Wicked Wings Page 2

  I grimaced—something he’d see only if his link with his familiar was deep enough to be using the cat’s eyes. “Once you’ve spent some time in this reservation, you’ll discover ‘would have’ and ‘should have’ often don’t—”

  I stopped as my makeshift shovel hit something solid. I swallowed trepidation and then carefully scraped away more dirt.

  And found the arm.

  Or, at least, what looked to be the bones of one.

  I pushed away from the gruesome find and landed heavily on my butt. Several breaths did little to ease the churning in my stomach or the growing certainty that this was the beginning of a new reign of terror from yet another dark spirit.

  “A fucking arm that’s been picked clean?” Monty’s voice held a mix of disbelief and excitement. “How awesome is that?”

  “I can think of many words to describe the find, Monty, but awesome isn’t one of them.”

  “Well, no, the death isn’t awesome, but the fact we’ll be hunting down a creature capable of doing such a thing is.”

  “You’re certifiable, you know that? And may I remind you that you’re in Melbourne and won’t be hunting down anything in the immediate future.”

  “And may I remind you that rehabilitation doesn’t stop me from participating in at least the research side of things.” His tone remained decidedly upbeat. Obviously, being attacked by a soucouyant hadn’t in any way dulled his initial excitement over finally getting some magical action. “Besides, I’ve already been cleared to continue rehabilitation in Castle Rock, so I can be the control center while you and Ashworth do all the legwork.”

  Amusement bubbled through me; Ashworth would be mighty pleased to hear he’d been reduced to legwork. “This is all presuming that the bones were buried recently. My senses might be wrong—”

  “Since when has that happened?”

  “Well, not in recent months, but still—”

  “Exactly,” he cut in. “So stop with all the doubt bullshit and get the rangers in so we—”

  I tuned out the rest of his sentence as a faint and yet agonized scream ran across the night—the scream of a man rather than a woman. The sort of scream that only happened in those final few seconds between the realization of death and death actually hitting.

  The sound died as abruptly as it had started, but an ominous pulse of power now ran through the darkness. Its origin was not of this world, but rather the supernatural.

  Demon.

  The word whispered through my brain, and fear chased after it. A sane person would have run in the opposite direction, but self-preservation was something that had become somewhat spotty since I’d stepped into this reservation. Perhaps it was the connection to the wild magic; perhaps it was simply the growing certainty that there was to be no more running for Belle and me. That this place was home, and unless we did our utmost to take care of it, it would become hell on earth for everyone within—whether or not Monty or Ashworth or any other witch was here.

  Which was a rather weird thought and not one I had time to examine.

  I scrambled upright, grabbed my phone, and ran after Eamon.

  “Monty, call the rangers for me. Tell them where we are and what’s happening. Then call Ashworth, just in case.”

  “Will do. Be careful.”

  He hung up before I could reply. For a change, Eamon remained in sight, keeping close enough to guide me, although I didn’t need it with the pull of evil.

  I silently wove the threads of a containment spell around the fingers of my free hand, though I had no idea if it would be strong enough to stop whatever lay ahead. But it was better than running into an unknown situation unarmed. I did have a couple of small bottles of holy water tucked inside my purse, but I had to be far closer to evil for them to be of any use.

  The pulse of demonic power began to fade. I swore and dredged up more speed, crashing through the underbrush, hoping against hope that we got there in time to save the man who’d screamed, even though the psychic part of me knew it was already too late.

  I stumbled through a thick strand of shrubs, snagging my T-shirt and tearing more skin. I swore, but caught my balance and ran on, winding my way through the trees as the glow of lights from the houses ahead grew ever warmer.

  Part of me hoped I was reading this wrong—that whatever fate had befallen the stranger wasn’t supernatural in origin… but even as that thought hit, I dismissed it. As Monty had said, my senses hadn’t been wrong much of late. It was time I truly started trusting them, rather than always second-guessing or doubting—a habit I’d fallen into long ago. One that came from a childhood of having my gifts and magic constantly derided.

  I leaped over a log and stumbled over a couple of rocks, my fingers brushing the ground as I fought to maintain balance and keep moving. Up ahead, the cat paused and looked around, its eyes gleaming like jewels in the phone’s light. Checking on me, seeing if I was still close.

  Meaning it didn’t want to face whatever lay ahead alone—and that only ratcheted up my tension a whole lot more.

  I ran on desperately, well aware the caress of evil was growing ever fainter. If we didn’t get there soon, we wouldn’t be able to stop it. I flexed my fingers, and the threads of the containment spell stirred uneasily. I hoped it would be enough, but that fading force was damnably strong.

  I powered up a steep incline and then through another strand of trees. Ahead, the cat made a sharp turn left, sending debris scattering. I followed, grabbing an overhead branch to steady myself as one foot slipped on rotting leaves. The trees were now thinning out, and the sounds of nearby civilization were growing stronger—the rumble of car engines mingling with the sweet sound of someone singing and the bellows of a frustrated mother yelling at her kids.

