Page 36 of The Magic We Made

“Yeah,” Meg says, peering down at the photo. “That’s Emma. Or I mean, that’s what she used to look like.”

I feel my heart rate speed up with both excitement—finally, a lead!—and alarm. “What do you meanusedto look like? What happened to her?”

“Oh, nothing.” Meg has sunk back against the sofa cushions as if exhausted from all the talking, the fur throw pulled to her chin. “Her hair is shorter now is all. Which is probably better for her, because you wouldn’t believe the number of ticks out there—”

“Out where, Meg? Where can I find Emma?”

Her eyes immediately fill with tears—and fear. “I can’t—I’m not supposed to tell—”

“Youhaveto tell, Meg.” I take a seat on the edge of the coffee table directly in front of her. In order to do this, I have to step past Francesca, still kneeling beside the couch in her wet suit and towel. I keep my gaze on Meg, though.

“Emma’s family asked me to find her,” I tell the girl. I don’t miss the way the look of annoyance on Francesca’s face turns to one of surprise when she hears this. But I don’t acknowledge it, either. I keep my focus on the girl. “Is she all right?”

“Y-yes.” Meg looks uncertain, however. “At least, she was when I left—”

“Left where? Where did you last see her?”

“I—I can’t say. She told us what would happen if we tell.”

“Who told you? What did she say would happen?”

“I—I can’t!” The frantic girl, her eyes streaming with tears, turns back toward Francesca. “I love my family! I don’t want them to die!”

“Shhh.” Francesca puts her arms back around the girl and pats her matted hair, which for some reason is cut like a medieval monk’s. It’s not a great look. Fortunately Meg Boucher is so pretty and young, she can carry it off. “It’s okay. You’re safe now. No one is going to hurt you.”

I’m not entirely sure about that. Which is why I don’t let up, despite the disapproving looks Francesca keeps throwing me. “Who isshe, Meg?Who told you not to tell?”

I already know the answer. Haley. Who else?

But the girl won’t say it. She’s too frightened.

“I... I c-can’t,” she stammers instead. Then she dissolves into hysterical sobs.

Ash

I lean back, resting my hands on my knees while Francesca continues to stroke the girl’s hair and speak reassuringly to her, all while casting little worried looks in my direction.

“Meg?” Francesca is saying. “Meg, listen to me. You’re safe. No one can hurt you or your family. Did you hear what I said, Meg? You’re safe.”

Except that she’s not, and she knows it. That’s why she’s clamped her mouth shut so tightly, refusing to say another word about where she’s been, or with whom. And that’s also why she lets out another terrified scream when the doorbell rings a few seconds later.

“Shhh,” Francesca says, stroking Meg’s arm. “That’s just my friend Jackie. She’s a police officer. I called and told her that you were here—”

I throw her a startled look. Acop? Francesca calledthe cops?I thought she was calling an ambulance.

Meg apparently feels as betrayed as I do, since she tosses back the wolfskin, ready to run.

“There’s nothing to be frightened of,” Francesca insists. “Jackie’s an old friend. She’s bringing the EMTs. They’re going to help you—”

But Meg has already scrambled up from the couch, upsetting the coffee mug.

“No!” she screams. “I don’t want to go to jail!”

“They’re coming to help you, Meg, not take you to jail.” Francesca’s voice is impressively calm considering that the girl has flung herself at the sliding glass doors and is attempting to unlock them and flee, even as I’m getting up to go open the front door and let this Jackie person inside.

Except that, when I get the door open, the person I see standing on the front porch isn’t the battle-axe in blue I’m expecting, but a tall, attractive redhead wearing a sidearm, badge, and black tactical uniform.

“Well, hey there,” she says to me, a sunny smile on her freckled face. “Deputy Chief Jackie Boyle. Frankie Giovanni around?”