Hell’s Bell

by Arthur, Keri

  And fast.

  I hesitated a second longer, and then grabbed a fistful of the material and reached down to that place deep inside where my psychometry skill lay leashed and waiting. While it usually worked better with possessions worn close to the skin that weren’t washed—things like necklaces, rings, or watches rather than items of clothing—it was still possible to track someone through clothing if the item had only recently been discarded. This shirt had been—it was still damp with perspiration.

  But I didn’t open the door to my abilities very wide. Given the foulness emanating from the material, the last thing I needed was to slip into the mind of the stranger as I’d slipped into the mind of the teenager when the vampire had first killed her. I didn’t need to experience whatever hell was being inflicted on him. I just needed to find him.

  The shirt led us left, toward the lake and a barely visible strand of trees.

  You know, it might be wise at this point to ring Aiden, Belle said.

  And tell him what? That I’ve found an evil-feeling shirt? That’ll go down well at this hour of the night.

  Her grin flashed. If that man is asleep, I’ll eat my hat.

  You don’t wear them.

  Well no, because they mess with the hair. But the sentiment nevertheless applies.

  I snorted softly. If and when we find something to ring him about, I’ll do so. Not before.

  Besides, I was a little peeved at the man. Though he’d come into the café regularly for coffee, cake, and a chat, he’d yet to make any further moves when it came to us going out.

  He did say the date could wait until you’d fully recovered, Belle said mildly. It’s possible he’s simply waiting for you to say you are.

  Anyone can see that I am. He can’t be that daft.

  He’s a man. They sometimes have to be clubbed over the head with the obvious.

  I snorted again and continued to follow the shirt’s weakening vibes. We neared the barely visible grove of trees, but weren’t led into them, as I’d half expected. Instead, the shirt tugged me around their left edge. About halfway down the grove, sitting rather neatly side by side, was a pair of black shoes, complete with socks tucked neatly inside.

  This is seriously weird. Belle stopped beside me. If it weren’t for the evil rolling off that shirt, I’d think we were tracking nothing more than a werewolf who’s decided to go for a midnight run.

  Werewolves don’t need to strip off to shift shape. The shifting ability was an inherent DNA mutation rather than a form of personal magic, but the latter did rather conveniently take care of their clothes and everything they might be carrying.

  I know that, but maybe this fellow is drunk or something.

  Maybe. I doubted it, though. This whole situation felt darker than that.

  We stepped over the shoes and continued on toward the lake. The black water was still and quiet, and, rather strangely, clear of fog. Which meant if the fog was connected to whatever was happening, the lake was not our final destination.

  We were guided around the water’s right edge, and soon discovered another item of clothing.

  Dress pants, Belle said. I’m betting undies are next.

  I think that’s a given at this point.

  Three minutes later that proved to be the case.

  This time, I didn’t bother stopping. The vibes coming from the shirt were fading fast; either the owner’s presence was leaving the material, or his life was slipping away.

  I hoped it was the former.

  I suspected it was the latter.

  Urgency beat through me and I quickened my steps. Up ahead, the vague outline of a building appeared through the gloom. I knew by its position it was the recently renovated rotunda, but it certainly didn’t look anything like that right now.

  But there was one thing I was sure of: whatever was happening—whatever it was that I was sensing—it was waiting for us in that building.

  How do you want to play this? Belle asked.

  I hesitated. While I really don’t want to go anywhere near that building alone, it makes far more tactical sense if I go in and you hang back to keep an eye on things out here.

  She nodded. Just don’t get dead or anything like that.

  I’ll certainly try not to.

  Good. She paused. The spirits inform me there’s something on the move ahead.

  My gaze jumped back to the rotunda. Nothing stirred the heavy fog; if someone was moving, then they weren’t coming toward us. Seriously, can they be a little less enigmatic on this one occasion?

  They would if they could. They can see movement. They just can’t see what lies behind it.

  I frowned. It’s hiding its presence? Because I’m still not sensing any magic.

  They’re not sure if it’s magic, or simply an ability to use the fog as concealment. There are spirits who can do that, apparently. She paused. It’s now running, so it’s obviously sensed either them or us.

  I swore, swung the pack off, and pulled out the silver knife. Anything that could hide from the eyes of spirits was not something I wanted to confront unarmed. And while I did have the beginning of a repelling spell threaded around my fingers, it would still take time to complete—and time was something I might not have if the unknown entity decided to attack.

  I’ll chase the spirit or whatever the hell it is. You go check the rotunda. But use the warding potions around that building, and be damned careful.

  I handed her the pack, and then bolted after the spirit. Even though I hadn’t yet gone that far, my heart was racing so fast it felt like it was going to tear out of my chest. Fear, not exertion.

  The closer I got to the rotunda, the deeper the fog became, and the more certain I was that death and violation waited within its shrouded walls.

  But that was not my discovery to make.

  I took a wide path around the building, but my boots sank into the soft soil near the lake’s edge, momentarily robbing me of speed. I swore and lunged back up the bank in an effort to reach more solid ground, but thick ropes of ethereal dampness swirled around me, pushing me back, impeding my progress. It was only when the charm sitting around my neck flared to life that I realized it was also attempting to bind me.

