by Arthur, Keri
“What sort of magic is it?”
I studied it for several seconds until the nature of the threads began to reveal themselves. It was a simple but low-powered spell, which was why it was so hard to see—a choice that had no doubt been deliberate. “I think it’s a very basic concealment spell.”
“Can you unravel it?”
“I think so.”
I wiggled a bit closer and then, very carefully, began the deactivation process. The threads didn’t put up any fight, withering away with barely a touch. A small piece of rolled-up paper fell onto the carpet. I grabbed it and shuffled out from under the bed, handing it to Ashworth before sitting up.
He carefully unrolled it. It was only a small piece of paper, and the writing appeared to be little more than black scratchings. Witch script, though not the general form I’d learned when I’d been in school.
Ashworth swore and scrubbed a hand across his chin. “This isn’t good.”
“Is it about our dead witch?”
“Yeah, and according to Chester, his body might be dead, but his soul likely isn’t. He suspects it has simply transferred to another body.”
“What? How is something like that even possible?” I peered over his arm at the note in the vague hope the writing would make more sense than his words. It didn’t.
“There’s a long history of strong spirits taking control of a body and ousting the soul, lass—”
“Yes, but that’s spirits or ghosts, not a living soul leaping from his own body into someone else’s.” I shook my head. “But it would at least explain the size and power of the protection circle. It’d take some pretty dark and powerful magic to perform a stunt like that.”
“Yes. And it’s also probably why that circle remained active after we found the witch’s body.” Ashworth’s expression was grim. “The bastard’s flesh might be dead, but he’s very much alive.”
If that were true, then this reservation could be in very deep trouble. Neither Ashworth nor I were capable of dealing with such a strong witch. Not without help. “Does he say why he suspects this?”
“Briefly. The note appears to be written in a hurry.”
Suggesting maybe he did suspect trouble was approaching. But then, why sit down to write a note rather than protect the damn place? It was really strange behavior from a man who’d obviously spent a good portion of his life hunting heretic witches.
“He was researching the spell thread sequences via the university’s database,” Ashworth continued, “and came across a vague mention of large black quartz being the perfect containment stone for darker spells such as soul transference.”
“Which is what our heretic witch used.”
“Yes, and there are only a few areas within Australia in which that quartz can be found.”
“Let me guess,” I said, voice dry, “this reservation is one of them.”
“This region, not specifically the reservation.”
“Which suggests he might have come here to collect some of those stones for the spell transference, and stayed because he sensed the wild magic.”
“Either that, or he was drawn here because he was aware there was a large wellspring that had only recently been protected, and decided to combine needs.”
That was probably the more likely scenario. “It still doesn’t explain how the witch found Chester, though, or why this place has been torn apart, or why he sent a shooter rather than finishing the job himself.”
“It’s more than likely he’s not yet physically able to do anything himself,” Ashworth replied.
Because all magic had a cost, and the stronger the spell, the higher that cost. It wasn’t hard to imagine that magic strong enough to rip a soul from one body to another would deplete reserves so completely that if death didn’t come calling, you’d be incapacitated for days—if not longer. “If he is incapacitated, then someone has to be looking after him.”
Ashworth shrugged. “That task more than likely falls to his familiar.”
I frowned. “But not all witches get them, and if his familiar is a cat—”
“If that’s the case, he’ll have someone else running after him. He’s a very powerful dark practitioner, lass. He won’t go without.”
“Then I feel sorry for whatever that is.”
“Indeed.” Ashworth studied Chester for a moment. “It’s possible the still active magic within that circle was also a means of tagging the reservation witch.”
“Why go to the trouble of tagging someone and then sending a shooter after them when he could have easily taken you both out with that explosion?” I said. “It was certainly powerful enough to kill—I felt it from miles away.”
“I agree, and it’s a fact that lends support to the idea that death hadn’t been the intention. If Chester is right about the soul transference—and I don’t doubt for a second that he is—then it’s possible the dark witch needed to reserve most of his strength for that spell.” Ashworth paused. “It’s a theory that is supported by the fact that, while most of the warding stones became little more than dust in that explosion, the one closest to him instead shattered. It’s possible he’s still got a few small fragments embedded into his skin.”
My gaze immediately went to Chester. Aside from the waterproof bandage over the penetrative wound on his arm, there were plenty of smaller ones scattered over his torso and arms. Most were little more than scratches, but a few were raised and angry looking, suggesting the shards had dug deeper. “So you think the heretic witch used the shards as some sort of tracker?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time something like that had happened.”
“Wouldn’t Chester have sensed something like that, though? He was stronger than either of us, and must have encountered similar tricks in his years of hunting the bastards.”
“He should have, but he very obviously didn’t.” Ashworth’s voice was grim. “It’s possible the explosion rattled him more than he let on.”
“I guess.” I motioned to the note. “Does it say anything else?”
“Only that he’s requested additional information from the HIC.”
My mouth twitched. “That is such a weird acronym for such a serious organization.”
“Indeed.” He folded the note up and tucked it into his pocket. “I’ll contact them and see if they’ll send us the information.”
“And another hunter.” I hesitated. “Aiden will want to see that note, you know.”
“He can—after I’ve translated the rest of it.”
I frowned. “I thought you had?”
“No. As I said, for whatever reason, it was written in a hurry. There’s an end passage I can’t quite make out.”
Which was fair enough, but I suspected Aiden would be far from happy about him keeping the note.
Out in the hall, footsteps began to echo. It said plenty about my awareness of Aiden that I knew he was approaching from just the sound of his steps. I rose, as did Ashworth.
Aiden stepped into the room and then stopped. His gaze quickly swept the area, pausing briefly on Chester’s body before coming to rest on us. “You both okay?”
“Yeah, there’s no magic involved in this kill,” Ashworth said. “We’ve checked the entire place out and it’s safe.”
“Meaning you’ve also had a look around for clues, no doubt.” Aiden’s expression gave little away, but I nevertheless caught the brief flare of annoyance in his eyes.
“I’ll remind you that this is technically an RWA investigation, even if I’m also acting as reservation witch,” Ashworth replied evenly. “And I have every right to investigate any crime scene that involves a witch—whether or not a ranger or an officer of the law is also present.”
That spark of annoyance got stronger in Aiden’s eyes. “Did you find anything?”
“Nothing you can use or read, Ranger.”
“Ashworth—”
“It’s a note, in witch script,” I said, before the conversation could escalate any further. “It sug
gests that the heretic witch isn’t dead, that he has instead transferred his soul into another body and is currently recovering strength somewhere unknown.”
Aiden’s gaze went from me to Ashworth and back again. “Not kidding, then.”
“No, unfortunately,” Ashworth said. “There’s a passage at the end of the note I can’t read properly—either because it was hastily written or because something else was going on. Once I decode it, I’ll give you the note and the transcribed information.”
“Does that mean you’ve finished here?”
“Yes,” Ashworth said. “When the autopsy is being performed, could you ask Ciara or whoever else does it to look for small slivers of black rock embedded in his skin?”
“Anything embedded into flesh would be noted in the results as a matter of course, but why?”
“Because this was obviously a deliberate hit, but the question is, how was Chester found? He paid cash upfront, wasn’t staying here under his own name, and would have noticed if a location spell had been activated in the area.”
“If we do find something embedded, will it be safe to handle, or should we notify you before it’s removed?”
“I doubt it would be anything more than a low-grade tracking spell, but it’s always better to be safe than sorry. Come along, lassie, I need to get home.”
With that, he strode past Aiden and left the room.
Aiden glanced at me. Frustration and regret briefly swirled through his blue eyes, their force echoing through me. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I grabbed my backpack and walked toward the door. “And hopefully for a good reason rather than a bad.”
“That would be a nice change.”
He touched my arm lightly, his fingers sliding down to mine and briefly squeezing them. The warmth of his touch lingered well after I’d left the hotel.
It was a much slower journey back to Castle Rock. Ashworth threw the door open almost before I’d fully stopped outside his apartment, but I caught his arm before he could get out. “If that explosion was meant to do nothing more than throw out trackers, you might want to take extra precautions for the next few days.”
“I didn’t get hit—”
“You can’t be absolutely sure of that, so just do me a favor—throw up extra protection spells, shield the doors and windows against intruders, and if someone unexpectedly knocks on your door, don’t answer the damn thing.”
He snorted. “I may be an old witch but I’m—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know, but this young witch is concerned, so just humor me and do as I ask.”
A smile twitched his lips. “It’s nice to know I’m not totally hated in this reservation.”
“No one here hates you.”
“No, they mostly just can’t tolerate my attitude.” He chuckled softly and patted my hand. “I’ll be careful, you can be sure.”
“Good. Ring me when you transcribe the rest of that note. I want to know what it says.”
“Will do.”
He climbed out. I watched until he was indoors and then headed home. Belle was already asleep, so I went into the reading room, emptied the backpack and put everything safely away, and then headed for my own bed.
Only to be hit by dreams that shifted between skinned wolves howling to the moon and blood that seeped through the forests and the fields, killing all that it touched until nothing was left but a landscape that was barren and black.
* * *
I was on my third cup of coffee and in the kitchen cooking breakfast by the time Belle clattered down the stairs the next morning.
She took one look at my face—which undoubtedly looked as haggard as I felt—and said, “Another shitty night?”
“Yes.” I plated up our breakfast then slid one across to her. “Dreams of doom and death, all of which were, of course, ambiguous.”
“Do you ever do anything other than ambiguous?”
“Apparently not.”
I picked up my coffee and plate and followed her out into the café. In between eating my bacon and eggs, I updated her on Chester and the possibility that our heretic witch was still alive.
“Hence the reason for the incomprehensible dreams,” Belle said.
“More than likely.” I licked the last bit of egg off my knife, then picked up my coffee and leaned back in the chair. “If he is, then it’s very possible he’ll make a play for the wellspring once he’s mobile.”
“More than possible,” Belle said. “I can’t see any other reason for a dark witch to come here. I mean, it’s a great place to live and work, but it’s too staid for the bad boys.”
“You say that with such authority, and yet I believe this is the first time we’ve come across a blood witch since we left Canberra.”
“No—we did cross paths with one in Wollongong, remember?”
“Crossing paths being the key words there.” We’d done nothing more than walk in front of the woman. “And she was so unthreatened by our presence she didn’t even notice us.”
“Probably because it was obvious to anyone within a half-mile radius just how scared shitless we were.” She wrinkled her nose slightly. “You know, a tracking spell can sometimes work two ways—if Chester has got small shards left in his body, it might be possible to reverse the spell and use it to track the heretic witch down.”
I raised my eyebrows. “You’ve obviously been reading your gran’s book, because they certainly didn’t teach us that when we were at school.”
“We’re lucky they taught us anything at all given how much they hated a Sarr witch being in their presence.” She paused to drink some coffee. “I actually thought we might be able to do the same with those bracelets the hunters are using to control the werewolves.”
I frowned. “This whole thing has the feel of an operation that’s been run before, though. They were obviously very certain that any photos taken of them at the Ballan witch’s shop wouldn’t lead to them being identified, and I suspect they know enough about the bracelets and magic to store them separately until they’re needed.”
“Finding those bracelets will at least stop any more kills within the reservation.”
“True, but Aiden’s after justice, not just a cessation of kills.” I grimaced. “And while I don’t know a lot about tracking magic, I suspect the control bracelet would have to be active and in use for us to be able to track them down.”
“It’s still worth a shot.”
I took a sip of coffee and then nodded. “I’ll talk to Aiden about it.”
Belle picked up a piece of bacon and munched on it. “I wonder how they got these bracelets to their victims in the first place? It’s not like they could walk up to any old person on the street and hand it to them. Given the large numbers of humans now living, working, and visiting the reservation, they couldn’t be positive they were handing it to a werewolf.”
“I daresay that’s a question Aiden has already asked the victims’ families.”
“Speak of the devil, he’s just approaching the door. I suspect he wants breakfast, and I’m not talking about food.” She rose and gathered the plates. “I’ll leave you to ‘discuss’ matters while I go get dressed.”
I picked up a pepper shaker and tossed it at her. She dodged and ran up the stairs, laughing.
I walked over to open the door and then leaned out. He’d parked farther down the street and was striding toward me; the tiredness so evident in his expression fled when he spotted me. “Morning, gorgeous.”
I smiled. “You look utterly beat.”
“And you look good enough to eat.”
I stepped back so he could enter. “Eating is always appreciated, but I’m afraid the time and location are totally wrong.”
He made a low sound in the back of his throat that was part laugh, part growl, and then wrapped an arm around my waist, pulled me close, and kissed me. It stole my breath and made me dizzy with desire.
“Damn,” he muttered eventually, his breath a short, sharp blast of heat aga
inst my lips. “We really need to work on our timing.”
“Yeah.” I leaned my forehead against his for a moment and dragged in air in a vague effort to calm the inner firestorm. “Are you going home or back to work?”
“Home.”
“You’ve been working all night?”
“There’s only seven of us in all,” he said. “We need to keep an operational team going during the day.”
“And being the boss, you feel obligated to do the lion’s share of the out-of-hours work.”
His quick smile was somewhat wry. “That too.”
I raised a hand and ran it lightly down his stubbled cheek. His eyes were bloodshot and the shadows under them deep. “Are you coming in for breakfast? Or are you going straight home?”
“I’d love breakfast, and I’d love to spend more time with you, but I think I need sleep more.”
“Then I appreciate you dropping by for a quick kiss.”
“A man cannot survive on food alone—or so I’ve recently rediscovered.” He smiled. “Right along with the fact I simply cannot get enough of you.”
As if to prove it, he kissed me again, with such intensity that if it hadn’t been for his grip around my waist, I would have been little more than a puddle around his feet.
“However,” he eventually added, voice husky, “that’s not entirely the reason why I stopped.”
“You shatter my heart, Ranger.”
It was dryly said and he chuckled softly. “That’s certainly not on my agenda. Not now, not ever.”
Which was good to hear but rather meaningless given I could never be what he really wanted or needed. Sooner or later, heartbreak would come. Unless, of course, I could control my stupid heart, and history had already proven that was impossible. “So why else did you come here?”
“To ask a favor.” He brushed the back of his hand down my cheek, his touch so light and yet so heated.
A tremor ran through me and I drew in a deeper breath in an effort to control the surging desire. But I might as well have tried to stop the sun from rising.
“I gather it’s a magical sort of favor?”