Any Port in a Storm by Emmie Mears Read Free Book Online Page B

through the glass door.
    Miles's face appears as he approaches.
    Unlatching the sliding door, I gesture him in, my fingers finding his dark shoulder covered in a thin layer of dust. He returns the touch, and I motion at him to follow me into the kitchen.
    "Aren't you supposed to be with Carrick?" I pull out my phone — sure enough, there's a text from Carrick saying that he's taking the group to the east side of the city to do some drills in an abandoned football field.
    "I had to come talk to you." Miles has a voice like a lion's purr, and he speaks precisely, forming each of his words with deliberation that makes me think he'd be a good politician under other circumstances.
    Though I wouldn't wish that fate on a rakath.
    "What happened?" I sit down at my table and unwrap my burger, ignoring the way Miles wrinkles his nose at the smell of cooked meat.
    "Jax did not meet me where he was supposed to."
    My burger suddenly tastes like cardboard.
    "Where was he supposed to meet you?"  
    "Buena Vista Park."
    "Is that where he lives?"
    Miles gives me a tired look and shakes his head. "He lives farther west. He was going to meet me at the park, and we were going to travel together to meet with Carrick. I waited for a long time, but he didn't come."
    A long time to shades could be an hour or it could be five. Judging by the time now — half past ten — and when Carrick was supposed to gather everyone — half past six — Jax has now been missing for about four hours.
    "Fuck." I finish my burger in three large bites and glug down my soda past the lump of barely-chewed sandwich. I feel like I've swallowed an egg whole, but I ignore it.
    "Yes," Miles agrees.
    Jax. Jax is smart, risk-averse. He keeps to himself and avoids all the areas I told him Mediators frequent.  
    "Can you sense him at all?"
    I hate asking that question, because it reminds me of Mason. But it's useful nonetheless. Shades can sense one another. Some more than others. It's not like telepathy, per se, but it is sort of like those stories you hear about a parent knowing their child is in danger and then being right. Or feeling someone walk up behind you. When shades are close to one another like friends or family, that sense grows stronger. Sometimes I almost feel it with Miles and Jax and, to a lesser extent, Carrick. I could just be blowing smoke up my own ass.
    Miles gives a slight head shake.  
    Even though that head shake might not mean Jax is dead, it's definitely not a good sign.
    "You know where he lives?" I ask.
    "Yes."
    "Then let's go."

CHAPTER SEVEN

    Beaman Park is just off Old Hickory Boulevard northwest of town, and on a map it looks like a diagram of a woman's reproductive system, complete with ovaries. The eastern ovary is crisscrossed with streams and hiking trails, so I'm not surprised when Miles leads me to the western chunk of the park.  
    The creek in this part of the park is called Little Marrowbone.
    Charmingly apt.
    Miles has me circle around to the north and come into the park off Little Marrowbone Road, and we leave my car parked by the side of the road. I'm always glad for my Mediator plates, which have a yin yang symbol next to the ID number. One perk of the job is that you don't get parking tickets, and you don't have to pay to register your vehicle.
    There aren't any official trails on this side of the park, but Miles leads me on a deer track that I keep trying not to think of as a fallopian tube. Hey, once you see it, you can't unsee it.
    The park is alive with the sounds of nature's nightlife. Good. No demons nearby.  
    I follow Miles, keeping a short distance behind him. He moves almost silently through the underbrush, his bare feet rolling over roots and pats of bare ground where deer hooves have worn away the grasses. I keep to his footsteps, glad for the supple leather of my boots but envious of his callouses.
    A small rivulet trickles in a crease of land to our right, melding its burble with the Little Marrowbone. It's there