A Change of Worlds

Book 5 of the Killian Kendall Mysteries

By Josh Aterovis
Copyright 2026

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Chapter 4

When I got back to the office, I found it locked up again, which meant Novak was probably out on a case. After letting myself in, I just stood there, staring at the pile of paperwork. I was so sick of it. I was itching to work on a case myself. Unless something really big was going on, I'd usually be handling at least two at once. Lately, however, the accumulated mountain of office work had reduced my caseload to one. The job for Nikki would have interested me if only to get me away from my desk, although truthfully, the whole prospect appealed to me.

The most intriguing part about it was Lily's father, Fletcher. Judy was the only other person I'd ever met who had psychic abilities, but hers were very different from mine and mostly involved the present and future. While I wasn't exactly sure what being a shaman entailed, Nikki's suggestion that he might be able to help me kept running through my head. If I was going to be stuck with the damned gifts — and it definitely seemed I was — then it would be nice to have some control over them. Or at the very least understand them better.

I emailed a fee schedule to Nikki, then wrote up my notes from our meeting while everything was still fresh in my mind. When I finished that, I emptied my trash can, rearranged my desk, and checked my email before finally admitting that I couldn't put off the paperwork any longer.

With a sigh, I reached for the pile just as the phone rang.

Yes! I didn't care if it was a telemarketer, I'd stay on the line just to put off real work a little longer.

"Hello, Novak Investigations, Killian speaking."

"Hey, Killian."

"Hey, Micah," I greeted him guardedly.

"How's work going?"

I glanced at the pile of paper on my desk. "It's not really going anywhere. It's just kind of hunkering down for a long stay."

He laughed. "I wanted to call and check on you after last night."

"I'm okay."

"I know you're probably feeling this came out of nowhere, but I've been thinking about it for a while now."

I gave an edgy laugh. "A little warning would have been nice."

"I was waiting for the right time. Getting this job offer felt like a sign that it was time for me to make some important choices."

I was feeling distinctly uncomfortable. I needed to change the subject — and fast — but how could I do that without being obvious?

"I haven't really had time to think about it as much as I'd like." Could I get any more noncommittal?

"I figured that. I'm not trying to rush you. I meant what I said last night. I want you to take your time thinking this through. You have to be sure about whatever you decide. I just wanted to check on you, make sure you were all right."

Screw being obvious. The subject had to change now!

"I saw Asher today," I blurted out.

There was a long silence on the other end of the line, and for a few moments I thought Micah might have hung up. I was just about to say "hello?" when he spoke up.

"Interesting," he said. His tone gave nothing away.

"What do you mean?"

"Only that it's odd he showed up just as we're trying to make some important choices about our relationship." He paused. "And that you'd bring him up in the middle of this conversation."

"I didn't...I mean...it was just a surprise. I haven't seen him since last August."

"I guess he's home for the summer?"

"Yeah."

"How did you feel about seeing him again?"

"I'm not sure," I answered after a brief hesitation. "It was very weird."

"What did he say?"

"Not a lot. We didn't talk long. He asked me how I was, how you and I were. Then he said he wanted to get together sometime to catch up, or something like that. I was just trying to get away at that point. I felt really uncomfortable."

He sighed. "Damn. What lousy timing. Or maybe it's perfect timing."

"Come again?"

"Killian, I've always felt like you've never really gotten over Asher. Now here he is, and he wants to get together with you."

"I don't think he meant..."

"I think you should do it."

"What?"

"I think you should go out with him."

"What?"

"I think you should go out with Asher. Maybe it will help you settle your feelings for him once and for all. I doubt we can move on until you do."

"But...what about you?"

"What about me?"

"I mean, what if..." I didn't know how to put into words the thoughts flying through my mind.

Micah did it for me. "What if you realize you're still in love with him and he's the one you want to be with? Okay, yeah, that would hurt like hell. But Killian, I love you enough to take the risk, because I know we don't stand a chance unless you figure out what you want. The only way I can see that happening is if you resolve your feelings for Asher. So, if that means getting together to reminisce about old times, you have my blessing."

