Hunter Hunted

by Arthur, Keri

  Our heretic had definitely fled.

  I guessed the next question was, what had he left behind?

  Ashworth paused on the veranda steps and his power surged, searching and testing. There was no response and there would have been if this place was in any way protected by magic.

  “Open her up, laddie, and we’ll see what happens.”

  Aiden stepped to one side of the door then carefully grabbed the door handle. It turned. After a glance at Ashworth, he thrust it open.

  Nothing stirred. Nothing jumped out at us. There was no flash or surge of magic. The house was as inert on the inside as it was on the outside.

  “I’m smelling a lot of blood—and it’s fresh.” Aiden drew his gun and glanced at Ashworth. “Is it safe to go in?”

  When the older man nodded, Aiden edged around the doorway. He paused again, and then swore.

  I quickly followed him inside.

  Lying on the floor between the old sofa and the TV stand was a blonde-haired woman who looked to be no more than thirty or so, and who had a dark mole near the left corner of her lip. Trent’s contact, Abby Jones.

  She was dead.

  Murdered.

  Chapter Ten

  If the rawness of the gaping wound across her throat and the blood still dripping from the nearby coffee table was any indication, her death had happened very recently.

  We might have missed the heretic, but we hadn’t done so by much.

  Her blood was a dark halo that surrounded her head. I wasn’t a wolf and my sense of smell was pretty ordinary, but even I couldn’t help but notice the sickly sweet, metallic odor that rode the air. I swallowed heavily, dragged my gaze away from the gruesome sight, and quickly scanned the rest of the room. There was no soul or ghost lingering either near her body or in the room itself, which meant this brutal death had been destined. I briefly closed my eyes and said a silent prayer to the gods that her next life was a longer, happier one.

  Aiden shoved his gun away and then moved across to Abby, dragging my gaze back to her. Her hands were up near her neck, as if she’d tried to stem the flow of blood. But even from where I was standing, it was pretty obvious her windpipe and her two main arteries had been cut. Unconsciousness or even death might have hit within a minute, but that minute would have been utter hell.

  Aiden grabbed a pair of gloves from his pocket and then knelt beside the woman. “Judging from the positioning of the body and the knife used to kill her, I’d say she was attacked from behind.”

  Ashworth walked across. “There’s some residue on that knife.”

  Aiden glanced up at him sharply. “Magical residue?”

  Ashworth nodded. “It’s fading, though, and has the feel of a mobility spell.”

  Aiden frowned. “Meaning magic was the force behind this deed rather than a human hand?”

  Ashworth nodded again. “Our witch wouldn’t have had the strength to cut her throat so deeply or precisely with a kitchen knife. Few people would, let alone a man who’d still be recovering from a soul transfer.”

  “How long ago was she killed?” I asked.

  “Five minutes, if that.” Aiden glanced up at me. “Do you think you can grab information from her mind?”

  I hesitated and rubbed my arms. There was something about this house that just didn’t feel right, something other than the brutal death. “To be honest, I don’t know, because I have no idea if her bleeding out so quickly would make a difference to what she might or might not remember. But it’s worth a try if it helps us track this bastard down.”

  But my stomach was already churning at the thought of not only getting any closer, but the risk of being overrun by the emotions and horror she must have experienced in the brief minute between life and death.

  “Do you want me to construct a protection circle?” Ashworth asked.

  I hesitated again and then shook my head. “I don’t sense any evil lingering near this place, and you’ve already said there’s no spell work here.”

  “That doesn’t mean her body can’t be spelled,” he said.

  My gaze unwillingly jumped back to Abby’s prone form, but this time I studied her with my “other” senses. “I can’t see anything suggesting that’s the case.”

  Which might not mean anything given I wasn’t even sensing the lingering magic on the knife still laying under her head.

  “Neither am I, lass, but it’s more than possible he’s left some other kind of trap—like a nasty little dream imp that’ll cause all manner of nighttime craziness.”

