Fractured Read Free

when she came in.
    But my spectral stalker did not take the hint and get lost. Instead, she leaned in close and said, soft as the wind that whispered past my face, “Jeremy.”
    An electric prickle shot up my neck, followed by a cold sweat. I wanted nothing more than to get up and run. But my stump balked.
    â€œCan I help you?” I asked in the most blandly detached voice I could manage.
    â€œJeremy,” she repeated. Instead of backing up, she walked clear through me. For a split second I thought my insides had been flash frozen. I turned and watched her climb the steps up to the entrance to the park, then slip through the gate like vapor.
    I limped after her, straddled the gate, and then landed in such a graceless fall that Veronica partly detached from my thigh.
    As I struggled to secure the prosthetic, the figure glided across the empty park. Occasionally, she stopped and turned as if waiting for me to follow. By the time I got to my feet, she’d made it across the walkway to the large gazebo at the other end and had faded to little more than a moving smear, her form blending with the shadows.
    â€œLook,” she said in a voice like the crackle of dried leaves, then scattered into the cold night air.
    It was the first time any of them had tried to communicate directly with me since Susannah. I stood alone in the vacant park and wondered if these spirits had some kind of afterlife Twitter—like #findJeremyGlass — you can talk to that guy .
    Despite my attempts to brush it off, I was trembling. The woman had been standing on a grate beside the gazebo, Marilyn Monroe style, her flywing skirt whipping up around her. I got to my knees and searched the area. The ground smelled like dog crap.
    Something glinted in a patch of wet leaves. I kneeled and leaned in close, trying not to inhale the rank fumes. A bit of gold was wedged in the clogged-up drainage grate. It took a bit of effort, but I was finally able to pry the thing free.
    It was a gold men’s ring, intricately carved and set with a garnet circled by diamond chips. I rolled the ring around in my hand. It looked expensive. I scrutinized the smooth inside of the band to see if there were any inscriptions. Nothing.
    The wind whipped around me, scattering bits of leaves and dirt. I tucked the ring in my pocket.
    There was only one other person who might be able to figure out the ring’s significance and why the flywing woman wanted me to find it. Agent Reston had hinted that Bobby Pendell was a Tactile, someone who could sense an object’s history by touching it.
    And if I hurried, I could catch him before he left the club. It was better than waiting around for a girlfriend who was too busy studying to bother calling me.

3
    Bobby
    Saturday: 12:03 AM
    O utside the Smoke and Jazz Lounge a small cluster of hyper-excited people buzzed around us. Occasionally someone slapped me on the back and complimented my playing, but they spoke too fast for me to answer. I kept my eyes fixed on Gabe and on my watch. I knew she was enjoying the attention, but all I could think of was getting her alone and kissing her neck.
    I scanned the crowd, telling myself that the hollow-eyed thing was really gone. Then a taxi pulled up to the curb, and Jeremy Glass popped out. I groaned and tried to duck behind some people. Gabe was too busy talking to the other musicians to notice, but Glass had spotted me and was already limping right toward me.
    â€œThank God you’re still here,” he said, breathless and rumpled.
    â€œDid Agent Reston offer you more to come back?”
    He frowned, but then smiled and nodded. “Quick on your feet, aren’t you, Pendell? That’s not why I came. I’m not in that blind chick’s pocket.” He reached into his jacket and produced a large men’s ring. “But this was in mine.”
    My gaze snagged on the gleaming ring that rested on Glass’s palm. I couldn’t look