwen snorted.
“Give me a break if I’m not daisy-fresh,” I grumbled, irritated. I knew I looked a fright even without her pointing it out. “Not all of us got eight hours of beauty sleep last night, Flo.”
“Too busy with all the sex?”
“Too busy searching the streets for Rory,” I corrected. Then, with a sigh, admitted, “And all the sex.”
Flo smirked and passed me my latte.
Gwen’s eyes had gone distant with thought. “Maybe I should design a website for Rory. A central page with his picture, information for volunteers, all the important phone numbers to contact…”
“That’s not a bad idea,” I told her, sipping my latte. (And scalding my tongue in the process.)
“Since when are you so tech-savvy?” Flo asked, skeptical.
“Since I successfully launched The Gallows’ online store!” Gwen sounded rather proud of herself. “Gather round, girlfriends. I’ll show you.”
She bent forward, swiped her laptop off the coffee table, and cracked it open. Flo came around to our side, and we all squeezed in on the couch as Gwen pulled up her new website. It wasn’t a technological marvel by any means, but it certainly served its purpose. The landing page was all black, featuring a spooky font that declaredTHE GALLOWSin large lettering. Like the sign out front, the ‘o’ was in the shape of a noose. Beneath it, a subheading read:
OCCULT TEXTS, ANCIENT RELICS, MYSTICAL CURIOSITIES, AND PSYCHIC READINGS
Beneath that, in even smaller font: