Hunter Hunted

by Arthur, Keri

  As the pulsing directed us past Muckleford South, Mrs. Potts sniffed, a sound that somehow managed to be both unimpressed and haughty all at the same time. “The bastard’s gotten gamer in his old age. Normally he struggles just driving me to the supermarket.”

  Gina snorted. “Even near blindness hasn’t got a hope when the dick is involved, my dear.”

  I just about choked on my coffee. Mrs. Potts turned around and raised an eyebrow. “You okay?”

  I nodded and somehow kept a straight face as I added, “We need to slow down—the vibes from the watch are getting stronger.”

  “Newstead,” Gina mused. “Karla comes from here, you know, and she’s been missing a lot of our gatherings of late.”

  Karla wasn’t someone I knew, but then, the entire brigade seldom came out in force. They were twenty-seven strong when in full cry, and we rarely had enough vacant tables to cater to them en masse.

  “Can’t be Karla,” Mrs. Potts said. “She’s smarter than that.”

  Gina snorted again. “She also has a liking for fine things, and you did say he was spending money like it was water.”

  Though I couldn’t see the older woman’s expression, the glow of her aura jumped into focus. It ran with a mix of muddy red and orange, indicators of both anger and stress.

  “She wouldn’t do that—we’ve been friends for ages.” But there was doubt in her voice.

  I wanted to reach forward and squeeze her arm in comfort, but knew enough about Mrs. Potts to know she wouldn’t appreciate it.

  The watch’s pulsing shifted as we entered Newstead. “Turn left at that hotel and then slow down. We’re close.”

  Closer to Henry. Closer to the source of darkness. Trepidation stirred, along with the feeling that whatever was happening out there in the wilder emptiness beyond Newstead, it was slowly coming to a peak. I tightened my fingers around the watch and tried to concentrate. But between the tension radiating off the two women and that gathering tide of dark energy, it was damn difficult.

  We turned and crawled down the road. The vibes coming from the watch were now so fierce it burned my palm. I undid the belt and scooted forward to look through the front windshield. “He’s on the left—in that red brick house.”

  Gina had barely stopped the car when Mrs. Potts was out and striding toward the door, her entire body vibrating with indignation, anger, and perhaps a little fear. I shoved my empty coffee cup in the holder then scrambled after her. While I doubted her eighty-eight-year-old husband was going to be much of a threat, I wasn’t about to let her face him without backup, just in case.

  She flung open the screen door and then pounded loudly on the wooden one. For several seconds there was no response, then footsteps echoed.

  “Who is it?” a surprisingly young-sounding voice said.

  “That ain’t Karla,” Gina commented. “Karla has a voice rougher than a bullfrog.”

  “It’s the mail,” Mrs. Potts said. “I’ve got a registered letter you need to sign for.”

  A smile touched my lips. Mrs. Potts might well be eighty-three but she wasn’t a fool.

  After a pause, the footsteps continued and the door opened. The woman on the other side was probably in her thirties, with dark brown hair and bright blue eyes. Her gaze swept Mrs. Potts then moved to Gina and me.

  “So, not the mail service then,” she said. “What can I do for you all?”

  “You can tell me where that lying, cheating husband of mine is,” Mrs. Potts all but spat, “because I have indeed got a registered letter he needs to see and sign.”

  The woman frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t—”

  “Millie,” a male voice said from the rear of the house, “what are you doing, girl? The kids—”

  “Kids!” Mrs. Potts all but screeched. “You bastard! How dare you do this to me—to us.”

  She pushed past the rather startled Millie and stormed down the hallway toward the end of the house. I swore under my breath then apologized to Millie and scrambled after the incensed Mrs. Potts. I managed to grab her arm and stall her charge if not her anger just as she entered the rear living area. Two men—one around the same age as Millie, the other undoubtedly Henry—were sitting on the floor playing with a boy and a girl who looked to be about one year old.