I didn't know what to say. I was shocked by the idea of Micah telling me to go out with my ex-boyfriend. How does one respond to that? On the other hand, I had to admit, the idea intrigued me. I couldn't deny the attraction was still there between us.

I shook myself. What was I thinking?

"No. I don't want to go out with him."

"Killian, don't say no right now. Just think about it."

"Micah, this is really weird."

"Why? Lots of people are friends with their exes. And besides, I want you to be sure about us."

The office door swung open and Novak strolled in, his briefcase in one hand and a sheaf of papers in the other. He distractedly waved hello as he walked past, his attention absorbed by whatever he was reading. More work for me, no doubt.

"Hey, Micah, Novak just came back, and I have to talk to him about a possible new case. I'll call you later, okay?"

"Yeah, sure. Kill, just think about it. If we do decide to move forward with our relationship, I don't want there to be any ghosts left to haunt us."

Interesting choice of words, I thought as I hung up the phone. Was he right? Was Asher haunting my current relationship? If so, he was one ghost I'd failed to notice. I'd thought things were great between Micah and me, at least up until last night. Micah hadn't given me any signs that he was dissatisfied with what we had, that he wanted more — or had he? Maybe I just hadn't noticed. I tried to think back over the last few months, but nothing stood out to me. I didn't like to believe I could be that clueless...what with being a detective and all.

Pushing those thoughts aside, I reached for my case notes. Time to talk to the boss.

"Knock, knock," I said from Novak's doorway.

He looked up from the stack of paper he still held in his hand. Frown lines creased his forehead. Whatever he was reading, it didn't look like good news.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" I asked.

He nodded and tugged at his tie in an irritated fashion. His old uniform was very casual, but lately he'd taken up wearing suits. I figured it had something to do with our increasingly well-off client list. I could tell Novak wasn't exactly thrilled about the suits, but he never complained.

I eyed the suit and decided to bring up the question that had been weighing on my mind. "You're not going to make me start wearing those, are you?"

Novak arched an eyebrow. "Wearing what? Clothes? They will remain mandatory in the office, yes."

"I meant the suit."

"Ah." He chuckled. "I'm tempted to say 'yes' just to watch you squirm, but no. We have very different styles and we appeal to different people. You'd just come across like a kid playing dress-up."

That was fine with me. I nodded. "Good."

"Now tell me what's really on your mind. You didn't come in here to ask about the dress code."

"I have a possible new case I want to run by you." When I noticed him glance down at the papers again, I asked, "Is that what you have there? A new case of your own?"

"Possibly," he replied with a sigh. He opened his briefcase and dropped the stack inside, then snapped it shut with a definitiveness that clearly said the subject was closed.

That happened sometimes. Novak would get a case so sensitive that he couldn't talk about it with me. They always seemed to weigh the heaviest on him since, by their very nature, they presented difficult problems.

He looked up, his attention now fully on me. "So tell me about this one of yours."

"I got a call from an old friend this morning, Nikki Avanti. She co-owns the Avant Garde Gallery on the plaza."

"We've met. Interesting person."

"To say the least. She's been dating someone for about a year, a local Native American artist named Lily Snyder. Nikki tells me Lily and her father are very involved in tribal politics. They convinced the tribal council to allow an archaeological group to come in and do an excavation on his property."

"Why did they need the council's approval if the site was on his property?" Novak interrupted.

"I think the tribe is co-funding the dig, but that's all I really know. I haven't spoken to Ms. Snyder yet. This is all from Nikki, who wasn't as knowledgeable as I would have liked. I wanted to talk to you before I pursued things further."

He nodded. "Go on."

"The excavation began a couple of weeks ago, and everyone thought it was going well...until this past Sunday. Ms. Snyder's father, Fletcher Snyder, walked down to the site rather late at night and was attacked, apparently by a looter. Relations between the archaeologists and the tribe became very strained after it was learned that previous signs of looting weren't reported to the tribe. There's very little the police can do since Mr. Snyder didn't see his attacker, which is why the tribe wants to hire me to investigate. Well, technically, I think at this point Ms. Snyder wants me to investigate, but the tribe will have to agree."

