“Yes, I explained that to her. Lost cause, I’m afraid. In any case, unbeknownst to me, Mrs. Harvesty sought out a magic user to make certain Majesty did not suffer the same fate as Agnes.”
“The same fate being…?”
“Death.”
Vincent stopped fussing with his hands, his brow furrowing. “Well, that’s impossible. Death is a certainty for everything but an immortal. And according to some, even immortals will eventually meet their end. I see no way for her to work out an exemption for this cat.”
“All existential arguments aside, Mrs. Harvesty found a sorceress who agreed to give her what she wanted.”
“What?” Shock pulled his jaw down, leaving the wizard gaping at me like an open nutcracker doll. “She hired a sorceress to…to make the cat immortal?
“That’s what Mrs. Harvesty thought she was doing, but truth be told, I don’t know what she did. I know that somehow the sorceress bound Majesty’s life force, twisted it to feed in on itself. He’s a kitten, and he’ll stay a kitten. Whether it will eventually kill him is another matter.”
Vincent’s face blanched. “That is not good. A life force is a powerful energy, and it is meant to grow and change. To prevent it from manifesting itself, bind it in such a way… I cannot think what such a catastrophic spell would cost.”
“Nothing.”
He turned in his seat, facing me. There was no more fidgeting, no more uncertainty. For the first time, I caught a glimpse of a powerful wizard. A serious wizard who knew when something was very, very wrong. “Nothing?”
I nodded.
That shut him up. For a minute.
“Dresden is a small village, is it not?” he asked.
“Yes. Though we are home to the world’s largest basket, so…tourists.”
He didn’t comment on that. “And Mother Hazel is…well known. I believe the vast majority of the magical world was aware when she took you on as an apprentice. An apprenticeship that ended three years ago, if I recall?”
I gripped the steering wheel and made a conscious effort not to press harder on the gas pedal. “Yes. Though why my life is of interest to the greater magic community, I don’t know.” And I didn’t like it.
If I’d been looking at Vincent, I might have been able to read the facial expression that was there and gone before I could turn. As it was, it looked like another wince in my peripheral vision.
“I’m sorry. Your life is your own, and I can understand why you’d prefer for your private life to remain private. But I must ask… Have you considered the possibility that whoever cast that spell on Majesty may have surmised that you would take possession of the cat? You being the village witch, and Mrs. Harvesty being a woman who loved her pets enough to notice when something was wrong?”
My jaw ached, and I forced myself to unclench my teeth. “Yes.”
“Then you understand the danger of keeping it. That kitten is very much like a shaken soda bottle. Eventually, it will burst. And I’m not sure what that will mean for you if you’re near him when it happens.”
I’d thought this would be a safer topic, but now my nerves were knotting themselves into tiny bundles of pain, stabbing me in meandering lines down my arms and legs. “I was hoping you might have a look at him,” I said. “Help me figure out a way to unravel the spell.”
“If Mother Hazel could not do it, there is little chance I could be of help.”
It was a refreshing thing for a wizard to admit to his limits so quickly. But it wasn’t what I’d wanted to hear. “Mother Hazel didn’t even try. She said it wasn’t for her to do.”
Vincent opened his mouth, then snapped it closed. He was silent for a few minutes.
“It must be very hard. Having her as your mentor. The old ones, they can be…frustrating in their perceptiveness. I’d imagine she knows more about your future then she’s willing to share. Doling out little cryptic tidbits just often enough to keep you from finding peace in the present?”
Some little part of me relaxed, and I leaned my head back against my seat. “If I may say, Vincent, it’s very gratifying to find someone who understands.”
“I can imagine. I will examine the kitten. But I don’t want to get your hopes up. In the grand scheme of things, I’m a small cog.”
“Understood.”
We passed the entrance to the ranger station, and he frowned, turning in his seat. “Where are we going?
“To the crime scene. There’s something I need to see.”
I drove as close as I could to the area near the crime scene and parked on the side of the road. The road was dark, so I turned on the hazard lights. No sense causing a crash because someone couldn’t tell my car from the road in this dim light. Before opening the door, I unzipped my pouch and reached inside.
