I’m crouched in a far corner of the Springside Police Department reception area. Penny Wilson’s chair sits empty—for now—and the scent of yesterday’s charred coffee is a lingering memory in the air.
I pop open the thermos and the rich smell of Kona blend banishes it completely.
“Come on, guys,” I say. “I’m not going to catch you. I just want to talk.”
Sprites have such a slight presence, they’re often difficult to detect. But these two are still here, cowering behind a file cabinet. I doubt they’ve played a prank all week.
“No one’s here,” I add. “At least not Carter Dupree.”
I suspect Chief is in his office, although the door is shut tight. I keep my voice low and encouraging.
“He’s not coming back. Chief Ramsey doesn’t like him. As long as you stay put, they can’t take you.”
I hop
