Chapter 2

Raising Death

“Some people have it all.” I muttered. I could feel my shoulders tightening as I
drove up to the Whitcauf’s house. It was damn near close to being a mansion. Their
house was situated on a small, immaculately manicured lawn above a small rise.
“You know, you could probably be living a lot better if you would just get in
contact with the Sages.”
I rolled my eyes. “We’re not going over that again.”
“I’ve taught you all I can, Dawn. If you want to learn more you’re going to have
to go to them eventually. You have way more strength than I did at your age.”
“Let’s talk about this later, Uncle Clyde.”
I parked, ignoring Uncle Clyde’s nervous rustling of his feathers.
“I’m getting that feeling again.”
“What—you’re gassy?” I quipped, forcing myself to ignore the prickles crawling
up my neck.
He threw me an acerbic look from his perch on the seat. “Smartass. Something
doesn’t feel right about this house.”
I tilted my chin and exited the car. He was right. Death was calling me—the
feeling of worms inching under my skin was setting me on edge.
I walked up the paved incline to the house, Uncle Clyde flying silent and invisible
beside me. The house sat, cold and aloof, on its small hill. Finally, I reached the door and
pushed its doorbell.
There was a tense silence, and then the air seemed to press down on me. The
shadows around the doorway deepened as the air turned leaden making it harder to
breathe. I sucked in a breath, glancing at Uncle Clyde. He ruffled his feathers at me and
tilted his head, triumphantly. He’d been right. Someone had died in this house.
Suddenly, the door was flung open and the dark feeling lifted. “May I help you?”
It was Shana Whitcauf, still professional, still immaculate.
“Yes, it’s Dawn. We agreed yesterday to meet this evening?”
“Oh, yes. Come in.” She stepped back and allowed me inside. “Will this take
long?”
I moved ahead, not bothering to glance over my shoulder; Uncle Clyde would
make it inside one way or another. “Not long at all, Mrs. Whitcauf. I just need to see your
daughter’s room.”
The inside of the house was plush: white rugs and couches, hardwood floors, and
skylights. She paused, pointedly removing her shoes before moving into the receiving
area. I rolled my eyes and followed suit, kicking off my boots and stalking after her.
She turned abruptly, one hand poised on the back of a lush white couch, the other
hand fisted on her hip. “So, please explain to me why, after all the searching the police
have done, you feel that you can resolve this…problem…where they cannot.”
I sighed. It always came down to this. “Have you done any research on the
National Center for Missing Children, Mrs. Whitcauf?”
She seemed taken aback for a moment, and shook her head. “No, I can’t say that I
have.”

I took a moment to lean against the couch, ignoring her wince of distaste. “The
NCMC has five satellite offices and four regional offices. The office located here in
Tutsin is one of the four regional offices. We work in congruence with law enforcement
and the FBI. And if you check our board of directors, the heads of offices of such lauded
organizations as the Department of Justice, the U.S. Secret Service, and the U.S. Nuclear
Regulatory Commission offer their unmitigated support.
“On top of that, we have assisted in finding thousands of children since our
organizations’ creation in 1979. Children that would not have been found without our
services, our hotline, and, most importantly, our field agents.”
“Field agents?” She raised an eyebrow.
I nodded. “Of which, I am one. We have a pretty good success rate, Mrs.
Whitcauf. We specialize in finding children. The police do not.”
She exhaled a breath and smiled, relaxing visibly. “Ok good. It’s just that this
situation is a little more delicate than I first led your supervisor to believe.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Yes. You see…my husband is a convicted felon.”
I coughed, and threw a surreptitious glance at Uncle Clyde’s shadowed form
perched on the couch back. “A felon? And the police didn’t know this…how?”