Novak thought for a minute before saying, "My biggest reservation would be that it appears there's a lot of politics involved. That always makes for a messy situation. Otherwise, it sounds like an interesting case. What are your feelings?"

"It has my attention already. I've always been fascinated by archaeology. It would be a learning experience as well as a nice change of pace."

"So you want to take it."

"I guess I do."

"Then go for it. Set up a meeting with Ms. Snyder to get more details. You'll need to find out how the tribe works and how the politics will affect you. You'll also need access to the site and..." He cut himself off with a grin. "Sorry, I don't guess I have to tell you how to do your job."

I grinned back. "It's okay. You know I still value your mentoring. It's always good to learn from the wisdom of our elders."

Novak gave me a sour look. "I'd say you're already getting into the spirit of indigenous culture."

I laughed.

"Did you place the ad yet?"

"Yeah, I posted it online this morning."

"Online?"

"Yes. You see, there's this thing called the Internet. It's a series of tubes. Welcome to the 21st century."

"Okay, smart ass. I just meant I hope the quality of our applicants is up to snuff."

"Considering only old people read the paper these days, I'd say the quality will be just fine."

He rolled his eyes. "Whatever, whippersnapper. I have something for you before you get back to work." He popped open his briefcase once again and rummaged inside it for a few seconds. Pulling out some papers held together with a large clip, he slid the bundle across the desk towards me. "That's your investigator's license application."

I stared down at the stack, a good quarter-inch thick. "You gotta be kidding me."

"Not in the least. Oh, it also includes your handgun-permit application."

"My what now?"

"Kid, as you well know, this is a dangerous occupation. You have to be able to carry some protection."

"I don't need a gun. That's why I took those self-defense classes."

"Those are great, and in hand-to-hand combat will give you an edge. It won't do you much good if the other guy has a gun and is out of reach, however. Trust me. As much as I hate to say it, there are times when a gun can make all the difference. You do need one."

"Fine, then I don't want a gun," I insisted stubbornly.

"Killian..."

"The one and only time I've ever fired a gun at another person, I killed him. I shot him three times, and watched him die right in front of me. I don't ever want to use a gun again."

"It was self-defense. If you hadn't shot him he would have killed Jake and, most likely, you as well."

"Still..."

"Just fill it out. If you get approved, it'll make me feel better. You don't even have to shoot the damned thing. It's amazing how effective a gun can be without ever being fired. Oh, and you'll also need to be approved by a State Police Certified Handgun Instructor."

"This keeps getting better and better."

"It should be a breeze. And don't worry about all the fees. I'll cover them."

"Gee, thanks."

"Look, kid, this is what's involved if you want to get your license and keep working with me. I've got to know you're protected. Now, if you want to go out on your own..."

"No! That's not what I want."

"Okay. You'll do everything necessary then?

"Yes," I conceded with a sigh.

"Good boy. Now get lost so I can go back to work."

I returned to my office and dropped the application onto my desk, where it landed with a thud. Leafing through the pages, I discovered more than half of them were informational only, outlining the multitudinous requirements and regulations involved in applying. The requirements — several head-and-shoulders, passport-type photos that had to be taken within thirty days of the application, two different fingerprint cards for each submission, and about five different forms — would take several days to complete.

What's more, I had to be certified with a handgun. I wasn't too worried about that. In one of my father's attempts to make me manlier, he'd forced me to take shooting lessons. I'd been a natural, hitting the target with deadly accuracy time after time. Even then, though, I hadn't been comfortable with the weapon.

I set the papers aside and picked up the phone to call the art gallery. When Will answered, I asked for Nikki, who came on the phone in a matter of seconds.

"Did you get the fee schedule I sent over?" I asked after the initial greetings were out of the way.

"Yeah, and I think I'm in the wrong business. No wonder the cliché is 'starving artist', and not 'starving private eye'."

I laughed. "Yeah, well, generally people don't try to kill you in the course of a sculpture."

