Teenage Romance

Two star-crossed teenagers are caught in the middle of a war between rival witch families, and Tom Jurgen has to sort things out while a dangerous wizard hunts them across the city. 

Teenage Romance, Part One

The baggage claim at O’Hare Airport at 10:30 p.m. was quiet. A man sat on the edge of a luggage carousel in a corduroy blazer sipping a Starbucks, watching people scan the belt in search of their suitcases. Two giggling women pulled their bags off the carousel and staggered next to each other while looking for the taxi stand sign. A family with two sleepy children stared at a big monitor, looking for their flight information.

            I was wearing a red necktie, as instructed by my client. She didn’t want me to hold a sign announcing the name of the person I was picking up. I stood in front of the slowly rotating, almost empty carousel for flight 743 from Boston and waited. 

            A man and a woman trudged to the carousel, and the man leaned over to heft a bulky suitcase off the belt. The woman sighed and patted his arm, and they turned, looking up at the signs to tell them where to go.

            A teenager walked up to me, a backpack slung over one shoulder. He was about 16, with curly black hair, in a denim jacket and jeans. He pointed at my necktie. “You my ride?”

            “I’m Tom Jurgen.”

            He frowned. “I’m supposed to ask for a password.”

            “Scarecrow.”

            The kid smiled. “Right. And I’m King. Except my name is really Ross. Ross Beneditti.”

            “Hi, Ross.” I glanced at the carousel. “You have any luggage?”

            He pulled at the backpack strap. “Just this.”

            “Let’s go.”

            We walked to an elevator, descended, and made our way to the day parking lot. 

            “Nice flight?” I asked.

            Ross shrugged. “I guess.”

            I spotted my Prius “That way.”

Like the baggage claim, the garage was quiet and almost empty as we walked between cars. Bright lights in the ceiling cast long shadows in every direction. A car near the exit honked its horn impatiently. Doors slammed in the distance.

Behind a car ahead of us something moved. Before I could put out an arm to stop Ross, I heard a voice behind me. “It’s them!” 

I stopped. Over my shoulder I saw the guy who’d been drinking Starbucks by the luggage carousel.

            When I looked forward again, two men were standing in front of us. One of them held a handgun. 

            Oh hell.

            “Okay, Ross,” said the one without the handgun. He was tall, balding, in a nylon windbreaker. “Come with us.”

            Ross froze. He looked at me.

            What was I supposed to do? I only had pepper spray in my jacket. Could I get it before the other guy shot us? “Who are you?”

            “Ross is coming with us,” the tall guy said. “Don’t be a stupid hero or anything.”

            The guy with the gun—short, shaped like a barrel—just stared at us. Mostly at me.

            Damn it. I was supposed to do something. But what? Rachel would kill me if I got shot. “What’s this all about? People know I’m here—”

            “Shut up!” The guy with the handgun looked nervous. “Let’s just go.”

            “It’s okay.” Ross took a deep breath. “I got this.”

            I glanced at him as he let his backpack slip from his shoulder. “What?”

            He smiled. “Brace yourself.”

            The guy with the gun took a step back, lifting his weapon. “Don’t do anything—”

            Ross lifted his arm, palm out, and held his breath. Then he pushed his hand forward—

            And the short guy with the gun flew backward, feet off the ground, and slammed against a minivan behind him. He dropped his gun and slumped to the concrete, groaning. 

            The tall guy reacted right away, reaching under his windbreaker. But I grabbed my pepper spray and blasted him in the face before he could get whatever he was reaching for, and before Ross could repeat his trick. He doubled over, choking, clawing at his face as he coughed and gasped for air.

            A shout behind us made me turn. The guy from the carousel was running through the row of cars, but he didn’t seem to have a gun in his hands. I tapped Ross’s shoulder and pointed. “Come on.” 

            We ducked our heads as we scrambled between the rows of vehicles until I spotted the Prius. “Over here.” I clicked the lock control and pulled the door open for him, then darted around to slide into the driver’s side. Ross threw his backpack into the back and yanked his seatbelt as I backed up, turned, and veered toward the exit.

            “Who were those guys?” I checked my rearview mirror. A dark SUV was wheeling around a row of cars, driving too fast for safety. I pressed the accelerator, praying I didn’t hit any cars. Or people.

            “My aunt can explain when we get there.” He twisted his neck to look behind us. “Can you go faster?”

            I bit my lip hard as I zoomed toward the exit gate. Slamming the brake, I almost hit the barrier with my windshield, and then I was fumbling in my pocket for the parking ticket and a credit card. The SUV was coming. 

            Window down, I fed the ticket into the slot and then jammed my Mastercard into the payment slot. THANK YOU read the display, and the barrier began to rise. I left the credit card and hit the gas, and the rail scraped the roof as the car lurched forward.

            “They’re still behind us. Haha! They hit the rail.” Ross laughed as he turned back around. “How far to the hotel?”

            “Not close enough.” Fortunately the traffic around the airport was light, and I found the on-ramp to the Kennedy Expressway without colliding with anything. 

            I merged into the traffic heading downtown, the pounding in my chest starting to fade. I wasn’t getting paid enough for this. 

My client—Helena Snowe—had called me at four this afternoon to pick up her nephew from the airport. Why she needed a private detective wasn’t clear, but it sounded like an easy job. All I had to do was show up wearing a red necktie and take the kid to her hotel downtown. I wished I’d told her I was too busy.

            “What’d you shoot that guy with?” Ross was looking out the window at the lights around us. “Don’t you have a gun or something?”

            “Pepper spray. Nobody told me I’d need a gun.” Not that I would have shot anybody. I carry my Glock sometimes, but I’ve never had to fire it at a human being. Thankfully. “What was that thing you did?”

            “It’s, uh—hey, I think that’s them.” He lurched around again. “Yeah. Their windshield’s broke. They’re coming up fast. Can you go faster?”

            “Just because I’m a P.I., doesn’t mean I can drive like The Fast and The Furious.” Goddamn it. I wouldn’t even be able to call Rachel before I got killed. Of course she’d just yell at me, but still—

            I yanked the wheel to the right, cutting across the center lane as horns blared at me from all sides. I could see the dark SUV coming. I looked for an exit, hoping I could lose them and hide in the neighborhood streets.

