ATLANTION - LAYLA BOOK1

Part 12 Adam

The news that detective Morgan brought this evening puzzled Adam. He had left his office five minutes ago, but the smell of tobacco and alcohol still lingered in the room. Another girl had disappeared, the poor thing forgotten by the surrounding community. Only her grandmother was still searching for her. It sounded like the work of a powerful creature or a deviant individual. It hunted these girls and would kill more if nobody stopped it.

The key was the blue hair, but he could not discover any link between these ladies and the Blue House. This girl's disappearance affected Morgan for sure. The older woman's testimony was incomplete. Now that Morgan himself was supporting her, the police and magazines would be more interested in sorting it out. It was the last thing they needed. Newspapers, screaming vampires, gossiping people, and more chaos hunters lurking on the streets. He had Mrs. Fairsight's description of the shadow that kidnapped her granddaughter, a book of poems, and an aquarelle portrait of a girl with blue hair. He had inspected it in the afternoon at a local country hospital. The crime scene didn't give him many clues.

An old nurse had described a girl with blue hair and a plant tattoo on her left arm. The blue hair color again. None of the victims presented any signs of violence. Besides the destroyed nails, the girls' faces were peaceful, with no mask of horror or surprise. He required an energy tracker. Adam could follow faint trails, but not as well as a chaos hunter. He urged the master of the Crafters Guild to send one of her weapon makers this evening. He took his boots off the desk when a knock sounded, right on time. Adam thought and opened the door. It was rare to face a man who watched him with indifference. There was no fear or wonder, only a pure business-like atmosphere. His hand grip told Adam that crushing bones would not be an effort with his blacksmith's arms. Farrar was one of the most skilled mechanics of the underworld, after their master. The fellow didn't speak much or ask any questions, so Adam liked him a lot. Every time they met, there was a sizzling mysterious aura about him. The guy drove a black crystal motorcycle; it spoke volumes about his skills, not only as a craftsman. You called for a ton of energy to fuel that monster, and Adam knew it well.

After a brief exchange of information and a glass of whiskey, Farrar made a few sketches and notes for the energy tracker. He was ready to leave when he saw a familiar portrait among the papers scattered on Adam's desk.

"Who is the girl in this picture? Is it another case?" asked Farrar with visual interest.

It intrigued Adam to see the expression on the craftsman's face. He knew something. Inhabitants of the underworld permanently hide more than they speak.

"She is a victim in a serial kidnapping incident," replied Adam, analyzing the man.

"Did you learn who kidnapped the girl?" inquired Farrar, trying not to show any emotion. Now he worried that he left Layla out alone. So she was one of the surviving victims. Nobody had discovered her yet. They better keep it secret for the girl's safety. Farrar knows on his skin how it is when an evil creature hunts you.

Adam narrowed his eyes and considered his next question. The craftsman was withholding something. He wondered if this fellow identified who the criminal was. What's he hiding? Adam thought, Is he involved in these disappearances? He could feel his anger simmering just below the surface, his jaw clenched tightly.

He will send Felis to follow him and find out more. Incredibly, that fate sent him here this evening, and he now had a fresh lead in this bothersome case. With a Chaos Hunter breathing at his back, the time was short. I need to act quickly.

"Are the inhabitants of underground speculating about what happened with these girls?" asked Adam, pointing at the image. His voice was calm, but inside he was seething.

A tense moment appeared in the office. Their eyes met, and Adam could sense the man's discomfort. He knows more than he's letting on, Adam thought.

The man took his sketches and started toward the exit without a word. He's definitely hiding something, Adam thought as he watched the man leave.

"When will the energy tracker be ready?" Adam shouted at the closing door, frustration creeping into his voice.

"Soon," rumbled Farrar, and the screeching of the old stairs announced his swift departure. I need that tracker as soon as possible.

Adam leaned near the big arched window and watched the street. He was even more surprised to see a girl with blue hair trying hard to climb on Farrar's bike. The man grabbed her arm and tossed her on. Who is she?

A cloud of dust invaded the deserted coffee shop downstairs when Adam ran down the stairs. He jumped two or three at a time, hoping to catch them. The blacksmith and the lady were gone. Damn it!

Was it a coincidence or the killer visited his office a minute ago? Was that another victim or one of many girls that dye her hair in strange ways? I need to find out.

As Adam climbed the stairs to his office, he couldn't shake off the images of the blue-haired girl and the blacksmith's sudden departure from his mind.

"Well, well, that is interesting; it might even be worth a trip to the Undergrounds and watch Noir crude fun." Adam's voice was laced with a hint of excitement. I need to get to the bottom of this.

A gash of wind blew his sweaty shirt, cooling his skin. They needed an air conditioner; this room was stuffy. I need to get out of here.

A small cat shadow appeared on the dusty floor, and Felis crouched in the office through the open balcony door. In her animal form, she was a little bigger than an average animal. Her gaze bore intelligence. At least I have Felis on my side.

"I guess we are going to the monster's ball," Adam told her and ruffled her fur. He couldn't shake off the feeling that he was being watched, but he pushed it aside. I need to focus on the case.

Adam smiled, but there was a glint of mischief in his eyes, a hint of darkness that made Felis wonder if he was slipping back into his old ways.