  Even though neither the spirits nor I could feel the presence of magic, it was certainly here. I finished the repelling incantation and, with a flick of my fingers, thrust it out into the night. The fog immediately retreated. I ran on, every sense I had—both psychic and magical—searching the night, trying to find some hint of a creature who seemed as ethereal as the fog.

  But there was absolutely nothing out there. Nothing except the thick gray blanket that crept ever closer again, and the vague hint of wrongness.

  I began another repelling incantation, but before I could finish, insubstantial matter twined around one leg and yanked it out from underneath me.

  I twisted as I fell, landing on my back rather than my stomach in an effort to avoid skewering myself with the knife. My breath escaped in a short, sharp wheeze of pain and, for a moment, stars danced in front of my eyes. I wasted more breath cursing, and then slashed at the fog with the knife. It instantly recoiled from the silver blade, and I was free again.

  But as I pushed upright, something splashed in the lake. Something large. I spun around, my grip on the knife so fierce my knuckles were white. With the dark water free from the fog, it was easy enough to see the ripples rolling away from a spot at least twenty feet out from the shoreline. But there was nothing else to see, and certainly no indication that anyone—or anything—might be hiding beneath the lake’s surface.

  Had it been a fish? Did they even jump at night?

  I really had no idea, although that splash had sounded a whole lot larger than the type of fish generally caught in this lake.

  I stood and watched for several seconds longer, but there was no further movement. Uneasy of the water—or perhaps of what might now be in it—I spun around and continued following that faint wisp of wrongness. But I�
�d barely taken a couple of steps when my tenuous hold on it snapped and died.

  Whoever—whatever—it was, it was no longer within the range of my senses. Had it used the water to escape? My gaze swept across the lake’s dark surface, but there was nothing to indicate movement. Nothing to suggest anything untoward had happened within its boundaries.

  I cursed again, then spun and stalked back to the rotunda. The fog was already beginning to lift, all but confirming my suspicions that it was linked with whatever had been in this park. Up ahead, the simple wooden structure reappeared; its sides were open and its tin roof shone dull silver in the night. Belle stood unmoving on the far edge of it, but I could feel her horror as strongly as if it were my own. And part of me really didn’t want to confront whatever might be causing it.

  But instinct had led me here for a reason, and no good ever came of ignoring it.

  I slowly climbed the steps, felt the light caress of energy as I crossed over the barrier of the warding potions, and then stopped. The man who’d scattered his clothing through the park lay on his back in the center of the small building. He was lean rather than muscular in build, and was probably about six feet tall, with reddish-brown hair and brown skin—all of which suggested he might be a member of the Marin wolf pack. Even from where I stood, it was obvious he was dead, but it rather weirdly looked as if he’d simply lain down and gone to sleep. His arms were crossed across his chest, and neither terror nor fear lingered on his face.

  And yet, a deep sense of violation and utter, utter agony rode the air. One that chilled me to the core.

  I rubbed my arms, but it didn’t seem to help. “Why isn’t his soul rising?”

  “Because it can’t.”

  I frowned and studied the stranger with my “other” senses. And, thanks in part to my connection with Belle, saw what she’d meant.

  His soul really couldn’t rise. Not because he was in any way reluctant to accept his death and move on, but because that choice had been taken from him, and in the most violent way imaginable.

  Someone—something—had ripped it from his flesh while he was still alive.

  Chapter Two

  My gaze rose to Belle’s, and in those silver depths I saw echoes of the shock and fear that coursed through me.

  This wasn’t an ordinary evil spirit.

  This was a goddamn soul eater.

  Which was the worst of the worst. At least most evil spirits only killed you in this lifetime. They didn’t utterly destroy any possibility of reincarnation and future lives.

  “I think I’d rather be dealing with another damn vampire.” Belle thrust a somewhat shaky hand through her thick black hair. “We’re not equipped to deal with this, Lizzie.”

  “And even if we were, I sure as hell don’t want to.” My gaze returned to the naked stranger. How could he look so peaceful when his last minutes must have been utter agony? I shivered and added, “Aiden will have to call in the local RWA representative.”

  The Regional Witch Association was the overriding governmental body that dealt with all situations involving witches within regional communities, with each witch having a set district to look after. But they were also often called in on investigations that involved supernatural criminality.

  Such as a vampire running amok.

  Or a soul eater setting up shop in an unprotected reservation.

  “The trouble is,” Belle said, “we’re all this place has until that representative gets here.”

  “It surely wouldn’t take them more than a day to do so.”

  And while I had no idea how often soul eaters fed, it didn’t think it would be a nightly occurrence. Not even vampires fed that often.

  “Even my guides aren’t willing to take a punt on that question.” Belle’s nose wrinkled. “I’m guessing the speed with which RWA gets here will depend entirely on whether they’ve employed a temporary replacement for Anna.”