  Had any of them heard the scream? Surely they should have, given how close they were. And yet, if they had, wouldn’t the rangers already be on the way? Did the fact I couldn’t hear any sirens mean there’d been some sort of magic involved in this death? There were certainly demons capable of hiding their presence from witches, so it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that they could also restrict sight and sound.

  We came out of the trees onto a rough stone road. It was barely wide enough for a car and wasn’t used all that much if the weeds growing up through the stone were anything to go by.

  The cat paused; I did the same, looking right and left. That thread of evil was now so faint it was little more than a tremor on the wind. But that was all we needed; we went right.

  The broken road began a long curve around to the left. Up ahead, streetlights glowed, a beckoning promise of safety—and a lie. Whatever evil had stalked this area had centered on the crossroad ahead.

  But nothing lurked in the warm puddles of light or the shadows that lay beyond them. Whatever had caused the man to utter such a bloodcurdling scream had left; the only question to be answered now was, where was that man? There was no sign of anyone up ahead. No indication of anyone lying on the ground, broken, bleeding, or even dead. Maybe he’d staggered down the road or sought help in one of the nearby houses—but again, surely there’d be a ranger or ambulance response by now if that had been the case.

  The gentle singing ceased and, for a brief moment, the night was still. I slowed and scanned the area ahead, looking for something—anything—out of place. There was nothing.

  I glanced down at the cat. “I’m not sensing anything—are you?”

  The cat studied the street ahead for several seconds, his nose twitching. Then he yowled and stalked on. I followed, the threads of the spell still swirling around my fingers, despite the fact the demon who’d been here doing God knows what to that young screamer had now departed.

  We were maybe a dozen feet away from the streetlight on the corner when I was hit by a wave of emotion so fierce my breath snagged in my throat and my heart went into overdrive. And then I saw the dark gleam of moisture on the ground…

  There was too much blood for anyone to have survive
d such a loss. Far too much.

  The cat skirted the pool and walked toward the light pole on the right-hand side of the road.

  And that’s when I saw them.

  Bones.

  Bones that had almost been picked clean.

  Human bones.

  And stacked neatly on top of them, with hair and eyes still attached, was the skull of a young man.

  Two

  Horror twisted through me, and I briefly closed my eyes. There’d only been five or six minutes—if that—between the scream and our arrival here, but in that short amount of time, the young man had not only lost his life but also his skin, muscles, and organs.

  That there was a demon capable of doing such a thing was bad enough, but to do it so damn quickly? I shuddered, and couldn’t help but step back. In part because I didn’t want to see if there were bits of flesh or tiny bone fragments in that vast pool of blood, and partly because everything the victim had felt—all his terror and pain—still blanketed the air. I may have seen far worse since we’d set up our café in this reservation, but this death was far too fresh. The thick waves of agony were bad enough here; they’d be nigh on suffocating if I stepped any closer.

  I took a deep breath, then, as the wail of approaching sirens finally echoed across the night, switched off the flashlight app and called Monty.

  “Tell me what your cat is seeing.”

  “Undoubtedly the exact same thing as you—”

  “I can’t get close to the remains. Too much of his agony still rides the air.”

  “That’s a new development, isn’t it?” An odd mix of curiosity and concern edged Monty’s voice.

  “Yeah, it is.”

  Normally my shields were strong enough to counter any sort of emotional output, even the ones that lingered after a violent death. They had to be, as my psychometry skills meant one unguarded touch could very easily overwhelm my mind.

  It was only when I tried to read the mind of a fresh corpse—tried to capture whatever memories remained before the creeping darkness of death swept them away for good—that I risked this sort of emotional overload and a whole lot more besides. Which was why I rarely attempted doing that sort of thing, and certainly never without Belle—or, at least, another strong witch—close by to pull me out if necessary.

  “Wonder if it’s got anything to do with your connection and control of the wild magic?”

  “You’re asking me that question like you think I can answer it.”

  “Yeah, sorry. But you have to understand my fascination, given the connection shouldn’t even exist in the first place.”

  I did understand. I also understood just how dangerous it could be. My mother—who was one of the strongest blueblood witches alive today—had amply proven that, when she’d tried to contain some unfettered wild magic and had almost died in the process.

  But I now suspected that might be the reason behind my ability to interact with wild magic so easily, as she’d been pregnant with me at the time. In drawing the wild magic to her body in an attempt to contain it, she’d somehow embedded it into my DNA—although until I’d stepped into this reservation, no one, including me, had been aware of that outcome.

  I certainly had no idea how it yet might affect me.

  “How about you put the fascination aside for a few seconds and tell me what Eamon is seeing.”

  Monty hesitated, no doubt conferring with his cat. “Nothing much.”

  “Has he any suggestions as to what we might be dealing with?”

  “Not really.” Monty hesitated again. “He said it smelled like a demon, but he can’t say what type. There’re a few who like to strip their victims of flesh like this.”

  “But how many of them like to stack the bones into a nice little pile on the corner of a crossroad?”

  “Unknown, but it does at least give me a starting point for a search.”

  The sirens were now so close that Monty’s reply was all but lost to their noise. I raised the phone to my ear and said, “If these bones are connected to the ones we found in the clearing, why would they bury that lot and not these?”