  “Dream imps?” Aiden said. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah, and vicious little buggers they are, too,” Ashworth said. “Had one attach itself to me a few years back. I thought the job was doing my head in before Eli finally figured out what was happening.”

  “The more I learn about the spirit world, the less I like it,” Aiden growled.

  “A dream imp couldn’t possibly cause me any more hassle than my prophetic dreams already do,” I said bluntly, “and I’ve enough charms on me to protect against all but the strongest spirits anyway. But I need a decision and quickly, because her memories will be degrading pretty rapidly by now.”

  “Then go,” Ashworth said. “I’ll keep a magical eye out for you.”

  I moved around the two men, squatted behind Abby, and then placed a hand on either side of her head. I tried to ignore the wetness under my fingertips, the too-close wound, and the look of utter horror forever frozen onto her face. After another of those breaths that didn’t do a whole lot to ease the tension surging through me, I closed my eyes and reached for my psychometry abilities.

  For several seconds, nothing happened. All I felt was the lingering remnants of her disbelief, horror, and pain. The emotions crawled across my senses and dragged tears from my eyes, but there was no immediate memory of anything else. No indication of who’d she’d been with before her death.

  I pushed past the barrier of shock. Images began to flicker through the deeper recesses of her mind, but they were extremely fragile things. The minute I reached for them, they fragmented and spun away into the gathering darkness in her head.

  The deeper I went, the darker it became. And yet, gradually, memories rose. They remained little more than fragments, mostly resembling either torn photographs or movie reels that only ran for seconds, no doubt thanks to the death that had come too fast. But they still gave me some clues.

  “I see two men,” I said. “One is the witch who now lies in the morgue, the other is a Sarr.”

  I paused as the images flitted away, dove even deeper, and this time caught the tail end of memories that were far more personal in nature. A touch, a caress, kisses that burned, passion that was fierce and urgent, a shaft that was thick and long and felt so good as he thrust inside….

  The heat of the encounter echoed through me. I quickly released those memories and caught other fragments. “She and the Sarr witch were lovers. It’s how the two men came to stay here.”

  I hesitated, seeing fleeting glimpses of the wounds on George Sarr’s wrists—long cuts that sliced up both arms, and which still dripped blood as he came out of the forest and staggered toward Abby. Felt her horror at his refusal to explain what had happened or go to the hospital, and the speed with which the wounds healed. Was almost smothered by the tide of her hatred at being suddenly unable to refuse him, at being forced to do whatever he wanted, be it act as his cook, nurse, messenger, or simply someone for him to fuck whenever he felt the need. Gone was the tenderness, the caring. In its place was fear and brutality.

  Then, finally, I caught an image of the witch Jonathan Ashworth had become. “George is tall, with silver eyes, a large nose, two thick scars running the length of his left cheek, and many more running up the insides of both arms.”

  “Any other identifying marks?” Aiden asked.

  “Other than a gigantic dong, apparently not.”

  As Ashworth snorted, I pulled my hands away from Abby’s head and pushed back, lan
ding on my butt well away from the body and the blood splatter. For several seconds, I didn’t move. Couldn’t move. I just sucked in air in an effort to ease the trembling in my body. Psychometry was draining at the best of times, but using it like this—to connect with the mind of someone who’d crossed over—was nigh on incapacitating. I wouldn’t be much good—physically or psychically—for the next few hours, at least.

  Aiden squatted down beside me and handed me a handkerchief. “You’ve lost all color—do you need to go home?”

  I nodded and quickly wiped my hands. “I’ll get Belle to come and collect me. You can’t leave here and I won’t risk driving your truck. Not in this state.”

  “I’ve some jerky and muesli bars in the backpack—eating one or both might help boost the reserves.”

  “Is the muesli bar the type with chocolate? Or is it one of those useless healthy kinds?”

  He smiled. “The latter, I’m afraid. The only chocolate I like is in the form of cakes and brownies. I find anything else too sweet.”