  Mr. Potts, I began to suspect, wasn’t cheating. At least, he wasn’t doing so right now. It was a suspicion that firmed when Millie came into the room, and the similarities between her facial features and his became evident.

  “Mrs. Potts,” I murmured, “I think you’d better calm—”

  “You,” she said, shaking her finger at the errant Henry, “have gone too far. Your carousing was bad enough, but kiddies—”

  Millie cleared her throat. “I’m not sure who you are, but I think you’re under the wrong impression here—”

  “I’m this man’s wife,” Mrs. Potts said. “And you—”

  “Millie is my daughter,” Henry cut in heavily. “From the one and only affair I had some thirty-five years ago. I didn’t know about her until after we’d lost our own daughter; it certainly wasn’t the right time to mention her, and the longer I left it, the harder it seemed.”

  Which didn’t explain why Millie didn’t seem to know about Mrs. Potts, but I let that ride. This was not my family or my fight.

  “Oh.” Mrs. Potts’s voice was faint. She groped for the nearby chair and sat down. “Oh. Dear.”

  For several seconds, no one said anything. I cleared my throat and then squatted beside Mrs. Potts. “Maybe we should leave—”

  “No.” She took a deep breath and then patted my hand. “This needs sorting, here and now. But thank you, dear. I appreciate your help.”

  Which was a dismissal if I’d ever heard one, but I nevertheless hesitated. She squeezed my fingers and added, “I’ll be fine. Truly.”

  After another slight pause, I gave her the watch, then rose and left.

  Gina trailed after me. “Do you need a lift back to town?”

  I shook my head. “You’d better stay here and make sure she’s okay. She’ll be in shock.”

  Gina nodded. I grabbed my handbag from the car, but didn’t go much farther than the road. The dark force was now so fierce it felt like a thousand gnats were biting me.

  I studied the area, all senses on alert, trying to find the source of the dark energy. There was absolutely nothing nearby. Whatever it was, it remained some distance away… but that thought had barely crossed my mind when it surged, hitting with the power and fury of a gigantic wave and sending me staggering back. I caught my balance and swung around. Laughter drifted from the old pub, a bright sound that clashed with the dark force in the air. Whatever it was—whoever it was—it was coming from the other side of Newstead.

  The wave hit again. Stronger—darker—than before. My skin crawled and my throat went dry.

  It wasn’t just energy, but magic.

  Black magic.

  Blood magic.

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. It didn’t do a whole lot to calm my racing pulse or the deep surge of fear.

  Only a very powerful dark practitioner could perform that sort of magic in the middle of the day. Usually it was done at midnight, when the moon was at her highest point in the sky and the full force of her power could be drawn on rather than the practitioner’s own.

  Don’t chase after it, came Belle’s thought. Call Ashworth.

  I will. I am. I dug out my phone and immediately did so.

  A third wave hit. It felt like I was drowning in evil. Whatever the dark witch was doing, it was reaching a peak.

  “This is an unexpected honor,” Ashworth all but drawled. “Have you two finally decided to come clean about your past?”

  “We’ve nothing to come clean about,” I bit back. “And I think we’ve got a dark practitioner on the reservation.”

  “What? Why?” Ashworth’s tone was suddenly no-nonsense and sharp. “What’s happened?”

  Meaning he hadn’t sensed i
t. “Three waves of dark energy just rolled over me.”

  He swore. “Where are you?”

  “Panmure Street in Newstead. I’ll meet you at the pub on the corner.”

  “I’m ten minutes away.”

  If he was that close, how in the hell could he have missed it? “Hurry.”

  He hung up. I slung my handbag over my shoulder and hurried toward the main street.

  So much for not chasing after the source. Belle’s voice was tart.

  If Ashworth can’t sense the waves of power when he was only ten minutes away, then he sure as hell isn’t going to be able to track the source down.

  He’s a verified witch. I daresay there are all sorts of finding spells for this sort of thing that we don’t know about.

  Maybe, but I’d rather not take the chance.

