together, gathering our thoughts, thinking of the past, blanking out the future. Though still unable to mourn, I felt different now that perhaps William had found rest or even lived in a better place than this world.

“Thank you,” I said, the words sounding inadequate.

Instead of answering, Wade stood up to leave. Our work here was done, and he wanted understanding, not thanks. The dirt beneath our feet changed swiftly into grass as we emerged from the forest patch into the park, walking in solemn silence like people leaving a funeral.

It was over halfway through April, and sweet scents of summer blossoms drifted on the air. Western Washington is a rainy place, often cloudy and wet, but the few clear spring nights Mother Nature doles out are a paradise of green leaves and bursting flowers.

My mind was almost at peace, drifting in several different directions, when I heard the first whimper. Wade stopped, listening. His expression went blank for a moment, and then twisted slightly.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Here, over here.” He ducked away and pushed aside a shrub to our right. To my surprise, a small boy practically boiled out from underneath and darted in a beeline for the trees.

“Leisha, help me get him.”

Gliding into instant motion, I flew past Wade, whose long strides were actually quite fast, and I focused on the spot the boy had disappeared into. Once inside the forested area, I was running blind and stopped to listen. Wade’s voice blew past me.

“It’s all right, Raymond. If you come out we’ll get you something warm to eat.”

Raymond?

How had he managed to pick so much out of a fleeing target’s mind? Perhaps children are more open than adults.

“We should leave this place,” I called. “When he gets tired, he’ll go home.”

“No, he can’t go home. Go to your left. He’s right ahead of you.”

Children are an alien species. Hunting them for life force wasn’t my style, and I couldn’t remember ever having spoken to one. But Wade seemed dead set on catching this boy. Small shuffling sounds in the bushes ahead caught my attention, and I sprang forward, the tips of my fingers grasping a small arm. I struggled for a better grip.

He bit me. The little shit sank his teeth into my hand, hard enough to break skin. It didn’t really hurt. Lifting his kicking feet off the ground, I whispered, “You wouldn’t like it if I bit you back.”

Wade bounded up beside me, his nearly white hair glowing like a beacon. “Here,” I said. “You take him.”

My companion’s arms were more adept at holding children than mine. “It’s all right, Raymond. No one’s going to hurt you.”

The boy stilled as Wade kept whispering soft words in his ear. The poor kid was a mess. About five or six years old, with dirty clothes and long, filthy hair. His eyes were wild, and low grunting sounds escaped his mouth. He seemed incapable of speech.

His short legs wrapped around Wade’s waist. Wade put one arm around the child’s back and the other beneath his bottom for support. Somehow the sight of Wade holding him moved me. Edward used to say it takes all kinds of people to make a world.

“What now?” I asked.

“He’s been neglected. We need to get our car from the hotel and drive him to the authorities.”

“Are you crazy? You’re talking about cops, right? Cops?”

“It’s eleven o’clock at night. Social Health and Welfare closed down hours ago. We don’t have a choice.”

“Sure we do. I’m not going near a police station.”

“You have to! Dominick may be able to block his thoughts from me, but I can still feel him coming. This won’t take long. We’re just going to feed him and then find someone else to take over.”

What was he thinking? We could now be linked to three bizarre deaths, and he wanted to walk right into a Seattle precinct to turn in a lost child? No way.

“You aren’t listening to me!” Wade spat at Sergeant Ben Cordova of Precinct Seventeen in west Seattle. “He hasn’t been beaten. He lives with his father and his father’s girlfriend. They leave him alone for days at a time, with no food in the house. No one’s ever changed his bedsheets as far back as he can remember. He hasn’t attended any school. They don’t wash his clothes.”

Sergeant Cordova looked back with the eyes of a dead fish. “Are there any physical marks of abuse?”

“How about malnutrition, you stupid fuck?”

Oh, great, there it went. I’d been standing