Hunter Hunted

by Arthur, Keri

  “Good.” He returned his gaze to Ashworth. “Did you manage to translate the rest of that note Chester left?”

  Ashworth nodded. “It was a name—George Sarr. He found some evidence that the young witch had taken up with our heretic some ten years ago.”

  “Which means George Sarr has paid a very heavy price for deciding to become a heretic’s apprentice.”

  “And I, for one, will afford him no sympathy,” Ashworth said. “I’ve contacted headquarters and the HIC to see if they’ve any information, but I haven’t had a reply back yet.”

  Which seemed to be a developing theme. Marking something as urgent didn’t really seem to make all that much difference to the powers that be.

  Aiden’s phone beeped. He pulled it out of his pocket, read the message, and made a quick reply. “Belle’s just arrived,” he said, as he put the phone away again.

  “Then help me up, laddie, and we’ll get this show on the road.”

  Aiden immediately hooked one hand under the older man’s armpit and half hauled, half steadied him as he climbed awkwardly to his feet.

  “Right,” Ashworth said, his face a little paler than it had been only a few seconds earlier, “my spell stones are in the pack near the door.”

  I blinked. “You don’t keep them securely tucked away?”

  “They’re stones, lass, and are of no use to anyone who isn’t a witch.”

  “I know, but—” I shook my head. “I guess therein lies the difference between a witch with a steady income and one who has had to scrimp far too often in her life to be anything less than careful with any magical implement.”

  “Never actually thought of it like that.” He shook off Aiden’s hand and walked over to the living area. “We’d better try the spirit-talking inside, just in case the heretic, his spirit guide, or whoever else is helping him is watching. It shouldn’t make any difference to Belle’s ability to contact the shooter’s ghost.”

  “It won’t.”

  I picked up the pack, rested it on the nearby phone table, and reached inside for his spell stones. They were easy enough to find—even though they were wrapped in silk, the resonance of his power eddied around them, an inert force that tingled warmly across my fingers.

  I pulled them out and then glanced around as Aiden opened the door and Belle stepped through.

  “Well, there’s definitely a ghost here and he’s seriously pissed, as you said.”

  “Did you have any sense of his state of mind?”

  “He’s sentient.” She glanced across at Ashworth and added, sympathy in her voice, “I hope like hell your partner is the caring and sharing kind, because you’re going to need a hand with some of life’s basics.”

  “I’m well aware of that. I don’t need you to be reminding me.”

  Belle grinned, not in the least perturbed by the annoyance in his tone. “So, what’s the plan?”

  “Ashworth will create the protection circle,” I said, “and we’ll contact the ghost.”

  “We might want to vacuum the floor a bit first,” Belle commented. “Otherwise we’re going to end up with glass in unpleasant places.”

  “You could always sit at a table like normal people,” Aiden said. “Or doesn’t spirit talking work like that?”

  “Ranger, you should be aware by now that we don’t do normal.” Her voice was cool but her silver eyes gleamed with mirth. “But it’ll also be less of a drain on Ashworth’s strength if we use as small a protection circle as possible.”

  “I’m totally—”

  “No, you’re not,” she cut in. “But like most men, you hate to admit any sort of weakness even if you are swaying like a drunken fool about ready to collapse.”

  Ashworth snorted, but all he said was, “You’ll find the vac in the laundry down the hall.”

  I handed Belle his spell stones then walked down to grab it. Once Aiden had shifted the coffee table, I quickly vacuumed both the small floor rug and the floorboards immediately around it. Belle then placed the stones around the rug while I put the vac away.

  “Right,” Ashworth said, once Belle and I were sitting within the circle of his spell stones. “You ready?”

  “Protect away,” Belle said.

  It took several minutes before his magic began to layer around us, but the sheer strength of it had me sucking in a breath.

  There’s no need for a circle this strong, Belle commented. We’re only dealing with a pissed-off ghost, not a demonic spirit.

  I suspect it might be something of a magical one-finger salute aimed at our heretic witch.

