by Keri Arthur
“She’s gone.” He turned and motioned for Jaz to come up.
I rubbed my arms against the chill gathering inside, though I wasn’t sure whether its source was the sudden uncertainty of what was happening to me, or the growing certainty that the thing that had tried to kill us was far from finished yet. “And her spore?”
“Is fading fast, even though we can’t have missed her by more than ten minutes.” He moved around the car and studied the trees beyond it. “She ran through the trees, going up the hill rather than down, from the look of it. Do we risk trying to track her?”
“Well, we certainly can’t risk not tracking her. The sooner we catch this bitch, the sooner we can concentrate on finding the other one.”
“Other one? Oh, the thing that drained the guy of blood.” He paused. “You know, it’s possible they’re one and the same being, given what you said about the heat and the fact this thing flung fire at us.”
He walked into the forest. I hurried around the car and caught up to him. “But how many fire spirits can actually take on human form and then drain their victims of blood?”
He raised a hand, grabbed a tree branch and pushed it aside. I grabbed it from him as I passed by then let it swish back.
“I don’t know offhand, as I didn’t actually study demonology in uni. But there’d have to be a few.”
“It says a lot about the high council’s view on reservations,” Jaz said, as she caught up to us, “that they’d send a witch with so little arcane knowledge.”
“Which under normal circumstances wouldn’t have been a problem,” Monty fired back. “It only is in this reservation thanks to the fact your elders left the wellspring unguarded for so long.”
“A fact your council was made aware of before your appointment,” Jaz said. “I would have thought it’d be a point mentioned when applications were called for.”
“Why would it be when any witch appointed here has a major arcane library up in Canberra to access at will? No witch these days really needs in-depth knowledge of demons and spirits unless they intended to make the study—or the hunting—of them a career choice.” Monty glanced over his shoulder, his expression somewhat bemused. “And anyway, why would you presume this sort of position is a much sought-after one by those in Canberra? Because I’m here to tell you it’s not. In fact, there were only five applicants—the man who was initially chosen, but who literally missed the plane, three older witches looking to get out of Canberra and semi retire, and me.”
Annoyance flared through Jaz, something I felt rather than saw. “What’s wrong with reservation life?”
“Nothing, I’m guessing, but it’s a far cry from the bright lights of Canberra.”
Jaz snorted. “I’ve been to Canberra. The place is all but dead after six.”
“Only if you don't know where all the action is.”
I cleared my throat and said, “Can we concentrate a little more on the hunt? Because it seems to me that the trail of this thing is starting to fade.”
“Maybe her magical scent is,” Jaz said. “But her physical scent lies heavily in both the air and on the ground. It’s actually quite putrid.”
“Demonic scents tend to be,” Monty commented.
I frowned. “I thought we were dealing with a spirit rather than a demon?”
“We probably are—I'm just using the term interchangeably.”
“So there's a difference?” Jaz asked.
“Demons are always malevolent,” Monty said, “and while some can have physical form, most simply possess the body of another. Spirits can either be good or bad—many witches do in fact have spirit guides—and can either be human related, such as a ghost, or be an entity in their own right.”
“This thing isn’t possessing bodies, though,” I said. “It appears to be stripping off their skins and fleshing them out.”
“Which is why I’ll need to go through the library’s databanks and see what I can find,” he said. “Because if we are dealing with one entity rather than two, then it could be something that hasn't been seen for a while.”
He brushed past a couple of scrubby-looking trees and then stopped and swore. “The trail's gone dead.”
“To you, maybe,” Jaz said.
Monty stepped to one side and motioned her forward. She strode past us both and continued on up the rocky slope, her steps light and sure—unlike me and Monty.
As the path grew steeper, I started to struggle, and my breath became little more than a harsh wheeze. It was yet another reminder of just how unfit I was.
After another few minutes, the path flattened out as we neared the summit. Jaz stopped, tension emanating from her body and her aura filled with uncertainty and perhaps a little horror.
“What's wrong?” I stopped beside her, my breath a harsh rasp that echoed through the surrounding silence.
The path widened out to a narrow, stony plateau, beyond which there was nothing but air. Obviously, there was a sharp dip downward. I couldn't see or smell anything untoward in the immediate area, but then, I didn't have wolf senses.
“There's something dead up ahead.” Her nostrils flared as she drew in a deeper breath. “It's not large, and not fresh.”
“Which really doesn't tell us anything,” Monty commented. His breathing was even worse than mine, which at least made me feel a little better.
“Can you feel any sort of magic or evil presence nearby?” she asked. “Because I'm not going anywhere near that clearing until I know for sure this spirit or whatever the hell it is isn't just waiting to attack.”
A smile tugged at Monty's lips. “I have no idea what you're smelling, but there's no sense of magic coming from the clearing.”
“And no sense of evil.” I glanced at Monty. “And that suggests this thing has escaped.”
His amusement faded. “Which means the smell is another abandoned skin.”
“Either way,” Jaz said, “I'm thinking the reservation witch should lead the way from this point on.”
