I brought the engine to life and drew in a deep breath, holding the damp, slightly mildewy air in my lungs for the several seconds it took to organize my thoughts. According to Penhaligon we had one day, two at the most. I didn’t believe for a second that a malevolent entity was going to tear itself free of the earth and crush the city, but everyone else did, which meant every passing hour would see the wraiths become more desperate to get the ring. Things were going to get worse whether I wanted them to or not. Which meant we needed to hurry.

  Step one. Find our guide.

  We headed toward Downtown Crossing, looping around the Common and coming up from the south. I parked on Kingston Street behind the Macy’s store and exited the car. Easton made to follow, but I stopped him with an upraised hand. “Stay here. I won’t be long.”

  He frowned. “Was I unclear when I said I was meant to watch you?”

  I shook my head. “You don’t get it. If I want to get word to our guide, it needs to go through certain channels. A lone woman, in their mind, doesn’t pose much of a threat. But a heavily muscled man in dark colors will repel them like Kryptonite. I’ll never get close if you’re with me.”

  “You could just be saying that to give me the slip.”

  “That’s true,” I said. “Guess you’ll just have to trust me.”

  His mouth tightened, but he didn’t move, and I shut the door and walked the two blocks to Downtown Crossing. As I drew close, a heaviness settled in my chest. I hadn’t been lying when I told Easton that his presence would cause things to go awry, but my reasonings went deeper than that. For what I was about to do, I wouldn’t have wanted anyone beside me. Some knowledge carries weight, and the things we know can actually hurt us.

  Especially when it involves children.

  As a society, Bostonians are pretty good at turning a blind eye toward our homeless population, provided they stay off the main roadways and don’t do anything too overt like passing out in front of a storefront. Even then, people are more likely to simply step over them than to call it in.

  Homeless children, however, are another matter, and not one most people can bring themselves to ignore. The Lost Boys may work for the Peter Pan mythos, but seeing it up close is something else entirely, and the suffering of innocents strikes a powerful chord within us.

  Most people have no idea just how many unhoused children reside inside the city at any given time, but when they show up, they tend to attract a lot of attention, for good and bad. The ones that don’t get scooped up by social workers, or worse, learn to keep out of sight, either by sticking to alleyways or dressing in such a way as to appear older than they are. They make a point of avoiding the homeless shelters, and it can be easy to miss them, unless you know where to look.

  The Red Line Station at Downtown Crossing was one of the busiest public transportation intersections in the city, expelling upwards of twenty-four thousand travelers daily onto the streets and nearby storefronts. At any given time, there were a dozen or so displaced children who lingered around the station, their fast hands fleecing the pockets of the unwary before disappearing into the nearby streets or, when necessary, into the dark train tunnels.

  I went down the stairs and into the station. Halfway down the track, I took up position with my back to the wall, pulled out my cell phone and pretended to scroll. From a distance, it looked like my eyes were glued to the screen, but in truth I kept them moving, watching the travelers who boarded the incoming trains and, more importantly, the ones who didn’t. By the time three or four trains had gone, I had a pretty good sense of who was killing time, and who was making a living. Once the next train departed, I zeroed in on a young boy. He was nine or ten, dressed in an oversized windbreaker jacket and a dark brown beanie hat that had likely started its life bright orange. He cast a thousand-yard stare my way as I came up beside him, and my heart threatened to break in my chest.

  A part of me wanted nothing more than to take him in my arms, but there’s no hug or soft words in the world that can undo a lifetime of abuse and neglect. His body might have been that of a young boy, but his eyes held none of the childlike wonder we so often read about. He watched the emotions flicker across my face but wasn’t impressed. Likely he’d seen it before and had learned not to trust it. There was something in his face though. A hint of curiosity. “Are you her?”

  His voice wasn’t deep, but he’d affected a dry, gravely tone, likely trying to age himself. It caught me off guard and made me hesitate for an extra second before answering. “Her who?”

  “The ghost lady. The one who hunts spooks and such.”

  I nodded. “I guess I am.”

