by Arthur, Keri
If he’d thought that, he still hadn’t gotten the measure of Aiden and his rangers. “And were you able to sense any residual spell remnants on that thread?”
“No.” He glanced at me. “Did you?”
I shrugged. “If felt like a simple tracker.”
“But you don’t think it was?”
“That wolf stripped down naked and left all his possessions in his car. That’s not normal behavior.”
“No,” Ashworth agreed. “It’s the behavior of someone likely spelled.”
I studied the road ahead, trying to match the images I’d received from Katie with the brightening landscape. “Turn right at the next road, and then a sharp left. It’s a back road to Luna.”
He obeyed. As the truck slewed sideways and dust flew high, he said, “How did you find that wolf, then? Psychometry works with possessions that hold a person’s resonance, but his were all neatly stacked in the car—all of which were found after his body—so you couldn’t have used them track him.”
I hesitated. While I had no intention of telling him about Gabe’s wellspring or the spell that had infused Katie’s spirit into the wild magic and made her the guardian of this place, there was little point in lying about how that watch had come to be in my possession. “The wild magic gave me the watch.”
His head snapped around so fast it was a wonder he didn’t break something. “Wild magic can’t physically interact with anything in this world. Not without the direct interaction or command from a witch.”
“Until I came to this place, I certainly believed that.”
“I’d be calling anyone else a liar, but having witnessed your interaction with the wild magic…” His voice trailed off and he shook his head. “I’ve never seen or heard of anything like this happening before. And if you think you’ll be able to keep it a secret for very long, lassie, you’re seriously mistaken.”
“Have you mentioned it to your superiors?”
“Yes and no.” He grimaced. “I mentioned in my report on the soul stealer murders that there appeared to an odd level of awareness in the unguarded magic of this place.”
“It’s not unguarded now.”
“Yeah, but while the mix of my magic and yours will protect it for now—”
“I seriously doubt my magic will stop anyone for longer than a second or two,” I cut in, amused.
“Perhaps not, but don’t put all your hopes in mine holding out too long against a blueblood witch in the full bloom of his or her magical strength.”
My pulse rate leapt into a higher gear. “And a dark witch?”
His expression was grim. “Even less likely.”
“Meaning it’s just as well our dark witch is dead.”
“If he is dead.”
That uneasiness I’d felt earlier sprang back into being full force. “You don’t think he is?”
“Oh, there’s no doubt the witch on the slab is dead. The question that needs to be asked is, does that body belong to our dark witch or is it someone else?”
“Why would you think it’s someone else?”
He shrugged. “It’s nothing more than a gut feeling that none of this is what it seems.”
I frowned. “What do you know about Jonathan?”
“Very little—we were at the uni the same time but I was a few years ahead of him. I only remember the name because of the hullabaloo that happened when he went bad.”
“So he’d be what? Fifty or so?” I knew Ashworth was in his midfifties. “I didn’t really spend a whole lot of time looking at his face, but I did get the impression he was far older than that.”
“That’s because dark magic prematurely ages a body.”
“If that isn’t Jonathan lying in the morgue, who do you think it is?”
“That is the million-dollar question.” Ashworth’s expression was grim. “But believe me, lassie, it’s un-fucking-likely this has all ended.”
Amusement ran through me. My grandfather used to say the same damn thing. If not for the fact Ashworth would have been born well before my grandfather had died, I would have suspected a soul rebirth. “Does Chester have the same sort of doubts?”
“Who knows? That bastard is as closed-mouthed as your ranger.”
My lips twitched. I’d thought the two men were getting along, but that very obviously was not the case.
I glanced ahead again. At the top of a slow rise in the road, was a car. A parked car.
The wild magic stirred, its message clear.
Whatever I was meant to find, it was in that vehicle.
“Slow down,” I said.
Ashworth instantly did. “The vehicle ahead the target?”
“Yes. I’m getting no indication as to why, though.”
“I’m guessing it’s not going to be something good, lassie.”
That was certainly a given. Once he’d parked a little back from the car—an old blue Holden sedan that had certainly seen better days—I climbed out. The wild magic continued to stir around me, but its urgency was once again increasing. This car might have been our first stopping point, but we were here to find far more. Ashworth grabbed his kit out of the car then caught up with me. “There’s magic here, but it’s not strong.”
“I’m not feeling anything other than the wild magic.”
“Maybe it’s dulling your senses to anything else.”
“And maybe my senses aren’t strong enough to pick up anything else. Underpowered witch, remember?”
He snorted and ran his hands just above the flanks of the car. I crossed my arms and watched from a safe distance. If he triggered something, I wanted room to run.
“There’s no spell attached to the vehicle, and no one inside.” He peered in the driver-side window and swore softly. “There is, however, a neat pile of clothes and personal items sitting on the front seat.”
“Meaning we’ve got another possible skinning victim.”
“Yes.” He opened the door, reached in, and then tossed me what looked to be a gold chain.
It had barely touched my fingers when I felt the heartbeat within the metal and the growing sense of the wolf’s confusion and fear. I glanced back to Ashworth. “He’s still alive.”