  I gasped in mock horror. “Just as well I lust after you, Ranger, because that, right there, is a relationship-ending statement.”

  He laughed. “I’ll make a mental note to stock both the pack and the fridge at home with a suitable variety of chocolate bars and blocks for you.”

  “That would certainly be appreciated,” I said primly, and then let my smile break loose. “You can keep the jerky, but a muesli bar might help.”

  Probably not as much as one of Belle’s rotten-smelling potions, but it was better than nothing.

  I’m on my way now with one of said rotten potions in hand, she commented cheerfully. Be there in twenty.

  Thanks.

  “Do you want help getting up? Or walking back to the truck?” Aiden said.

  I shook my head and climbed slowly to my feet. Pain flickered through my brain, the first stab of the tsunami yet to come.

  Aiden rose with me, one hand hovering near my elbow, ready to catch me should I tumble. I gave him a quick smile. “I’m fine, Aiden. Really. I just need to sleep.”

  “Is Belle on the way?”

  I nodded. “I’ll wait for her near your truck. Ashworth, do you want a lift anywhere?”

  He hesitated, and then shook his head. “I’d better stay here, just in case.”

  I nodded, lightly touched Aiden’s arm, and then walked out of there as quickly as I was able. Once outside, I sucked in several deep breaths to wash the scent of death and blood from my lungs. The smell lingered on my clothes and filled my nostrils at every breath, but there was little I could do about that right now except ignore it.

  Once I’d trudged up the hill, I grabbed a muesli bar then sat on the hood of his truck and munched on it as I waited for Belle.

  She arrived twenty minutes later. Once I’d climbed in and buckled up, she handed me a two-cup-sized drink container that smelled a little less like a swamp than her usual concoctions.

  “Thought your stomach might be dodgy, so added extra cinnamon and ginger to override the less pleasant aromas.”

  “Thanks.” I still sipped it warily, but it was, in fact, quite drinkable—at least as far as potions went, anyway.

  It was dark by the time we arrived back home, and the deep headache that came with reading the dead had well and truly settled in. I trudged up the stairs, stripped off, and all but fell into bed.

  And didn’t stir until the next morning.

  The rattle of china and the bright chatter of many voices told me it was late enough for the café to be open. I glanced across at the clock and saw it was nearly ten. I had a quick, hot shower to wash the lingering scents from my skin then got dressed and headed down to help out in the café. We were flat out serving for the next couple of hours, but once it started to ease off, I went into the kitchen to help Frank—who was both our kitchen hand and dishwasher—get through the mountain of dishes.

  It was close to five by the time Belle and I finally got a chance to sit down and relax. I took a sip of my hot chocolate—which, as usual, had lashings of cream and marshmallows—and then said, “I wonder if your gran’s books have anything about soul transferring?”

  “As it happens, I wondered the same thing, and was looking it up last night while you slumbered rather noisily.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “I snored?”

  “Loudly. I hope Aiden has earplugs.”

  I snorted—not a bright move given I was also in the process of taking another sip of my chocolate. As cream went flying, I swiped a hand across my nose and then licked it off my fingers. “The way things are going, it won’t matter. I’ll be over the weariness by the time we get another chance to hit the sheets.”

  She raised an eyebrow, her silvery eyes gleaming with amusement. “I was under the impression that the good times were happening everywhere but between the sheets.”

  I tried to slap her arm in mock outrage but she quickly leaned away from the blow and laughed. “I found what amounts to little more than a side note in a book about witches who are turned by darker magics.”

  “Just one book?” I said, surprised. “I would have thought—given how detailed her knowledge was about dark spirits and dark forces—that she’d have more than one on dark witches.”

  “Except that the HIC don’t really share information about heretics, even amongst the bluebloods,” Belle said. “So it’s not really surprising that someone like Gran—a lower-class Sarr witch—would only be able to glean snippets. She was a first-rate compiler but even she had limits.”