  Belle grunted. It wasn’t a happy noise. You want me over there?

  No. I’m just the bloodhound. He can take care of the actual problem.

  You keep saying things like that and yet you always end up right in the middle of all the bad shit.

  Exasperation filled her mental tones but before I could say anything, a fourth wave hit. This time it was strong enough to knock me onto my ass and leave me breathless.

  Holy fuck, Belle said. That’s—

  Scary. I picked myself up, dusted the dirt and stones from my hands and butt, and sprinted for the pub. Though the main road was empty of traffic, I could hear the roar of an approaching engine. Ashworth, I hoped.

  Yeah, Belle said, and if he isn’t sensing it, then it has to be running along psychic lines rather than magic.

  Ashworth’s Ford Ranger appeared in the distance. I moved across to the curb to wait. Except it is magic—and blacker than black.

  This is what the damn council gets for not protecting the spring sooner.

  Wellsprings were the main source of wild magic, which was said to develop close to the heart of the earth’s outer core. No one was really sure why it became a collective force in the first place, let alone how or why it then found its way to the surface, but there was no argument about the danger such springs represented if they were left unprotected. While wild magic was neither good nor bad, without a witch to protect and channel it, the darker forces of the world would sense its presence and be drawn to it. And once it was stained by evil, it could very much make a place unlivable for all but those who followed darkness.

  The Faelan Reservation had two such wellsprings. While the newest one was now protected by both the ghost of the reservation’s previous witch and the soul of his werewolf wife—who also happened to be Aiden’s sister—the much larger one had been left unattended for far too long. And though it was now protected—by both Ashworth’s magic and mine—Belle and I suspected it was altogether too late.

  And the surge of dark magic coming from somewhere up ahead all but confirmed it.

  I stepped back slightly as Ashworth’s truck came to a rubber-burning stop, then opened the passenger door and climbed in.

  “Where to?” His voice was curt, but it wasn’t anger; it was frustration.

  “It’s coming from up ahead somewhere.” I buckled up then wound down the window. Metal tended to blunt magic’s force somewhat, and I needed to feel the air—and magic—to track it.

  “And you’re sure it’s magic?”

  “As sure as the sky is blue.” I glanced at him. He was bald, with a well-tanned face full of wrinkles and eyes that were muddy silver in color. The power that rolled off him was fierce, but nevertheless spoke to the reason why he was working with the Regional Witch Association rather than up in Canberra serving the needs of the council and the government. He might be powerful, but his magic was little more than a flickering candle compared to the output of the high-ranking members of the royal lines. “There’s been four waves of increasing intensity. And it’s black.”

  He swore, threw the truck into gear, and hit the accelerator. The tires spun for a second, then the truck shot forward. “I’d love to know why you’re sensing it and I’m not.”

  “Me too, especially given you’re the stronger witch.”

  “Which seems to have no meaning in this reservation.” He glanced at me again. “Perhaps the reason you’re sensing it rather than me is the connection you appear to have with the wild magic.”

  I hesitated. “Maybe, but I haven’t felt the wild magic’s presence.”

  “I guess that’s something to be thankful for.” He flicked on the blinker and overtook a slow-moving car. “Can you still feel the waves?”

  I hung a hand out the window and let the air run through my fingers. The dark energy within felt like soup.

  “No waves, but the magic is still there, and its viscosity is increasing.”

  He swore again and the truck’s speed increased, the engine so loud it was pointless trying to talk. We raced out of Newstead and followed the highway around a sweeping right curve. There was nothing out here. Nothing except golden fields, livestock, and clumps of trees. While there were rolling hills in the distance, the nearby area remained boringly flat and open. Not an area that would have been my first choice to raise a powerful spell.

  A fifth wave hit. It swirled in through the open window, a dark, bloody-feeling heat so fierce I started sweating.

  Ashworth sucked in a breath, and I glanced at him sharply. “You felt that?”

  “Yeah. Whatever it is, it’s close.”

  “But there’s nothing around here!”

