The Haunted Way (Champions of the Crystal Book 5)

Chapter 3.1

"Rina!" Scotty called, poking his head through the main doors to his sister's apartment. "Hey, you here?"

The only reply was a rather plaintive meow as Tristan came running to greet him. The cat turned frantic circles and headed for the kitchen, glancing over his shoulder with an urgent, irritated yowl.

"How long's she been gone, buddy?" Scotty exclaimed in surprise, correctly interpreting the cat's directions to follow. "Partyin' too hard to feed ya, huh? That's not like her." He entered the kitchen, spotted the cat's empty food dish, and scouted around for the cupboard with the cat food. Tristan began to purr frantically, diving for the food dish as Scotty filled it, actually getting in the way and making Scotty spill some on the floor. "Well, I guess you can clean that up by yourself," Scotty grunted. He decided to finish the job and refresh the water in the larger bowl. "But I'm not touchin' the litter box, so don't even ask!"

Tristan rubbed briefly against Scotty's leg before attacking his food again. "Where the hell is she?" Scotty muttered, petting the cat absently. "Nobody's seen her all day. She's not at Bathir; I just got back from there. Dammit! What am I gonna tell Mara?"

The only reply was Tristan's crunching. Scotty sighed and went into the apartment's living areas, looking around for clues. He didn't know what he was looking for; her wardrobe was so huge he'd never be able to tell if something was missing, he thought grumpily. He began pulling open drawers at random, more out of irritation than any hope of finding something. When he reached the nightstand, though, he knew he'd hit on a clue. The top drawer was empty.

Scotty knew perfectly well that his sister kept her blaster there, handy in case of a late night invasion—not an improbable contingency, given their history here. She'd done so ever since they'd first come to Praxatillus to live, and he was willing to bet she hadn't changed that particular habit. "Shit," he said, frowning, and then dove back into the vast closet. It took him a long, frustrating time to go through her things, but he didn't find any combat gear in there. And there should have been. He didn't know where she normally kept it, but he knew that she did.

"Must've been headed for one hell of a party," he muttered. Which meant, almost automatically, that she was no longer on Praxatillus. He tried to imagine what could cause his sister to leave the planet immediately after the birth of her godchild, without the Queen's knowledge or permission, taking her combat gear. He didn't like any of the scenarios he came up with.

"Scott Devon to Praxatillus Control," he said into his comlink. "I need a list of all ships that have departed local space in the last twenty hours. With passenger manifests and flight plans."

"Yes, sir. Uh...we're a little short-staffed today. It may take some time to compile that data."

"Fine," Scotty sighed. He couldn't begrudge his fellow citizens their part of the Realm-wide celebrations, but he mentally cursed his sister for picking this of all times to disappear.

"Wait," he said aloud, snapping his fingers. Maybe she hadn't intended to vanish. Maybe she'd left him a message. And if she were doing something she didn't particularly want him to know about, she would have left it on her comconsole instead of sending it to his, so that he'd only find it if she didn't return. "Oh, boy," he groaned, feeling his stomach roll over in a familiar anxiety. Sabrina had tried to live quietly in the past couple of years, but she was still a trouble magnet, he knew with a sibling's certainty. Plus, she'd last been seen in Ford's company—and there was a trouble-magnet if ever there was one, he thought grimly as he entered Sabrina's study.

Her message was brief, and contained all his least favorite words: Malvarak. Homeworld. Pharon crystal. Scotty sat back in his sister's chair, waiting for the shock to wear off so he could think of an appropriate curse. Tristan wandered into the room, sitting down just inside the door to wash his whiskers and shoot suspicious glances at Scotty.