Hell's Bell

by Keri Arthur

  The longer I delayed reading this man, the less chance there was of uncovering what had gone on here. But, at the same time, I wasn’t about to attempt reading a dying mind without Belle here to watch over the whole process. I’d heard plenty of stories about psychics being ensnared by the death of another while psychically connected, and while I had no idea if they were true—or even if such a thing was possible—it wasn’t something I wanted to risk.

  I glanced up as Belle came back into the rotunda. “We can’t wait for Ciara to get here.”

  “No, but we can always record the reading on our phones—that way, they’ll at least have something for their records.” Belle slipped off the backpack. “I’ll start preparations for a protection circle.”

  I frowned. “Do you really think that’s necessary? I mean, he’s dead—”

  “And a victim of a soul eater.” Her expression was grim. “Given how little we currently know about them, I don’t think a precaution or two is out of the question.”

  I raised my hands in acquiescence and stepped out of her way. She was totally right, especially given what had happened to Anna. While I doubted the soul eater had that sort of power, I had no idea if consuming this man’s soul gave it some sort of connection to his dying flesh. The last thing I needed or wanted was my attempt to read this man’s memories coming to the attention of this thing.

  I crossed my arms and watched as she made the preparations and then began the incantations that would produce a secondary protection circle. It still wouldn’t be full strength, given we neither had candles nor our athames here, but it would at least prevent whatever other evil might linger in the park from being drawn here.

  The sound of a car’s engine caught my attention and I glanced around. Headlights briefly swept around the far end of the park and came toward us.

  “I’m guessing that’s Ciara.” I flexed my fingers, trying to ease the tension that rode me. Trying to gather courage for what I now had to do. “And just in time, too.”

  Belle wove the final exception into her spell—one that allowed me to cross over the barrier she’d raised around the stranger, but no one and nothing else—and then met my gaze.

  “She still has to collect her kit and whatever else she might need—do you really want to wait for her?”

  I grimaced. “You know we can’t.”

  As much as I’d rather do anything other than read a dead man’s mind, we were already on the cusp of time limitations.

  She got out her phone, took a couple of photos of the stranger’s position, and then said, “Right then, I’m recording. Good luck.”

  “Thanks.”

  I took a deep breath, released it slowly, and then stepped into the circle of her magic. The spell stones that encircled the stranger’s body flashed silver and blue, and their energy spun around me and then faded as the spell registered and then accepted my details.

  I squatted behind the stranger and placed a hand on either side of his head. After another of those breaths that didn’t do a whole lot to ease the tension surging through me, I closed my eyes and lightly pressed my fingers against his skull.

  For several seconds, nothing happened. The utter foulness of his death crawled across my senses and dragged tears from my eyes, but there was no immediate sense of anything else. No indication of where he’d been and who he’d been with before his death.

  Which was decidedly weird.

  Unless, of course, the lack was my fault. It had been a long time since I’d tried to use my psychometry skills in such a direct way, and I was somewhat rusty. For the most part, using personal items rather than direct touch made the whole process less... confronting.

  Of course, there were never any guarantees when you worked with psi powers; sometimes the connection simply wasn’t there, and sometimes it was so damn strong it dragged you deep into the mind of another. Which was exactly what had happened when I’d tried to find Karen for Marjorie, and I certainly didn’t want to relive this man’s last minutes as I’d lived the teenager’s.

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

  I frowned and went even further. His surface memories might be beyond reach, but there was still a chance deeper memory remained.

  The darkness that was both brain death and something else—something I’d never encountered before—fought my invasion for several heartbeats. Then, with an abruptness that tore a gasp from my throat, I was beyond it, and right in the middle of events from a few hours ago. But these, too, were fading very quickly—it was a little like watching a badly degraded movie that flicked abruptly from one scene to another.

  You nevertheless need to say aloud what you’re seeing, Lizzie, Belle said. We need it recorded.

  “His memories are almost too fractured.” I hesitated. “There’s a woman, tall and pale. A short red dress that sparkles brightly under muted lights. Laughter and warmth and alcohol. Teasing touches that promise much....”

  Careful, Lizzie, Belle warned. Don’t go too deep.

  No, I said, even as I did. “There’s a car—a sports car. White, with black leather seats. Caresses that tease and kisses that taste like ash. And heat, so much heat. Desire burns and I chase her, capture her, and there is bliss and then....”

  I stopped, simply because the memory reel did. Not because his brain was dying, or because death had snatched away whatever had followed that brief, blissful moment.

  The memories simply didn’t exist.

  It was as if someone had taken a knife and sliced them away.

  I released my fingers from either side of his head and pushed out of the protection circle. I landed on my butt, and for several seconds, didn’t move. I simply sucked in air and tried to make sense of what I’d felt at the very end.

  While telepaths certainly could erase or rearrange memories, I knew from Belle it wasn’t possible to create such an utterly clean break. There were always tells—memory fragments and odd bits of fuzziness that gave the game away.

  But this man’s memories hadn’t been erased—they simply didn’t exist.