            But the SUV came up behind me hard. Its bumper pushed against the trunk, and I struggled with the wheel to keep the car going straight. They swerved and hit me again, jarring my teeth as the Prius jerked sideways onto the shoulder, kicking up gravel as I tried not to hit the barrier on the side. 

I looked at Ross. “Can you—do something?”

            He was watching the SUV. “I guess. Let me—” He closed his eyes and held up both arms, palms raised to the ceiling. One deep breath, then another. The SUV was right beside us. I could see the gunman glaring at me.

            Then the SUV lurched to the left. A car in the far lane honked, slamming it brakes and shooting over around it, narrowly avoiding a collision as the SUV bounced off a barrier and started to skid on the pavement.

            Then it disappeared in the traffic behind us as I gunned the accelerator again. After three miles I caught my breath and eased up on the gas, letting the car slow to the speed limit. 

            “Are we going to get there soon?” Ross asked. “I’m hungry.”

 

A valet at the Hotel Venetian off Michigan Avenue took my keys and pulled away in the Prius. An elegantly dressed woman behind the front counter confirmed Ross’s identity, made a call, and then gave him a passkey. She looked me over. “And this gentleman is with you?”  

            A nice quiet elevator took us to the 21^st floor. We turned the wrong way down the hall at first, but found the right door at the end of the other hall. Ross slid the passkey in and opened the door.

            A slender Black man in an Oxford shirt and a necktie met us before the door was fully open. “Hello, Ross. Make yourself at home. Mr. Jurgen? My name is Chad. Please make yourself comfortable. Have a drink. I’ll get Mrs. Snowe.”

            The suite was big—bigger than most houses. Long sofas, plush armchairs, a TV that covered one wall, a full bar in one corner, a kitchenette off to the side, and four bedrooms that I could see. 

Ross dropped his backpack on the floor and sat on a sofa, pulling out his phone. I went to the bar and poured myself a whiskey. I don’t usually drink hard liquor, but after almost getting killed on the Kennedy, my nerves needed a break.

Drink in hand, I took out my own phone to text Rachel. I gave her the hotel’s name so she’d know where I was, and mentioned that I’d had some “excitement” getting here. Her response: Wake me up when you’re home. Don’t do anything stupid.

Chad came back. “Mrs. Snowe.”

Helena Snowe, in her 70s, had silvery hair and a stony face. Silver earrings. A necklace with a small glittering diamond dangled over her crisp white blouse. She made me think of a prime minister from some faraway mountain nation. 

She walked first to Ross, who was playing a game on his phone. “Ross. I’m glad you’re here.”

            He put down his phone, stood up, and gave her a stiff, formal hug. “Hi, Aunt Helena.”

            “Mr. Jurgen.” She turned to me. “I apologize for the unpleasantness in bringing my nephew here. You’ll be compensated above what we agreed on.”

            She’d already sent me money this afternoon, but I wasn’t going to turn her down. “Thank you. I guess there was a reason you hired me instead of just ordering an Uber.”

            A hint of a smile lifted her lips. “You have some experience in—unusual matters.”

            That was true. “Yes. I’m not a bodyguard, though. One of the men had a gun.”

            “He was really good, Aunt Helena,” Ross said. “He knew what to do all the time.”

            I felt an unexpected surge of pride at Ross’s praise. “Thanks,” I said. “I was actually scared to death. And Ross did most of the work.”

            “Would you like to know what’s happening?” Helena asked. “I can explain.”

            What I wanted was to go home to Rachel and go to bed. But I can’t kick the compulsion to ask questions. It helped me when in my past life as a reporter and it still gets me in trouble now. 

            “Sure.” I knew I’d regret this.

            “Please have a seat.” She sat next to Ross. I took a seat in one of the big chairs and sipped my whiskey. 

            Helena folded her hands in her lap. “We belong to a family of wizards and witches.” She waited for my reaction.

            “Okay.” I set my glass down. “You know about me. You know you’re not the first witches I’ve encountered.” Not to mention vampires, demons, and the occasional giant killer chicken.

            “So you understand that we want to keep a low profile in the modern world. Even though they don’t hang or burn witches anymore, people tend to be—uncomfortable with us. We’re not looking for attention.”

            “That’s good to hear,” I said.

            Ross went back to playing his phone game.

            “Our side of the family is located in the East,” Helena went on. “Another branch of the family is centered in the Pacific Northwest. We’re—not exactly at war, but we have different ideas about how to do business. We’ve sparred with each other for years. We finally came to a decision, and it involves Ross.”

            Ross looked up and sighed. “I haven’t said yes yet.”

            “I know.” She patted his shoulder. “Neither has she. This is just a first step.”

            “She?” I asked.

            “Ross is here to meet a young woman from the other side of the family. If everything goes well, they could unite our two branches, and things would be better for everyone.” Helena smiled.

            I looked at Ross. “How old are you?”

            “Sixteen. Seventeen next month.” He rolled his eyes. “She’s 17. She’s pretty—we’ve talked on Zoom and stuff, and—”

            “This is just preliminary,” Helena cut in. “No one is asking either of you to make any decisions right now. This is just a first visit to see if there’s any future there.”

            It sounded like that miniseries about Queen Victoria I’d watched with Rachel a few months ago. “Well, good luck.” I finished my drink. “I don’t have much experience with teenage romance, so I can’t offer any advice for either of you. My girlfriend would say I don’t have much useful experience with romance at all, so . . .”

            Before I could get up, Chad reappeared with a phone. “Mrs. Snowe? For you.”

            Her eyebrows rose. “One minute.” She took the phone and headed into another room.

I looked at Ross. “You’re okay with this?”

He groaned. “Yeah. I mean, I never said I’d marry her or anything. Honestly, I think it’s just a way for them to avoid dealing with their real problems. But if it keeps them happy for a while? I’ll go along with it. And she’s kinda cute.” He grinned.

“Who were those people trying to kidnap you?”      

“Oh, them. Yeah.” Ross shook his head. “I guess there are some of the family on both sides who don’t want this to happen. They think it’s surrendering, giving up power, or something. I don’t know. I’ve got a lot of weird relatives.” He shrugged. 