He snorted but nevertheless strode past Jaz and into the clearing. We followed. The wind picked up as we left the trees, blowing my hair around my face and briefly blinding me. I tucked it back behind my ears and looked around. The only thing I could see was rocks and hard earth.
“The scent is coming from the left,” Jaz said.
Monty spun on his heel and headed that way, but he'd barely taken half a dozen steps when he stopped. “It’s skin.”
I halted beside him. The rather sad remnant of humanity lay near the edge of the plateau, wobbling unsteadily in the strong breeze. I walked over to the edge. The ground dropped down vertically for forty or fifty feet then ended in a huge pile of rubble, suggesting the cliff had given away at some point in the past. I carefully leaned over a little further, trying to find some way down. There was none.
I stepped back. “It's obviously resumed its real form to escape.
Jaz knelt next to the pile of skin and hair. “There's one thing I want to know.”
“And that is?” I crossed my arms and tried to ignore the vague sparkle of energy that was hovering nearby. I rather suspected it was Alice's ghost.
“What happens to the clothes?”
My gaze jumped back to the skin. While there were visible remnants of hair left, there was nothing that suggested material of any kind. “I don't know.”
“If we're dealing with a fire spirit,” Monty said, “then they're probably being destroyed when the spirit leaves the flesh and resumes its normal form.”
“Except you'd expect there'd be at least some material or at the least ashes to remain,” I said. “And if the material is being cindered so completely, why isn't the skin? Why is it instead being left in a misshapen pile?”
Monty shrugged. “That's one of the many questions I can't answer—not until we uncover what we're dealing with.”
I rubbed my arms. Though the wind was in no way cold, a chill gathered deep inside of me. One that was, I suspected, due in part to the nea
rby ghost and the anger emanating from her. Whether it was caused by the situation or my presence, I couldn't say. Belle was the one who could talk to spirits, not me.
Do you want me up there? It's usually fairly slow on Tuesdays—I'm sure Penny will be able to cope for an hour or so.
Not if the brigade come in. And they would, given Mrs. Potts would need to update them all on the murder of her neighbor. If it is Alice's ghost I'm seeing, do you know why she's here rather than with her body?
Couldn't say, but it is rather unusual. She paused. It's possible that she was rising when the spirit claimed her flesh, and somehow got entangled in the process.
Meaning she's bound to her skin, wherever it may be?
Unless she was set free when the dark spirit fled, possibly. She paused. We could always do a deep-level connection, and I can tell you what I see.
Could you communicate with her remotely? Through me, I mean?
I honestly don't know, but we can give it a try.
Give me a second to word up Monty and get comfortable.
Penny's just arrived so she can open up. I'll head into the reading room, just to be safe. Give me a shout when you're ready.
Will do.
Jaz's phone rang, the sharp sound making me jump. As she unclipped it from her belt and stepped away to answer it, I said, “Monty, I've just been talking to Belle—”
His expression held a hint of confusion. “I thought there were distance limits to telepathy?”
“There are, but we're witch and familiar, remember?”
“Oh. Yeah. Handy.”
“Especially in a case like this, when she's the spirit expert and there's a rather cross soul hovering nearby.”
His gaze turned to the sparkling wisp that now hovered above the mound of skin. “Is she coming out to talk to it?”
The soul has a name, came Belle's comment. Tell him to use it if he doesn't want to rile her up some more.
I did so, and then glanced around as Jaz returned. “Everything okay?”
She nodded. “It was just Aiden wanting a check-in. I've got to go back to the car to get the crime kit and record events here. Do you two mind staying here to keep an eye on things?”
“No,” I said. “In fact, I'm going to try and talk to Alice's ghost—”
Jaz's gaze darted around. “There's a ghost here?”
“Yes. I'm going to attempt to talk to her and see if she can tell us anything.”
She frowned. “I didn't think you were the one who could talk to spirits?”
“I'm not.”
“Then how—”
“It's complicated,” I said. “But it basically involves a telepathic connection between Belle and me, and her using my eyes to see what might be going on.”
“Oh.” Her expression suggested the explanation had left her none the wiser. “I daresay Aiden will want me to record—”
“There won't be anything to see beyond me asking questions. You won't hear the replies, and because Belle is working through me—basically taking me over—I won't be able to repeat them.” I returned my gaze to Monty. “I'll need you to keep an eye on things magically—”
“I'll go one better.” He pulled a small silk bag from his pocket. “I can create a protection circle for you.”
“That would be great.” Especially given the anger still emanating from Alice.
“So you don't need me here?” Jaz said.
I shook my head. “If she's able to give us anything, I'll tell you.”
She nodded, then spun and quickly disappeared down the hill. I watched Monty set up his protection circle, sensed the caress of his magic as he raised the spell, and felt wholly inadequate in the face of such power. Although I had to wonder if it was nothing more than a rogue emotion from the past—from a time when I was constantly reminded of my lack, not just by my father, but also by the never-ending energy haze that came with being in the presence of witches who hadn't yet learned to contain their output. Truth be told, in this place—thanks to the wild magic—I wasn’t powerless. It might yet prove to come with undesirable consequences, but for the moment, at least, I was the equal of any other witch here.
And if I told myself that often enough, I just might start believing it. One day. Far in the future, possibly.
