Wicked Wings Page 7

“She’s still searching—it takes a while to do these things when you’re trying to be careful.”

  I hoped she was doing more than being careful. I hoped she was using every trick in the book—magical or not—to cover her search tracks. “Will the presence of the wild magic affect your spell?”

  “Given its tendency to weave itself through your spells these days, I daresay it will—but it’ll probably only strengthen it and that’s never a bad thing. Ready?”

  I took a deep breath to center my energy and then nodded. He began the spell, and faint threads of gold pulsed into existence. I waited until he’d finished the first layer, and then repeated his words, weaving my spell through his, keeping my threads close without the two actually touching. We continued on, layering in multiple levels of protection until the air shimmered and a mix of gold and silver threads formed a wide dome over the two of us.

  Once we’d both tied off the spell and then activated it, he released my fingers and said, “Right, let’s see what’s going on with these damn feathers.”

  He swung his backpack around, pulled out a silver knife, and then carefully touched the nearest feather. When nothing happened, he pushed the tip of the knife deeper into the pile and then spread them out. The wind stirred, catching several of the smaller feathers and tossing them into the air. I half raised a hand to grab them, then immediately clenched my fingers against the action. Ashworth hadn’t yet cleared them of any spell, so caution was the best option. Besides, he didn’t seem too worried about them drifting away; his concentration was on the larger ones currently pinned under his knife. His magic surged anew, a force so strong that in this confined space it made the hairs on my arms stand on end. He spent several minutes probing the feathers, then grunted and put his knife away.

  “There’s definitely no spell. It’s residue we’re feeling, nothing more.” His gaze met mine. “Do you want to try your psychometry?”

  I hesitated and then slowly reached out. The caress of darkness was definitely fainter now than it had been only half an hour ago, which suggested the residue was rapidly fading. If I didn’t try this now—if I waited until we got the feathers back to the café—we might well lose any chance of uncovering just who or what these feathers belonged to.

  I’m here, Belle said. I’ll pull you out if anything nasty happens.

  I know. But it didn’t do a lot to ease the trepidation stirring inside.

  I picked up one of the larger feathers, being careful not to touch any of the blood staining the striped quills. For several seconds I simply stared at it; then I opened the psychic gates and reached.

  Images came. Clouds above me, trees below, juveniles on either side, wing tip to wing tip. Hunger stirring, sharp eyes scanning. Movement. Prey. We swoop lower, skimming past leaves and branches, silently approaching. The prey senses us, starts to run. Too late. Far too late… then energy hits us from the side and flings us off course. We tumble, tail over beak. My sisters hit tree trunks. I roll on, tearing feather and flesh as I drop into a ravine and crash onto a rock. Lie there, stunned, unable to move, blood and feathers and pain rolling all around me…

  The vision faded, and I blinked.

  “Anything?” Ashworth asked.

  I twirled the feather lightly between my fingers, watching the paler stripes glimmer in the light as I gathered my thoughts. “We’re definitely dealing with a shape shifter, but there was something odd about the flow of her memories.”

  “Define odd.”

  I frowned. “There were fragmented and yet not. It’s almost as if she wasn’t entirely human—”

  “Well, she’s not—she’s a shape shifter in bird form.”

  “Shifters are still human,” I replied tartly. “They’re just from a different evolutionary branch of the tree.”

  “I think you’ve been spending too much time around Ashworth,” Belle said, her voice dry. “You sounded just like him then.”

  I snorted and dropped the feather. “From what Aiden has said, shifting from human to animal form doesn’t alter your being or your thought process. The owner of these feathers just didn’t feel right.”

  Which, considering the fading caress of evil still emanating from them, wasn’t really surprising.

  “What was she doing in the area?” Ashworth asked.

  “Hunting—although I never saw the prey—and she wasn’t alone. There were three of them.” I paused. “Something blindsided them as they neared their prey and sent them tumbling. The chief shifter was the one who landed here.”

  “I’m guessing you didn’t see who or what hit them?”

  “I didn’t see the who, but the what was magic.”

  “Suggesting we have another witch on the reservation.”

  “Our specter is capable of magic, remember,” Belle said. “And she’s the one who led us here.”

  Ashworth frowned. “I think I’m going to have to contact Canberra about this—it’s not a situation I’ve ever come across before. Which, I might add, seems to happen a lot in this place.”

  “Monty will be miffed if you don’t consult with him first,” I said.

  “To which I can only say, good.”

  I grinned. “He is the reservation witch—”

  “Not at the moment he’s not. Let me gather the feathers and then we can dismantle the protection circle.”

  He pulled several small plastic bags out of his pack, putting the feathers in one and then chipping off some of the blood from the stone with his knife before putting it in the other. Once the spell had been dealt with, we made our way back to the shoreline.

  “What are you going to do with the samples?” Belle reached out to grab my hand and helped me out.

  “Thought we might go back to your place and try a little location spell.”

  “Not without eating first, we’re not,” I said.

  “With that, I agree. What’s on the menu tonight?”

  “Nothing—not for you, anyway.” Belle’s voice was dry. “You need to go back to your guests. We can meet up once you’ve finished playing host and we’ve consumed the takeout waiting in the warmer.”