"Unless one of my models is unhappy with my representation of his, ahem, assets." Did I mention Nikki specialized in life-size, erotic statues? "So does this call mean you're taking the case?"

"I'd like to talk to Ms. Snyder before I make any commitments."

Nikki snorted. "Ms. Snyder? She'd get a kick out of that. She'll insist you call her Lily. She's not one to stand on formality."

She gave me Lily's phone number, and we said goodbye.

When I dialed the number Nikki had given me, the phone was answered by a woman with a low, throaty voice.

"Ms. Snyder?"

"Speaking."

"This is Killian Kendall. I'm a private investigator—"

"Oh, you're Nikki's friend?"

"Yes, I met with Nikki earlier, and she told me a bit about your problem."

"Yeah, I talked to her a little while ago. Does this mean you're willing to take the case?"

"Actually, I need some more details from you before I make that decision. Would you be able to meet with me sometime tomorrow?"

"My father is being released from the hospital tomorrow morning. I guess Nikki explained all that to you."

"Yes, she did."

"Good. We could meet at his house in the afternoon if that works for you."

"That would be fine."

We set a time, and she gave me directions. After we hung up, I stared at the piles of paperwork cluttering the surface of my desk. I couldn't put it off any longer. With a sigh, I slid one of the stacks closer and dug in.

I pulled into the drive of the address Lily Snyder had given me. It was a large yard, heavily wooded, with a weathered, one-story dwelling set well back from the road. The house looked quite at home in its rustic setting, the cedar-shingle siding and the redwood deck that stretched across its front blended in well with the forest crowding in around the building, as if waiting patiently to reclaim the land the home sat on. The ground was covered with a carpet of pine needles, eliminating any need to mow a lawn. Wherever sunlight managed to slip through the canopy of treetops overhead, small patches of wildflowers added splashes of color to the idyllic scene.

I parked behind a silver pickup that I assumed was Lily's. An older-model green sedan was drawn up closer to the house. As I approached the front door, it swung open to reveal a woman I guessed to be in her mid- to late-thirties. She was about my height with dark eyes and long, dark hair that she wore in a single braid over her right shoulder. She wore a flannel shirt with the sleeves cut off, and snug, faded jeans. She was thin, but her exposed arms showed a wiry strength that belied her slight frame.

"You must be Killian," she greeted me with a warm smile.

"Yes. Ms. Snyder?"

"Lily. I won't answer to anything but Lily." I smiled, thinking about Nikki's prediction. "Come on in and I'll introduce you to my dad." She stepped back and held the door open.

As soon as I crossed the threshold, I noticed a spicy sweet scent that I couldn't quite identify.

Lily noticed my sniffing and grinned. "Dad's an herbalist, among other things. He grows as much of his stock as he possibly can and buys the rest only from well-established organic farms. He stores most of it in the house where he can keep the temperature regulated. That's probably what you smell."

I nodded, and she led me from the entryway into the living room. An invitingly plump leather sofa and matching chairs provided seating, while pine end tables supported cast-iron lamps and beautiful Southwestern pottery. Cases on the walls displayed a vast collection of artifacts — everything from arrowheads to tomahawks. A deep bookshelf held more stone tools, along with skulls, bones, feathers, and an interesting assortment of odds and ends. Behind them, the shelves were stuffed to overflowing with books.

An older man was reclining on the sofa. "You'll have to excuse me for not getting up to greet you. It's been a rough week."

"Killian, this is my father, Fletcher Snyder. Dad, this is Killian Kendall, the private investigator I was telling you about."

When we shook hands, I was surprised by the strength of his grip. However infirm he appeared at the moment, this was no weak invalid.

"Nice to meet you, Killian," he said. "Have a seat, and please call me Fletcher." It seemed everyone in this family was on the informal side.

I studied Fletcher, finding his age hard to pinpoint. His long hair was snow white, and his face was creased with a maze of wrinkles, but there was something startlingly young about his eyes.

I was so caught up studying him that it took me a moment to realize he was examining me just as carefully. Our eyes locked, and I felt a strange tingle at the back of my neck. I'd felt it before, years ago, the first time I'd ever met Judy, but this was an even stronger sensation. I had no doubt that I was in the presence of a powerful shaman.