“Every family does.” Witches can be scary, but family politics can turn ugly. “What kind of magic can you do?”

He grinned. “Mostly just the push thing you saw. A little levitation. Fire. They say they’ll teach me spells when I’m older. And—” He stopped as he saw his aunt returning.

Helena was frowning. “You can go, Mr. Jurgen. Wait—Chad? My checkbook.”

“Is everything all right?”

She glanced at Ross. “Everything’s fine. The meeting tomorrow morning has been postponed, Ross. I’ll let you know when it’s rescheduled.”

“Great. I don’t have to get up early.” He stood up. “I’m hungry. Can I order room service?”

“Go ahead.” She took a checkbook from Chad and hastily scrawled out a check. “Here you are, Mr. Jurgen, and thank you again. And my apologies. Again.”

The check was double what she’d already paid me. The noble type of P.I. you see on TV would have turned it down. I’m the type of P.I. with bills to pay, so I folded it up and put it in my wallet. “Thank you, Ms. Snowe. If there’s nothing else?” I stood up. 

            “Have a good night. Chad?”

            He walked to the door and held it open for me. I paused. “Good night, Ross. Nice meeting you.”

            Ross was scanning the room service menu. “Yeah. Thanks. Same here.”

            I nodded to Chad. “Have a good night.”

            Chad nodded but said nothing. He didn’t look like he was expecting the night to get any better.

 

Rachel had an early morning class—she’s studying for a psychology degree—so we only saw each other for a few minutes the next morning. Just enough for some coffee and a brief rundown of last night. “Sounds crazy,” Rachel said, filling her travel mug. “At least she paid you extra.”

            “Yeah, that almost makes up for me almost getting killed.” I shrugged. “At least it’s over. I wonder about the kids, though.”

            “They’ll figure it out. They’re teenagers. When I was 16—you may not want to know.”

            “Oh, I want to know.” I looked her over. Rachel’s got red hair and hazelnut eyes, slender and gorgeous. She’s also kind of psychic, which makes for an interesting combination. “Everything.”

            “Maybe later.” She punched my shoulder, hefted her laptop bag, and headed for the day. “Have a boring day!”

            I bent over my cereal. “I hope.”

            After breakfast I went into my office. It was lonely without Rachel on the other side complaining about website redesigns and other graphic chores, but I focused on work. I had a fraud case that promised to be nowhere near as scary as last night’s shenanigans.

            My phone buzzed at 11:15. Helena Snowe. What now?

            I answered. “Tom Jurgen speaking.”

            “Mr. Jurgen.” She sounded tense. “I have a problem.”

            “Is Ross all right?” Maybe the kidnappers had tried again, or he’d blown up the suite with magic, or—

            “He’s fine. It’s the girl. Christine. She’s—missing.”

            Uh-oh. “Kidnapped?”

            “Possibly. We’re not sure. She wasn’t on her flight last night. I was told that she’d missed her flight and was coming in this morning. I just got a call that she arrived at Midway—we purposely arranged for them to fly into different airports, for security—but she went into a restroom and didn’t come out. The people sent to bring her in were both men.” 

            “Not P.I.s like me? Just family members?”

            “Apparently. The Graves—that’s the family, Graves—were in charge of their own arrangements bringing Christine here. I’m meeting with them in an hour to talk things over. I’d like you to come, if you’re available.”

            I was very available. “I can certainly join you. I’m not sure how much help I’ll be—I do a lot of missing persons work, if that’s what it is, but if it’s a kidnapping, well, I got lucky last night because Ross was there. I’m not exactly the dad in those Taken movies.”

            “You can identify the men from last night. That might be useful, if they show up.”

            Maybe. I didn’t want to face them again, but I didn’t want to admit that to a client. Especially one who was willing to pay me. “I’ll help you as much as I can. Where is the meeting?”

Teenage Romance, Part Two

The meeting was in the conference room of an insurance company downtown, owned by an ally of the Graves faction. The window looked across the street at another office building. Helena Snowe was there, along with a younger woman. She was blond, slender, in her 20s, in a trim blue pantsuit, with an open briefcase on the table in front of her. Helena wore a gray sweater and slacks, her necklace catching the light from the fluorescents overhead.

            The other side was represented by Micah Graves, older than me—I’m in my 40s—who wore a gray blazer and jeans, as if he didn’t have to rely on Brooks Brothers to intimidate anyone. He was accompanied by two men, both in suits that might have come off the rack from Sears. 

            We sat on opposite sides of a long table. Micah immediately zeroed in on me. “And you are?”

            “This is Tom Jurgen.” Helena spoke before I could. “He’s a private detective I hired to pick Ross up from O’Hare last night. When someone tried to kidnap my nephew.”

            The other Graves men looked at each other. Micah just shrugged. “You stopped them? Good.”

            “Ross did most of it,” I said. “I just drove fast.”

            The young woman leaned in. “How much do you know about Christine’s disappearance? Anyone?”

            Micah looked to his men. One cleared his throat. “It was me and Robby.” He looked at me. “We came out with Mr. Graves. But we’re not private detectives.”

“I trust both of them,” said Micah, “or I wouldn’t have brought them here. Or sent them to the airport.”

“Anyway,” the guy said, “she came to the baggage claim, and she said she had to use the bathroom. She didn’t come out.”

The other man—Robby—cut in. “We waited 10 minutes. When she didn’t come out, Seth asked a woman to go in and check on her, but she wasn’t there. We went in, and we got yelled at, but Christine wasn’t there. We found her backpack in the garbage, after we called her phone. It was ringing in the backpack.”

“Do you have it?” I asked.

Micah shot him a look. “Go get it.”

“Why did she miss her flight last night?” I asked as Robby left.

Micah looked at Helena, irritated. “Is he in charge of your family now?”

“It’s a valid question.” Her tone was chilly. “Why?”

“She said she wasn’t feeling well.” He spoke to her, not me. “A stomach problem.”

“But she was better this morning?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Apparently.”

I turned to Helena. “Who knew what flight Ross was coming in on last night?”

