Wicked Wings Read online

  “You’re not. That’s the whole point.”

  “You’re a mean woman, Lizzie, but you won’t stop the course of true love.”

  I grinned. “Give it up, Monty.”

  He laughed. “Why? It gives me something to do.”

  “I’m never going to be your something to do, Monty,” Belle yelled. “So please do give it up.”

  “Have you told her it’s not polite to be listening in on your conversations?”

  “She’s my familiar. It’s her job to listen in. Now hang up so I can get ready.”

  Once he had, I went into the reading room to grab my gear. We might find absolutely nothing, but I wasn’t about to bet my life on that—a thought that had me wondering just what my prophetic soul sensed.

  Belle came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on the tea towel slung over her shoulder. “Do you want a coffee to take with you?”

  “Yeah, and you’d better make one for Monty too, or he’ll get all grumpy on us.”

  “Grumpy might be an improvement over lustlorn.”

  “He’s definitely persistent.”

  “Always was.” She shook her head, a smile teasing her lips. “I was never sure why, given who he was and who I was. I mean, his parents would have had conniptions if he’d ever dipped the precious Ashworth pen in my well.”

  I laughed. “Maybe, but he did have an eye for good-looking women, and you are quite stunning.”

  “That may be true now, but it didn’t stop him chasing me when we were teenagers.”

  “Maybe he just recognized the potential for gorgeousness within that scrawny bod of yours.”

  “Possibly.” She grinned. “You know, if he wasn’t your cousin and wasn’t so damn annoying, I might have considered it. He was never bad-looking, and he’s certainly filled out nicely since then.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure he’ll be pleased to hear you noticed.”

  She gave me a deadpan look and slid two coffees across the counter to me. “Tell him, and he’ll be around here every free second. We both know you want that no more than I do.”

  “Very true.” I slung the pack over my back, then picked up the coffees. “Have fun with Kash tonight.”

  “Planning on it. But I’m only a mind-shout away if you need anything.”

  I nodded and headed out. Monty was already waiting at the front of his place, so I undid my seat belt and leaned across to open the door for him. He threw in his backpack and crutches, then climbed in.

  “That additional coffee for me?” he said as he retrieved the spell-wrapped feathers from his pack. It was quite intricate, and I wished I had the time to study it more closely.

  Wished—probably for the very first time since that fateful day we’d fled Canberra—that I’d been given the chance to finish my studies. Teaching ourselves via Belle’s gran’s books was all well and good, but there was so much we didn’t know. So much that I wanted to know.

  “Yes, it is. Where to?”

  “Go back up to Duke Street.” He picked up his coffee and then grinned. “How can you say Belle doesn’t care when she made me a coffee?”

  I raised an eyebrow. “How do you know I didn’t make it?”

  “Magical fingerprint on the top of the cup—yours are only on the sides, indicating you carried but she made it. You’d left Canberra by the time we got to all those lessons.”

  Which was just another reminder of how little I knew when it came to magic. “I knew every witch has a distinct magical ‘signature,’ but I wasn’t aware it was evident in our fingerprints.”

  He nodded. “Most supernatural beings have specific print characteristics, but they’re harder to record.”

  “Does that mean you can catalogue them like regular fingerprints?”

  “Yes, but only with a specific spell, and only then if they’re caught early enough. There is, in fact, a database in Canberra containing both finger and magical imprints of some of history’s nastiest witches.”

  “Huh.” I did a right-hand turn into Duke Street and then sped up again. “I take it you’ve searched said database to see if there’s a match for our shifter?”

  “Indeedy. There isn’t.”

  “Did unpicking her magic—or what remained of it on those feathers—give you any idea as to who she is? Or where she might have come from?”

  “Not exactly.”

  I glanced at him. “Meaning?”

  He hesitated. “Her magic feels very old.”

  “Some shifters do live for a very long time.”

  “Yes, but her imprint just feels… off.”

