Streamfield Shifters: Hide & Seek

Chapter One

As I waited in line at the post office, little Jimmy Grabowski stared at me with wide, guileless eyes. He had a gap-toothed grin and shaggy, sandy blond hair peeking out beneath a Little League baseball cap. A bat was clutched between gloved hands, angled over one small shoulder.

Have you seen this child? cried the poster. James "Jimmy" Grabowski, 10 years old, 4'3", 65lbs. Missing since May 10.

I sighed, shifted the package in my arms, and took a half-step forward. Over the last week, coverage of little Jimmy's disappearance dominated the local evening news. Not to be outdone, the daily newspaper ran a small blurb on page three, outlining any developments—or lack thereof. Everything that could be said about the boy had been wildly disseminated—his likes and dislikes, what he had been wearing that day, shoe size, and even what he'd had for lunch.

As cliché as it undoubtedly sounds, this sort of thing just didn't happen in my small town of Streamfield, Massachusetts. Which isn't to say that kids didn't go missing (they did) but they invariably popped up a couple hours of later. Usually at their friend's house or half-way to grandma's and grandpa's. Hell, one of my cousins decided to run off one day because she didn't want to make her bed. My family found her ten minutes later, sitting on the bank of the StreamfieldRiver that ran behind the clan compound.

The fact of the matter was that kids never stayed missing.

In this era, all you needed to do was hire a witch to perform a locator spell and poof—kid found. But that was the strange part—all of the witches and sorcerers the police department hired came up empty. It was as if Jimmy Grabowski simply ... vanished.

"Next!"

I looked up sharply and hurried towards the counter. "Sorry," I apologized, plunking the package down.

The clerk glanced up at me; his bland expression vanished as he stared into my eyes. I knew that look—fear, suspicion, and wariness, all wrapped up into one.

"How much?" I asked, casually sliding the package forward. But inside, I felt the first itch of irritation. Even though witches and shapeshifters had been "out" to the world for over a hundred years, we still encountered the occasional prejudice.

Well, mostly shapeshifters.

People loved witches and sorcerers—they could do magic, which made life inevitably easier, and some of them even had the ability to heal. We just turned into giant predators.

The man started, eyes sliding to the black rosette tattoos that peeked out from beneath the collar of my shirt. "Oh, yes ..." he muttered, and pulled the package towards him.

While he punched numbers into his computer, I rocked back and forth and stared at a spot on the wall behind him.

"A-anything hazardous, perishable or liquid?"

Wow, I hadn't seen anyone so worked up since I was a kid and watched a mother literally drag her children away from us at the local park. "No. But I will need insurance and confirmation."

In the end, I gave him a twenty and pocketed the change. As the clerk handed me the receipt, he also included a slip of laminated paper about the size of a playing card: Jimmy Grabowski was once again staring at me.

I took it, even though there were five others sitting in the passenger seat of my car. Nodding to the clerk, I left the post office. His sigh of relief floated back to me as I pushed through the doors.

As I slid into the driver's seat, my phone rang. Tossing Jimmy's card in with the others, I dug into my purse and pulled it out.

LAURA, blinked the caller ID.

"What's up?" I asked my sister-in-law.

"Hey, Aly, where are you?"

"Just leaving the post office. Why?" Glancing up at the review mirror, I frowned. With my pale complexion, oval face, wavy black hair, and purple eyes, I wasn't exactly drop-dead gorgeous, but I liked to think that my face didn't scream "monster".

"Everything's fine, but you need to come back home."

Odd. I pursed my lips and glanced at the bag of socks Mom wanted me to exchange at the big box store. "What's going on?"

Laura sighed. "I was trying to keep it brief, but my brother is here. He wants to talk to the clan about the Grabowski boy."

"No shit," I breathed, eyebrows sliding upwards. Laura's brother was a detective with the Streamfield Police Department. He was also the lead investigator on the case. "Yeah, I'll be there in a minute."

"Okay, bye."

Tossing the phone into my purse, I buckled up and backed out of the parking spot. The socks were definitely going to have to wait.