  “Whoever it is might be using a concealment spell.”

  I frowned. “But if they’re doing that, why wouldn’t they also add a containment restriction?”

  “Maybe they think they’re far enough away to avoid detection. Which,” he added grimly, “was almost the case.”

  “It was only luck that I was in Newstead. Up until then, all I’d felt was a vague unease.”

  “Which is still more than I got.”

  The road swept left as we roared toward what was marked on the car’s GPS map as part of the Cairn Curran Reservoir even though right now it was little more than scrubby ground and dead trees.

  The foul feel of the magic air playing through my fingers sharpened abruptly. “Turn right just ahead.”

  The tires squealed again as he did so, and dust flew as we briefly skidded onto the gravel shoulder. The road began to narrow and the trees closed in. But he hadn’t gone very far when he slowed and turned into what was little more than a goat track. Another kilometer in, we stopped.

  The dark force was so strong it hurt to breathe it in.

  Ashworth scrambled out and ran to the back of his truck. I jumped down and rubbed my arms as the twin charms around my neck—one designed to ward off evil and the other ill-intent—flared to life, a bright heat that did very little against the soup surrounding us.

  Ashworth tossed me a small white pouch as he strode past. “Wear this. It’ll help.”

  I quickly slung it around my neck; almost immediately the dark force retreated and breathing became easier. I hurried after him, my heart beating so hard it felt like it was going to tear out of my chest. My magic was no counter for whatever—whoever—lay up ahead, but that didn’t stop the desire to wrap a repelling spell around my fingers. But this close, any sort of spell might just alert the witch to our presence and turn the darkness in the air against us.

  Presuming, of course, he or she wasn’t already aware of our presence. It was totally possible that the thick force we were feeling now was a nice little trap about to be sprung.

  And yet you continue to follow Ashworth into the heart of that darkness instead of staying behind like any normal sane underpowered witch would.

  I think in this case, two witches are better than one.

  Three would be better. I’m on my way.

  Belle, don’t—

  La la la la la, she cut in. Not hearing you.

  Damn it, it’s too dangerous! It’s better you remain safe so that, if the worst happens, I can draw on your strength.<
br />
  If the worst happens, I need to be close enough to ensure your soul moves on rather than linger. Besides, I’m already in Newstead.

  Then pull over once you near the road that runs alongside the reservoir—it’s close enough to help, but far enough away that you won’t get caught in any magical backwash.

  A compromise I can live with. Be careful.

  Ashworth swung left and dove into a thick clump of trees. I followed, raising an arm to protect my face from the backlash of low-hanging branches. But we weren’t exactly quiet, and the sound of us crashing through the scrub echoed across the otherwise silent day.

  The dark flow of magic stopped with a suddenness that sent me stumbling.

  Ashworth swore and plowed on. I had no choice but to follow. He might be the stronger witch, but he couldn’t face this threat alone. Not when the dark witch up ahead appeared to be far stronger than even he.

  The trees drew closer together, the scrub thicker, tearing at my dress and leaving bloody scratches across my arms and legs. It didn’t matter; nothing did except reaching the dark magic’s ignition point before the witch disappeared.

  We scrambled on. Up ahead, beyond the tree cover, came the sound of an engine firing up—and it very much sounded like a motorbike rather than a car or truck.

  Then, above all that noise, came another.

  A short, sharp crack.

  One that I was all too familiar with thanks to a very recent encounter.

  It was a gunshot.

  Ashworth swore and—with surprising dexterity for a man in his fifties—spun and launched at me, hitting so hard we crashed to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs. My breath left in a gigantic whoosh, my head cracked against something solid, and stars danced briefly.

  Neither of us moved. I could barely even breathe, my body tense and my heart pounding somewhere in my throat as I waited for either a second shot or someone approaching.

  Neither happened.

  The motorbike was revved and then left, the sharp drone of its engine quickly disappearing.

  Ashworth swore, untangled himself, and then pushed up.