  He shook his head sadly, but the expression was somewhat spoiled by the glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “You’re cruel women, the pair of you.”

  Belle snorted. “And now you’re dilly-dallying. Move, old man.”

  “You know, if Monty had called me that, he would have gotten a clip over the ears.”

  “He has called you that,” I said, amused. “Multiple times.”

  “True, but I’ve only got so much patience.”

  I snorted and started up the hill. From what I’d seen, patience and Ira Ashworth weren’t often bosom buddies.

  By the time we’d scrambled up the loose slope, even Belle was breathing heavily. We made our way through the scrub, following the clear trail I’d made when I crashed after the specter. Our new SUV—a deep red Subaru Outback that was totally awesome to drive—sat this side of the track, while Ashworth’s borrowed vehicle sat on the other.

  “See you in a couple of hours,” he said, then climbed into his SUV and disappeared down the road.

  We followed at a more sedate pace. Once home, Belle grabbed the containers out of the warmer, while I got plates and cutlery.

  “Might want to get another set,” Belle said as I placed them on the table. “Aiden’s about to knock on the door.”

  I all but bounced across the room, unlocking the door and then throwing my arms around his neck, kissing him with all the passion I’d somehow contained in the forest.

  “That’s one hell of a nice welcome,” he said, when he finally could.

  I laughed. “When it comes to things I desire, you’re a smidge above food, so consider yourself lucky.”

  His gaze went past me, and his nostrils flared. “Is that black bean beef I’m smelling?”

  “Yes.” I stepped back and waved him in. “There’s also lemon chicken, sweet and sour pork, roast duck, and special fried rice.”

&nbs
p; “Are you expecting an army or something?”

  Belle came out of the kitchen with the last of the containers. “No, just a werewolf who times his arrival to perfection.”

  He laughed and sat down. I continued on, grabbing an additional plate and some cutlery before sitting beside him.

  “How’s Joe? Did you manage to get him out?”

  “It took a bit of effort, but we did eventually extract him. Aside from a shattered leg, he seems to have come out of it all relatively unscathed.” He began filling up his plate. “What were you two and Ashworth doing near the Poverty Valley Track?”

  I raised my eyebrows. “How did you know we were all there?”

  “It’s my job to notice things.” A smile teased the corners of his lips. “And that red SUV of yours doesn’t exactly fade into the background.”

  “Which is why that color was picked.” Belle claimed the lemon chicken. “Given your overprotective tendencies when it comes to our girl, you will at least be able to see the car easily enough if we get lost or get into trouble in some forgotten back forest.”

  “While that may or may not be true, I haven’t dared bring out the overprotectiveness since that last flash of temper.”

  “Neither of us believes you were, in any way, intimidated by that very minor display of annoyance, Ranger.” My voice was dry and his smile widened.

  “So, to repeat, what were the three of you doing there?”

  “Following a ghost.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Why?”

  “Because she’s been following me, and I thought I’d return the favor and see what she wanted.”

  “Did you get an answer?”

  “Do we ever?” Belle said, amused.

  “Well, yes, even if it does sometimes take a while.”

  “I suspect this is going to be one of those times.” I piled up my plate. “Although she did lead us to a blood-covered, bone-strewn rock and some random feathers. We collected samples of each, and Ashworth’s coming over once his dinner guests leave. We’re going to attempt a locator spell.”

  “On the samples or the ghost?”

  “On the feathers. They belonged to a shifter who felt evil.”

  “Then I’ll definitely stick around, just in case.”

  “Which is just another excuse to consume more brownies after you’ve finished the Chinese,” Belle said.

  “A fact I cannot deny.”

  I shook my head and got down to the business of eating. Conversation flowed easily, and we were halfway through cake and coffee when Ashworth finally appeared.

  “The bloody rellies wouldn’t leave,” he grumbled as he stomped through the door. “I was just about to give them a magical prod when they finally made tracks.”

  “I’m sure Eli would have loved that,” Belle commented.

  “The oldest of his sisters was at that drunk enough to be argumentative stage, so he was seriously considering doing it himself.”

  “Wouldn’t they have sensed it?” I asked curiously. “They’re all witches, aren’t they?”

  “Growing up with three younger sisters made him very adept at concealing spells. For a start, it was the only way he could keep them from snooping in his room and stealing his things.” He tugged the plastic bags out of his pocket. “Shall we do this here, or in your reading room?”

  I hesitated. “While a locator spell is rarely dangerous, we’ve no true idea what we’re dealing with, so caution is the better option.”

  He nodded and continued on into the room. I picked up my coffee and followed, but Belle and Aiden remained at the table. Aside from the reading room being on the smallish side, Belle could follow events through our connection.

  If there’s an event to follow, she commented. It’s been hours since we found those feathers, and the resonance was fading fairly fast.

  Ashworth is a more knowledgeable spell caster than us, so he should succeed where we can’t. I closed the door, then moved around to the table and sat opposite Ashworth.

  I’m glad you didn’t say he’s stronger magically. Her voice was dry. Because he’s not, you know. Not these days.

  The wild magic hasn’t altered my magic capabilities that much, Belle.

