Demon's Dance (The Lizzie Grace Series Book 4)

by Keri Arthur

  “Which wasn’t exactly necessary, was it?” Not when all of Canberra had known not only my status as an utter disappointment to my parents, but also the fact that my father held me responsible for the death of my sister. She’d been the family’s star, possessing so much magical depth that she outshone even my parents and, at the age of nineteen, had been named successor to my father’s seat on the high council. But none of that had saved her when a dark sorcerer had come calling.

  I’d tried to. And failed.

  “No,” Monty said, “but given how furious your father was in the weeks that followed your disappearance, it’s very much a story I want to hear.”

  I could well imagine my father’s fury—after all, I’d not only managed to circumvent his plans for me, but also tarnished his good name.

  The only story he actually wants to hear, Belle said, her mental tones weary, is how—and why—his speech has suddenly been restricted.

  Which we can’t explain until we’re alone. And maybe not even then. I pushed some strength her way, and then said, You’d better sit before you fall.

  I’d rather keep out of his way, she said. I’ll cut up the cake while you make the coffee. I can lean on the counter afterward without it appearing too suspicious.

  “That’s a story we all want to hear,” Ashworth said, his tone dry. “But one I suspect will be some time in coming.”

  My gaze finally returned to his. He was bald, with a well-tanned face full of wrinkles and eyes that were muddy silver in color. The power that rolled off him was fierce, but it was little more than the flicker of a candle when compared to Monty’s output. And he’d been classified as not being strong enough to fill his father’s shoes.

  “You already know far more than most,” I said. “Would you like a coffee? And cake?”

  “Nice redirect, but one that will always work.” He slapped Monty on the shoulder with his good hand—his right arm was still in a cast after he’d broken it during our efforts to stop the dark witch—then pulled out a chair and sat down. “If you’re a true foodie, this is the place to be—they make the most amazing cakes.”

  “A statement I’ll certainly test the merits of.” At least until he’d gotten some answers, his expression seemed to add.

  “What would you like to drink, Monty?” I walked over to the counter.

  “I’ll have a short black, thanks.” He sat down and crossed his arms, anger vibrating from every inch. “A strong one. How long have you been living here?”

  “We arrived a few months before Christmas.” I started making coffee. “The place simply felt right.”

  “And the wild magic entwined within the protections you’ve layered around the café?”

  Fuck, he sensed that quickly, Belle commented, as she began plating up thick slices of black forest cake.

  He’s a couple steps up the power ladder from either Ashworth or Eli, so that’s not really surprising. I’m just glad he isn’t sensing it on me.

  I daresay he is, she said. But he won’t be able to comment on it until we’re alone.

  Oh. Good.

  “It would appear Liz has something of an affinity to the wild magic here,” Ashworth said, his gaze on me. There was a warning there—one that said I dare not stray too far from the truth if I wanted to keep my deeper secrets. “It’s bolstered a couple of her spells over the last few months.”

  Monty studied me through slightly narrowed eyes. “That’s not possible.”

  A statement that very easily could have been a reply to Ashworth’s comment, but one I rather suspected was actually aimed at what he was sensing in my magical output. It might still be the output of a low-powered witch, but there were now wisps of wild magic evident if you looked closely enough.

  And he was.

  “So we’d believed until we witnessed it ourselves,” Eli said. He was a handsome, well-built man in his late sixties, with neatly cut salt-and-pepper hair and eyes that were bright blue. “But the spells here are evidence to the fact that it’s not.”

  Monty didn’t reply, but I could see the questions in his eyes even from where I stood. I put all the coffee mugs onto a tray and carried them over. Belle followed me with the cakes, then retreated to the counter.

  Once seated, I said, “It’s just as well you arrived today. We’ve another situation the rangers will want help with.”

  “Supernatural?” Ashworth immediately said.

  I nodded, even as I wondered if he’d remember he was no longer the acting reservation witch. “I think we’re dealing with some sort of fire spirit.”

  Monty frowned. “They’re rather rare in areas like this. They tend to prefer big cities, where it’s not as easy to sense and track their heat spoors.”

  A statement that not only emphasized my lack of knowledge, but why I could never be this reservation’s defender.

  “What makes you think it might be a fire spirit?” Eli asked.

  I gave them the details and then showed them the images on my phone.

  “This definitely isn’t the work of a vampire,” Monty said. “But there are a number of demons and spirits who leave marks similar to this. I wouldn’t mind seeing the body myself—it’s rather hard to get any true sense of the wound from a photo.”

  “I’m sure Aiden will arrange that once the autopsy has been performed,” Ashworth said.

  Monty grunted and scooped up some cake. Whether he liked it or not was hard to say, because his gaze kept sending daggers my way.

  “You haven’t sensed anything along the psychic lines?” Ashworth asked.

  I shook my head. “But that’s not entirely unusual. I only sensed the soul sucker because of the bell that tolled when it killed.”

  Which wasn’t exactly the truth, but Monty already had enough questions about Belle and me. I didn’t want to add to them.

  “Your psychic powers always were more powerful than your magic,” Monty said, “or, at least, they used to be.”