  Like the thoughts of the first one had been. “If she’s a witch as well as a shifter, isn’t that to be expected? The two usually don’t go together.”

  “It’s not that. Her energy is almost otherworldly.”

  “Could she have done a deal with a dark witch? Or even a demon? Our demon?”

  “At this stage, I’m not discounting any possibility.” He glanced at me. “But you did say there were three shifters who were attacked, and it’s very unusual for a demon to bind itself to more than one entity at a time.”

  “Unusual but not unknown. I’ve read plenty of texts about dark witches enslaving their children, siblings, or even lovers to gain greater power.”

  “True. Turn right into Fryers Road—it’s just after the swimming pool.”

  I did so. The road narrowed alarmingly, forcing me to slow down. We drove under an old brick rail bridge, and the houses gave way to rolling, tree-covered hills.

  “Perfect area for a shifter to hide out in,” I commented. “Lots of roosting areas.”

  “Bird shifters no more spend the majority of their time in their alternate form than werewolves do,” Monty commented. “I thought you’d know that, given you’re dating one of the locals.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Yes, but maintaining an alternate form is the easiest way to hide in plain sight. Non-witches wouldn’t know the difference, and werewolves probably wouldn’t either, unless they were close enough to scent them.”

  “Also true.” He paused and glanced down at the pulsing spell. “Slow down—it’s that house on the left.”

  I pulled onto the side of the road and stopped the Outback. The house was more a cottage, with a door in the middle and single-pane windows on either side. Its tin roof was rusted, but the small front garden was well-tended and the grass cut short.

  “What do you think?” he asked.

  I leaned my arms on the steering wheel and studied the place. Curtains had been drawn across the windows and I couldn’t see a car, though there was no driveway entrance at the front, either. The cottage was obviously accessed from the side road up ahead.

  “I’m thinking this looks too easy.”

  He glanced at me. “She couldn’t know I’d be able to unpick her magic and use it to track her.”

  “I know. I just—” I grimaced. “Maybe it’s my inner pessimist coming to the fore, because I’m certainly not getting any bad vibes from the place.”

  “Would you, from this distance?”

  “Possibly.”

  He grunted and returned his gaze to the cottage. “We need to go in there and look.”

  “Yes. But it’s too open here to do that.”

  I shoved the SUV back into gear and continued on to the small road. As I’d guessed, the cottage’s driveway came off this. I parked on the grass under a large gum tree and then twisted around to look back at the property. There were a number of old sheds in the main yard, and a couple more in the paddocks beyond—most of which seemed to be shelters for a small assortment of sheep and cattle. There was also a large metal water tank sitting next to the house, though it looked as rusted as the roofing. The cottage had to be connected to the town’s main water supply, because no one in their right mind would be drinking from a tank that degraded.

  “The back of the house looks as locked down as the front,” Monty commented. “And I can’t see a car.”

  “It could be
in one of the sheds.” Two were certainly large enough to hold a vehicle. “What do you want to do?”

  “Go in, of course. It’s the only way we’ll know if she’s in there or not.”

  “And if she is?”

  “Then maybe we can speak to her.”

  I snorted. “Yeah, a shifter who’s possibly done a deal with the devil—or, at least, one of his demons—is really going to calmly sit down and have a nice little chat with the reservation witch.”

  His grin flashed. “Hey, you never know until you try.”

  “Things are never that easy in this place. Trust me on that.”

  I jumped out and hurried around to hold the door open while he maneuvered out of the SUV. Once he was balanced on his crutches, I grabbed both packs and slung them over my shoulder.

  “You want to check the sheds?” he said. “I’ll see if the doors are locked.”

  I nodded and, once he was safely on the driveway’s smoother ground, headed across to the first of the old sheds. As I reached out to open the old wooden door, the vague sensation of being watched stirred.