  “Which suggests,” Belle said, “he was unconscious when his soul was ripped from him.”

  “But if that were the case, there shouldn’t be so much horror and pain in the air. An unconscious mind isn’t capable of feeling, and surely wouldn’t emote as strongly as this man has.”

  “Under normal circumstances, that’s probably true, but this situation isn’t normal. I’m betting his soul would have fought like hell even if his flesh couldn’t.”

  “Who fought like hell?” Ciara said, as she stepped into the rotunda. “It certainly wasn’t this wolf, from the look of him.”

  Like most wolves, she was tall and rangy in build. Her short blonde hair gleamed silver against the night’s shadows, and her eyes were—like Aiden’s—a deep blue rather than the usual amber of a werewolf. But then, the O’Connor pack were also gray wolves, a color that tended to be somewhat rarer amongst Australian packs. Most were brown, red, or black; the O’Connors ran the full gamut from silvery white to a blond so dark it was almost a dirty brown.

  “Looks can be deceiving,” I replied, even as Belle hastily deactivated the protection circle.

  Ciara stopped near the stranger’s feet and frowned down at his body. “What were you doing to him?”

  “I was trying to read his memories before death claimed them.”

  “You can do that?” She glanced at me, her tone incredulous. “Seriously?”

  “Sometimes, if the death is fresh enough.” I pushed upright. The rotunda briefly spun, and an ache started in the back of my head, one fierce enough to make my left eye water. A result of reaching too far, I knew. At least my stomach remained steady; I suspected neither Ciara nor Aiden would be happy if I puked all over the body. “We recorded the whole thing, so we can post you the file if you want.”
/>
  “Aiden will want it. I’ll rely on more old-fashioned methods to find out what killed him.”

  “Good luck with that,” Belle murmured.

  Ciara raised her eyebrows. “Meaning what?”

  “Meaning the reason this man died is because his soul was stolen from him, and I’m doubting science has yet devised a means of uncovering an event like that.”

  “How on earth is something like that even possible?”

  “Simple—we’re dealing with something that’s technically not of this earth.”

  “Meaning what?” she snapped. “At this hour of the night, I’m really not in the mood for games.”

  I couldn’t help the smile that touched my lips. In that brief moment, she sounded scarily like her brother.

  “It means this reservation seems to have gained a soul eater.”

  Her gaze went from me to Belle and back again. “You’re serious.”

  “Totally.” Belle’s voice was flat. “If you thought a vampire wanting revenge was bad, you ain’t seen nothing yet.”

  “Fuck.” Ciara’s gaze swept the darkness beyond the rotunda. “Is it still nearby?”

  “If it was, we sure as hell wouldn’t be standing here yakking to you.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” I rubbed a hand across my forehead, but it didn’t really ease the strengthening ache. “Whatever did this is long gone.”

  For now, at least.

  “Good—although I have to admit, I’m finding all this a little hard to accept.” She hesitated. “But if we do have something like that on the reservation, how the hell do we stop it?”

  “We don’t,” I said. “The RWA does.”

  “More fucking witches is just what we need here.” She hesitated. “Present company not included in that comment, of course.”

  Belle snorted softly. “You know, one of these days, your damn pack will have to—”

  The O’Connors have a good reason to hate witches, I cut in. We don’t need to do or say anything right now to get them offside again. Not when things have started to thaw out.

  One witch’s actions should not brand an entire race, she fired back. We had nothing to do with her sister’s death.

  No, we didn’t, as it had happened over a year before we’d arrived in Castle Rock. But I could nevertheless understand their pain, as well as their need to pin blame. In many respects, their situation was similar to my own, even if the only person I could blame for my sister’s death was myself.

  Ciara studied Belle for a moment, and then said, “I’ve a feeling you were about to say a whole lot more than that.”

  “I was, but it doesn’t matter.”

  Ciara grunted, and glanced at me. “I’ll have to ask you both to wait outside while I start proceedings in here.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t wait. I have to go home.”

  She frowned. “Aiden wants to speak to you—”

  “And he knows where to find me.”

  “But he said—”

  “I don’t really care what he said, or what I might have agreed to when I rang him,” I snapped, and then drew in a breath, trying for calm. “Unless you want me puking all over your crime scene, you’d better just let me go.”

  “Reading the dead isn’t a pleasant thing to do,” Belle said. “And believe me, the projectile vomiting that often follows isn’t an easy thing to clean up.”

  Ciara’s gaze briefly swept me, and then she waved a hand. “Fine. Go.”

  Meaning, perhaps, I looked as ill as I was beginning to feel.

  I turned and quickly left—catching Belle somewhat flat-footed. She caught up with me in a couple of strides, and we continued in silence. By the time we’d reached the café, my head felt like it was going to tear apart, and my stomach was a couple of churns away from surging up my throat.

  “Go climb into bed,” Belle ordered, in a voice that would brook no arguments. “I’ll make you up a potion.”

  I grimaced. Belle’s strengthening and revitalization potions might be the reason why many incantations—and psychic shit like I’d done tonight—didn’t affect me as badly as they did other witches and psychics, but they were also the foulest goddamn drinks ever created.