He smiled, and his eyes twinkled merrily. "Nikki never mentioned you were gifted."

There was no point denying it. "I asked her not to, sir."

"Fletcher. None of this 'sir' business."

"Gifted?" Lily asked.

Fletched peered at me intently another moment before answering. "Unless I've missed the mark completely, I believe young Killian is a spirit-talker." He chuckled at my surprised expression. "And a rather strong empath...and maybe a few other things, as well. And...I think he might be two-spirit."

Lily turned to me with a thoughtful look on her face.

"A two-spirit?" I asked uncertainly. This meeting was not going at all the way I'd expected it to.

"Our ancestors believed that most people are born with either a male or female spirit, each of which is only half of the whole perfection that is the Creator Spirit. However, some are born with two spirits, both male and female. These people were held in a very high regard because they were seen as being closer to the Creator. These two-spirits often held positions of authority and respect within their communities — healers, mediators, shamans — and they usually had spiritual powers that set them apart."

My eyes widened as all the implications hit me. "But I'm not Native American."

"I didn't say you were." He smiled. "I don't believe two-spirits are limited to only our people."

"You said they have both male and female spirits. Does that mean they're gay?"

"By today's definition, perhaps, or at least bisexual. Some would probably be considered transgender. Traditionally, though, they were not bound by gender roles. But this isn't what you came here to talk about — at least, not directly."

"Um, right." I tried to gather my scattered thoughts. This man I'd never met before had just seen my gifts and known I was gay...and all we'd done was shake hands! "I...I wanted to get some more details about the thefts and your assault so I could decide if I would take the case."

He smiled again, this time with an enigmatic twist of his lips that made me think he knew something I didn't. "Lily will be able to fill you in better than I can. Sometimes I don't remember things so clearly these days."

I found that really hard to believe. His mind seemed as sharp as a tack. I suspected it was just his way of involving Lily and possibly reserving his energy.

Lily had sat in the other chair and was following our exchange closely. She turned her attention to me with a bemused expression. "Where do you want me to start?"

I took a deep breath and pulled out my notebook, glancing quickly at what I'd jotted down from the meeting with Nikki to buy a little more time. "Why don't you tell me a little about the tribe? I'm afraid I don't know much about it."

"Well, we're the Pomocatan Tribe. We don't have Federal or State recognition, but we are an organized group with a governing council voted on by the tribe. Both my father and I currently serve on the council. We're Algonquin, as all the tribes around here are. There aren't many of us left, though. The early settlers in this area quickly did their best to annihilate the native population." She stopped and grinned. "But I'm veering off into politics and ancient history, always a danger with us Indians. We could be here all day if I get on that topic."

I laughed. "It's okay. What about the dig? How did it come about, and how does it all work?"

"It was Dad's idea," she said with a glance in Fletcher's direction. His eyes were closed, but I knew he was listening to every word. "This property has been in the family for generations. We knew there was an old village site in the woods, and were sure it could tell us a lot about our ancestors. When I contacted the university last year, they were enthusiastic, but didn't have enough money to launch the project on their own. The budget for the Archaeology Department isn't very substantial, apparently, and they get most of their funds through grants. They said if we'd help subsidize the excavation, they'd share all their findings with us. We agreed, on the provision that all artifacts found would be returned to the tribe after they were studied."

"She makes it sound a lot easier than it was," Fletcher inserted dryly. I glanced over to find his eyes were still shut. "The council was not happy about the whole idea in the first place, and the stuffed shirts at the university didn't want to agree to our terms. It took a lot of work and all my negotiating skills to come to an agreement."

"Why didn't the council want the excavation?"

"Some people felt it was disrespectful to dig up the ancestors' graves," Lily explained. "Others thought it was wrong to allow white people to disturb what they consider sacred ground. We were finally able to get them to see that the possible benefits — the knowledge and even the artifacts themselves — far outweighed their fears."

"Was it just the funding that you needed to council to sign off on, or the excavation in general?"