  “Still are.” I sipped my coffee and tried to ignore the continuing trepidation. “Where are you staying?”

  “The council have set me up in a place along Lyttleton Road. Nothing flash, but it’ll do for now.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Meaning you’ll be looking for a grander place once you’ve had a chance to look around?”

  “Indeed.” A faint smile touched his lips despite the annoyance still evident in his eyes. “I always did have highbrow tastes, remember?”

  “I can certainly remember the Armani suit you turned up in for the Year Ten formal,” Belle commented.

  He raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t the only one wearing Armani.”

  “No, but you were the only one who paired it with a Kermit the Frog tie.”

  “Which caused less of a stir than it should have,” he murmured. “That honor went to the two of you.”

  Yeah, because they hadn’t expected an underpowered witch and her Sarr familiar would have the courage to turn up at an event designed to commemorate achievements in a year in which they’d had none.

  “You should come for dinner once you’ve settled in,” I said. “We can catch up on everything that’s happened since we last saw each other.”

  “How does tonight sound?” he said. “Saves me worrying about a meal.”

  And gave him the answers he wanted so much sooner.

  “Sure.” I glanced past him as the bell over the door chimed and a middle-aged woman stepped inside. Her gaze quickly swept the five of us then shot back to me. She was a tall woman with brown hair and eyes, and an aura that ran with swirls of muddy gray—the color of fear. She was also human rather than wolf. While I vaguely recognized her, I couldn’t recall her name.

  She hesitated and then said, “I know you’re closed today and I’m sorry to interrupt, but I’m in desperate need of help and I don’t know where else to turn.”

  I frowned. “The rangers—”

  “I’ve talked to the rangers. They suggested I come here.”

  “And if that
doesn’t speak of a complete turnaround in attitude when it comes to witches,” Ashworth murmured, “I don’t know what does.”

  “There’s been a problem between rangers and witches?” Monty asked.

  “You could say that,” I replied, and then returned my gaze to the woman near the door. Aside from the color of her aura, my “other” senses weren’t picking up too much in the way of information, but that might have simply been because she was standing too far away.

  “What kind of help do you need? A reading? Or something else?”

  She hesitated again, her gaze sweeping the three men and her expression uncertain. She didn’t want to air her troubles in public, I suspected.

  “Would you like to come into the reading room and discuss it more privately?” I said.

  Relief crossed her expression. “Yes.”

  Great, Belle said. Leave me to entertain Monty, why don’t you.

  Well, he did fancy you when he was a teenager. Maybe you could rekindle the feeling.

  Her mental snort ran down the line, loud and derisive. Rekindling is not on the cards. The only thing he wants to do right now is to strangle me.

  Obviously, black forest cake is not a path into his good books. We need to try something else next time.

  A statement that suggests we’ll be making a habit of annoying him.

  I rather suspect we might. I picked up my coffee and rose. “Would you like a cup of tea or coffee, Mrs.—?”

  “Dale. Alice Dale. And no, thank you.”

  I motioned toward the reading room at the rear of the café, then glanced at Monty. “I’ll see you tonight—around seven?”

  He nodded, his gaze suggesting I had better come up with some answers at that point or there’d be big trouble.

  But trouble was going to hit either way—of that I was sure.

  I turned and followed Alice. The reading room was the dedicated space we used for psychic readings; we also created the various charms we sold within the café—and the stronger ones both Belle and I now wore full-time—within it. While the café as a whole was fully protected against magical attack, the spells surrounding this room had been specifically designed to stop arcane forces from entering without permission, or attempting an attack during a spirit reading. Not all the souls Belle talked to were benign.

  The air sparkled briefly as I entered, a sure indication the spells were active and ready. A simple wooden table sat in the center of the small room, and around it were four mismatched but comfortable wooden chairs. A large rug covered the floor, and bright lengths of material were draped across the ceiling. They not only provided the otherwise drab room with some color, but also hid the spell work etched into both. I motioned Mrs. Dale to the nearest chair, then lit a candle, closed the door, and sat down opposite her.

  The flickering light lent the other woman’s features a warmth they didn’t otherwise have. I crossed my arms and leaned my forearms on the table—a position that protected my hands from accidental touch. “What would you like me to do, Mrs. Dale?”

  “It’s Miss, but please call me Alice. Mrs. Dale is my mother’s preferred address.” A sob escaped. She drew in a deep, somewhat shuddering breath, and then added, “She—Mom—said she’d call me back last night, but I haven’t heard from her and it’s not like her to do that. I just know something is wrong.”

  “I take it you’ve been over to her house?”

  She nodded. “I have a key, just in case. She wasn’t there, and her purse and car are missing.”

  “Is it possible she’s gone out again and has simply forgotten to call you?”

  Alice began shaking her head before I’d even finished. “As I said, she wouldn’t do that.”

  I frowned. “Did she mention going anywhere the last time you spoke to her?”

  The rangers had undoubtedly already asked all these questions, but it didn’t hurt to repeat them, if only for my own peace of mind. Plus, the more information I had, the greater my chance of filtering out the muck and getting to the nitty-gritty when I tried tracking her mother.

