I'd hung around the cabin for two weeks waiting for my mother to show up, I'd have no problem getting us there. I put Donovan's shield back in place and opened the veil. I had an open area in mind, so I decided to try going straight there rather than stopping in Otherworld first. It was already getting late, and I didn't feel like we had the time. Besides, most of my crossover spots were in largely unpopulated areas, which meant that they tended to be at least in the vicinity of the wilds, and I wasn't too keen on getting close to them again. Within ten minutes, we were walking up a gravel drive towards a log cabin.

It was a smaller cabin near Shenandoah national park. Resting on the edge of the Appalachian foothills, the cabin's back porch jutted out over the hillside supported by posts, above the wooded slope. People usually came up here to hunt and fish, secluded, and well off the beaten path. It was a beautiful place to get away from it all. I hadn't spent much time here myself; it was mom's getaway. It was too quiet for me, and I’d always felt like the cabin was about to slide off into the ravine.

It was getting late, and the shadows of the trees stretched over the cabin, but there were no lights on inside. That was a good sign I didn't know what we would do if someone had been here. The way Donovan was acting lately, he might have risked using magic on humans to get us in, and I don't think I would have stopped him.

It was colder up here, and I huddled in my jacket, as we walked up the drive, the gravel crunching beneath our feet. I watched as Donovan messed with the lock for a minute before it clicked open.

"We're going to have to hurry," I said, glancing up at the setting sun. Maggie probably wouldn't be home for another couple hours, but we were pushing it as it was.

"Just a quick look around. We can always come back later," he said, swinging the door open and stepping back so I could enter first.

The cabin was freezing, the winter chill seeming to have crept into its very core. It was clearly not in use and hadn't been for a while. Reaching out, I flipped the switch and was relieved when the lights sprang to life. It was starting to get dark, and we hadn't brought any flashlights.

"Let's split up," Donovan said, coming in behind me. "You check the bedrooms; I'll get the living room and office."

My mother might have spent a lot of time here, but it wasn't like going home. There was nothing physical of my mother's presence in the cabin. Stepping into the first bedroom, I did a quick search opening the closet and pulling out the drawers in the dresser. Since I could see weaves, I didn't need to search using a spell as Donovan did, and I was done in under ten minutes and moving on to the second bedroom. I’d completed both bedrooms and the bathroom by the time that Donovan had finished the living room. We went to the study together.

Sitting down at the desk, I started pulling out the drawers as Donovan had at my house while he worked his way down the bookcases. We worked in silence, methodologically checking every space and surface. I had just put the last shelf back in place when something caught my eye.

"Wait, what was that." I sat up in my chair as he jumped back, startled by the sudden noise.

"What? I didn't see anything." He bent down to get a better look into the shadowy space he’d just inspected.

Getting out of the chair, I knelt in front of the case. A small weave no larger than a dime rested in the back corner of one of the shelves. Sitting in the chair, it had been right at eye level when Donovan had pushed an empty wicker basket to one side; otherwise, I would have missed it. Leaning forward, I could make out a tiny hole in the middle of the weave. I sent a small flow of awen into it. When I made contact, the weave began to expand. Beyond the open space, I saw the silvery threads of the veil.

Unable to see what I did, Donovan gave a start and grabbed my wrist when I reached forward.

"It's okay," I said. He released my wrist.

He let out a soft whistle when my hand disappeared into the back of the bookcase. I was almost up to my elbow when my fingers brushed against what felt like a large book. It was heavy, and I had to drag it forward until I could get a better grip. Pulling out the book, I stood and carried it back to the desk while Donovan took a closer look at the weave, reaching his hand into the opening.

"I felt nothing," he said, as he removed his hand and channeled another small thread of awen.

I watched as it slid through the weave as if it wasn't there.

"I still feel nothing," he said incredulously. “There’s nothing like this in the book,” he said, standing up.

I’d only been half-listening; my attention focused on my find. “What book?”

“Uh, just a book of spells I’ve been looking through,” he said, walking up to me.

“Why would you think my mother’s weave would be in your spellbook?” There were thousands of spell books out there, each as unique as the person who penned them.

“I didn’t. It just has a lot of odd spells in it that’s all,” he said, walking up to me. “What do you think’s in it?” he asked, peering over my shoulder.

“Well, let’s find out,” I said, my voice shaking slightly. Sitting down, I placed the book on the desk. My hands were trembling as I opened the cover.

I don't know what I was expecting, an 'if you're reading this' note that explained what had happened and what steps I should take from this point on, or perhaps a journal detailing my mother's every thought. What I wasn't expecting to find, hidden behind that tiny little spell that had been placed so carefully, was a photo album.

My mom wasn't really into photos. There wasn't a single picture in our house from before I was born. Mom had always said she had never had the nostalgia bug until I came along. With everything else she'd lied about, I guess it wasn't surprising that she'd lie about that as well. Thinking that there must be something tucked away among the pages, I quickly thumbed through, keeping an eye out for any more hidden wards that might be concealing a gem of information.

Nothing but glossy photos. They weren't even artistically arranged, just lined up on each page in two columns of three. The first several pages contained black and whites of people and places I didn't recognize, but I finally came across one of a smiling girl with dark brown hair and a small birthmark on the left side of her chin. There was something about her smile and the way her head tilted to the right that made her seem so familiar, but from the style of the dress and the chronology of the pictures, this one had been taken at least a decade before I was even born.