“Me. Chad.” She turned. “Cecilia. That’s my attorney, Cecilia Spearing—” The young woman nodded. “Chad arranged the flight.”

I looked at Micah. “And your side had no idea when he was coming in?”

He shook his head. “We knew it was O’Hare. The day or night before the meeting.”

The door opened, and Robby came back with the backpack. 

“Can I look at it? Did you search it?” I stood up. 

Seth said, “Just the side pocket. For the phone.”

Robby set it on the desk. I unzipped the side pocket and found her phone. It was locked, so I couldn’t check her recent calls or contacts. I looked at Helena. “We’ll have to check Ross’ phone. He said he’s talked to her before this.”

She nodded. “As soon as we’re done here.”

I untied the cords on top of the backpack. “What was she wearing?”

Robby and Seth looked at each other. “Jeans,” Robby said. “A black jacket, with yellow stripes, like a tiger.”

“And a black scarf over her hair,” Seth said. 

I reached into the backpack and pulled out a black jacket. The jagged yellow stripes did look tigerish. Underneath was a pair of jeans, and tangled in them was a black scarf.

I spread the clothes across the table. “At least we know she didn’t teleport out of there.”

Robby and Seth looked at each other, then at Micah. “No,” Robby said. “We were watching for her! There’s no way—"

“You were looking for one girl in a black jacket and a scarf on her head. She could have changed clothes, made friends with someone in the bathroom, and walked out with them. Or had a friend meet her—does she have any friends in Chicago?”

Micah glared at me. “We’ll check. We’re keeping that backpack, along with the phone. Gentlemen?”

Robby and Seth started packing up Christine’s clothes. Micah stood up, hands on the table. “We’ll be conducting our own search for Christine. I’ll let you know when we’ve found her, and we can go ahead with the meeting. We’re done here.” He turned with a gesture, and Robby and Seth followed him out of the conference room with the backpack.

I looked at the door. “Or maybe she did teleport, and left these as a ruse.”

Helena gave a faint smile. “What now, Tom?”

Good question. I hadn’t really expected to end up in charge. I just like to ask questions. “The clothes and backpack make it look like she wasn’t kidnapped, just went off on her own, but how this is connected to Ross last night, I don’t know.” Maybe she had been snatched, somehow, and they’d left her clothes behind to throw everyone off. That seemed overly complicated, though. Snatching a young woman in a public restroom would be tricky. “I’d like to talk to Ross. Alone.”

“He’s back at the hotel. Chad’s with him.” She stood up. “Let’s go, Cecilia.”

“Are you part of the family?” I asked her as she packed up her briefcase.

Cecilia looked at me, smiled, and lifted a finger. 

A small flame began burning in the center of the conference room table.

She closed her briefcase. “What do you think, Tom?” 

“That’s enough, Cecilia.” Helena lifted her own finger, and the flame disappeared without leaving a mark. “Let’s go.”

 

Ross was watching TV and fidgeting with his phone in a bedroom. Chad brought me a cup of coffee, then left us alone. Helena and Cecilia were in the main suite, discussing—whatever.

            Ross looked up at me. He was on the bed, legs crossed. “Sup.”

            “How you doing today?” I pulled a chair next to the bed.

            He shrugged. “Fine. Bored. I mean, I know they have to watch out for me after last night. And this whole thing about Christine—I agreed to it, but now it’s like there’s a conspiracy or something. You know?”

            “You know she’s disappeared.”

            “Yeah.” He turned the TV off. “Is it the guys from last night?” He looked worried.

            “I don’t think so. She may have just slipped away from her people at the airport, but we don’t really know.” I looked him over. “You’ve talked to her, haven’t you?”

            “Yeah, we’ve Facetimed a few times. We text.”

            “Have you heard from her lately?”

            He scrolled through his phone. “Last week. She had a chem test she was nervous about.”

            “That’s it? Nothing about coming out here to meet?”

            He squirmed. “She was nervous. But she didn’t want to talk about it. So I guess she stopped texting me.”

            “Do you like her?”

            He looked away from me. “Yeah. She’s okay. Funny. I like her fine. I don’t know if I want to, you know, date her or whatever, but . . .” His voice trailed away, embarrassed.

            “Do you have a picture?”

            He scrolled again, then held out his phone. “That’s her.”

            Christine was blond, with a streak of blue in her hair that matched her eyes. Two earrings in one ear, three in the other. Pretty, for a teenager. “Is that it? Any more?”

            “I don’t have any pictures of her naked, or in her underwear, if that’s what you mean.” Ross rolled his eyes. “A few. Just regular selfies.”

            “Send me a few. I may need them. What’s Christine’s last name, by the way?”

            “Novis.” He spelled it.

I looked at her pictures came through on my phone, and then I asked, “Did she know when you were coming in?”

            He shook his head. “No.”

            “Do you know any of her friends? People we could call?” I assumed Graves was already in contact with her parents, as well as trying to get into her phone. But that might take some time.

            He shrugged. “Not really. I don’t know their names or numbers, I mean.”

            “Does she have any friends here in Chicago?”

            Ross looked at his phone, away from me. After a minute, he looked up. “I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone. But everyone’s so serious. And after last night . . . Shit, she’s going to be mad at me.”

            “We have to be sure she’s safe,” I said gently. 

            “Yeah.” He leaned back on the bed and looked at the ceiling. “There’s this girl named Jackie. Jackie Vega. I only know that because when they told us about Chicago last month that was the first or second thing she said. Then she told me not to tell anyone. I think she wants to get together with her, but she didn’t say for sure.”

“Do you know any more about her?” I started typing the name into my phone.

            He grimaced. “No. I mean, it was just—wait, her folks are divorced, and her mother moved here. She lives with her mother, and it’s somewhere near the zoo. I remember that. That doesn’t help at all, does it?”

            Not really. But I’d already found some social media for the name. “You don’t know what she looks like, do you?”

            “No. I mean, she’s Christine’s age, but that’s all I know.” He looked upset. “Sorry.”

            “That’s fine. She’s a teenager, so she may have an Instagram or something. Do kids use Facebook anymore?”

            He snorted. “Hardly. Snapchat and WhatsApp are more like it.”