  “Maybe the demon simply didn’t have the time—maybe it sensed your presence and decided caution was the better bet.”

  I snorted. “It had enough time to neatly stack its victim’s bones. That hardly suggests it was in any sort of hurry.”

  Besides, if there was a common factor amongst the supernatural nasties that had raided the reservation of late, it was their utter disdain for my natural magic. They only ever thought twice about attacking me when I used the wild magic, and even that wasn’t any guarantee.

  “Is Ashworth on his way here?” I added.

  “Yes. He was under his truck fixing something or other when I rang, so it might take him a few minutes longer to get out there.”

  Ashworth’s truck—like our station wagon—had been burned out by the soucouyant and written off by the insurance company. While Belle and I had gratefully accepted the council’s offer of a brand-new replacement, Ashworth had bought his beloved truck back and was now in the process of restoring it. Until that point, however, he had the use of a ranger vehicle.

  “The entity has well and truly gone,” I commented, “so it’s not like he really needs to hurry.”

  “True, but it’d still be better if he was there before they move the bones, just in case there’s magic or a trap attached to them.”

  My gaze darted back to the bones. I couldn’t see the shimmer of a spell hanging over them, but that didn’t mean the spell’s threads couldn’t be hidden within the neat but bloody stack. “How possible do you think that is?”

  “Unlikely, but I’m here and not there, and Eamon isn’t as sensitive to the disguised spell stuff.”

  Few familiars were—which made me doubly lucky when it came to Belle being my familiar.

  “Tell me,” he added, “is Belle heading home tonight, or tomorrow morning?”

  “Tomorrow—why?”

  “I was wondering if she could pick me up from the hospital on the way through.”

  “I’m sure she’d be absolutely delighted to.”

  “There’s evilness in your tone.” His was dry.

  “As long as you remember you’re in a confined space with a witch who has a very short fuse when it comes to unwanted advances, I’m sure it’ll be fine.” I glanced around as three trucks pulled up on the main road; one was Aiden’s blue truck, and the other two were the green-striped white SUVs that the other rangers used. “The cavalry just arrived, Monty. Talk later.”

  “We will.”

  I pocketed the phone, then released the spell from around my fingers and walked up to the main road, making a wide loop around the blood and bones and doing my best to ignore the waves of agony that still rode the air.

  Aiden jumped out of his truck and walked toward me. Like most werewolves, he was tall and rangy, but his shoulders were a good width, his arms lean but muscular, and his sharp features easy on the eye.

  His gaze swept me, no doubt taking note of the multitude of minor scratches, and then rose to meet mine. His eyes were a deep blue rather than the usual amber of a werewolf, and his hair a dark blond that ran with silver in the darkness. The O’Connors were gray wolves, a rare color amongst Australian packs, which tended to be mainly brown, red, or black.

  “You okay?” He caught my hand and tugged me closer.

  “For a change, yes.”

  I pressed my cheek against his chest and listened to the beat of his heart. It was a steady sound that had the tension within me slipping away. There might be another deadly demon on the loose, but when Aiden’s arms were around me, holding me so tenderly, for a few really brief seconds it didn’t matter.

  He dropped a kiss on the top of my head and then pulled back. Though the caring remained in his eyes, his expression was all business. The ranger rather than the lover now faced me. “What have we got?”

  I grimaced. “Bones. Two sets.”

  His gaze sca
nned the immediate area. “Where’s the second set?”

  “Buried in the forest. We found them first, and then heard this poor guy scream. He was like this by the time we arrived.”

  “We?” He looked past me, and his expression narrowed. “Ah. The cat.”

  “Yeah. He’s been keeping Monty updated.”

  “Have either of them got any theories as to what did this?”

  “Not as yet, but I daresay Monty will be searching Canberra’s archives tonight to see if he can find anything.”

  “Good.”

  He glanced around at the sound of slamming doors. Tala—his second-in-command and a tall, dark-skinned woman with silver-shot black hair—and Ciara—who was both his sister and the coroner—walked over.

  Ciara eyed the gruesome pile dubiously. “And here I was hoping we’d seen the last of the weird and overly horrific deaths.”

  “Unfortunately, that’s not going to happen for a while yet,” I said. “And we’re dealing with two bodies rather than one.”

  “Oh, fabulous,” she muttered. “Just as well I’m no longer flying solo in this job.”

  “And it might be wise to get Luke out here.” Aiden glanced past her. “Tala, do you want to secure this scene? And call in Mac—he can start interviewing the neighbors. Liz, can you take me to where the other body is?”

  “If I can remember—I wasn’t really taking much notice of location in the race to get here.” I glanced at the cat. It gave me a deadpan, narrow-eyed look. He knew what I wanted, but wasn’t about to give any sort of help without a bit of groveling. He really was a bastard. “But I’m sure the lovely Eamon can help us out with that.”

  The cat blinked, satisfaction apparent, then led the way down the road. I breathed easier once we were well past the bones and the waves of agony had finally fallen behind me.

  “I get a feeling you don’t like that cat,” Aiden said, clearly amused.