Lost Girl: Hidden Book One by Colleen Vanderlinden Page A

swallowed, forcing myself to keep my nerves down. It didn’t work. My power spiked in response to my fear, the coppery smell of blood, to the knowledge that I had very likely failed this little girl. I felt rage creeping in, and I was soon almost delirious with it.
    I headed back up the stairs. The lots around this house were like those in my neighborhood: overgrown and mostly empty except for decaying homes and dumped trash. I started looking, knowing, and dreading, what I would find.
    It didn’t take long. An area of flattened grass caught my eye, and when I wandered over to it, freshly turned earth. I stood there. Maybe it’s a dog, I tried to tell myself. Maybe someone buried valuables there. Knew it was a lie.
    One of the imps walked up and stood beside me. I couldn’t tell them apart.
    “We can dig, if Mistress wants,” it said. I nodded.
    They dug in silence for a few minutes, revealing what my gut already told me we’d find there. Her father had barely taken the time to dig deeply enough to bury Kayla securely. She was still dressed in the pink t-shirt she’d been wearing when she’d gone missing. A bullet to the chest had turned most of it brownish red. The imps turned, looked at me.
    I knelt, put my face in my hands. Not praying. Begging forgiveness. I’d been too slow. I should have moved faster, started looking as soon as I’d found out about Kayla. Counted, ridiculous as it was, on a father’s love preventing him from hurting his daughter. I bit my lip, hard, felt my power soar within me in response to my rage.
    I looked at the girl again. So innocent. What had she gone though in the last days of her life? Tears stung my eyes. I’d never lost a child before. A baby. I’d lost too many grown women, a few teenagers. Seeing Kayla’s tiny body destroyed me. She’d had her whole life ahead of her.
    “I’m sorry, Kayla,” I whispered, covering the body again, the imps helping. We had her nearly covered when one of the imps hissed “Mistress!” and I heard the grass crunch behind me.
    “Stand up, real slow,” a deep voice said. I took a breath, and stood. Cursed myself for getting so caught up that I dropped my defenses. “Turn around.”
    I did. The girl’s father stood before me. I recognized him from the newspaper stories. He was short, stocky. Bald, with a neat goatee. Dressed in jeans and a polo shirt, as if he was getting ready to go meet the boys for a beer, instead of coming to check up on his dead daughter’s grave. The daughter he’d murdered. I could see it there in his mind, over and over again. Anger and fear rolled off of him, and it turned my remaining sadness to rage, fed my demon in a way that nothing else could.
    “You shouldn’t have come here.”
    “Was it worth it? Did killing that baby solve all of your problems?”
    He didn’t answer me, but the gun started to shake as his hand started trembling. The way he stared at me, the terror rolling off of him, made me wonder if my eyes were doing the freaky demon glowy thing again. A moment listening to his thoughts confirmed it, and I smiled at him, baring my teeth. It wasn’t meant to be comforting.
    He lifted the gun higher, aiming for my head.
    I didn’t hesitate. Attacked his mind, ordered him to drop the gun. There was no persuasion, no willing. I just forced my way in and made him do what I wanted.
    God, it felt good.
    I could feel my power gathering around me, knew that if I didn’t control myself, I would destroy him.
    He still held the gun, still pointed it at me, though he was screaming now, words unintelligible in his fear. The acrid smell of sweat, the scent of urine, stained the air, his terror permeating the night.
    More.
    I forced myself all the way into his mind, and he shrieked in agony. The sound sent chills down my spine. I felt my power grow, and watched him kill his daughter, bury her, feeling nothing but hatred for her mother. Nothing for his own flesh and blood.
    I felt the moment I lost control. I