"Well, technically, we didn't need their permission for the excavation since it is Dad's property. We could have just gone ahead with the excavation without their approval, but to say it would have destroyed our relationship with the tribe would be an understatement. The property may be ours, but the history and artifacts belong to all of us. But as you said, and just as importantly, we couldn't afford to co-finance the excavation. We needed the tribe's help, and for that we had to secure their approval."

"That makes sense. Before, you said the artifacts would be a benefit. Other than knowledge and education, what value would they have?"

"Well, they have a certain market value, but we'd never sell them. We could, however, use them to open a museum. The Nanticoke tribe has a great museum in Millsboro, Delaware. If we could do something similar here, it would give us a place to educate not only our young ones but also the general public. While we have some artifacts that people have donated, these new ones would be documented and come with a history and a story, thanks to the archaeologists. If this first dig is successful, it might lead to future projects. Eventually, they could even get a picture of the entire village and what it might have been like."

I jotted a few quick thoughts in my notebook. "Okay. That makes sense and seems like a worthy project. So your tribe is putting up part of the financial backing, but what about the university?"

"They're actually providing the lion's share. I guess you could say I'm the liaison between the tribal council and the university. I've been working with the head of the Archaeology Department, Professor Quinn Healy, to get all the funding in order. He was in charge of the actual dig preparations, putting together the crew and equipment. That took all winter. They started the actual dig two weeks ago, and everything seemed to be going great. Whenever we visited the site or talked to Dr. Healy, he told us they were right on schedule, or even a little ahead. The weather has been ideal, and they'd made a few wonderful finds already. They seemed very excited about some evidence of Adena influence. I wasn't even sure what that meant, so I had to get online and do some research. You see, the Adena culture was mainly centered in Ohio, but artifacts have been found in this area before..."

"You're chasing a rabbit," Fletcher said, cutting her off.

Lily grinned. "Sorry. I get so excited about all this I tend to go off on tangents."

"It's okay. I find it all really interesting. Maybe you can tell me more about that later. So at that point, you had no idea anything was wrong?"

"No idea at all."

"When did you first start suspecting something?"

"I never did. What happened was..."

"I'll tell this part," Fletcher spoke up. He opened his eyes and focused on me. "The first glimmer we got that things weren't quite right was Sunday night. The spirits were agitated, even more so than they've been since this all began. I couldn't sleep, so I decided to walk down to the site and see what was wrong. When I got there, I was bonked over the head, and my heart, which isn't all that strong to begin with, decided to give out on me. I didn't even get a glimpse of my attacker. I wouldn't be here talking to you now if Jacy hadn't woken up and known something was wrong."

"Jacy is your grandson?"

"Yeah. He's about your age. He's two-spirit as well."

"Why didn't the spirits keep him awake?"

"Everybody has different strengths. Jacy doesn't hear the spirits — or see them for that matter. His talents lie in other areas."

I wanted to ask what his talents were, but it really wasn't germane to the investigation. I had to stay focused. "What happened after that?"

"The police got involved," Lily replied. "They interrogated Fletcher as soon as he was able to talk. When they found out he'd been attacked, they questioned the archaeological team, who had noticed that one of the pits had been disturbed during the night. There was digging going on after they'd gone home."

"There's no security?"

"No, but from what I understand, that's pretty much the norm. It's in the middle of the woods after all, so they count on that and secrecy to keep people away. There just isn't enough money to put any sort of actual guard on the site. This isn't exactly a high-profile project."

"Do they know what was taken?"

Lily shook her head. "Not really. They just know that the pit was disturbed, and they admitted it wasn't the first time it's happened."

"Do you think I'd be able to see the site and talk to the team?"

"We'll arrange something, but if possible, I'd rather keep your real involvement a secret."

"You don't want them to know I'm a private investigator?"

"No, I'd rather they didn't."

"Why? Do you suspect someone on the team?"

She shrugged. "I don't suspect anyone in particular, but they kept us in the dark about the disturbances, which makes me a little...untrusting, shall we say?"

"So what do you want me to do? It's going to be hard asking my questions without them becoming suspicious."