The threads of Monty's magic wove in and out of each other in the air above his spell stones, the golden strands glittering brightly in the morning light, until a dome-like structure hovered in the air.
He lowered his arms and stepped back. Wisps of gold circled lazily around his fingertips, an indication that while the protection circle had been created, the spell had yet to be activated.
“Ready?” he said, glancing at me.
I nodded and stepped inside the protection circle. The force of his spell flared around me briefly then dropped away. I sat crossed-legged in the middle and then said, “Right, ready.”
As he closed the circle, I reached out for Belle. Her thoughts flowed through mine, then her being, until we were fused as one—not so deeply that her soul left her body and became a part of me, but deeply enough that she could use her talents while seeing through my eyes.
A shudder went through her—through me.
That's one pissed-off ghost, let me tell you.
Can you talk to her? Or is she one of those ghosts who are all emotion and no real sense of being?
I can connect. You ready?
Yes. Go for it.
Belle took a deep, mental breath, then her energy centered inside of me and took over. Alice's form abruptly sharpened—she was still ghostly, but her form was complete rather than a mere sparkle. Her fury was evident in the glitter of her eyes, in the flexing of her fingers.
What have you done? she all but spat. Why didn't you tell me—
“Alice,” Belle cut in, her voice—my voice—holding the whip of command. “You need to calm down.”
Would you be fucking calm if you were me? If you'd walked into your mom's house and found not your mom, but a thing that was in her body?
The meek, mild Alice who had come into the café had obviously died with her flesh. Or maybe losing her life had finally unleashed some long-repressed but deeply fierce part of her nature.
“Of course not,” Belle replied evenly. “But fate has a plan for us all, and sometimes it's not always pleasant and fair.”
You can say that again. She paused and appeared to notice her surroundings for the first time. Where am I? And where is Mom?
“Your mom has moved on,” Belle said gently. “It was her time and she has other lives to live.”
So why am I still here? Alice asked. Why haven't I moved on?
“Because your murder wasn't part of fate's plan and, as a result, your soul remains here in this lifetime.”
Belle's soothing tone was working—Alice's anger was leaching from her expression. Meaning what?
“Meaning you may or may not be able to move on.”
So I'm a ghost? That hardly seems fair.
Life isn't fair, I wanted to say, but kept the comment down. It would only inflame her again and that wasn't what we needed right now.
“It's possible that I could help you move on, if you wish,” Belle said. “But I need you to answer a couple of questions first.”
What happens if I do move on?
“Your soul is reborn and you get to live a new—and hopefully longer—life.”
And if I don't?
“Then you remain here, in this form, unable to experience all that life has to offer ever again. You won't even be able to communicate with anyone other than the occasional psychic.”
Well, fuck, there's not really a choice then, is there? She paused, a slight frown marring her ghostly features. Will Mom and I be together again in the next life?
“There are always souls who are destined to travel with us through eternity. Your mother could well be one of yours.”
Which wasn't exactly the confirmation Alice was seeking, but it seemed to satisfy her.
What do you wish to know?
“What was your mother doing when you went inside the house?”
She was just sitting in the darkened living room. She looked asleep except she couldn't have been, given she'd looked out the window at me only a couple of minutes before.
Which suggested the spirit in control had probably shut things down to conserve its strength. I might not know much about skin walkers—if indeed that was what we were dealing with rather than some sort of fire spirit—but I did know that most spirits were somewhat weakened by daylight.
“Did you notice anything unusual? Either about your mom or the house itself.”
No, not really. Alice hesitated. Well, other than the fact she was sitting there naked.
It was a comment that had me thinking—had Alice been wearing clothes when she'd left her mother's house? Everything had happened so fast that I couldn't actually remember if she had been or not. It would certainly explain why there hadn't been much in the way of clothing—or remnants of such—near any of the flesh piles, but still left the question of why none had been discovered near any of the bodies.
“Can you tell me what happened after that?” Belle asked.
I woke her up, of course. She hesitated again. She was kinda out of it, though. Speech was slurred, eyes unfocused. I thought she might have had a stroke or something, so I went into the kitchen to call an ambulance.
“Why the kitchen?” Belle asked. “You had your phone with you, because you rang us.”
Because mine died just as I started calling, so I went into the kitchen to grab Mom's.
“What happened then?”
Just for a heartbeat, Alice's form shimmered. Fighting the memories that rose, perhaps?
She hesitated. I remember my mom grabbing me, holding me. I remember dancing—
“Dancing?” Belle cut it curiously. “As in, arm-in-arm type dancing?”
Yes. Mom was never much of a dancer, either, so it was rather weird.
To say the least.
“What happened then?” Belle said.
I'm not entirely sure. Again her form shimmered. She was definitely battling the memories. I remember feeling so dizzy it was only Mom's arms keeping me upright. I remember it getting so hot it felt like I was burning. I remember Mom burning, but that couldn't be right, could it? And then I was somehow standing outside my body, watching me standing over a body that was red and raw and really didn't look right…. Her voice faded and tears that she could never shed glimmered briefly in her ghostly eyes. That wasn’t Mom, was it?