  “Thought I recognized you. We heard stories.”

  “Hopefully good ones.”

  He shrugged. “All stories are good, if you know how to tell them right. Anyway, I don’t believe in spooks. Not goblins nor werewolves neither. You ask my opinion, we got plenty of monsters right here in the city. You might think about spending some time hunting them. Make things easier for those of us who are stuck here.”

  People say a lot of mean things to you when you’re in law enforcement. It comes with the territory, and you have to be able to shake it off. But the kid’s words cut deep, and my eyes blurred. “I’m trying,” I said, quietly.

  He shrugged and started to turn away. “Maybe try a little harder.”

  “Wait.” I stopped him with an upraised hand. “I need a favor.”

  “What kind of favor?”

  “I need you to carry a message.”

  He scrunched up his face. “Going to tell me you never heard of email? Even I know what that is.”

  “This is the sort of message that can only be delivered in person. I’m willing to pay.”

  “How much?”

  I pulled a wad of rolled up dollar bills from my pocket. His eyes narrowed, and I watched as he debated for several seconds before raising his hand. “Alright, give it here.”

  “You’ll carry my message?”

  “Wouldn’t have said ‘give it here’ if I wasn’t going to.”

  I debated a moment, then tossed the cash underhand. He caught it out of the air and shoved it down into the pocket of his windbreaker before cocking his head to the side. “What’s the message?”

  I told him.

  “That’s all?”

  “Easy enough to remember.”

  “You’re weird, lady.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  He nodded and jumped from the platform onto the empty tracks. He disappeared down the tunnel, the light patter of his footsteps echoing for a few seconds before they too faded. I stayed put for half a minute, then forced myself to take several deep breaths before I turned and ascended the stairs.

  The heaviness in my chest only intensified as the late afternoon sunlight touched my face, but I told myself that I was doing what was right. Or, at least, I hoped I was. I wouldn’t know for certain that the message had been delivered until our guide responded. If he ever responded. I didn’t want to think about what might happen if he didn’t. One way or another, I suspected we were going down into those tunnels, but our chances of survival were infinitely increased if we had a proper guide.

  Easy, Chloe. One step at a time.

  I made my way out of Downtown Crossing and back to the car, where Easton was waiting for me. “All set?” he asked.

  “We can hope.”

  “What’s next?”

  “Jail,” I said. “We need to post a bond.”

  We got back in the car and drove up to the jail. Once there, I had to fill out some papers, and Easton had to attach a filled-out check. We handed them back to the jail attendant, then went back out to the car to wait.

  It took several hours for the jail to process the release forms, but eventually, Auggy Higgens came out through the doors, still dressed in the remnants of his tree costume.

  “Hi, Auggy,” I said as I opened the backseat door. “Hop in. We need to talk.”

  Auggy hesitated, clearly surprised to see me and not entirely sure what to make of it. I guess I could understand that, seeing as how I was the one who booked him into jail not even twenty-four hours ago. “Uh, well, actually…”

  Easton emerged from the car, his face deadpan. He didn’t actually say anything, but his look spoke volumes.

  “Right,” Auggy said, drawing out the word. “Well, I guess I could use a ride. Can we stop and get some food first? The meals inside lockup weren’t exactly plentiful, if you catch my drift.”

  “Sure, Auggy,” I said. “Anywhere you like.”

  “Excellent,” he said and got into the backseat. “The Patty Wagon it is.”

  I started up the car and drove away from the jail.

  Situated just off Interstate-93 outside of Somerville, The Patty Wagon had all the makings of a former truck stop turned grease pit. The windows were fogged with grime, and the air was thick with the scent of salt, grease, and grilled onions. The menus were glossy, and the fryers hissed from the kitchen, their cries punctuated by the sound of metal spatulas slapping against the grill. We ordered at the counter, then sat in a plastic booth, Easton and I on one side, Auggy on the other.

  We made small talk until a bored looking waitress brought our food. Auggy had opted for the double burger, loaded down with cheese and mayonnaise, with French fries and onion rings on the side and a large Oreo Milkshake to wash it all down.