“Then let’s try and keep it that way—where is he?”
I carefully unlocked my psychometry skill and was almost overwhelmed at the rush of information. Why is this happening? Why can I not stop? Why am I running, just running, while they hunt? Sweat, heat, oh God, pain in my chest. The burn of silver, thick, languidly in my limbs, falling, falling… the scent of anticipation as the hunters draw close….
I hastily threw up a mental wall to block his emotions while still getting some sense of place, and glanced across the road. The paddock to our right rose sharply, and I couldn’t see if anyone or anything lay on the crest of the hill thanks to the fact the sun was just rising over the top of it. To the left, the ground swept gently down before rising again in the distance. Our wolf had gone right, not left.
“He’s up there somewhere.” I pointed to the hill.
“Right,” Ashworth said. “Get back into the truck. I saw a farm gate just down the road—we can get into the paddock from there.”
Ashworth spun his truck around, raced back down the hill, and then wrenched the wheel sideways. Tires squealed as the big vehicle skidded and then surged through the already open gate. The long, yellowed grass had been freshly mowed down; we weren’t the first vehicle to come crashing through this paddock.
The chain’s heartbeat was becoming more erratic; the wolf was in a world of pain and fading fast. “Drive to the left shoulder of the hill,” I said, “and hurry.”
Ashworth didn’t reply and the big truck didn’t go any faster. We were already at full speed.
Then the heartbeat in the chain came to a stuttering stop.
“Damn it, no!”
The truck became airborne as we all but launched over the top of the hill. Below us, at the base of a long slope, was another truck. Two men st
ood in the back; one was holding what I presumed was a rifle, though I couldn’t actually be sure from this distance.
Twenty or so yards in front of them was the prone, unmoving figure of our wolf.
The two men standing in the back swung around as we crashed back to the ground on the other side of the hill. One punched the top of the truck; the other raised the rifle.
In between one heartbeat and the next, three things happened.
Ashworth wrenched the wheel sideways, the windshield shattered into a myriad of pieces, and the big truck slewed sideways.
Then, in what almost seemed like slow motion, it toppled and began to roll down the hill.
Chapter Six
“Lizzie, wake up.”
The voice was filled with gruff urgency. I groaned, but couldn’t immediately do anything more. Nor could I force my eyes open—something appeared to be gluing them together.
Lizzie, wake up.
This time, the voice whispered through my brain, but it was no less urgent.
What happened?
I had no idea if I said that out loud, but it was Belle who answered, not Ashworth.
From the few bits I got before you were knocked out, the damn truck rolled. Now open your eyes and assess the damage.
I raised a hand and rubbed at the stickiness gluing my eyelids shut. It was blood, I realized. I quickly felt the rest of my face for injuries, and discovered a long but somewhat shallow cut on my chin—undoubtedly a result of the truck’s windscreen exploding. But aside from a sore neck, a bruised chest, and a myriad of other minor glass cuts, I seemed to have escaped relatively intact.
But my seat belt was pressed so tightly against my neck and chest that I could barely breathe, and I was the wrong way up in the truck—my head was hanging in midair, and the blood from the cut on my chin was trickling toward my hairline rather than down my neck.
The truck’s engine had been silenced and, considering the amount of damage it must have sustained in the rollover, there were very few creaks and groans.
What I could smell was gas….
While it was unlikely the tank had ruptured, if a gas line had split and was now leaking, there was a chance—a very small chance, granted—that the hot exhaust could start a fire. Not so much a vehicle fire but rather a grass one. We were in the middle of summer, in a field that was filled with long, dry grass; major bushfires had certainly been started by far less over the years.
Energy surged into my system, its source external. Belle, refueling me from afar. Now, she said, her mental tone sharp, stop fucking about and get the hell out of that truck.
On it. I looked across at Ashworth. His face was a mess of small cuts and smears of blood, and his expression was pinched with pain. Then I saw why—his right arm was so badly broken that I could see a bloody shard of bone.
How in the hell was I going to get him out without causing more damage?
He obviously guessed my thoughts, because he said, “Lass, let me worry about the arm.”
“But—”
“Ignore it,” he growled. “My seat belt is jammed so you’ll need to cut me out. And you’ll need to do so before that gas catches or the bastards gather their courage and come back to finish us off.”
It was this thought that had adrenaline surging. I stretched a hand over my head, shoved my backpack out of the way, and spread my fingers against the roof to brace myself. I hit the seat belt release and crumbled down, then shoved the door open, grabbed my pack, and scrambled out. The truck had come to rest upside down at the base of the hill; a quick look up revealed a trail of truck bits, flattened grass, and barely missed rock outcrops, all of which told the story of just how lucky we’d actually been. The surrounding area was still and quiet—there was no sound of approaching vehicles, either on the road or in our field. The hunters, it seemed, had fled.
But we weren’t alone. Lying on a flat stretch of ground not far away from Ashworth’s truck was the wolf.
Why would the hunter leave their prey behind when it would have only taken minutes—if that—to throw the body into the back of their truck?