“I should mention before we get out that there’s a possibility we will encounter a dream shard.”
Vincent froze with his hand on the door handle. “I’m sorry? Did you say dream shard?”
I nodded, pulling out a roll of gauze, a bag of jelly beans, and a charger for some forgotten device. “You recall our little meeting with Arianne Monet at the pub?” I wanted to mention the way he’d fled like a coward upon her arrival, but held my tongue. No need to be petty.
He shifted uncomfortably, probably remembering his behavior without my reminder. “Yes.”
“Well, she’s still rather cross with me over a minor transgression a few weeks ago.” I found the object I was looking for and pulled the wrapped package from my pouch. I peeled away the soft cotton to reveal the strange bracer Gunderson had given me. The brown leather shone dully in the moonlight, golden wheels and coils radiating gentle warmth.
Vincent leaned forward, staring at the bracer. “What is that?”
“A gift. It holds solar energy.” I slipped the bracer over my arm, relieved to feel a divot beneath the leather pressing against my aura. I’d charged it in the car earlier that day during the drive to the Rocky River Reservation, and I’d worried putting it in the dark, enchanted confines of my pouch might cause the solar energy to dissipate. But it was still there, warm and persistent.
The air in the car hummed with energy as Vincent coated himself with enchanted armor. I followed his lead, casting the same spell on myself. The magic tingled against my flesh, almost distracting me from the weight at the top of my spine. I groped behind my neck, pulling a wriggling Peasblossom out of my shirt. “You stay here. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“No, I want to help!” she squeaked as I held her by her dress, her body spinning as her struggles caused her to twist herself round in my grasp.
“Peasblossom, please.” I cupped her in my palm, waiting for her legs to stop scrabbling for purchase. She ceased struggling and crossed her arms, glaring up at me in defiance. “I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you. I’ll be right back, I promise. I’m only checking one thing.”
She looked away but nodded. “Fine.”
I kissed her head, then set her on the armrest between the seats. After a second of hesitation, I dug a packet of honey out of my pouch and laid it beside her in silent offering. “Shall we?” I asked Vincent.
He nodded, fingers fluttering as he smoothed down his robe before exiting the car. Night had fallen, wrapping the forest in darkness and deepening the shadows. I dipped into my magic again, then waved an arm outward, flinging balls of red energy before me. They burst into light, creating a path of dancing lanterns that moved before me as I walked. Vincent grabbed his robe with both hands, sending a wash of more tingling energy over the soft threads. A glow melted over the article of clothing, becoming increasingly bright with each passing second until it illuminated our surroundings in a twenty-foot circle.
“What do you hope to find?” he asked.
I scanned the trees ahead as we entered the forest, looking for a sign of the yellow police tape that should still mark the crime scene. We were right down the road from Gunderson’s shop, so it had to be close. “I was thinki
ng about the physical evidence. The red welts on the victim’s palms, the .40 bullet, and now the victim’s blood on the sweatshirt Emma brought Gypsy to the hospital in. All this time, we assumed Emma left the park before Oliver was murdered, but that’s not possible. Oliver was killed while he was close enough to Gypsy for his blood to end up in her fur.”
“I picked up traces of Emma at the crime scene, but I disregarded her because she was patrolling, and I would have expected to find traces of her. There were none on the body.”
“So she didn’t touch the body. But she touched Gypsy. And Gypsy’s injuries were consistent with hanging.”
Vincent made a small sound of protest in his throat. “Emma would never hang a dog to give herself an excuse to leave.”
“I don’t think she did anything of the sort.” I spotted the yellow crime scene tape and focused my attention on the large tree at the edge of the ravine. One branch was low enough…
“Can you give me a boost?” I asked.
Vincent arched an eyebrow, but obligingly knelt down and formed a stirrup with his hands. I stepped into his grip and heaved myself up to look at the limb. A stripe carved into the bark confirmed my suspicion.
“He tried to hang her.”
“Who?”
