"Around here, it's probably safer than staying in the car."

RUNES

ACCORDING TO THE SIGN on Botnick's shop, it opened at eleven and closed at seven. It was now almost one. Jeremy peered through the darkened window as I looked for a Gone for Lunch or Back in Five Minutes notice. Nothing.

"It doesn't look as if he opened this morning," Jeremy said. "The mail is still under the slot."

He glanced at the adjoining stores. An adults-only video shop and a tattoo parlor. Putting his fingers on the back of my arm, he steered me toward the latter.

It was empty except for a woman sitting sideways on an old armchair, her back against one arm, her legs sprawled over the other. She had a sandwich in one hand and a pen in the other as she sketched something on a pad. Late twenties with spiked black hair, she wore torn jeans and a T-shirt with the sleeves ripped off.

Her gaze flitted over me and came to rest on Jeremy.

"Sorry to disturb you," he said. "We're here about the shop next door. Atrum Arcana appears to be closed, and I was hoping you might know whether that's temporary or it's shut down for the day." He gave a wry smile. "I'm sure you don't keep an eye on your neighbor's comings and goings, but we've traveled some distance, so I thought I'd ask."

"Atrum Arcana?"

She looked at Jeremy with renewed interest, her eyes glittering behind her cat's-eye glasses. If she noticed me, she gave no sign of it. It seemed that the farther I got from thirty, the more invisible I became to twenty-somethings-the men I was with became fair game.

"I don't know what's up with Eric today," she said. "I haven't seen him. But maybe I could help. I know some people who sell pretty much the same stuff. What exactly did you have in mind?"

"Wiccan amulets. For a niece. I heard his store carries a large selection."

"Oh."

As her interest cooled, Jeremy walked to a display of mystical symbols. "These are very nice. Not for her just yet, though I'm sure she'll be asking for one in a few years. Are you a practitioner?"

"Nah. I just draw what the customers want. Occult stuff is hot."

"This is your work, then?"

She nodded.

He traced his fingertips over an ankh. "Beautiful. Maybe when she's older. Thank you very much for your time."

She stood as he turned to go. "Here's my card. And about Eric? No idea where the guy is, which is weird. He never opens late, never closes early. Takes his business seriously. I was a little worried when he didn't open, so I tried his home number. Left a message. Nothing."

"Something probably came up," Jeremy said. "We're in town for a couple of days. We'll call tomorrow, before we come out."

"And if he doesn't answer, give me a ring. Maybe I'll know something."

As she retrieved a business card, he eyed a smaller display of symbols. Simple ones in black and white. Even as she handed him the card, he pulled his gaze away from the display only for a moment, with a distracted "thank you."

Another lingering look at the symbols, then he put his fingers on my arm and headed for the door. He made it halfway, stopped and slowly turned.

"I noticed you have a number of runes there," he said, nodding at the display.

The young woman beamed. "Yep. A specialty of mine. I love them. Elegant, you know?"

Jeremy nodded, still hesitating, as if contemplating something. After a second, he walked back toward the woman.

"There are a few I've seen, and never been able to place."

"What do they look like?"

He nodded at her sketch pad and murmured, "May I?"

She passed it over. He sketched two symbols. I watched with a vague sense that I'd seen them before, but couldn't remember where.

"You're an artist," the woman said, her appraising smile returning. "I can tell."

A small nod from Jeremy, not quite admitting it. He finished his sketches. The young woman studied them, them shook her head.

"They look kind of like a couple of the Elder Futhak ones, and a bit like Hungarian but not quite either." She picked up the paper, lifting it into a better light. "Very nice, though. Can I keep them?"

I expected Jeremy to say, "Yes, of course"-his usual good manners-but he hesitated, as if he'd like to refuse but wasn't sure how. After a moment he nodded.

"So, what's your medium?" she asked.

His gaze was distant, mind elsewhere. A blink as he reluctantly returned. "Oil, mainly."

"Cool. Mine's ink, as you might have guessed."

She chatted for another few minutes, Jeremy murmuring appropriate responses and complimenting her work. He gave no sign of his preoccupation or his impatience. Only someone who knew him would pick up the subtle hints, that cool veneer to his words, that emptiness in his eyes. I laid my fingers on his arm.

He nodded. "We should be going."

"Here," she said, plucking the business card from his hand. She wrote two numbers on the back, then smiled at him. "My home and cell. In case you ever want to discuss runes or art."

Art, my ass. But I followed Jeremy's cue, smiling and thanking her for her time.

As we stepped onto the sidewalk, I said, "Those are two of the runes on the babies' blankets. The ones Elena said you had quilted for them."

He nodded.

"Like the symbols in Clay's room. On his comforter and his walls. Elena said you found Clayton's comforter years ago and painted the walls with the same symbols, to match. She said you had the babies' blankets done that way as a joke. Only you didn't find that comforter, did you? You had it made. Like the blankets. And they aren't a joke."

He looked over sharply, brows arched.

"Where do they come from?" I asked. "The symbols."

A pause, then he tapped the side of his head. "As for how they got in there?" An odd look crossed his face, frustration with a chaser of something sad. "No idea. I just…"

He shrugged and kept walking, as if he wanted to leave it at that. Then, when we were almost in the car, he said, "It's a… compulsion, I suppose. With Clay's room when he was younger. With the babies now. Even Elena has some in her bedroom." A twist of a smile. "Hidden, of course. If she found them, she'd think I was mad."

She wouldn't think that. But she'd ask questions, probing and worrying, exactly what he didn't want.

"Do you think they're connected to the other things?" I asked. "Your visions? Your… sensing?"

"I've thought about that, but I don't see how. Maybe they're just…" he shrugged, "images I saw once that made an impression subconsciously."

"Do you want to go somewhere, maybe get a coffee, talk about it?"

He blinked, as if startled by the very suggestion. Maybe even taken aback. Then he shook his head. "We have to meet Hope."

That was all he said. No "maybe later," not even an "I don't want to talk about it." All day I'd been fighting a mounting frustration, pretending I wasn't just a bit disappointed with the way things were going. Last night had been… special. Cliched, yes, and an odd choice of words to describe a night spent hiding from an S and M cult and running through rat-infested tunnels, but I really felt that shared experience meant something.

I'd been saying that a lot lately. Meant something. Coming to L.A. meant something. Touching me all the time meant something. Talking to me about his duties as Alpha and the dangers of a relationship meant something. Drawing my picture meant something. But I was beginning to wonder whether I was just seeing what I wanted to see.

WE MET Hope. She'd done some research on missing children. The results were not encouraging.

In a city the size of Los Angeles, kids go missing. Most are not the sort whose pictures ever appear on milk cartons and transport trucks. As Jeremy said, these would be the children the group had targeted.