It didn’t make any sense.
How about you take care of the living before you start worrying about the idiots behind these kills? Belle commented. I’ve already called the ambulance—you want me to call the rangers?
I’ll do it. I ran around to the driver side of the vehicle and, after a number of tugs, forced the crumpled door open. Sweat mingled with blood on Ashworth’s face now, and his eyes were little more than narrow slits of bright silver. But his lips were moving and magic stirred, briefly caressing my skin even as it tightened around Ashworth’s body. Or, more specifically, his arm. He was immobilizing it magically.
He tied off the spell and then glanced at me. “Right—cut the damn belt.”
I swung my pack around, grabbed the knife, and quickly sawed through the belt’s webbing. He fell awkwardly and jarred his arm. His curses flowed thick and fast, but he nevertheless twisted around and pushed his way out. I helped him up and then, with his good arm wrapped around my shoulders for support, we walked away from the truck.
Once we were a safe distance away, I lowered him onto the ground and then grabbed my phone out of the pack and called the ranger station. I had no idea who was on call over the next few days, but the stubborn—Belle might have said unreasonable—part of my soul didn’t want to call Aiden direct.
Several clicks ran down the line and then an all-too-familiar voice said, “Ranger Aiden O’Connor speaking—what’s your emergency?”
“Ashworth’s truck rolled, and our hunters have claimed another prize.”
“Lizzie? Are you okay?”
My heart warmed at the urgency in his tone. “Bruised and a little bloody, but otherwise, yes, I am. Ashworth has a broken arm.”
“Where are you?”
I told him the road we’d been on, described the area and the gate, and then said, “You’d better get Ciara here, too.”
“Is this victim skinned?”
“No. We got here in time to at least stop that.”
“And I’ll be wanting a full explanation as to why neither of you called me first.” His voice was tight. Angry. “It’ll take us forty minutes to get out there—are you both going to be okay?”
“Ashworth might be a screaming mess of pain by then, but otherwise, yes.”
“The ambulance will have to come from Creswyn, so it’ll be no more than fifteen minutes.”
“I’ll head up the road and flag them down, then.”
“Don’t touch anything around the body until I get there.”
He hung up. I put the phone away and glanced at Ashworth. “I’ve Panadol in my first aid kit if you think that would help.”
He snorted. “That’d be like trying to hold back a flood with a feather. Help me up.”
“The less you move—”
“Yeah, yeah, but I want to check the body of that wolf before the rangers get here.”
“I can do—”
“Except you can’t,” he cut in. “Underpowered witch, remember?”
My lips twitched. Nothing like having your own words flung back at you.
“It would have been a hell of a lot easier if you’d mentioned this need before you’d actually sat down.”
“Except I had to sit because my strength was about to give. The legs are less shaky now.”
I didn’t bother commenting—he’d undoubtedly just tell me he was perfectly able to judge his own fitness and strength.
I rose and held out a hand. Once he’d grasped it, I shifted my weight and pulled him upright. His curses flowed again and pink-stained sweat now dripped onto the shoulder of his pajama top. But the cuts on his face were minor, like mine. He pulled his hand free and slowly made his way down the slope. I kept close, just in case, but we reached the body without him needing further assistance.
The wolf’s pelt was black—suggesting he’d been lured from the nearby Sinclair reservation—and the
re was no obvious reason for his death. Despite the fact both men in the back of the truck had been holding guns, there was no immediate sign of a gunshot wound. They’d had no time to skin him, either, which—given that was how the first wolf had died—suggested there was another reason behind the death of this one. But the brightly plumed silver dart was here once again—though it was in his shoulder rather than his flank—and magic was also present. It rolled from him in waves that were far stronger than the remnants that had clung to the thread I’d pulled from the flesh of the first victim.
Ashworth squatted, a faint hiss of pain escaping his lips. “See that?” he said, pointing to the wolf’s front leg.
I bent and studied the area. After a moment, I spotted the charm bracelet. It was barely visible against the wolf’s dark coat, and appeared to be little more than a weave of five black cotton threads. Though it looked quite fragile in design, the magic rolling from it was anything but.
I raised my gaze to Ashworth’s. “That’s more than a simple tracking charm.”
He nodded. “At a guess, I’d say it was both a tracker and a body controller.”
Body control was in many respects an easier spell to create than one aimed at the mind, but they were both something no lower rung witch could produce. I frowned. “For a control spell to work properly, doesn’t the witch have to be present?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“On the spell smarts of the witch.” He glanced at me. “Whoever created this charm has had full training—it’s the only way they could have gotten the knowledge needed to create a control spell that didn’t require his or her presence.”
Again that sense of dread began to trip lightly through my veins. “Do you think this charm is in any way linked to our dark witch?”
He hesitated, and then shook his head. “While the witch behind this is strong, I’m not sensing any darkness.”
Which didn’t necessarily mean anything given how easily evil could be concealed in the deeper layers of any spell.
“There is darkness in intent, though, given what’s happening to the recipients of the charms.”