“Gypsy. Oliver tried to hang her.” I got down, studying the crime scene with fresh eyes. “She must have found him while it was happening. Maybe she warned him to stop and he didn’t. So she shot him.”
Before Vincent could respond, something brushed against my spine. A phantasmal touch with a physical weight that kept me from disregarding it as a breeze, or a figment of my imagination. A shiver ran through me with enough force that I stumbled forward, my back aching as if it’d been coated in a three-inch layer of solid ice. A scream blossomed in my throat, and I choked to keep it down. Fear coalesced within me, an aura so strong that it should have been visible to the naked eye. Screaming would only feed that fear, strengthen it.
Vincent whirled around, his hand sweeping out toward the dream shard. A burst of fractured light exploded from his fingertips in a rainbow of colors, leaping at the creature like a living sparkler.
The dream shard had no body, at least nothing visible. Like most incorporeal nightmares, it undulated and changed, more of a shadow you saw in your peripheral vision, only to disappear if you looked directly at it. The only parts of it that seemed solid were the bright silver eyes and the stark white teeth and claws where its mouth and paws should be. The nightmare roared, and the sound echoed not just on the physical plane, but the astral plane. It boomed inside my head, driving me back a step. I raised my hand, curling my fingers into a fist. I aimed the bracer at the dream shard, centering it on the shadowy mass under the shining white fangs.
Brilliant gold sunlight pulsed outward in a solid beam, striking the beast in its chest. It screamed again, writhing in the air.
Crimson energy shot like an elongated fireball from Vincent’s palm, exploding against the dream shard in near-perfect unison with the sunlight from my bracer. Orange and yellow sparks rained over its body and it opened its jaws in another scream. “It’s dazed,” Vincent yelled. “Hit it again!”
I didn’t realize I’d covered my ears to block out that horrible screaming. I forced my arms down and flexed my will. More golden sunlight flooded into the small tube at the top of the bracer, and I readied my second shot. The dream shard’s midsection was no longer so intangible. Blood and blistered flesh hovered where my first attack had hit it. I aimed for that wound.
Something rolled out from the dream shard, as if it had thrown a piece of its own body. I backed away, my attention locked on the piece of black shadow as it continued toward me, firming into something more tangible than shadow. Dark streaks spread out from a round body, bending into two rows of segmented legs before landing on the ground. Four legs on each side. Fur covered the creature in a rolling wave, and the light from our spells glinted off eight beady eyes. It reared up, raising two thick, fur-covered fangs.
Instinct made me react before my brain had realized the terrifying reality. Sweat poured down my temples. My heart stopped, my entire body going rigid with breath-stealing fear. I couldn’t move.
“Shade, it’s a trick! It’s not there! There’s nothing there!”
The tarantula scuttled toward me, moving faster than anything that big had a right to. There was no web, no trap, but I couldn’t move, couldn’t scream, couldn’t even breathe. My world narrowed down to nothing but that enormous furry body, those thick fangs, those glittering black eyes. It was every nightmare I’d ever had all rolled into a single monster.
And then it was on me.
“Shade!”
Peasblossom, her tiny voice so high with fear that it was more a scream than a word. Something fell into my hand, something plastic and wet. A gun. A squirt gun. My fingers seized it, instinctively tightened, pulled the trigger. A spray of water flew from the nozzle and struck the tarantula square in the face even as it reared up to plunge its fangs into my body.
Smoke hissed as the holy water burrowed into the shadowy body, and the creature scuttled back, making a sound unlike anything I’d ever heard. Vincent shouted something I couldn’t quite make out over the sound of my erratic heartbeat, and purple light fired in a bolt of pure energy. Something slammed into me, Vincent’s body, and we tumbled to the side and over the edge.
Rocks and sticks took turns bludgeoning and stabbing me as we rolled down to land with a painful, bone-jarring thud on the forest floor. The scent of damp leaves and rich earth filled my nostrils, helping to distract me from the image of the tarantula burned into my mind’s eye.