  I got a coffee, a single patty burger, and some French fries that smelled like they were cooked in old oil. Easton ordered two burgers wrapped in lettuce in lieu of buns, a crime against man, God, and nature in my opinion but not a hill I was willing to die on right then.

  “So,” Auggy said once we had our food in hand. “I take it by this little shindig that you’ve had a change of heart? I knew the old Higgens’ charm would bring you around eventually. Normally I’m the type to hold a grudge. But this right here is one classy apology.” He dipped a trio of fries into the milkshake, then popped them into his mouth and chewed happily.

  “Thanks, Auggy. I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself, but just so we’re clear, all we did was post your bail. The charges are still on the books, and you’ll be due back in court in a few months, unless…”

  He frowned. “Unless what?”

  I shifted in my seat and brought my hands together. “We’ve run into a little problem, Auggy. Something you might be able to help us with. If you do, I could see to it that those charges go away. Provided, of course, that we have your full cooperation.”

  Auggy let out a low groan and straightened in his seat, making a show of pushing away the food without actually touching it. “Say no more, Sergeant. I’ve heard all I need to hear. Wish I could help you, but I’m not that kind of guy.”

  “What kind of guy?”

  “The kind to turn rat. No thank you. Say what you will about my poetry and personal hygiene, but I’m no snitch.”

  “We’re not asking you to snitch on anybody.”

  Auggy made a disbelieving face. “Maybe not at first, but I can see where this is headed.”

  “Best take a second look then. Because this deal would involve you never saying anything about it to anyone. Ever.

  “Never ever? What happens if I do? I suppose you throw the book at me?”

  “More like I throw you off a bridge,” Easton said.

  Auggy blinked and then let out a low whistle. “Okay. Tough crowd. Message received. Whatever happens next, my lips are sealed.” He mimed shutting his mouth and locking his lips with a key.

  “This is serious, Auggy.”

  “I can see that,” He lifted a French fry and then paused with it halfway to his mouth. “Here’s what I don’t get though. You say you don’t want me to rat on anybody, but you brought me here instead of the police station. And your boyfriend here—”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” I said.

  Easton snorted. “She wishes.”

  “Right,” Auggy said, drawing out the word. “Well, whatever you two are. He’s clearly not a cop and, seeing as you haven’t shoved one of those Confidential Informant agreements down my throat yet, I’m guessing this operation is strictly off the books.” Auggy watched me carefully as he spoke. I thought I had a pretty good poker face, but evidently not good enough, because he let out a satisfied little snort and leaned back in his booth seat. “Okay, fair play, you’ve piqued my interest. What are we after?”

  Legal Obligations. Thursday, August 6th 2130hrs.

  We stayed at the restaurant for another hour, haggling out the terms of our agreement. Not surprisingly, Auggy had some demands.

  The first was simple enough. All pending legal charges against him were to be dropped, with nothing left on his record. That was easy, and wouldn’t take much more than a phone call to the District Attorney’s office. He’d probably be happy to get it off his desk.

  The second demand, however, wasn’t something I had anticipated.

  “You can’t be serious,” I said, as we loaded back up into the car. The sun had dipped below the horizon, and the streetlights shone overhead, illuminating the aged roadway and sending reflections of golden ribbons down the Mystic River. My vehicle’s engine sputtered as we pulled out of the diner and headed south along the highway toward downtown

  “It’s non-negotiable, Sergeant,” Auggy said, seated in the backseat. “It’s got to be legal and ironclad, otherwise I can’t help you.”

  “But why can’t you just do it?” I asked.

  “You serious? Look at me. I’ve been trespassed from most of the legal buildings in the city.”

  “He has a fair point,” Easton said from beside me. “As far as demands go, it’s not so terrible.”

  I cast him a sideways glance. “If it’s not so terrible, why don’t you do it?”

  “I’m not native to the area. And I don’t keep a regular cell phone.”