"Can we just say you're a reporter?"

I thought for a minute. I'd never really gone undercover for a case before, and I had to admit I kind of liked the idea.

"That could work. People are vain. The idea of having their names in the newspaper might do wonders to loosen tongues. Although, if one of them is involved in the thefts, then they'll more than likely be just as closed-mouthed around a reporter as a PI."

"But a PI would probably put them much more on their guard than a reporter simply doing a puff piece for the local paper."

She had a point. "Who was the officer in charge of the investigation into Fletcher's attack?"

"Sergeant Kaplan," Fletcher answered.

"I know him. I'll talk to him and see if I can get anything else from him."

"So I guess this means you're taking the case," Fletcher said with a grin.

I couldn't help smiling back. "I admit I'm hooked, but you knew that when I walked through the door."

He nodded happily. "I'm glad you're taking it. I feel you were sent to us for a reason. Unfortunately, your agreeing to take the case is only half the battle. Now we have to sell you to the council. They'll be the ones paying you, after all."

"Are you available tomorrow night?" Lily asked me.

"As far as I know. Why?"

"I'll call an emergency council meeting then. If you can be there, we'll present you to the council and take a vote."

"Do you expect opposition?"

"I always expect opposition," she muttered dryly. "If I said the sky was blue, someone would argue with me. I think in the end, though, they'll approve it. If artifacts that belong to the tribe are being stolen, they'll want to recover them — or at least stop the thief. If Fletcher vouches for you, that'll carry a lot of weight with the majority, which is all we need to make a decision. I'll be in touch with you to let you know what time the meeting will be. I'll try to get them to hold it here so Fletcher can attend."

"Just give me a ring."

"Thank you, Killian," she said, standing up.

I stood too. "You're welcome. It was a pleasure meeting you, Fletcher." I shook his hand again.

Lily walked with me out onto the front porch. "This really does mean a lot to us."

"I just hope I'll be able to help."

"I'm sure you will. Nikki says you're good."

I blushed slightly, but before I could think of an appropriate response, a motorcycle carrying a slender figure roared into the driveway. The bike skidded to a stop, and the rider slid off before the rumble had even died completely away. Two gloved hands removed the helmet, releasing a curtain of thick, shoulder-length, dark-brown hair. The hands brushed the hair back to reveal the delicate face of a boy around my age. I guessed him to be Jacy, Fletcher's grandson and Lily's nephew.

He considered me with dark, serious eyes that glinted with intelligence.

"Jacy, this is Killian Kendall," Lily said, confirming my guess. "He's going to be looking into the goings-on down at the excavation. Killian, this is my nephew Jacy."

Jacy gave me a brief nod in greeting as he set the helmet down on the bike seat and walked towards me. He was a man of few words. He was taller than me by a few inches, and willowy. He pulled off his gloves and shook my hand, and I felt the same tingling I'd sensed with Fletcher and Judy. He must have felt it too, because his eyes widened slightly at my touch.

"Nice to meet you," I said.

He gave me a tiny smile. "You too. Is Fletcher home, Lily?"

"He's inside on the couch."

Jacy gave me another nod and went inside.

"He's a little shy," Lily explained with an affectionate smile. "He's very close to his grandfather, and has been beating himself up ever since Sunday — as if he could have done any more than he did. He wanted to be here when Fletcher came home from the hospital, but he couldn't get off work."

I nodded. "Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow night. I'll phone you if I have any more questions, and you can do the same if you think of anything else I might need to know."

"Great! And thanks again, Killian."

I walked to my car thinking less about the case I'd just accepted — pending approval from the council, of course — than about the family who had asked me to take it. After hearing more details, I didn't think the job sounded nearly as exciting as it had before. The chances that I'd be able to find out much more than the police were remote, at best. My only advantage was that I would be able to give it a lot more time and attention. Other than giving me a chance to see an actual archaeological excavation, the work didn't hold a lot of interest.

Fletcher and Jacy, however, fascinated me. Could they teach me more about my gifts? I wanted to ask but had no idea how to bring up the subject. I'd just have to wait and see what happened.

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