            “I’ve heard of those.” I grinned. “Okay, let me see what I can find out. Thanks, Ross.” I stood up. “Please call me if you think of anything else.” I gave him one of my cards.

            He stared at it, as if no one had ever given him a business card before. “Okay, thanks. You’ve got my number?” He held out his phone.

            I made sure I had it. Ross picked up the remote, then hesitated before turning the TV on. “I hope you find her,” he said.

            “I’ll do my best.” I left him alone. 

            Helena was talking with Cecilia when I came out. “Did you find anything?” 

            “One lead. I—” I remembered Ross’s nervousness. “I should keep it private right now. It may turn out to be nothing.”

            She frowned, but before she could argue Cecilia stood up, looking at her phone. “Graves got into her phone. They found a picture taken at the zoo in Lincoln Park at 10 this morning, from a sender named, uh, Jack. He sent those two guys but they haven’t found her.”

            Jack. I didn’t want to get Ross in trouble for breaking his promise to Christine, unless I really had to. I kept my face in neutral. “I’m going to check my lead out. I’ll be in touch.”

            Helena looked annoyed, but said nothing. Cecilia was scowling at her phone. I headed to the door. My plan was to search for Jackie Vega online, try to locate her, contact her and then—

            The door opened unexpectedly. 

            It was the three men from the airport.

            I jumped back. The tall guy had his handgun. The short guy was unarmed, but the third, still in his corduroy jacket, held a Starbucks cup in his hand, as if ready to hurl hot coffee in my face. 

            I stumbled backward, shouting. Chad stepped out from the kitchenette, then quickly ducked back. Helena rose to her feet, gesturing to Cecilia. “Call the—”

            “No calls!” The tall man pointed his weapon. “Where are they?”

            Helena lifted an arm, palm up. “Tom, get down,” she said as the tall man took a step toward her. 

            I crouched, wondering what that meant but mostly hoping I wouldn’t soil my boxers if tall guy fired his pistol. Before I could worry about anything else, though, a loud CRACK! punched my ears.

            The room shook. Lamps rocked on tables. The shockwave pushed me over, and I rolled to one side, suddenly gasping for breath.

            Tall guy dropped his gun and fell to his knees. Short guy slumped forward, clutching his ears. The third guy fell backwards, spilling his Starbucks on the carpet.

Chad emerged again from the kitchenette, this time holding his own handgun, one that would have intimidated Dirty Harry. I saw Ross in the doorway to his room, eyes wide. He raised one hand, as if to do his push, but Helena waved him to stay back.

            Cecilia fled the room, phone in hand. Talking urgently. 911? Wizard Police? I didn’t know. 

            Then the Starbucks guy sat up, his face red. He swung an arm toward Chad and flicked his finger, and Chad staggered back, grunting. His big Magnum or whatever it was slipped from his hand. I ducked and covered my head in case it went off.

Helena raised her arm again, and then the Starbucks guy closed his fist and opened it, spreading his fingers wide like an explosion—

            And then I couldn’t see anything.

            Panic swirled in my brain. A month ago I’d been struck blind by a curse. Okay, I was cured pretty quickly and I could see fine now, but it made me aware of how vulnerable I really was, whether it was guns, magic, or just a bad fall. I didn’t want Rachel to be stuck taking care of me. She wouldn’t even be mad, but I’d resent the hell out of it.

            I blinked frantically, and after a moment I realized my eyes were fine. A dense smoke had suddenly enveloped the room, swirling like a black sandstorm that smelled like burning leaves and bitter tea. I sat up, waving my hand in front of my face, which didn’t help at all. I saw a shadow run in front of me, and I stuck out a leg. Someone grunted and cursed but kept going.

            Helena shouted, “Chad! Get Ross!”

            I struggled to my feet. I heard and felt bodies nearby. Someone pushed me. I reached out and grabbed at something—an arm, but it twisted and slipped away. I stepped back, my hands out, searching in the darkness for someone or something to hold onto and hoping nobody fired off a gun into the darkness. Helena yelled for Ross again.

            Then suddenly the black shroud faded, and I could see once more. I groaned with relief as I looked around.

            The short guy sat on the ground, clutching a bloody knee and groaning. Helena was half-sprawled on the sofa, rubbing her eyes, with Cecilia leaning over her, murmuring quietly.

            Chad was in the middle of the room, looking around. No gun in his hand—I spotted it on the floor near the window. The other two intruders were gone. The Starbucks cup lay on the carpet in a puddle of coffee.

            Chad spun in a circle, his eyes wide. “Ross? Ross, you there?”

            Helena lurched up. “Check on Ross.”

            Chad and me trotted toward Ross’ bedroom. Empty, the TV still on. No phone. No Ross.

            Ross was gone.

Teenage Romance, Part Three

Cecilia dealt with the hotel management. Fortunately, aside from Helena’s paralyzing thunderclap, the struggle hadn’t attracted any attention or guest complaints. Chad and I searched the suite thoroughly while Helena called Micah Graves.

            Our search took five minutes, No sign of Ross. The TV remote lay on his bed, next to a room service menu. His phone was gone.

Helena ended her call and put down her phone as we returned. “Micah claims he doesn’t know about any of this. He did sound—surprised. I don’t know if I believe him.”

            Short guy sat on the floor, rocking back and forth. Chad disappeared and came back a moment later with a towel to wrap around his bleeding knee. He stood over him, his handgun tucked into his belt, arms crossed, as if daring him to try standing up.

            Everyone looked at me. Like I was an expert on interrogation or something. I sighed. “How’d you hurt your leg?”

            “Someone kicked me, and I hit the corner of that table.” He glared. “You guys can’t keep me here.”

            “You came in here with a gun,” Helena snapped. “And now my nephew is missing. Do you really want to call the police?”

            “It wasn’t me! Daniel—I told him it was stupid, but he said nobody would listen to us without it.” He rolled his eyes. “Idiot.”

            “Daniel who? What’s your name, anyway?”

            He stared up at me. “Who the hell are you?”

            “Tom Jurgen. Answer me.” I sounded tough. A lot tougher than I felt. It was the aftereffect of the attack.