  My heart rate instantly leaped several notches and I glanced around sharply. Monty was making his way down the left side of the house, and there was nothing or no one else moving about. Nor was there any hint of evil to suggest my watcher was either the shifter or the flesh-stripping demon.

  But something was out there.

  My grip tightened on the door handle and the faint threads of a repelling spell began to stir across my fingers—the instinctiveness of the reaction was almost as scary as whatever watched me.

  Then my ‘other’ senses caught a wisp of energy and my gut tightened as recognition stirred. That energy belonged to the White Lady.

  She was here.

  And watching.

  Waiting.

  Six

  I took a deep breath and released it slowly. It didn’t do a whole lot to ease the rapid pounding of my pulse. While I doubted the White Lady intended me immediate harm, the fact she continued to haunt my steps was rather unnerving.

  “If you want something,” I whispered, certain she’d hear it, “you really should let my friend speak to you.”

  She didn’t move and—naturally—didn’t reply.

  “I can’t help you if I don’t know what you want.”

  Again, silence.

  I hesitated, and then opened the shed’s door. It creaked loudly, and wings fluttered in response. I looked up and saw a couple of sparrows staring balefully at me from cobwebbed metal rafters—they’d obviously flown in here through the cracked side window to escape the afternoon’s heat.

  I stepped further inside and looked around; the old wooden workbenches and various gardening tools were covered in dust and yet more cobwebs, an indication they hadn’t been used in a while. The ride-on lawnmower parked to my right was free of both, though, suggesting it had at least been used in the last couple of days. There was little else here beyond the usual assortment of garden tools, hoses, and buckets.

  I left the sparrows to their shadows and headed across to the next shed. My watcher drifted with me, her distance neither increasing nor decreasing. I flexed my fingers, a move that sent tiny sparks spiraling. Unease stirred anew, and I quickly drew the energy pressing against my fingertips back into my soul. The means of controlling innate power was something every blueblood witch learned almost as soon as they could walk, but with the wild magic becoming a stronger force within me, it was pretty obvious I’d have to revisit those earlier lessons. Otherwise—as teachers and parents constantly hammered into every young witch—the results could be calamitous for those I cared about.

  There was a rusted old Ford wagon with flat tires parked on one side of the next shed, and a newer-looking sedan on the other. I walked over to the latter. The doors were unlocked, so I opened the passenger side and leaned in, checking the middle console. It contained little more than a packet of Minties and a half-consumed block of chocolate. I moved on to the glove compartment. Aside from more snacks, it held the vehicle’s service book and a couple of old bills. A quick sort through the latter revealed the car’s owner was a Mrs. T. Vaughn; at least we had a name to work with if she had become a victim of the shifter. If nothing else, Belle might be able to recall her spirit and see what had happened.

  I checked the rest of the vehicle, but couldn’t find anything that made my psychic radar tingle. Once I’d checked the station wagon, I headed back out. The White Lady continued to drift along with me; there was no sense of urgency in her movements, no indication that she wanted me to find something… and yet I had a growing suspicion that there was something here to find.

  Monty appeared around the other end of the house and hobbled toward me.

  “Anything?” he said.

  “The house belongs to a Mrs. Vaughn, and we’re being watched by a White Lady. Other than that, no. You?”

  He did something of a double take. “The White Lady is here?”

  I nodded. “Watching from a safe distance over to my left.”

  His gaze narrowed, and after a moment, he grunted. “I’m not sensing anything.”

  “That’s because you’re using magical radar, not psychic. Trust me, she’s there.”

  “Oh, I’m not doubting it, but it’s damn unusual for a White Lady to be proficient enough at magic to hide her form like that. Even if we are dealing with a former witch, I’ve never read anything that says your power can cross over when your soul does.”

  “Which means there’s no indication that it can’t, either.”

  “True.” He glanced toward the house. “All the windows are curtained, the doors are locked, and there’s no indication of magic around the exterior. But given the presence of our specter, I’m inclined to think we should go inside and investigate.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “What happened to obeying the law and all that?”

