Page 1 of Forever Found

Boxes littered her living room. Like her life, they didn’t seem to have any order. She began labeling them with a permanent marker as she peeked inside to remember what she’d packed. Kitchen, bedroom, bath. She stacked them near the doorway.

Her cell phone sounded the crystals ringtone, which meant it was her bestie, Jen. But where was the phone? Lyndsey dug around, following the sound as it led her to the bookshelf, where she spied the glow of the screen next to the pile of photo albums. She plucked the phone up, then answered, “Hey, girl. What’s up?”

“Just keeping track of you. How’s it going?” Jen asked.

Lyndsey Goeig drew in a silent, deep breath. “Good. Good. I’m almost finished packing. Then John, a friend from work, well, you know, work before I got laid off, will help me haul this stuff to storage.”

“I’m glad you have someone to help. Have you decided where you’re going yet? The offer still stands to hang with me for a while until you figure out what’s next.”

“I know. I appreciate the offer.” But Jen, as much as Lyndsey adored her friend, had her quirks. Just because they were best friends didn’t mean they’d make good roommates. Jen was a type-A personality with a side of anxiety disorder, and Lyndsey was a type-B with a touch of ADD. They would drive each other crazy. Besides, Jen lived in a busy part of town.Not for me.

Lyndsey thumbed through some loose pictures, then added them to the group at her feet. Her heart squeezed as she dropped cross-legged to the floor, tugging another empty box closer. She placed the picture albums of her childhood in the container that would go into storage until she figured out where she was going. She was young, free, and had her entire life in front of her. Her choices were endless. These were the things she told herself in those moments of panic.

In reality, she’d been laid off from her photography job at the newspaper, her apartment had been bought out by a big-wig industrial company, and today was move-out day. In one way, the timing couldn’t have been better. She could go wherever the wind took her—the lousy thing was…no wind.

“Let me know if you want to brainstorm jobs, or if I can help,” Jen said.

“I will. I’m just going to concentrate on freelance work for a while. Thanks for checking on me. Bye.” Lyndsey ran her finger over the end button, chewing her lower lip. She thrived on change, right? She always had. Lucky Lyndsey.

She lifted another album, then leaned to drop it into the box. The cover fell open, revealing a snapshot of her and her cousin Justin during the Winter Carnival in St. Paul. They stood beside the enormous ice sculptures. She must have been around sixteen. Those were fun times.

As she held the picture, a tingling raced from her hand up her arm and into her chest. It dissolved in an instant. But she understood the feeling had something to do with the picture. The imprint drew her. She wondered why. Justin lived north of St. Paul in Terror, Minnesota. She hadn’t seen him in years. They kept up on Facebook, but that was it.

She stared at the photo as a strong pull, like the force of a magnet, tugged at her spirit, her very core. She saw real things in pictures. Sometimes, it was auras. Other times, just something other people didn’t see. Once or twice, the camera had done weird stuff like burning a hole in a bedspread. Those instances had blown her away. Unexplainably, she felt compelled to visit Justin. Life had taught her to listen to these mystical sensations.

Placing the rest of the photo albums in the box, she sealed it, labeled itphotos, and set it with the rest of her belongings.

Call Justin. Find out what is driving this connection sensation.

She hesitated. Finally, she found Justin in her contacts and dialed.

When he answered, she felt a little awkward. “Hi, Justin. This is your cousin, Lyndsey.”

“Lucky Lyndsey. How have you been?”

She remembered now he was the one who had called her that. “Great. How about you?”

After they exchanged pleasantries, she paused, building her courage. “I’m doing some traveling up your way, and I wondered if I could drop by for a little while. Do you have room for a guest?”

“Sure. Of course. Come on.”

“Awesome. I’ll be there on Tuesday. Thanks. I can’t wait to catch up.” Or to discover what was driving her to him after all these years. She ended the call, glancing at her photography paraphernalia. Her equipment was all she needed to survive.

Have camera, will travel.

* * *

You’re not the hero you think you are.

David stared at the note scrawled in demon blood he’d unfurled from the mailbox. The letters were written over one another in different strokes and multiple shades from red to black. Perhaps to camouflage the script? Maybe to make it almost illegible. Almost. Probably because the demon who wrote it was fixated on a point. He flipped the paper over.

It’s time to settle the score.

He stretched the sudden ache in his wings, then curled them tightly into place as he stared beyond the lawn of Thurston Mansion, the home of the Angel Alliance, the residence of the angels who were charged with keeping peace in Terror. A significant part of their job was to bind demonic powers and principalities.

The message wasn’t addressed to anyone in particular, but it was meant for him. David understood that.

Of course, you aren’t a hero; the voice in his head immediately assured him. He’d never thought he was. And what score were they talking about?