  “She said an old friend had rung out of the blue and that she was meeting her for dinner. She didn’t say where and I have no idea who the friend was, other than her name was Marilyn.” Tears glistened in the flickering light. “Please, you have to help me. Something has happened to her, I’m sure of it.”

  “I’m more than happy to try, but there’s no guarantee I’ll succeed. Psychometry isn’t always exact—”

  “I know,” she cut in. “But I just need you to try. I can’t—won’t—sit around and do nothing.”

  A sentiment I could certainly understand given it was the exact same one that had driven my attempt to rescue my sister.

  I just had to hope that this search wasn’t similarly doomed.

  “I’ll need something of hers,” I said. “Something she kept close to her skin.”

  “I brought the necklace she wore most days—she only ever took it off when she was going somewhere fancy. Would that be okay?” When I nodded, she opened her bag and then pulled out a blue velvet jewelry box and offered it to me.

  I flexed my fingers and then carefully took it. The minute my fingers touched the box, the psi part of me began to stir.

  And not in a good way.

  I took a deep breath in an effort to calm the gathering trepidation and then opened the box. Inside was a delicate silver chain on which hung a plain silver wedding ring.

  “It was my dad’s,” Alice murmured. “He died just on a year ago.”

  “It must have been a hard time for you both.”

  It was a statement rather than a question—even without touching the necklace I could feel grief emanating from it. What I couldn’t immediately feel was any sense of life, and I really hoped that was due to the fact I wasn’t yet holding it. I very much doubted Alice would cope with the loss of a second parent.

  “Yes.” A tear tracked down her cheek. “I don’t know what I’d do—”

  I reached with my free hand and squeezed hers. Her fear and grief washed over me, a wave that would have been overwhelming had I not been prepared.

  “There may be a simple explanation for all this.” I kept my voice soft—soothing. “You may be stressing over nothing.”

  She nodded, even though her expression suggested she didn’t agree with me in the least. I half wondered if she had undiagnosed psi powers; I couldn’t see anything in her aura to suggest it, but that might just be because her fear and grief were overwhelming everything else. “Are you getting anything from the necklace?”

  “A little.” I carefully freed it from the box. The grief increased in intensity, but the pulse of life remained absent. It really wasn’t a good sign.

  I returned my gaze to Alice. “If you could just sit silently for a few minutes, I’ll see what I can get.”

  She nodded and hastily dabbed her eyes with a tissue. Despite the growing sense that this would not end well, I closed my eyes and reached down to where my second sight lay leashed and waiting.

  But there was absolutely nothing on this necklace for it to latch on to—no pulse, no hint of life. The only thing I could pick up were shadows and grief—and while it very much suggested death had already claimed Alice’s mom, it did at least mean there was still a chance I could find her remains. But only if I hurried—emotions rarely clung to such items for very long after death.

  Which was not something I could say to Alice. Not until I was absolutely sure. I opened my eyes.

  “Well?” she immediately asked.

  I hesitated. “I couldn’t pick up much more than the lingering veil of her grief over your dad’s death, but that might just be enough to track her down.”

  She thrust to her feet. “Can we go now?”

  “I’ll go, but it’d be better if you—”

  “I can’t stay behind,” she cut in fiercely. “I need to know she’s okay.”

  “Ms. Dale,” I said, keeping my voice conciliatory as possible. “For tracking via psy
chometry to work, I need airspace untainted by deeper emotions. I’m afraid your fear will likely disrupt the signal.”

  “Oh.”

  “If you’d give me your phone number, I’ll call you the minute I discover anything.”

  “You’ll do it now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you.” She hesitated, and then said, “And payment? I know it’s your day off, so would double—”

  “Just the normal finding fee will be fine.” Especially if what I sensed in the necklace did indeed mean the worst. I gave her the figure and then said, “Belle will take your phone number and the payment now, if you’d like, while I get ready.”

  She nodded and headed out. I carefully put the necklace back in its box and then walked across to the full-height bookcase lining the wall to the right of the door. After moving an ornate pottery fairy, I placed my hand against the bookcase’s wooden back. Energy immediately crawled across it and, a heartbeat later, the wooden panel slipped aside to reveal an eight-inch-deep compartment. It wasn’t the only hidden compartment in the bookcase—there was one behind every shelf. A witch could never be too careful when it came to protecting magical items and potions.

  I grabbed my spell stones—or warding stones, as some witches preferred to call them—and a couple of general purpose potions to ward off evil, and then carefully secured them all in the nearby backpack. Once I’d picked up the blue velvet box and tucked it into my pocket, I blew out the candle and slung the pack over my shoulder as I walked out.

  Alice was still in the café, but the three men had gone.

  They left not long after you went in the room, Belle said.

  Had Monty cooled down any?

  Nope. It’s going to be an interesting evening.

  As my relatives go, he’s fairly reasonable. Or he used to be.

  Which isn’t saying much, Belle cut in dryly. Although he did at least have a sense of humor back then—a trait that’s certainly absent in most of your family.

  He’s a side branch and not a Marlowe. They do tend to be more—

  Human? Belle cut in, amusement heavy in her mental tone.

  Alice handed me a scrap of paper with her phone number on it. “You’ll call me as soon as you know anything?”