Chapter 1 - section 1

The phone rang. The sound grated in my ears and I viewed the device with trepidation. I wanted to pick up the receiver solely in order to halt the obnoxious noise, but I also knew that such an action would commit me to conversation with the person on the other end. That was really the last thing that I wanted to do right now.

This was only in part because I knew it was my mother. I knew it in the pit of my stomach and with every nerve-jangling ring that pierced the silence of my otherwise comfortable living room. My certainty wasn’t born from any psychic link or clairvoyant knowledge on my part. Nobody really called me except for my mother. Everyone else knew better.

For the briefest flicker of an instant I considered ignoring the shrill beacon. I had voice mail. She could leave a message. But what purpose would that serve? I’d still have to call her back and answer the hundredfold questions about why I couldn’t have answered when she knew very well I was bound to be at home. Delaying was tempting, but some things are best handled promptly, otherwise they only escalate. I learned that the hard way. I was an expert at escalating things which theoretically ought to be simple.

Suppressing a sigh, I scooped the phone from its cradle and held it to my ear.

“Hi, Mom,” I uttered, completely failing to keep the edge of irritation out of my tone.

“It’s past ten o’clock on a Friday night. You can’t tell me you’re busy!” The sound of my traitorous voice had sent any warm salutations fleeing and hiked her into scolding within an eye’s blink.

Even worse, she was right. It had been some time since I had spent an evening out, whether for work or with friends. The things that most often kept me “busy” couldn’t be utilized as an excuse by any stretch of the imagination, either. And dating, that was bound to be her next tack.

Sure enough, her voice rose up from the portable: “Although heaven knows you should be. You’re young, intelligent, attractive. You should be going out on dates. Find yourself a nice handsome doctor and settle down.”

This particular harangue was becoming habitual and although there was a niggling voice in the back of my mind that wondered if maybe she wasn’t right, I shoved it and any hope of arguing to the far recesses of thought, where they belonged. I really was happy. In my experience, men only complicated a very pleasant situation, demanding time, attention and commitment. Besides, most men hated the thought that a woman could be faster or stronger than them, even if they claimed otherwise.

Humans are definitely pack animals and you can’t shake the yearning for alpha out of any male, no matter how you dress him up. And my job, slow though it was, demanded most of my time, energy and strength. But there really was no point arguing with my mother because no matter what the retort, she’d usually keep on going once started.

“If I were out dating, then I’d miss the opportunity for such delightful chats with you,” I sweetly offered.

A derisive snort from the other end made me grin. My mother might be many things, but a fool she certainly was not.

“It’s your sister,” she all but growled, jumping to the point.

My stomach sank. Not only did her tone say it all, but her choice of words made it crystal clear. When she was pleased with us, she used our names. When she wasn’t, she wielded the possessive like a weapon to eschew her sense of responsibility. Bad enough that I have to undergo the piques of dealing with my mother, but the idea of even dealing with my sister had me grimacing before I spoke.

“What’s Vicky done now?” I inquired.

The sigh that preceded her words wove an insidious concern into my irritation. “She’s gone, again.”

I winced. Vicky wasn’t the most responsible of individuals and had left roommates high and dry in the past, usually when rent was due. More than once our mother had been forced to cover for her. And usually, that was just Vicky. It was nothing unusual to find her picking up with a new guy, running off on an impulsive trip, or spending weeks at a time in the Mistlands. Growing up we used to tease that she never could stand to remain still for an instant and age had only accentuated her fey qualities.

I hazarded a couple of guesses as to why this time had our mother worried. “Another bad boyfriend? Do you need help with her rent again?”

The worried note in my mother’s voice deepened, “Her clothes are all still there. Laura’s fed up and bagging them up to send to me.”

The caress of concern strengthened and gripped at my thoughts, turning into an impossible to ignore fist of unease. My sister might be irresponsible and inconsiderate, but she had the habits of a magpie and her clothing and jewelry were sacred. Usually roommates would return to find the apartment emptied. Something was clearly wrong.

I worked to console and comfort my mother, reassuring her that I would hunt down Vicky’s latest group and figure out what was going on. I didn’t fully believe my platitudes that it was surely just another “one true love” and probably one with money who had taken her off on a shopping spree long enough for her to forget about her belongings at the apartment. Still, they seemed to work their magic on our mother and after an added reassurance that I was eating well and would let her know when I was available for a meal, I hung up with her.

“Damn it,” I muttered under my breath. It felt good enough that I repeated it more emphatically to the worn and lumpy leather couch standing in the middle of my cluttered and messy living room. It looked like our date together with a good book was off. I had to go sister hunting.