  Belle’s chuckle ran warmly through my thoughts. Are you sure your great-grandfather didn’t share his DNA with the Ashworths? Because he really could be your grandfather’s much younger brother.

  Given everything I ever heard about my great-grandfather suggested he was something of a Casanova, that’s more than possible.

  Ashworth’s magic reached a peak and then fell away. I could see the multitude of layers surrounding us—it was a thick net that nothing other than the most determined dark spirit would get through—but the power of it had fallen silent. Given my suspicion he was sending a message to the heretic witch, maybe we simply couldn’t sense the magic because he was amplifying it outward, away from us.

  “Righto, ladies,” Ashworth said. “The stage is all yours.”

  “I’ll be recording,” Aiden said, “so if you can follow usual practice, Liz, and repeat whatever Belle is seeing or hearing, I’d appreciate it.”

  I nodded and inched a little closer to Belle so that our knees touched. She took a deep breath to center herself and clear her thoughts, then placed her fingers in mine and closed her eyes. While some spirit talkers used personal items to make contact, or objects such an Ouija board or even a spirit pendulum, Belle had no need.

  Though our hands were only lightly touching, I nevertheless felt the moment she silently summoned the killer.

  He answered somewhat reluctantly. His anger burned through her and echoed through me—anger that was wrapped in a thick sense of betrayal.

  What is it you wish? His question was curt.

  Your name.

  Why?

  Because I’d rather call you by name than mark your ghostly existence with the moniker of killer.

  It was a weight he’d be wearing anyway, given he’d lived and died in violence. In many respects, becoming a ghost—even one fated to forever linger over the spot of his death—was far better than the life that probably would have been his on rebirth. Fate did not take kindly to those who killed others for their own gain, and she seriously believed in retribution and lesson learning. Not just in one life, but many. Do unto others was a witch creed for a very good reason.

  I have many names, the ghost muttered eventually, but you may call me Trent.

  Full name, please, Trent.

  He hesitated. Belle frowned, and the force of her magic crept into the connection, pressing down on him, compelling him. It was something very few spirit talkers could do.

  It’s Price. Trent Price.

  I repeated his answer for Aiden’s benefit, but kept my attention on Belle and the ghost. While it was very rare for ghosts such as he to be dangerous, he’d been working for a powerful witch. I wasn’t about to risk this being in any way another trap. It was unlikely, but still….

  Why are you so angry, Trent? Belle said.

  Because I was deceived.

  How were you deceived?

  Because the charm he gave me to protect me from magic somehow instead allowed him to get into my brain and make me do as he wished.

  A compliance spell usually had severe distance restrictions, which meant the witch had to have been nearby watching. Unless, of course, he had an intermediary—someone he controlled, and who he could use as his eyes and mouthpiece.

  Is that why you shot the shit out of this place, Trent?

  Yes. Given the choice, I would have retreated the minute it became obvious Ashworth wasn’t alone. The wi
tch had other ideas.

  Belle frowned. And the name of this witch?

  Don’t know, and don’t want to know.

  So how did this unknown witch contact you?

  All communications were done through an intermediary.

  And there it was. Our dark witch was no fool, but then, he’d outmaneuvered the HIC for years, so that was no surprise. His or yours?

  His. He paused. Why do you want to know?

  We want to track down the witch and stop him.

  Kill him?

  That isn’t our task, but rather that of the heretic hunters we work for.

  But he will be killed?

  I haven’t been told otherwise.

  Good. Trent paused. My contact was Abby Jones—she’s blonde, with brown eyes and a raised mole on the left side of her face, near her lips. Probably around thirty. We met in roadside rest areas, where there was little chance of us being seen or recorded.

  What sort of car did she drive?

  She didn’t. She had a motorbike.

  Undoubtedly the same motorbike we’d heard pulling away the afternoon we’d discovered Jonathan’s body.

  Number plate?

  What makes you think I got that?

  Because you’re a contract killer, Trent, and I daresay that’s a job that involves a good deal of caution. In fact, I’d bet that you even know where she’s staying.

  His amusement spun through the link between the three of us. IB 6T4 was the plate, and she’s staying in a house in Argyle. He gave us the address and then added, There was a car in the driveway, so it might have been the witch or it might not.