            He sighed. “Calvin Holman. Daniel is, uh, Daniel Crane. The other guy hired us. He just called himself Atlan. I never heard his last name.”

            “Atlan?” That came from Cecilia. She looked at Helena. 

            “You know him?” I asked.

            Helena frowned. “He’s . . .” She glanced at Holman. “Let him go. That’s all we need to know.”

            Chad backed away. Helman stood up, unsteady, uncertain. “I can really—go?”

            “Get out,” Helena ordered. “Stay away from Atlan. I hope you got paid up front.”

            He didn’t answer. Just turned on his wobbly leg and staggered to the door.

            I turned to Helena. “Who’s Atlan?”

She sighed and gestured toward the bar. “Chad? A little sherry. Anything for you, Tom?”

“Just some water.” My throat felt dry as my nerves eased. 

“Atlan is a—a cousin.” Helena glanced at Cecilia. “He has roots on both sides, and no loyalty to either of us. I haven’t seen or heard from him in years, and he changes his face regularly. He wants to be the leader in the family, and he probably wouldn’t like to see this union go through.”

I gulped some water. “This is all kind of excessive, isn’t it? It’s basically a first date.”

She shrugged with a smile. “Family politics is sometimes the worst.”

Cecilia stood up and started pacing. “Shouldn’t we be out there looking for him?” She walked to the window and peered down, as if hoping to spot Atlan and Ross on the street 21 floors below.

Helena shook her head. “The last I heard, Atlan was in Europe. I have no idea what kind of presence he has here in Chicago. I don’t know where Tom would even start to look.”

I took out my phone. “Let me try texting Ross. His phone’s not there.”

“If Atlan has him, he won’t let him answer.” Cecilia looked annoyed with me.

“Let’s not jump to conclusions.” 

“What do you mean? You think Ross just—ran away?” 

“Let’s just see.” I tapped out a simple message: Are you OK? and hit Send. “In the meantime, do you want to let Micah know about Atlan being here?”

Helena frowned. “He’ll blame us. But you’re right, we have to.” She dug her phone out of her pocket just as mine buzzed.

A text. Ross. FINE. JUST HAD TO GET OUT.

“What the—?” Helena gaped at my phone. “’Had to get out’? Why would he . . .” She looked at Cecilia, but she only stared back.

“Is there anyone in the family who can track his phone?” I stood up.

“I’ll—I’ll call his mother.” Cecilia moved to pick her phone up from the table.

“No, I will.” Helena grimaced. “She won’t be happy. I promised—anyway, Cecilia, you call Micah and tell him about Atlan. Don’t worry, that will be just as unpleasant.”

“What about him?” Cecilia looked toward me. 

I glanced toward the door. “If you can find his phone, I’ll go out and look for him. If not . . .” I shrugged. “I’ve got a possible lead on Christine. I can follow that, and maybe it will lead us to Ross.”

“You think they’re together?” Cecilia’s eyes widened in disbelief. “They ran off together? Like Romeo and Juliet or something?”

They were teenagers. Anything was possible. “It’s one idea, considering they’ve both disappeared.”

“Or Atlan could have both of them!” She looked to Helena for support. “Isn’t that more likely?”

Helena frowned, as if she didn’t want to take sides between bickering children. “Maybe. Either way, we can’t do anything until we find out if we can track him.” She started scrolling through her contacts.

“I’ll text Ross about Atlan,” I suggested. “Maybe he’ll tell us if he’s heard from him.” Maybe he was sneaking texts while this Atlan guy wasn’t looking, for that matter. 

“If Atlan has him, that will tip him off,” Cecilia said.

“We have to try something.” I looked at Helena. She nodded. 

I thought for a moment, composing the right words in my head. Then I sent: One of the kidnappers was Atlan. Watch out for him. Send.

We waited. Helena called Ross’ mother in Boston. Cecilia went to a corner of the room to call Micah. Chad started cleaning up. I stared at my phone like a lovesick teenager waiting for his crush to call him back.

That made me think of Rachel. I sent her a quick text letting her know what was going on. Everyone looked up when my phone buzzed, but it was Rachel’s usual advice: Don’t do anything stupid, with a heart emoji. I shook my head. “Unrelated.”

Another text came right away: THIS IS ATLAN. DON’T COME AFTER ME. 

Helena hung up from her call. “Ross’ mother will check his phone. What’s that?”

I showed her the message. Cecilia came over to check it out. “Oh my god! If he’s got Ross—”

“Wait. Just wait.” I held up a hand. “It’s all caps again, nothing specific. It could be Ross just trying to keep us from looking for him.”

“Or it could be Atlan wanting us to think that,” Cecilia said, exasperated with me.

“Let’s stay calm,” Helena said, annoyed at both of us. “His mother will call me back in a minute.”

We could drive ourselves crazy trying to second-guess this. I drank some water. “Yeah. Let’s wait and see what the mother’s got.”

Helena’s phone buzzed. “Yes. All right. Thank you. Yes, we’ll be in touch just as soon as I have something definite—yes. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. It’s just been—all right, yes, but—I’m sorry, I have to go.” She hung up with a sigh. “His mother is not happy. She was against this trip from the beginning, and now—”

“The location?” I asked.

“The zoo. Near the south entrance?” She ran fingers through her silvery hair. “Can you get there quickly? I don’t know the town here very well—”

The Lincoln Park Zoo. Christine’s friend lived near the zoo. I headed for the door. “It’s not too far. I can get there in 20 minutes or so. Get the picture that Micahs found, maybe that’s a meeting place.”

Helena frowned. “Why would that—”

“I’ll explain later.” I had my hand on the door.

“Cecilia, go with him.” Helena waved an arm.

Cecilia and I looked at each other, neither of us happy. Helen’s eyes darted between us, and she sighed. “Cecilia is useful. In case you run into any problems. Cecilia, be careful, watch out for Tom, and take care of Ross.”

She grimaced. “Right. Come on, Tom. I’ve got some tricks in case Atlan shows up.”

“Do you know krav maga? My girlfriend’s a master.”

She grinned. “Better. Let’s go.”