  Her grin flashed. “Says the person who gave me a potion not so long ago that hands down beat anything I’ve ever made over the years.”

  “You only have yourself to blame. You’re the one who taught me how to make them.”

  “That is, rather sadly, very true. Perhaps I’ll make an exception and be kind this one time.”

  “Good, because you might just get the lot puked all over you otherwise.”

  “You forget how quickly I can move when I need to.” She pushed me lightly toward the stairs. “Go, before you collapse and I have to carry your butt up there.”

  I dragged myself up the stairs and started stripping off the minute I reached the landing. My bedroom’s darkness wrapped around me, warm and secure thanks to all the protections around it, and yet goose bumps nevertheless raced across my skin.

  I wasn’t entirely sure either these spells or the exclusion ones we’d placed around this building would be enough to deal with something that could steal souls.

  And yet, they did pretty much cover most types of evil spirits; the only real worry was if this thing was also capable of magic. It might then be able to see and maybe even unravel the spell threads that protected us—something the vampire had come very close to doing.

  But that was something I could worry about when we knew for sure what sort of soul eater we were dealing with. And it wasn’t as if I was capable of bolstering the protection spells in any way right now.

  I climbed into bed, tugged the blankets up to my nose, and promptly fell asleep.

  I woke who knew how many hours later. Though my door was shut—something I couldn’t remember doing—noise still drifted up from downstairs. It sounded as if there were a lot of people down there, and it made me wonder what time it was.

  One in the afternoon, Belle said, amusement evident. To say you slept the sleep of the dead would be an understatement.

  Seriously? I threw the blankets to one side and scrambled out of bed. Why the hell didn’t you wake me?

  Because you needed the sleep. Now shut up and drink the potion that’s waiting on the bedside table.

  I glanced to my left. The glass was large, and the potion a rather sludgy greeny-brown color. Even from where I stood I could smell the thing. I thought you said you were going to be kind?

  That was last night, when your stomach was fragile.

  How do you know it still isn’t?

  Because I’ve been hanging around you long enough to know the only thing your stomach will be doing after such a sleep is rumbling with hunger. So drink that shit, grab a shower, and then get down here. Your ranger is getting antsy.

  Feed him another brownie and tell him I’ll be there in ten minutes.

  He’s already had three. At this rate, he’ll be eating our profits.

  Says the woman who feeds her wolf all manner of goodies.

  The difference, Belle said, her amusement increasing, is that he needs the sugary energy boost because he has a woman with a healthy sexual appetite to look after.

  Thanks for the cheery reminder that I’m in a drought, I replied. Appreciate it.

  She laughed. So get your butt down here in something sexy, just to remind Aiden what he’s missing out on.

  I snorted and headed for the shower. Yeah, right.

  When I did get down there nearly fifteen minutes later, it was in jeans and a tank top, with a checked shirt over the top of that.

  Oh, that’s really putting it all out there, Lizzie. Good job.

  Belle, go suck a lemon.

  She burst out laughing, a good-natured sound that rolled across the chatter and had people looking around with a smile.

  I’ve ordered you some lunch, she said. I’ll have it brought over when it’s ready.

  Ta. And you migh
t as well join us, given you’re the local expert on spirits.

  And spoil your time with the man?

  I’m thinking he’ll be all business.

  Maybe. Maybe not.

  Belle, you haven’t read him... have you?

  Maybe. Maybe not.

  I snorted again, but didn’t bother questioning her any further. Even if she had read him—and I doubted she had, given she generally believed everyone had a right to privacy unless or until they in some way provoked her—she obviously wasn’t about to tell me.

  Aiden sat at the table in the corner of the room, one that had, over the last few weeks, become “our” table—the one we always used whenever he came to the café.

  The sunlight streaming in through the nearby window had streaks of silver glimmering through his otherwise dark blond hair, and highlighted the somewhat sharp planes of his face. He was nursing a mug between his hands, and watched me approach with an intentness that had heat rising to my cheeks.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t stay behind last night.” I pulled out a chair and sat down next to him. “But I really wasn’t in a fit state to be questioned.”

  “So I gathered.” His gaze briefly swept me, and his expression gave little away. “Are you feeling any better?”

  I nodded. “Did Belle send you the recording we took?”

  “Yes, as well as the photos. Thanks for that.”

  Despite the earlier intentness, he was being overly polite, which worried me somewhat. “Do you know who he was?”

  “Yeah—Aron Marin. His father is one of the pack’s alphas.” He hesitated. “Ciara said you believed his death was caused by an evil spirit—one that ate his soul. Are you absolutely positive about that?”

  “As positive as we can be without actually confronting the thing.” I frowned. “Why?”

  “Because Rocco was having problems within the pack, and very recently his family was threatened.”

  My eyebrows rose. “I wouldn’t have thought the person behind such a threat would have lasted long within the pack.”

  Aiden’s smile held little in the way of humor. “She didn’t—”

  “She?” I cut in, surprised. “Do female wolves often go about threatening the hierarchy?”