Precisely seven years later, Melanie was drowning.
Drowning in people, that is. They were packed against her on every side, and she could scarcely breathe as they pressed closer. The metro squealed to a stop, and she was forced to throw out a hand and grab the metal pole to catch herself from falling. “Mind the gap,” enunciated the automated voice as the doors slid open. “Buckhurst Hill, Central Line.”
“Is this our stop, Miranda?” She asked the woman next to her.
Miranda checked the slip of paper in her pocket and nodded. “Is everyone else in the next car?”
A tall girl squeezed her way through the throng of people. She was stunning, with her dark locks and large blue eyes. The girl glided up to them, reminding Melanie vividly of a snow angel. “I’m here, as well,” her soft voice echoed, quiet as the fluttering of a lone dove’s wing.
"Hello, Wynne,” Melanie replied before stepping out into the dimly lit tunnel of the London underground. “Let’s go quickly to beat the others, I don‘t like the Porsche.” The statement was tossed out flippantly; all of the Sentinels were accustomed to exorbitantly priced cars, as Miranda adored them. And could afford them.
The three of them hurried up the steps and into the parking garage where they had left their cars, bypassing the red car but approaching the nondescript charcoal BMW that rested beside it. Melanie slid in beside Miranda, who started the car’s ignition. After they had pulled onto the crowded three-lane street, her mind flashed inexplicably to Miranda’s son. Since the young woman had her seven years ago, Melanie had adopted Miranda as an older sister, and Caleb as a combination brother and son.
“Caleb’s all right, you think?” She asked Miranda suddenly.
She turned the wheel and increased the gas. “Why shouldn’t he be? He’s twelve years old. I swear, you mother him more than I do,” Miranda teased affectionately.
Melanie gave a vague smile and shrugged. “Don’t know,” she murmured. “Just…a feeling. Never mind, it’s nothing.” It was more than that, it was a flash of dread, but there was nothing viable to base it on. Her eyes returned to the road that was slowly disappearing in front of them.
When they finally reached the inn at Rochester, Melanie kicked open the low door before the car stopped and took off at a run. You’re being silly, she told herself firmly. He’ll be sitting there reading a novel and grinning at your panic. So there. She fumbled with the lock but managed to slide the key card into its holster and waited until the light blinked green. Melanie shouldered the door open and burst into the suite.
No Caleb.
No, that wasn’t possible. It was a large suite. He had to be there somewhere. “Caleb,” she called softly, not wanting to wake him up if he’d put up an early night. She checked his room, and the next one- both were undisturbed, still as perfectly made up by the maids as they had been earlier.
“Caleb!” Panic consumed her, ate away at her thoughts like a deadly virus. “Caleb, I swear, if you’re…” she trailed off as Miranda strode in, Wynne at her heels. “I knew it. I can’t find him anywhere.”
Miranda held a finger to her mouth and pointed at the armchair on the far side of the room, where the boy had fallen asleep. “He’s just there,” she whispered calmly. “Honestly, Mel, you’re the most logical, cool-headed person I know, but when it comes to him you’re positively mad.”
She sighed. “I know. Okay, sorry. I am. I just..” Melanie smiled fondly at Caleb, reaching out to smooth his dark hair off his forehead. She lifted his hand- knowing he was a deep sleeper- and ran her long fingers lightly across his knuckles. “You know how I feel about him. He’s more than my little brother. When he gets hurt, I’m as bruised as he is. Anyway…night.” Yawning, Melanie padded off to the double room she shared with Caleb as Miranda went into the one where Wynne now dozed.
“Get up, Melanie! Damn it, Mel, get up!” A voice was sobbing. A hand pushed her shoulder roughly.
"Shove off," she mumbled sleepily. "Leave me alone."
"Caleb's gone, Melanie!"
Melanie was awake and pulling a T-shirt over her head, jerking socks on. "Have you looked everywhere?" she asked, blowing past Miranda and into the suite's living room, where Wynne was already waiting.
"Of course," Miranda snapped. "And I've called the inn's front desk, as well. He's not in the hotel."
"Have you called the police?" Her fingers already began tapping her cell numbers.
"Melanie." Miranda gently prized the phone out of her sister's grasp. "You know the police can't help us. I think we both know who took him."
Melanie met her gaze for a long moment before pulling away. Caleb, her heart screamed. Where are you? "Phone," she muttered frantically, hands skittering across it before tossing it into a small bag. "Knife, poison. Anything else?"
"What are you doing?" Wynne asked, seated on the edge of the sofa. Her hands were twisted in knots and her sweet face was creased with worry.
Melanie hated to leave her friend but Wynne couldn't help her now. "Finding Caleb. Miranda, take care of her."
She shook her head, faintly adding, "You can't do that, Mel. You're not going to go looking for him alone. Wait for Anya or William to come. Delia, Craig. Or Simon! Yes! Wait for Simon."
Mel's stomach turned in protest at the thought of the bloodthristy Sentinel. "Are you crazy? They're all hours away! He'll be dead by then, or worse. And you know he hasn't got a talent to protect him. If the wraiths have him, Miranda..." Melanie trailed off. "I'll be back soon. I hope."
"You've got to at least check the village," Wynne interjected. "Caleb's gone there before, hasn't he?"
The thought startled Melanie, but she wasn‘t surprised it came from Wynne. The eighteen-year-old was painfully innocent but always seemed to find alternative ideas. "No. Never without telling us explicitly."
Miranda seized Melanie's arm, her eyes radiating with the anxiety she felt. Though Mel wondered if her older sister was more afraid for Caleb or for her- equal parts, she supposed. "Don't go," Miranda breathed. "I don't want to lose both of you."
"I won't lose Caleb!" she argued. She saw Miranda's expression and amended. "All right. I'll check the village first, but if he's not there- and he won't be- I'm going after him."
The young woman relented and released Melanie's arm. "All right," she said resolutely. "Be careful. And do take your knife. But leave the cyanide.” She pointed to the syringe of blue liquid Mel had just tossed in her bag.
“Not happening. If something happens…if I can’t make it…I don’t want my memories emptied out, Miranda. You can’t ask me to do that,” she whispered. “I don’t know if I’ll strong enough to keep them out, and I don’t want to just end up a shell. At least this way, I know that the worst that can happen is death.”
Melanie shuddered at the possibility of what the wraiths would do to her. They fed off memories, latching their lips onto their victims’ and drawing them out, all the memories the person possessed. Exultant, mourning, afraid, lonely, the wraiths took them all, fed off them as a normal person required food. And left an empty shell of a being, neither alive nor dead, trapped in a limbo of eternal dark and silence. No. Compared to that, death was surely preferable.
Miranda took her by the shoulders and shook her until her brain ricocheted off the walls of her skull. “No! You are strong, Mel. Stronger than I could ever be. Much stronger than you know.”
She gave her a hard look and turned away to shoulder the bag. “All the same, I’m still bringing the poison. Beats finding a rattlesnake, anyway.” Melanie opened her mouth and moved towards her sister, but changed her mind and strode out without another glance.
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