  He grinned. “You’re the one who told me the rangers won’t say anything if it’s case connected. Don’t blame me if I use it to my full advantage.”

  I smiled. “Do you want to do the honors, or shall I?”

  He motioned toward the crutches. “It’d be easier if you did it.”

  I walked over to the door and pressed a palm against it, just above the handle. The ‘unlock’ spell—like many others I knew—was self-taught, though I’d honed my technique somewhat after witnessing Monty doing it. The quicksilver spell threads glittered briefly before slipping into the wood. A heartbeat later, the bolt unlocked.

  “Impressive,” Monty said. “Another variation, but a very efficient one.”

  I pushed the door open with my fingers, revealing a small laundry room and a second door—this one half-closed. The still air was thick and warm and held a vague hint of rotten egg.

  “That,” Monty commented, “is not a good sign.”

  “If you’re implying it’s demon scent, doesn’t that basically confirm at least one of our shifters is working for—or with—the flesh stripper?” I cautiously stepped inside. Other than the soft ticking of a clock, there was little in the way of sound.

  “Well, I doubt it’s a coincidence the shifter and the demon were hunting in the same area last night.”

  “Except she was headed in the opposite direction until the victim screamed.”

  “There’s three of them, remember. One might have been acting as a decoy.”

  “I guess.” I carefully opened the next door, my heart rate once again jumping several notches even though there was no indication of danger. The room beyond was shadowed and compact, with the main room being a combined kitchen and living area. To my immediate left was a small bathroom, and on the right, a bedroom. The place looked and felt empty. Or, at least, empty of life. The jury was still out on anything else.

  “You want to check the living area?” I said. “I’ll head into the bedroom.”

  I walked across the room without waiting for an answer. The bedroom ran the full width of the small cottage and held a double b
ed and a large wardrobe. In a corner near the front window, a new-looking iMac sat on an antique desk. Tucked against the wall close by was a plush executive chair. On the opposite side was a small dressing table. I walked over and skimmed a hand across various items on the dresser, but none of the jewelry—or anything else in the room, for that matter—drew a response.

  I wrinkled my nose and headed back out. “Anything?”

  Monty shook his head. “The locator is still saying this is the spot, though.”

  “Are you sure it’s working properly?”

  He gave me a ‘don’t be stupid’ sort of look. I grinned and added, “Then why is the damn thing insisting she’s here, when she’s obviously not?”

  “Maybe this is her roost, and that’s what the spell is picking up.” He shrugged. “We’ll have to place a watch on the place, just in case she returns.”

  “It’s not exactly a thriving metropolis around here—a vehicle that’s stationary for any length of time will be noticed.” Especially when we were dealing with a winged shifter—even if she didn’t suspect we were following her, she’d be damn wary after being attacked magically. “And as you said in the clearing last night, she’ll more than likely sense any sort of alarm spell.”

  “Which is why we’ll use something more mundane.” He motioned for his pack and then pulled out a small camera. “It has got a range of around nine meters, so if we attach it somewhere to the side of the house, it’ll cover a good portion of the yard as well as the back door.”

  “How is that going to help us? We still can’t park nearby.”

  “It’ll push alerts to my phone, so we can wait at a safe distance.”

  “Monty, I have no intention of sitting in an SUV all night waiting for a shifter that may or may not appear. I have to work tomorrow.”

  “Then we’ll call Ashworth. He can take over watch duty after ten or so.”

  “Oh, I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.”

  “Given he’s still technically the acting reservation witch, it is his task to do.” His voice was dry. “Let’s go set things up.”

  I locked the door while Monty briefly studied the yard and then headed across to the water tank. The White Lady remained at a distance, and once again I couldn’t escape the notion there was something here she wanted us to find. I frowned and followed Monty across the yard, only to have to do a quick side step as he stopped abruptly.