When I look back at Flanagan, he’s studying me again.

“What?” I ask.

“You’re a mystery, Michael. Channelers mostly come from known bloodlines—families aware of the supernatural world. We always background check the unknowns. We found little on your past.”

I frown. I feel uneasy knowing the Guardians have checked me out. I don’t know why they didn’t find anything.

“I was fostered, then adopted. So…”

He shakes his head. “We checked both agencies. They had your name, but no details were attached to your records. Either your information has been wiped, or your details were never there.” He searches my face while he waits for my answer. Does he think I’m lying about who I am?

I shrug. “That’s news to me.”

“Do you know anything about your biological parents? Anything at all?”

I take a long breath. I’m always reluctant to talk about my parents. I feel like I’m sharing a sob story. “They were found murdered in the woods when I was a baby. I was with them. Obviously I don’t remember anything. The police report said their throats were slashed. Nobody came forward to identify them or claim me, so I have no information on them at all.”

That wasn’t strictly true. I did have a piece of parchment found on my mother. It came in the post with a letter from the foster agency six months ago. Some admin clerk had cleared out a basement and found case files rotting in a corner. While cataloging the new data, he came across the parchment and the instructions it should be passed on to me when I reached sixteen. It was only ten years late. It didn’t tell me much either. Though the yellowed paper had once held a longer note, only three faded words remained on its surface, written in a cursive script.

Lancaster. Blackriver. Sabel.

The parchment was the reason I moved to Lancaster. I’ve always burned with the need to know what happened to my parents, why they were murdered. I even dreamed of finding their killer. The paper gave me hope and a potential surname. But the move was useless. There’s nothing here called Blackriver and no one with the name Sabel.

I decide to tell Flanagan. There seems little point in keeping it from him, and he might be able to shed light on the information.

I open my mouth to speak, but before I form words, the shadow appears. Standing right in front of me—a looming black figure blotting out the moonlight. I jolt in my seat and stare up at him, still unable to make out a face. He shakes his head once and raises a finger to his lips. Then he disappears like he’s never been there. I’m left with my mouth open.

What was that? A warning? Don’t mention the words on the parchment?

I’m frozen, hands gripping the metal. When I turn to Flanagan, he’s watching me with narrowed eyes. “What did you just see, Michael?”

I snap my mouth shut and feign nonchalance. “Huh? Nothing. Just thinking, that’s all.”