  “Have you had much of a chance to read through it?”

  She nodded. “It says that those who are powerful enough—and who have a strong enough connection with whatever dark spirits they’ve entered into a pact with—can extend their lives by transferring their soul into the body of another. The cost of this is paid by the soul of the body’s original owner, which is taken by the dark spirits. And that makes me wonder if George Sarr knew what exactly was involved in becoming a dark master’s apprentice.”

  “Why?” I grabbed a teaspoon and scooped up a semi-melted blob of marshmallow.

  “Firstly,” she said, “apprentices apparently have to swear in blood to their master, which binds them to their dark witch’s command. They are subsequently marked, with each dark master having their own brand. It’s a means of warning other powerful dark witches not to encroach.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Why would that be a problem?”

  Belle shrugged. “Maybe suitable dark witch apprentices are few and far between.”

  “Maybe.” I scooped up the rest of the marshmallow and then said, “I’m guessing the two knife cuts on George’s cheek was Jonathan’s brand?”

  “I’d presume so. Gran said it was usually in a very visible spot such as the face.” She leaned forward and crossed her arms on the table. “The second thing is the fact that a soul transfer can only happen between a master and his apprentice. It’s apparently the one reason so few masters have an apprentice.”

  “I’m betting it’s a condition of employment that’s not mentioned in whatever contract is signed between the two.”

  “Either that, or the apprentice is willing to take the risk that his master will teach him enough that he’ll be able to resist or even defeat his master.”

  “I wouldn’t think that would happen too often.”

  “No, but maybe they think the promise of ultimate power is worth the gamble.”

  “I guess their life is one big gamble anyway given the forces they use on a daily basis.”

  Behind me, the door opened, and I turned to see Aiden walk in. He looked a whole lot fresher than he had yesterday and there was no sign of the deep shadows that had been ringing his eyes.

  “Evening, ladies.” He kissed me warmly and then pulled out a chair and sat down.

  “Would you like a coffee, Ranger?” Belle asked.

  He nodded. “That would be great, though I am here on official business.”

  I raised my
eyebrow. “That being?”

  He pulled a plastic bag out of his pocket, inside of which was a tracking bracelet—the one taken from the female wolf, I suspected, given I could feel the vague wisp of magic emanating from it. The spell would probably have faded from the other bracelet by now.

  “I know it’s a long shot,” he said, “but could you try tracking down a location of the rest of the bracelets?”

  I plucked the bag from his grip and shook the bracelet out into my hand. After carefully pulling apart the three strands, I ran my finger across the strip onto which the control and tracking spell had been woven. It was still present, and still reasonably strong, even if it was no longer dangerous.

  I met Aiden’s gaze again. “I might be able to, but if I fail, there’s always Ashworth and his—”

  The corners of his bright eyes crinkled. “Eli arrived in Castle Rock this morning and has read the riot act to Ashworth. I don’t believe he’ll be doing much in the way of helping us for the next couple of days.”

  “Is Eli aware that Ashworth might have been tagged in some way by our dark witch?”

  Aiden nodded. “He did a thorough check and found a sliver of black stone in Ashworth’s thigh. The magic was only faint, but it obviously was enough for the heretic witch to track him.”

  But not enough for Ashworth to sense. Trepidation shivered down my spine. If the heretic could fool Ashworth’s senses, what hope did I have against the bastard?

  And why would you be thinking that you’re going to face this creep? Belle asked, mental tones sharp.

  I don’t know. Maybe it was nothing more than pessimism. Maybe it was the knowledge that Belle and I were currently the only witches left standing.

  And maybe it was the fact that this reservation seemed to have picked me as its defender, and that this problem would somehow, in the end, be mine to solve.

  I raised my gaze to Aiden’s. “I could possibly reverse the magic in this thing, but whether that will lead us to either the other bracelets or the hunters themselves is another matter entirely.”