  Anna Kang was the RWA witch who’d taken the brunt of a spell explosion that had been meant for me. Though she’d received what had looked like serious burns, we’d heard on the local gossip grapevine—who apparently had first-rate contacts—that she was recovering better than expected and would thankfully be back on the job within a month or so.

  “It’s too big a region to go without a witch for more than a week.”

  Belle shrugged. “Who knows how that mob works? It’s not like we’ve ever had much contact with them.”

  And for a very good reason—my parents. Or rather, my probably absurd fear that they would one day come for us. It was the main reason behind our change of surnames and the invention of backgrounds that would stand up to fairly close scrutiny.

  Of course, it was a High Council ruling that all witches moving into a new area inform local authorities of their presence, but we never bothered. Both of us were unvetted, which technically meant the rules didn’t apply. If it hadn’t been for that damn vampire, the RWA would have remained unaware of our presence here.

  “Just in case there is a delay,” I said, “it might be worth hunting through your grandmother’s books and seeing what she’s got to say on the subject.”

  “That might be a little hard, given we have no idea what type of spirit we’re looking for aside from the fact it feeds on souls.”

  I blinked, and glanced at her. “There’s more than one type?”

  “So the spirits say.”

  “Isn’t that just fantastic.” I thrust a hand through my hair, but my fingers snagged in a tangle. When I pulled them free, a little ball of crimson floated away on the breeze. In the darkness, it almost looked like twined strands of blood, and I couldn’t help but hope it wasn’t an omen of what was to come. “In that case, look for one whose foul deeds are foretold by the ringing of a church bell.”

  Belle’s eyebrows rose. “Is that what woke you?”

  “Yep. It rang three times, and then stopped.”

  “And when the bell rings thrice in the middle of the night, death this way comes.... I remember reading that somewhere as a kid.” She stared down at the stranger for a second. “You know, this thing could have at least waited until Christmas was over before it started causing mayhem.”

  “I’m thinking soul eaters really don’t care much about anything other than their own wants or needs.” Not that I’d ever had any dealings with them, but it did seem to be the creed of evil spirits in general. “While I call Aiden, can you look around for any spell remnants or magic paraphernalia? We might be dealing with a spirit capable of doing nothing more than compelling fog, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

  And I’d rather not leave anything magical lying about for some kid to either stumble over or get caught in.

  She nodded and quickly left. I didn’t have to read her thoughts to know she was more than happy to get away from the heavy emotions and taint of evil that still lingered here in the rotunda.

  I pulled out my phone, scrolled through the contacts list until I found Aiden’s number, and called him.

  He answered on the third ring, which suggested Belle had been right—he wasn’t asleep.

  “Liz? Why are you ringing at this hour? What’s wrong?”

  His reply was soft, and there was someone speaking in the background. I couldn’t hear what was being said, but the voice was definitely feminine rather than masculine in tone.

  That thin thread of annoyance grew stronger, which was utterly stupid given we hadn’t even gone out. “I’ve just found a body in the small rotunda at the botanical gardens.”

  My voice was, thankfully, free of any sort of emotion.

  He swore, and the background speaker fell silent. I wasn’t entirely sure whether to be pleased about that, if only because silence didn’t give me any clues as to where he was or who he was with.

  Not that I had a right to know either.

  A serious case of attraction does tend to short-circuit the rational sections of the brain, Belle commented dryly.

  I did not request a comment fr
om the peanut gallery, thank you very much.

  Her laughter drifted through my thoughts as Aiden said, “I’ll call Ciara and get her out there immediately. I’ll be there in about half an hour.” He paused. “Are you able to stay until then?”

  Ciara wasn’t only the coroner, but also his sister. The fact that she could get here far sooner than him suggested he was somewhere other than his pack’s home compound on Mount Alexander. It had only taken him ten minutes to run from there when I’d called to say I’d found Anna burned but alive, so he was obviously well outside the Castle Rock district.

  “Why don’t you just call in Tala or one of the deputies?” I replied. “It’d save me freezing my butt off, and you leaving your company.”

  “Because I’m on call tonight, not them.” There was a slight edge in his voice. “Can you stay?”

  I sighed. “Yes, but only if you bring me a bucket of coffee to unfreeze me.”

  “Deal. Don’t disturb the crime scene any more than necessary,” he said, and hung up.

  I stared at the phone for a moment, then shoved it back into my pocket with perhaps a little more force than was necessary.

  Belle, are you finding anything untoward out there?

  Not a goddamn thing. I’m on my way back.

  I knelt beside the stranger but didn’t touch him. I really didn’t need to at this point—the emanations of what was basically a metaphysical rape still rolled from his skin. The horror of it continued to push at my mind, but it was fading as fast as his flesh was cooling.

  If I wanted to find out what had truly happened here, I needed to use my precognition and psychometry skills before the heat totally left him. The brain didn’t die the minute the heart stopped—generally; there was up to a six-minute window of survival, after which deterioration began if the heart wasn’t restarted. Even then, some levels of memory could be affected, particularly short-term.

  Reviving him was out of the question in this particular case, as no one could survive without a soul. No one except zombies, that was, and their survival was reliant on the strength of the sorcerer who raised them.