Free Blood Magic by T. G. Ayer Page A

and when he put the phone down, the older man looked at him, his gaze hard and expectant. "It's a new missing person's report."
    "Where?" Fulbright sat up straight, raising his eyebrows at Saleem, urging him to answer quickly.
    "Manchester Heights. Seventeen year old male. Name's Ethan Reed."
    "How long?"
    "Since this morning. Could be last night. Parents haven't seen him since he went to bed last night."
    Fulbright was already rising, chugging down the last of his now cold coffee. He flung the cup at the wastepaper basket, not caring that it fell short and rolled into the aisle. He grabbed his file and headed out of the office, swiftly avoiding the still rolling cup. Saleem remained close on his heels. When he jumped into the car beside Fulbright, the detective gave him a sour glare. But he said nothing, clearly resigned to his new partner. He shifted into gear and sped off down the street. Saleem was silent as they wove through the city, soon passing through residential areas that got poorer the further they went. He wasn't in the mood to talk to Fulbright. What he really wanted to do was punch the man in the face.
    They arrived at the house - an old weatherboard building with peeling paint and a n unkempt front yard. A police cruiser sat outside, lights flashing, while an officer spoke to a man at the front door. The cop glanced over his shoulder as they approached, and Saleem hid a smile at the pained expression on his face the moment his gaze fell on Fulbright. The detective seemed oblivious as he marched up the cracked sidewalk and headed for the door. Saleem winced, hoping Fulbright wouldn't come on too strong. The man at the door, most likely the father, looked upset enough.
    Saleem hurried after Fulbright, greeting the other policeman with a nod as he passed him on his way to his vehicle. Saleem approached the entrance to the house and introduced himself just as the detective stopped speaking. Fulbright gave him a narrow stare, as if he'd hoped Saleem had conveniently disappeared.
    If only he knew.
    "Come in, detectives." Reed waved them inside and Saleem watched Fulbright's spine stiffen at the assumption that Saleem was also a detective. But he didn't bother to correct the man.
    A woman entered the lounge, curly red hair mussed, eyes red. Lines tracked her wan face deeply and her grey complexion spoke of hours of worry and inconsolable tears. She stared at them, her expression almost indifferent. As if some part of her had already given up.
    On a hunch Saleem studied the house for magic or charms but came up empty. He wanted to ask to see the boy's room but hesitated, preferring not to piss Fulbright off any more than necessary.
    "Please sit," the father said. When Fulbright sat , the man held his hand out. "I'm Robert Reed, this is my wife Betty." The detective flushed as he rose to take the man's hand, giving it a perfunctory shake. He nodded at the wife and resumed his seat, fishing his notebook from his inside jacket pocket. Saleem shook hands with both parents and remained standing.
    Fulbright went over the time they last saw their son, what his mood was, if he had any problems at school – all the usual questions. Listening with half an ear, Saleem drifted toward the inner hallway which he assumed led to the boy's room. Three doors led off the passage and all were open, allowing weak light to shine on the worn and threadbare carpeting. Once he got the lay of the place, Saleem went to the front door, glancing back at Fulbright, who looked up at him, dislike clear on his face. Saleem headed for the car and got in, shutting the door hard enough for the detective to hear the sound from inside.
    Then, with a glance up at the house to make sure nobody was watching, Saleem simply disappeared in a flash of amber embers. And appear ed again at the furthest end of the passage within the Reed home. Fortunately, the boy's room was immediately to his left and he stepped inside, moving with extra care, afraid of making any