Vincent stood and looked up at where the dream shard hissed and strained. Beneath the white glow of its fangs, I could make out an anchor made of purple light, sitting where the dream shard’s body would be, holding it to that spot. Vincent screamed. Crystalline gold light exploded in a cone of sound, enveloping the dream shard, but not touching me where I lay behind the wizard. The dream shard crumpled, fangs dipping toward the ground as if it had bowed its head.
Fear still tightened the nerves in my body, making every move a fight. It was like trying to stand with a layer of iron chainmail draped over every limb.
So this was it, then. I’d answered Mother Hazel’s challenge, taken the case. My bastard of a victim had been killed by a ranger saving a dog’s life, and now it was my duty to put her behind bars. The justice I’d fought so hard for was to see a woman locked up because she’d refused to give up on a lost cause. Because a man hadn’t shown one iota of human decency. Now I would die here too. Die at the summoned hands of a monster created by a sorceress who thought a little collateral damage to her hotel was worth more than my life.
Anger rose, red hot and welcome. I got to my feet, muscles trembling with the effort. I didn’t fight the pain. I welcomed it. I focused on every bruise, every cut. I wallowed in it until the pain fed into my anger. My fury. “Let it go,” I said.
“Don’t be insane,” Vincent snapped, his eyes wide. “We have to run!”
“Let it go!” I screamed.
I didn’t know if he released the spell, or if the dream shard broke free. But it flowed down the hill, shadowy form undulating, only the fangs and claws making a sound as they clicked over the stony side of the ravine.
“You are mine,” I screamed. My anger, my fear roared in my voice. “My nightmare. My dream. You are mine, not hers.” I dragged in a deep breath, opening my arms as the dream shard fell on me, bracing for that wave of icy-cold fear. “And I’m taking you back.”
Cold. Cold and ice, burrowing deep in my gut. Unlike a physical creature, the dream shard didn’t tear me open so much as it plunged itself inside me, piercing not flesh, but spirit. It wasn’t my skull that threatened to crack under the pressure of its fangs, but my psyche. Me.
I clenched my teeth and threw my magic around the tangle of emotions, the shreds of my mind as the creature screamed and clawed at my thoughts. There was a spl
it second when it seemed to realize what was happening, when it understood that I wasn’t fighting, wasn’t trying to push it away. When it realized I was pulling it closer. Deeper inside me.
I felt the moment it realized what was happening. I felt it stop pressing forward, felt it try to retreat, to disentangle itself.
But I had it now. Arianne had used my fear, my dream to create this monster. They were mine to take if I could handle them. If I could face that much of my own fear. And so I pulled, and I held fast, and I swallowed it back. Images washed over me, terrifying images. The black cat that had started it all, the nightmare Arianne had farmed for the seed to grow the dream shard, stared at me with glowing eyes, flashing sharp fangs before leaping inside of me, splashing into my soul. I felt a feeling of completeness, of being utterly full, almost…content.
And then nothing.
Chapter 18
Something warm and heavy pressed against my back. A pleasant buzzing sensation vibrated against my spine, reverberating throughout my body like a soft, steady massage, seeking and destroying every pain, every knot of tension. A giant, spiky ball of ice lay trapped deep inside my core, and every breath I took pressed shards of cold into my lungs. I shrank away from that cold, that pain. Some instinct told me it was going to get worse. There was no escaping it, not even in sleep. Still, unconsciousness seemed better than waking. I tried to burrow further into the darkness, trying to hide under the shadows, away from the growing light.
“Her breathing changed. I think she’s waking up.”
Liam’s voice. I squeezed my eyes shut tighter, fighting consciousness even as my senses stirred. I didn’t want to wake up. I wanted to sleep, to press closer to that warm sensation behind me until the pleasant buzz drove deeper, broke apart the aching rock of frozen pain.
“Shade, wake up.”
Liam’s voice again. My brain shook off the last vestiges of sleep, rousing my body with the unwelcome realization that the warm weight pressed against me was the werewolf alpha. A tinge of awkwardness poisoned my warm, buzzy feeling, but not so much that I was willing to give it up yet. If I wasn’t awake, I couldn’t be embarrassed. I tried to go back to sleep.
Monster (Blood Trails Book 2) Page 26