 

The Lincoln Park Zoo is in the center of, well, Lincoln Park, a few miles north of downtown. Not too far from our apartment. Parking was tricky, but I found a spot, and we hurried to the south entrance. There was no sign of Ross—we checked inside the Farm in the Zoo, where the cows were mooing loudly—and crossed the bridge over the South Pond and into the Zoo. 

            The picture from “Jack” on Christine’s phone showed an outdoor café. We made our way north, passing the camels and zebras, and found the place. No Christine. No Ross. We showed their pictures to the cashiers, who didn’t remember either one. I really hadn’t expected to find them waiting here, but it was a disappointment. 

We walked through the zoo, checking out the great ape house, another café, and a pool where seals and walruses frolicked in the water and slept in the sun. Every few minutes we called Ross’s phone. According to a text from Helena, his ringtone was a hip-hop song by Lil Nas X. I didn’t know the song, but Cecilia said she’d recognize it, so she listened while I called repeatedly. Nothing. 

            “He could have ditched the phone,” I said, trembling as little as we emerged from the reptile house. 

            “He’s a teenager. He’d cut off his foot first.” She looked around the crowd, then at me. “So, scared of snakes, huh?”

            I nodded. “Me and Indiana Jones. And yeah, that’s all we have in common, as my girlfriend points out every time we watch Raiders.”

            Cecilia called the hotel. Frowning, she hung up. “Ross’ mom says he managed to disable the Find Me app 10 minutes ago. So he could be anywhere.” Still, she peered around, looking at the faces around us. “Anywhere but here.”

            “Maybe . . .” I found a bench. “Give me a minute. Christine’s friend lives near the zoo, Ross said.” I started tapping my phone. I wished I had my laptop, but I could manage. 

            Jackie Vega. At least her last name wasn’t Smith. But without her mother’s last name—Ross had said Jackie’s mother was divorced—I didn’t have much to go on. “Can you have Helena call Christine’s mom about Jackie? Her mother’s divorced. If you can find out her name, it would help.”

            Cecilia sighed. “Just a minute.”

            I kept searching while she called. I found an Instagram account for ja_vega, full of pictures inside the Lincoln Park Zoo and on North Avenue Beach. I scrolled quickly through the pictures and found two of her—she was short, with big round eyes and curly black hair, and a tattoo of a dagger on her shoulder. I also found a view of Lincoln Park just south of the zoo, taken from a high window. Was that her home? I looked over my shoulder at the buildings across the street. We could check those later, but only as a last resort.

I skimmed her list of followers and found Christine, username cx_tina37, confirming that I had the correct Jackie Vega. 

Then Cecilia poked my shoulder. “Pasdar,” she told me. “The mother’s name is Joyceann Pasdar.”

            Maybe I should have started with that. In a few minutes I had an address for her, over on Clark Street, approximately where Jackie’s Instagram picture could have been taken. It was all coming together. “Let’s go.”

            Ten minutes later we stood on the sidewalk outside a tall apartment building. An exercise club sat next to it. I could see people riding bikes and running on treadmills through the darkened windows. I called Pasdar’s number and got an answering machine.

            I looked at Cecilia, then said, “My name is Tom Jurgen, I’m a private detective looking for Ross Beneditti, Christine Novis, and Jackie Vega. If any of you are there, please pick up.” I waited.

            When no one picked up, I left my number and hung up. Cecilia looked up at the windows above us. “Now what?”

            I shrugged. “We wait. A lot of this job is waiting.”

            My phone buzzed with a text. GO UP. APT 932.

            We looked at each other. Cecilia was suddenly nervous. “Is it a trap?”

            “Could be.” I wished for my pepper spray, but it was in the car. “Let Helena know what’s going on.” I tapped a quick text to Rachel.

            Inside, a doorman called the apartment, spoke briefly and quietly to whoever answered, and buzzed us in. We rode the elevator in silence.

            At 932 I knocked. After a moment the door opened. It was Jackie Vega.

            She was short, in a long-sleeve T-shirt and black athletic shorts, with curly black hair and big round glasses. “Hi. You looking for Christine?”

            “And Ross. Are they here?”

            Jackie smiled. “You just missed them.”

            Damn it. “What’s going on?”

Before Jackie could answer, Cecilia pushed past her into the apartment. “Look everywhere you want,” Jackie said. “They left half an hour ago. I called them and told them to have you come up.”

“Where?” I looked around. The living room that looked out over the park. Cecilia glared at Jackie. “Where’d they go?”

“No idea.” She shrugged. “That’s sort of the plan.” 

Cecilia shook her head and started opening bedroom doors. “Hey!” Jackie shouted. “That’s my room!”

I closed the door so the neighbors wouldn’t hear us. “Look, we just want to make sure they’re okay,” I told Jackie. “I picked Ross up from the airport last night, and someone tried to kidnap him. They came to his hotel today and attacked us. This isn’t a game. Did either of them mention somebody named Atlan?”

Jackie blinked. “Y-yeah. Ross said something—that’s why he wanted to go.”

Cecilia came out of the bedroom. “Not here.” She stalked toward Jackie. “Where are they?”

Jackie backed away. “Who are you, anyway? What are you doing here?”

I held up a hand to Cecilia. “Give her a minute, okay. I’m Tom Jurgen, I’m a private detective, and I’m working for Ross’ aunt to try to keep him safe. That’s Cecilia, uh—I don’t know her last name, but she works for Ross’ aunt too. Helena Snowe. Atlan is trying to kidnap Ross, and we want to keep him safe.”

Jackie looked at Cecilia, then me, then Cecilia again. “Okay. Okay. Just . . . okay.” She walked past Cecilia to a dining room table and sat down, clutching a glass of water. She drank. 

“They just wanted to hang out a little.” She looked at me, as if I was the good cop. “Without everyone watching, okay? So Christine came up with this idea for her to get out of the airport, and I met her there with some clothes, and we came here and texted Ross to come meet us. The idea was we’d meet at the zoo and I’d come home and they’d just walk around, like a real date, you know? But Ross was nervous because he had to sneak out when that guy, Atman? Atlan. When he came to his hotel. So we came here to regroup, and they decided to leave. And then you called, so I called him, and he said to let you up and tell you everything so I didn’t get into trouble. That’s it.” She picked up her water again. “Can you go now?”

