Priceless

previous picture. And the same strange light, this time a little brighter.
    “How long has she been missing now?”
    Don answered. “Six months tomorrow. Whoever took her did it right under our noses. We were at Deerborn Park, just as the sun was setting.”
    His words struck me through the heart. The same park my little sister had been stolen from. “Six months, that would make it April?” I clamped down on my emotions. It wouldn’t be the same day, no, it wouldn’t be . . .
    “Yes, the first.”
    My world spun out from under my feet and it took everything I had to hold it together. I’d run as far away as I could to escape that place and those memories. Yet here I was, facing a child stolen on the same day, from the same park. In my world, there was no such thing as a coincidence. Not of this magnitude.
    Don leaned toward me, eyes wide to hold back his tears. I’d seen the move more than once; fathers were always reluctant to let me see them cry. “What are the chances she’s already—” He choked up.
    I stared at the two pictures for a long second before answering, feeling for India with a talent only I had, an ability that set me apart. No matter where a child was taken, no matter how far or how hidden, I could find them. The brush of her emotions against the inside of my skull were all it took to know she was alive.
    “She’s still alive. I can tell you that much. But finding her will depend on a lot of factors.” What I didn’t tell them was how close their daughter was to breaking; her inner shields, which kept her from being controlled, were thin and weakening fast. Not a good sign. I also withheld that I couldn’t pinpoint her, which meant she was on the other side of the Veil, another very bad thing. There were hundreds of entrances and not necessarily all connected. I was going to need some help on this one. I stamped down my own memories and emotions, did my best to ignore the similarities between India’s case and my sister’s.
    Maria frowned, a perfect line creasing her brow. “We went to a psychic, but she said India was beyond our reach . . . we assumed that meant—”
    I cut her off with the wave of a hand. “Most psychics are frauds. The real deals don’t advertise their services.”
    It was Don’s turn to frown. “Is that what you are? A psychic?”
    “No.” I shook my head and didn’t give him anything else. I wasn’t sure how much truth these two could handle in such a short period of time.
    I scooped up the two pictures, placed them into an envelope, and tucked that into my jacket pocket.
    “I don’t know how long it will take. There are to be no phone calls, private investigators or drive-bys. Don’t involve the police anymore; if you do, I don’t know that I’ll be able to get her back for you. Do you understand?” I looked from one to the other. They both nodded.
    Maria’s eyes were still closed tight, her hands clasped in front of her, her lips moved soundlessly. Praying, most likely. Most parents, even the non-believers, prayed for their missing children to be returned. I could still see my parents praying for Berget, though they’d never stepped foot in a church. The couch creaked as I stood. “Anything else I should know about India before I go? Even the insignificant could be important.”
    I wanted them to tell me what I’d already guessed. Wanted for them to come clean. But already they were withdrawing, the guilt of hiding what might help showing, they were too afraid to say out loud what was written all over their drawn and haggard faces. I pressed my lips together and started out of the room toward the front entrance, my boots clacking on the cheap linoleum.
    “Wait.” Maria’s voice and the shuffling of papers called me back. I paused and glanced over my shoulder. Maria stood, her clothes hanging off her petite frame, her hands clenching a stack of paper.
    “Don’t! She doesn’t need to see those.” Don appeared in the doorway and reached for the rumpled stack.
    “And if we don’t, and she can’t find India, what then? Do you really think she’ll come back a second time when we’ve withheld information?” Her voice was sharp, and Don shrank back from her sudden outburst. Perhaps she wasn’t the vapid twink I’d originally pegged her for.
    Maria held the papers out to me again. I reached for them, felt the static charge race up my arm at the first touch of skin to paper. These were more than simple paper; they held the weight of