The drone-like sound of her phone woke Fiona MacTaggart up from a dead sleep. Blearily, she looked at the time, 2:53 AM, before toggling it on. It could only be Tony Ashwart, forgetting she was on the other side of the world again, to beg for an extension on his manuscript.

  “Listen, Tony, if you do not give me a complete rough draft by next Thursday, I will personally fly to Perth to kick your procrastinating ass black and blue.” she snarled into the phone. “It’s three in the damned morning over here!”

  There was silence on the other line. “Tony?” she asked.

  “Umm, sorry, ma’am. This is not Tony. I am Officer Tracy Spencer with the university police. Am I speaking with Ms. Fiona MacTaggart?”

  Her heart sank as she answered, sitting upright in the bed. “Yes, this is she.”

  “And, for the record, you are the legal guardian for Alboim Artur Adams, a registered minor student?”

  “Yes. Is he OK?” Not again. Please, O God, not another one. She prayed, crossing herself.

  “We found his car down here at the library at closing time, Ms. MacTaggart. A standard inquiry showed he scanned in, but never scanned out. Police are en route to do a more thorough check of the premises, but we do need to ask. Do you know the location of your ward?”

  Professionalism took over, calming her voice even as her soul quailed. “Let me check.” She ran out of her bedroom without even pausing to throw on a robe and raced up the stairs. Opening the door, she switched on the light in Alboim’s room. It was empty. “He is not in his room,” she reluctantly told Officer Spencer. Fiona tapped a few buttons on her phone. “And the phone tracer is not picking up his cell phone. At all.”

  The voice on the other end sighed. “We were afraid of that. We will commence a missing person’s search for him. Do you know what he was wearing?”

  “Typically, blue jeans and a polo shirt. He may have worn a sweater today. Light gray Sierra Nevada parka and snow boots. Probably has a Twins beanie. His backpack is a nicer leather and canvas bag, I don’t remember the brand.” She answered.

  “And did he have any trouble at home? Is there a reason why he is living with you instead of with his parents?”

  “Alboim and his sisters are orphans, and have no living relatives. I was their father’s best friend and agreed to take them in. As far as I know, Alboim didn’t have any issues other than being a grieving seventeen-year-old with the responsibility of bringing up his sisters thrust upon him.”

  “Did he have any enemies?”

  Barugalans came the immediate thought. Though they’ve probably given up by now. But they wanted Brigid and Wilson, not the kids. Why would they snatch Al? I will need to warn the society though, just in case. “No, none that I can think of. But people might think he’d have access to his father’s money.” A plausible cover story. Who knew? It could even be correct.

  “I see.” Fiona could hear the officer’s keyboards clicking away. “Is it possible he has a girlfriend or is staying the night elsewhere?”

  “No. No romance I’m aware of, and Alboim is too responsible to spend the night somewhere without telling me, especially on a school night. Besides, his phone would be traceable if that were the case.”

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  “Probably, but stranger things have happened.” the officer replied.

  Her sense of unease only increased as the officer continued to ask probing questions about Alboim, his parents, their fortune. By the time she was through, Fiona felt as though she’d run back-to-back marathons. It was now half-past four AM.

  “Let the girls sleep.” She muttered to herself and crept into Susan’s room to turn off the girl’s alarm, then did the same for Agatha. Let them have a full night’s blissful sleep before hell descended upon them once again. With Fiona’s final task done, she wandered into the kitchen to make an extra strong pot of coffee. She was going to need it.

  While the pot was brewing, she went back into her room and changed into regular clothes. One thing was certain; she would not get any sleep tonight. She also reached into a hidden Faraday safe and extracted a phone still in its plastic wrapping. Unpackaging it, she turned it on and punched in a memorized number.

  “This had better be good.” the voice on the other end said. “It’s three in the morning, for Christ’s sake.”

  “MacTaggart here. Alboim is missing.” Yes, this was a damned good reason to alert the Society.

  “You have my attention.”

  “I just got off the phone with university police, and…” Fiona gave a quick rundown of what she knew, what she did not, and what she suspected.

  A sigh on the other end. “The Brantles sure know how to make a mess of things.” it muttered.

  “And the parents did you lot several huge favors before they settled down to have Alboim.” Fiona countered.

  “Relax, Fiona. We won’t abandon them. The problem is, our best Barugalan source is hard to get a hold of. It may take a couple of months to track the old elf down.”

  “I know how hard it is to track down Maximos. Which is why you should get started on that.” The coffee machine beeped, and she ambled over to pour a mug and doctor it up with sugar, cream and whiskey. She’d need the fortitude today. Sipping her Irish coffee, she told the voice, “I cannot fathom a reason to take Alboim. His parents insisted he have a normal American life and never taught the kids about their heritage. As far as I know, he knows nothing about the world his parents came from.” Why the hell did I ever quit smoking?? Fiona asked herself. She’d quit not long after Brittany’s diagnosis.

  “On the other hand, I cannot think of any other reason for him to disappear. ‘When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.’” She quoted.

  “We’ll look into it from our end,” the voice assured her. “just don’t expect any immediate resolution.”

  “That’s fine. I just hope he does have a secret girlfriend. Hell, at this point I’ll take a secret boyfriend.” Fiona stood in her kitchen. “But for now, I’ve got to go. I have to find a way to break this to the girls, and I suppose the cops will want to talk to all of us.”

  “Of course. We will be in touch.” The line went dead.

  Fiona pulled the phone apart. The chip went down the garbage disposal, and the rest into a plastic baggie for disposal far, far away.

  Her next step was to call the schools. None of the children would go today.

  Susan was the first up. “Someone turned off my alarm.” She announced in a chipper tone. She poured a mug of coffee and doctored it heavily with sugar and milk. “Good thing I had a backup on my phone.”

  Shit. I’d forgotten to check her phone. Fiona thought to herself. “Honey, sit down.” she told Susan. “I have to tell you something.”

  Susan’s face went ashen. With a trembling hand, she pulled out a table chair and sat. Coffee spilled out of her mug, but she paid it no mind. “Who is it this time?” Terror tinged her voice. “Your brother? Mr. Holden?”

  Fiona started crying. “Alboim didn’t come home last night. The police called me, and he’s disappeared.”

  If Susan’s fearful tones had hurt Fiona, her stunned silence was like a shotgun blast in the torso. The fourteen-year-old girl sat, stunned for what seemed like an eternity. Her mouth hung open, her eyes dry. Finally, she spoke. “This isn’t funny, Aunt Fiona.” she finally said.

  “I’m sorry, love. This isn’t a joke. You and Agatha are staying home today. A police officer will be coming over to speak with you about Al.” Fiona tried, but failed to keep her pain from tinging her voice. “It is important that you answer their questions fully and carefully. If I can, I’ll be there with you, but—”

  “Aggie will need you more.” Susan’s voice was flat. She looked up from her lap; her eyes were wells of despair. “You aren’t joking. This family is cursed.”