I looked at Cecilia. She frowned. “Hold still.” She bent toward Jackie.

Jackie stiffened. “What?” 

            “This’ll just take a second. It won’t hurt.” She grabbed Jackie’s shoulder with one hand and pressed her other hand against her forehead. “Hold still.”

            Jackie clenched her teeth, gazing at me, but I couldn’t stop Cecilia without a struggle. I nodded as reassuringly as I could. “It’ll be all right.” I hoped.

            Cecilia stood in front of her, and Jackie’s body trembled. After a moment Cecilia let her go and sat down. Jackie’s head drooped. “It’s all she knows.” Cecilia said.

            “Helena said you had some tricks.” I looked at Jackie. “Are you all right?”

            Her head jerked up. “What—huh? What was that? Are you—” She stared at Cecilia, no longer afraid of her. “Wow. Are you a psychic or something?”

            “Or something.” She stood up. “Let’s go.”

            “Wait! You don’t have to—I mean, uh, that was kind of nice.” Jackie smiled. “You were in my head, and I was in yours. Can we do that again?”

            “Not a good idea.” Cecilia made an impatient gesture. “Come on.”

            “Hold on a minute.” I sat down in front of Jackie. “Where would they go? What would they do? A coffee shop? A museum? A hotel?”

            Her upper lip curled in disgust. “I don’t think they’re going to go have sex. They just met face to face this morning.”

            “That’s not what I meant. Did they mention anything? Did you suggest a place?”

            Cecilia shook her head. “I just looked. I didn’t see—”

            “Oh, wait.” Jackie grinned. “She might go to the aquarium.”

            “Aquarium?” Cecilia blinked. “That wasn’t in your head. What aquarium?”

            “She didn’t say it today. She loves aquariums. She went all the time back home. You should look there.” 

            “Call her,” Cecilia said. 

            “She doesn’t have her phone, remember?” I said. “But we can call Ross.”

            Cecilia walked over to the window, looking down. “Yeah. Do that.”

Jackie flinched. “She’ll get mad.”

            “She might get kidnapped, or worse.” I pulled out my phone had handed it to her. Call.” 

            She looked at me, trembling. “Really?”

            I nodded, trying to be reassuring “I think you should.”

            Jackie nodded. “Okay—"

            Then something hit me.

            It wasn’t a physical force. More like a tidal wave hurling me into nowhere, spinning me around like a plane out of control, roaring in my ears and blinding me with the rush of wind against my face. Up and down were meaningless concepts—gravity was a vague memory. Time shot by—minutes or hours, I couldn’t tell. I tried to scream, but my throat stayed silent.

            Then I was on the floor, gasping for breath. 

            This was getting ridiculous. I grunted, tested my arms, and slowly eased my body up onto my knees, looking for Cecilia. I found my phone and sat up. “What happened? Where are—"

            Atlan was leaning against the wall. He was wearing his corduroy jacket and holding another Starbucks cup.

            I rose unsteadily to my feet. “Where are they? What’d you do with them?”

            His eyebrows rose. “I was going to ask you—where are they?”

            We stood in silence for a moment. He sipped his coffee.

            “You’re Atlan,” I said. 

            Atlan nodded slowly. “What did they tell you about me?”

            I tried to think. “You’re a cousin, you don’t want Ross and Christine to get together, you want to run the family—anything else? What’s your deal with Starbucks?”

            “I’m jet lagged. I came in from—” He shook his head. “Never mind. Yes, I should be in charge of this family. Have you met Micah? He’s an idiot. Helena is fine, but she doesn’t have any vision. And the kids?” He smiled. “I like them.”

            I leaned against a chair. The chitchat was making me nervous. What was Atlan up to? “Where’s the other guy who was with you? Are you alone?”

            “Daniel? He’s waiting in the car.” He frowned. “Is Calvin okay?”

            “He’s fine. We let him go.” I hesitated. “Are you going to kill me?”

            Atlan looked me up and down, as if considering the pros and cons in his mind. “I don’t think there’s any point to it right now. I could torture you.” He grinned. “Tell me where Christine is.”

            “I don’t know.” That was technically true. I just hoped he believed me. I wouldn’t stand up to any serious torture. Or even mild pain, honestly. I’d make a terrible spy.

            He tightened his lips. “Was she here?”

            “Yes.” I straightened up, tense. “She left.”

            “With the boy? Where did they go?” He glanced across the room. “Where’s Cecilia? Daniel said you came in here with her.”

            “He was following us?” I tail people a lot, so usually I’m pretty good at spotting when it happens to me. This was embarrassing.

            “I put him on this place. After the hotel thing. I knew about the girl here, it seemed like a long shot, but . . .” He shrugged. “Then Daniel saw you come here with Cecilia. By the time I got here, it was just you. On the floor. By yourself. Where did they go?”

Wait. My brain was starting to warm up from whatever had knocked me out. “You didn’t zap me unconscious?”

            He snorted. “I don’t do ‘zaps,’ Jurgen. If I wanted you out of the way, you’d know it was me.”

            “Then—” I shut up. I needed to think, and I couldn’t do that while I was waiting for Atlan to decide whether to torture me or kill me or just knock me out again.

            He shook his head again, disgusted. “You’re useless, Jurgen. I hope Helena is paying you well, but whatever it is, it’s more than you deserve.” Then he smiled and lifted a hand. “I’ll leave you here. I’ll leave you with one word . . .” He pointed a finger at me. “Zap.”

            Nothing happened. I waited for a fireball to burn me, or a sledgehammer to swing from nowhere and whack my head. But there was nothing. I opened my mouth—

            Except I couldn’t. My lips didn’t move. My tongue was frozen. I tried to reach up to touch my face . . .

            But my arm wouldn’t move.

            I was paralyzed.

            Atlan stepped to the door. “Don’t worry. It’ll wear off in five minutes or so. Just go home and get some rest. Tell Helena I don’t want to hurt Ross. Or Christine. But I do want them.” He waved a hand. “Good day.”

            Then Atlan left, closing the door quietly behind him. And I stood there, waiting for the spell to end.