She was about seven or eight sitting on the front porch of an old farmhouse. Her big smile, posed with her skirt arranged just so, and her hands resting primly on her knees said that she was thrilled to have her picture taken, unlike the sulky teenage boy who glared next to her. I peeled back the plastic cover and pried the picture loose, hoping to find something written on the back, names or a date, anything I could use to identify who these people were and why they were important to my mom, but there was nothing.

Putting it back, I continued, following the brunet through the years as she grew. I randomly pulled pictures out, checking the backs just in case, but all of them were blank. I paused at one that must have been taken at junior or senior prom. The brunet was sitting in a white lattice chair with that same smile and head tilt from her picture on the porch. Her pale violet dress with its full skirt brought out the sparkle in her green eyes while a handsome man with thick dark hair and deep-set eyes stood next to her in a tux, his hand resting on her shoulder. There was something familiar about him.

On the next page was the picture I was looking for. I was starting to wonder why my mother had an album documenting someone else's life. But there she was standing next to the brunet. Their arms wrapped around each other's waists. Her ash blonde hair hung straight to her shoulders, pale blue eyes staring out from a narrow face with high cheekbones and a small pointed chin. I had always thought my mother had one of the most beautiful faces I'd ever seen.

I lingered on the photo, running my finger over her face as if I could actually touch her through the aged photo. I didn't want to move on, but Donovan cleared his throat as if to say we don't have time for this, and I reluctantly turned the page. High school gave way to college, my mom made an occasional appearance in group shots, but most of the pictures were still of the brunet. Who was this woman? I was thumbing through quickly approaching the end when one of the very last pages caused me to stop dead. I pulled it out for a closer look.

Unlike the others, it was a newspaper clipping rather than a photo. Staring out from the black and white image was the brunet again and her date from the prom photo. They were standing with two other men. They looked close, arms draped over each other's shoulders and broad smiles for the camera, standing in front of the Spencer Estate. I only recognized it because of the consulate party last week, but that wasn't what had drawn my attention.

I hadn’t fully recognized him in the previous photo, but now. His stick-thin frame had filled out over the years, and the full head of wavy brown hair was already receding from his temples, it was Jason. I hadn't been close to Jason, just one of the many underlings he employed, but I had met him a few times, and he had never once even hinted he knew anything at all about my mother. Sur, I wasn't positive he really knew her, after all, she was probably in less than a dozen pictures in the album. She wasn't in this one, but the fact that she had his photo at all made me suspicious. Maybe meeting him hadn't been as accidental as I had thought.

Donovan cleared his throat, and I looked up. "Is everything okay?"

"Just a newspaper clipping," I said, holding it up for him to see. "But I recognized the tall man on the right. He's who I worked for while I was gone."

"The smuggler?" he said, flipping the picture over, but there was just a paragraph from an unrelated article printed on the back.

"Did he know your mom?" Donovan asked, suspicion clouding his voice.

"I don’t know," I said, taking the clipping back. "It's weird; my mom isn't even in hardly any of these pictures. I think she and the brunet were friends, but other than that, I have no idea who these people are or why she was hiding their pictures."

"How did you end up working for him?"

"It just kind of happened."

I'd been living out of a homeless shelter in Indianapolis for a couple of weeks, and it wasn't going well. I'd had nothing when I ran, and I was too scared to go by the house. I’d hit up an ATM as soon as I left the consulate office, but four hundred had been the max I could take out in a single day. A bus ticket, change of clothes, and toiletries had immediately put a sizeable dent in my funds, and though the shelter served meals, my money was dwindling at an alarming rate. There should have been more in my account, but when I went to make a withdrawal, it had been empty. Scared that they’d be able to follow me, I’d taken off again.

Hopping from town to town, I’d tried looking for jobs, but even though I could use my awen to convince them to overlook my age, there was nothing I could do about the proof of ID, social security card, and other paperwork they insisted on having. I had been sitting at a twenty-four-hour diner, taking advantage of their free refills, when he had sat down in the booth across from me. Sure I'd been found out my heart sank to my stomach. He appeared to be alone, but I didn't even think about trying to make a break for it.

But he wasn't who I thought he was. He ordered breakfast, ham and cheese omelet with wheat toast, and sat there chatting like we were old friends. I was beginning to think he was just crazy or some pervert who meant to proposition me, it wouldn't be the first time, though he was taking an absurdly long time to get to the point. And then he dropped the bomb, he knew who I was, and he knew what I could do.

It turned out that he did have a proposition for me, just not the kind I had thought. He promised me a steady job and a steady paycheck. Was I naive boarding on stupid? Definitely. Did I need help? Absolutely. Looking back, it should have raised more red flags than it did. How had he found me? How did he know what I could do? I’d been careful about using my awen, and I’d never felt a reading or seen a weave being used, so how would he know.

“Let’s check one more time.” Putting the picture back, I closed the album. We were running out of time, but I couldn’t leave, not yet. This really couldn't be it. The album had only raised more questions, not answered them.

While we worked, Donovan tried to fish for more info on Jason, but he eventually gave up when I refused to answer. We searched for another fifteen to twenty minutes, but ultimately, we had to give up. There was nothing else to be found. Donovan suggested checking the rest of the house, but it was getting late, and we were out of time. I still had to worry about not getting caught. Cradling the album against my chest, I shielded Donovan and made the weave to take us home.