  “Yeah, yeah, mister special mercenary guy over here. Your name probably isn’t even Easton, is it?”

  “As a matter of fact, it’s not.”

  “It’s Craig, isn’t it?” Auggy guessed, leaning forward in his seat. “No wait, let me try again. Calvin? How about Carl?”

  “Can we just say anything with a C and move on?” I asked. Easton’s mouth twitched into a slight smirk, but he didn’t respond. “Trespassing aside, why can’t it be you, Auggy?”

  “For one, I’m constantly getting arrested, and there’s no way anyone at Animal Control would hesitate to put him down if they saw my name. If he belongs to you, though, it’s a whole different ballgame. Legally, they can’t touch him without first notifying you and receiving your consent. Or a judge’s order, but those are harder to come by.”

  “Am I even legally allowed to adopt a raccoon? Aren’t they considered a wild animal or something?”

  Auggy raised his eyebrows. “Are we allowed to steal historical trees?”

  I grunted. “Fine. Whatever. I don’t even understand why this is so important to you.”

  Auggy frowned. “Seriously? You never had a pet before?”

  I frowned. “No, I have. I mean, I do. Right now.”

  “Dog?”

  “Hamster,” I said. “It’s a long story.”

  “Well, you ought to spend more time with him. Then maybe you’d understand. Master Paco has been with me for years. I’ve learned a lot from the little guy.”

  “Like what?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Things like loyalty, and friendship, and honor. Ever heard those terms?”

  “Uh, yeah, I have actually, and call me crazy, but I don’t see a whole lot of honor in dressing up like a haunted tree and scaring people in the park. Which is, if memory serves, exactly what you two were doing when I found you.”

  He snorted. “Maybe that’s what it looked like from your point of view. But here’s the thing…”

  I glanced up through the rearview mirror. “Don’t say it.”

  “In life, you’re going to find that many of the truths we cling to depend greatly on our own—”

  “I said, don’t say it.”

  Auggy held up his hand. “Fine, have it your way. I can’t force you, but if you want my help, this is non-negotiable. Take it or leave it.”

  I debated a moment then let out a defeated sigh. “Fine. You win. Where do I get the adoption papers?”

  “You can pick them up at Animal Control, or down at the courthouse, I think.” He shrugged. “You’ll figure it out.”

  “We don’t have a lot of time to waste here, Auggy.”

  “Hey, no worries. I’m a trusting guy. You spit shake on it now, and I’ll trust you to keep your word when this is over. Deal?” He spit into his palm and extended his arm over the front seat.

  “Eww,” I said. “Forget it.”

  Auggy shrugged. “Okay, have it your way. You can just let me out at the next exit.”

  “No, not that. I’ll do the adoption. I just don’t want to shake your spit-filled palm.”

  He considered it and then nodded. “I’m going to need you to spell it out. And not-really-Easton has to witness.”

  “Oh, I would be happy to,” Easton said.

  I drew in a deep breath. “I, Chloe Mayfield, do so solemnly swear, on this, the eighth day of August, that I will, at first available opportunity, adopt one Master Paco, a raccoon native to Boston, and see to his release from the Animal Control unit. Good enough?”

  “Beautiful,” Auggy said.

  “Witnessed,” Easton said.

  “Lovely,” I said. “But just so we’re clear, he’s staying with you?”

  Auggy nodded. “Of course. Master Paco is a great roommate. This is just in case we end up back in the slammer, which, based on what you told me earlier, seems likely.”

  “Not feeling optimistic about our chances?”

  “Not in the slightest.”

  I grunted, and silence descended over the vehicle as we pulled off along the downtown exit. We passed through the city and turned into the Government Parking Garage where our headquarters was housed. I parked on the second floor, and my vehicle shuddered when I killed the engine. As we exited, I caught wind of something in the air. It was an aromatic, masculine aroma, something elegant, like you might find at an upscale spa or barbershop. I’d grown so used to the damp, oily, metallic smell that permeated the garage that the sudden presence of a Fougére, rich with lavender and fern, stuck out like a flashing neon sign.