I removed my hand, then placed it again. "Tate?"
The sound of traffic re-emerged. Where you found one you found the other. What were they doing? I took my hand away again, letting the milky light fade from the mirror. Who to try next?
"Fionh?" This time the mirror filled with milky light, but then quickly cleared leaving no sound at all. The mirror was completely silent. I wondered whether she was with the High Court, in which case it was no surprise to learn that it was not possible to eavesdrop on that conversation.
I was running out of options. "Fellstamp?" This time a sound emerged immediately, the harsh drone of someone snoring. "Fellstamp? Wake up, it's Niall. I need to speak with you."
The snoring continued its rasping rhythm. "Fellstamp! Wake up! I need your help!"
There was no change. He seemed to be making more noise than I was.
"Amber?" This time the mirror filled with a sour sickly green, the light pulsing in strange ways as it made strange clicks and ticks. Where on earth was she? The connection faltered and I let it drop.
That left one more to try. "Slimgrin?" The mirror filled with light once more.
This time the sound was outdoors. There was a hush of trees, the sound of leaves in the breeze. The raucous cry of rooks disturbed the quiet, their harsh accusing voices crying out of the sky. It felt open and wild; I could almost picture them circling around the trees, returning to roost in the evening light, cawing and calling to each other as they spiralled down.
"Slimgrin, can you hear me? I need you to get a message to Garvin. Tell him Blackbird is in Shropshire with the Highsmiths. Deefnir's there too. Did you get that?"
The only sounds were the call of the rooks over a muted shuffling, a sense of shifting weight or changing position. Where was he? Had he heard me?
"Slimgrin, are you there? I know where Blackbird is. She's at the farm near Bridgenorth. Can you hear me?"
There was a loud thumping, not from the mirror, but from outside my room. Someone was banging on my door.
"Slimgrin? She's in Shropshire. I found her. Deefnir's there. Can you hear me?" I was shouting now, making myself heard over the thumping. It rose to an insistent hammering.
"I'm going to have to go."
I released my hand and the sound dissipated, making the thumping on my door sound as if someone was trying to break in, rather than simply get my attention.
"Mr Dawson." Martha's voice came through the door. "Are you in there?"
I went to the door, unlocked it and opened it just enough to see who was there. "Sorry, I was talking to one of my…"
Martha was standing in the hallway with a look of sour disapproval on her face. Behind her was the larger bulk of Greg, the vicar. "Never mind that," he said over her head. "She's gone."
"Who's gone?" I asked.
"Shelley, Karen's sister. She's vanished."
TWENTY
"What do you mean, Shelley's vanished?" I asked Greg.
It crossed my mind for a moment that she was the same age as my daughter. If she had fey ancestry then maybe she truly had vanished from sight. Is that what was going on? Were these girls disappearing because they were fey?
Greg looked at Martha and then at me. "I need a word."
"What kind of a word?" I glanced from one to the other. Martha's scowl did not improve.
Greg eased around Martha, steering her towards the stairs. "Thank you, Mrs Humphries, you've been most helpful. Neal will be able to help me out now. Done all you can do in the circumstances. Thanks very much for your help."
"There's something going on here. I can smell it," she protested.
Greg wasn't to be distracted. "I'll handle it, don't you worry."
He escorted her to the fire door and waited until it swung closed behind her. I could hear her disgruntled tread on the staircase, all the way down. I left the door ajar and picked up my sword, keeping my body between the doorway and the weapon until it was an umbrella that I held in my hand.
Greg appeared in the doorway.
"Don't know how long we've got."
"Until what?"
"She was meant to come straight home from school. She's not home and she's not at friends'. Her mum's worried sick. She's already called the police. Her dad's going spare, saying it's all Karen's fault."
"You're worrying too much. She'll be behind the bus shelter with a boy or down the chip shop with her friends. I have to go."
"Where?"
"London, Shropshire… I'm not sure yet. I have a message to deliver."
"Can't leave now. We need you."
"I'm needed elsewhere."
I moved towards the door, but Greg filled the doorway. I halted in front of him. "She's probably fine. What makes you think she's not?"
He dug into his coat pocket and pulled out a small bundle of plastic. He placed it in my open hand. It was pink and crushed. "Her mobile phone."
"Where was it?" I turned it over in my hand. The screen was cracked and the innards hung out, dangling on little ribbons of wire. It looked as if it had been comprehensively stamped on.
"Small park between school and home. More of a play area. Her mum followed the route back to school. No sign of her. Then she spotted this. Kicked under a hedge at the edge of the park, next to the road."
"This should go to the police. It's evidence."
"You've never seen it before?"
"No, why should I… you think I had something to do with this?"
Greg sagged and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Neal. I had to ask. You knew so much about them. You knew about Helen's pregnancy, Debbie's clubbing… when I found out you knew Gillian and Trudy were dead, I realised there could be more than one way of knowing."
"Not because I had anything to do with their disappearance! I'm not some sick…"
"I know that now. You do understand, don't you? Had to ask." His eyes held a sadness from hearing lies too often, seeing what people truly meant and knowing too much.
"I really have to go." I needed to get a message to Garvin.
"No, don't you see? It means something. You were sent to us. You were meant to be here."
"I'm really meant to be somewhere else."
"Shelley needs you. You may be the only one who can find her. Would you put her family through what you've been through? Not after losing your own daughter, surely?"
That stopped me. "That's not fair, Greg."
"No, it isn't. But who else will find her? At least tell us if she's still alive."
The need to be on my way burned in me, but I could not just abandon him. "Come inside. Shut the door."
He came in and closed the door behind him.
"I want your word, Greg. On whatever you hold most sacred. You tell no one about this. Are we agreed?"
"I swear on the Holy Cross, on Him who died there and on the Father who raised him up to heaven." It rang as true as anything I've ever heard.
Tossing the umbrella on to the bed, I turned to the mirror. I placed my hand flat upon it, watching Greg as I did so.
"Shelley Hopkins?"
The mirror clouded under my hand and Greg's face held a mixture of hope and uncertainty.
As the mirror started to glow from within he said, "That looks like…" He faltered before the word he was going to say.
"Shhh! You wanted to know. Now we find out."
The mirror cleared slowly and through it came the sound of the town. It wavered above the harbour and I thought it would rise and dissipate. My heart fell at explaining what that meant to Greg, and he must have seen it in my face, but then it focused, suddenly and vividly. There was a clunking scraping and a low murmuring, indistinct and fuzzy. Then a whimpering, a lost sound, more like a wounded animal than a girl.
"Shelley? Shelley, is that you?" My voice echoed strangely.
The whimpering sound continued. Then the clunking came again. It sounded metallic.