  I wouldn’t bet on that.

  Neither would I, if I was being at all honest. I took a sip of coffee. “What’s the plan?”

  He placed the plastic bags on the table. “Given how quickly the echoes were fading, we’ll use your psychometry skills to pick the feather with the strongest resonance, and then weave a locator around it.”

  “The only locator spells I know are fairly basic—”

  Liar, liar, came Belle’s comment,

  Enough comments from the peanut gallery, if you please.

  As her chuckle ran through my mind, Ashworth said, “Which is why I’ll be doing it rather than you.”

  I nodded. “What happens if the shape shifter is also magic capable?”

  “They’re very rare beasts—”

  “Then how do you account for the magic clinging to the feathers?”

  “It could be nothing more than the innate magic every shifter or werewolf possess that allows them to shift—”

  “Except it isn’t magic that gives them that ability, but rather DNA adaptions.”

  “Yes, but it’s magic that covers the change and saves the rest of us from being grossed out.” He motioned toward the feathers. “The sooner we start, the better chance we’ll have.”

  I somewhat reluctantly unzipped the top of the plastic bag and then upended it, letting the feathers float to the table. Only one held any resonance, and even that was barely detectable. I picked it up and opened the psychic gates. No images swarmed my mind, and there was no sense of where the shifter was or what she might be doing. Going deeper didn’t help; too much time had elapsed, and the connection between this feather and the shifter was all but severed.

  “Anything?” Ashworth asked, a touch impatiently.

  “Yes, but it’s too vague for my psi abilities. It might even be too vague for a spell.”

  He grunted and plucked the feather from me. After a moment, his power rose; the protections within the room stirred briefly in response and then died down when no threat eventuated. I narrowed my gaze and watched him weave the various threads around the feather. While I couldn’t always remember the exact wording of a spell, I could generally visualize the patterns and then repeat it. It certainly wasn’t the approved way of doing things, but it had always worked for Belle and me.

  When he tied off and then activated the spell, the threads sparkled lightly, an indication that the spell was not only working but also feeding him information.

  “Unfortunately, the link to our shifter remains tenuous,” he said, “so we’ll need to get a move on if we’re to have hope of tracking her down.”

  “Any luck?” Aiden asked as we both came out.

  “Yes, but I have no idea how long the spell will remain viable,” Ashworth replied. “Do you want to drive, Ranger?”

  Aiden immediately gulped down the rest of his coffee and then led the way out. Belle handed me the backpack as I walked past and then followed to lock the door.

  “I’ll do some research while you’re out,” she said. “Although if shifters capable of magic are a rarity, then Gran might not have much information on them.”

  “There’s always Google if we draw a blank with her books.”

  Belle snorted. “Because Google isn’t at all full of all sorts of misinformation when it comes to magic and the supernatural.”

  I grinned. “There’s plenty of wheat amongst Google’s chaff.”

  “Yeah, but who wants to sort through chaff all the time?”

  I laughed and ran after the two men. Once we were seated in Aiden’s truck, Ashworth said, “Do a U-turn and head toward Moonlight Flat.”

  Aiden did so and then flattened the accelerator. “Is there any indication this shifter is up to no good?”

  Ashworth hesitated. “Other than the fa
ct that evil seemed part of its essence, no.”

  “Meaning she could just have stopped in the reservation to hunt down some food.”

  “Yes,” I said. “But it’s highly unlikely, given she was attacked by magic from an unknown practitioner before she got to her prey.”

  Aiden grunted. “If that’s the case, why haven’t either of you sensed the presence of another witch in the reservation?”

  Ashworth directed him left onto Murphy Street and then growled, “We’re witches, not radars. We don’t have magi-sensitive antenna that lets us know the minute another witch moves into the same area.”

  “Besides which,” I added, “the reservation is huge. We’d sense them if they were on the same street, but anything beyond that can be haphazard.”

  “And yet you can sense the use of magic from a fairly decent distance, so why one and not the other?”

  “Because most witches generally mute their output,” Ashworth growled. “Makes it easier to be around each other—no power friction, if you like.”

  Aiden glanced at me through the rear-view mirror. “Do you and Belle do this?”

  “Yes, but not entirely successfully.”

  “Which was the reason I suspected there was more to the pair of them than what they were admitting, remember,” Ashworth said.

  Because he’d seen how deeply my magic meshed with Belle’s—something that shouldn’t have been possible even if she was my familiar. Not so completely, at any rate. It was certainly something I didn’t want other witches seeing, although none of the other witches who’d been called into the reservation to date appeared to have noticed.

  Or maybe they noticed and just didn’t comment on it, Belle said. Maybe they simply made a side note on their reports to the RWA and Canberra. It would certainly go some way to explain your conviction that your parents will come calling.

  Could be. To Ashworth, I added, “Which means you need to teach us the proper method of concealment, because I certainly don’t want any other witches spotting what you did.”

  “Few other witches have my experience, lass,” he said. “But yes, I’ll teach you both my highly modified and very dependable muting spell. Another left at the next street, Ranger.”

  Aiden briefly slowed to get around the corner. “Do you still have the bones and blood samples you took?”