Black Arts: A Jane Yellowrock Novel

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Book: Black Arts: A Jane Yellowrock Novel Read Free
Author: Faith Hunter
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for food the children would like. I’d make a list and put the Kid on it. He could order online while we did other stuff. If no one wanted to go out, it could be delivered. I pulled a blanket from the back of the couch over the three of us, the new energy-efficient heater unable to keep up with the cold air still moving through the house, by nature now, not magic.
    “Do you have her credit card numbers?” Eli asked from the door.
    “Yeah. That for starters,” the Kid said as he made his way down from the second floor. He handed Eli a broom as he traversed the glass-strewn foyer. “I need her maiden name, DOB, social and all electronic info, starting with cell numbers and credit card numbers.”
    “Everhart,” I said as Evan rattled off her birth date and Social Security number. He pulled out his cell and gave the Kid the other numbers, and sent him three pictures of Molly to use in the search. The security business in the electronic age was so much easier than in the old days.
    Before Evan had his phone put away, the Kid said, “Got it. I’m in.” He settled to his comfy chair and the small table where he worked. “She rented a car in Asheville the day she disappeared, on her Visa. Like most rental cars, it has GPS. It’ll take a bit, but I can access it.”
    “You can tell that already?” Evan asked, his voice pained and incredulous at once.
    “Yeah. You came to the right place, dude. Even if you did huff and puff and try to blow the house down.”
    “Three little pigs,” Little Evan chortled. “Daddy’s a wolf-ees!”
    “Yes, he is,” I said to Little Evan. To Big Evan, I said, “Go help Eli. It’s cold in here.” His eyes widened, and he acted as though he was gonna balk at taking orders from me, but really, what choice did he have? Whether subconsciously or by deliberation, he had come to me. My turf, which meant my rules. And I needed to set the parameters early because my team needed freedom to search the way we wanted, not under the thumb of a distraught husband.
    Big Evan blew out a breath and his shoulders drooped. He called to Eli, “I got a drill in the van. I think I stripped out the screws when I blew the door open like some hormonally charged teenager.”
    “Yeah, I see that,” Eli said, his voice casual, as if he dealt with air witches every day. He knelt at the doorway and fingered the splintered wood. “Better than a battering ram.”
    “Daddy’s a wolf-ees!” Little Evan chortled again. “He huffed and he puffed!” Then he turned in my arms, yanked my braid, and demanded, “I’m hungry. Fruit Loops!”
    Big Evan looked up at that. “In the van. I’ll bring them.”
    Eli chuffed slightly, a catlike sound he had picked up from me in the last few months. I detected derision in the tone and knew it had to do with the amount of sugar in the cereal. As well as a former Army Ranger, Eli was a dyed-in-the-wool health nut.
    “Fruit Loops it is,” I said cheerfully. Eli shrugged slightly without turning his head, his body language so restrained no one else might have detected it. I was still learning what the minuscule changes meant. This one meant People are idiots. They eat too much sugar and fats and carbs. This is why everybody’s gaining weight.
    I carried the kids to the kitchen and grabbed the high chair in the back of the butler’s pantry (a tiny, windowed room off the kitchen that the guys and I had started using for a tea and coffee bar) and deposited Little Evan at the table. The Kid, watching from the living area where he worked, chuckled when he saw the high chair. It had been in the way, but I hadn’t let anyone put it in the small attic, and hadn’t explained why. Now the Kid asked, “Skinwalkers are psychic?”
    I grabbed the tall books that Angie sat on so she could be a big girl at meals. I ignored how easy it was getting the children settled in my house. Molly hadn’t talked to me in months, and yet I had kept all their things handy. “No, not psychic.

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