  You didn’t check?

  I’m not a fool. It was risky enough following the intermediary.

  Did you get the plate number of the car?

  No, because I didn’t want to make it obvious I was checking out the joint. But it was a dark blue Mercedes, and the plates weren’t Victorian.

  Which would hopefully make it easier for Aiden to track down—after all, how many blue Mercs with interstate plates could there be in the reservation?

  Were you contracted to kill only the two witches? Belle asked.

  Yes. What happens to me here? Is this the afterlife?

  I’m afraid there is no afterlife for the likes of you. Not the type you’d appreciate, anyway.

  So what am I?

  A ghost. One destined to haunt the location of your death for eternity.

  His anger surged. What? That’s fucking unfair, isn’t it? Can you help me? Move me on or something?

  I could, but I won’t. You killed people for a living, Trent, and you deserve exactly what you’ve gotten. She paused, and a warning note crept into her mental tones as she added, If, however, you make life difficult or in any way interfere with the residents of this building but especially the children, I’ll send your soul to purgatory. And trust me, you wouldn’t want that.

  His anger boiled over, sweeping over the two of us like a tidal wave. Belle pulled briefly on my strength to resist the wash of it then bid him never to enter this building and dismissed him. He was forced out, howling in fury.

  She took a deep breath to re-center, then squeezed my hands and released them. “Right,” she said. “He’s gone.”

  “Brilliant job, Belle,” Aiden said. “At least now we’ve got an address—”

  “Which you won’t be going to alone,” I cut in, as Ashworth began dismantling his protection circle. “If our heretic is there, then you could all be in deep shit.”

  He frowned. “Won’t the charm you gave me offer some form of protection?”

  “Against all manner of ghouls, spirits, and vampires, yes. Against a heretic or blueblood witch—no.”

  “Ah.” He glanced over to Ashworth. “You up to it?”

  “Yes, but Liz will have to come with us, as backup.”

  Because he knew he wasn’t strong enough to counter such a powerful witch alone, I thought. And because I could summon the wild magic, and that might just be our last line of defense if we did encounter the other witch.

  Aiden grunted. Whether it was acceptance or annoyance, I really couldn’t say. “It’ll probably take us a few days to process the apartment, which means you won’t be able to stay here—do you want me to book you a room somewhere else?”

  Ashworth shook his head. “I’ll contact Eli and get him to book us another place. He’ll have to come up here anyway, thanks to my arm situation.”

  Aiden nodded and returned his gaze to me. “Do you need to stop at the café to grab anything?”

  I shook my head. “Belle came here fully prepared.”

  “Good—then let’s go before these people escape us again.”

  I scrambled to my feet, exchanged the backpack for the car keys, and followed the two men out the door.

  Be careful, Belle said. The spirits aren’t liking the way things are developing.

  Oh fab, something else to worry about. I helped Ashworth with his seat belt—much to his chagrin—then jumped into the front passenger seat of Aiden’s truck while he continued on toward the rest of his rangers. I don’t suppose they care to elucidate on what’s causing them concern?

  No, but whatever they’re sensing is coming from the Argyle area. Wouldn’t be hard to guess it’s got something to do with our heretic witch.

  No, it wouldn’t. Make sure you lock the doors when you go home, Belle, just in case.

  Always do. She paused. Well, aside from that one occasion, anyway.

  I half smiled but didn’t reply as Aiden jumped into the driver seat, reversed out, and then headed for Argyle.

  Evening was settling in by the time we got there. Abby Jones’s house was situated along a narrow gravel road that ran along one side of the old skate park. Aiden slowed as we neared the address we’d been given, but there wasn’t a whole lot to see. It was a single-story weatherboard house with a tin roof. A metal carport was attached to the far end of the house, and a solitary motorbike sat underneath it.

  “Number plate matches the one the ghost gave us,” Aiden said.

  He cruised past and pulled onto the grass verge several houses farther along, where the road became wider and merged into another. He undid his belt then twisted around to look at Ashworth. “What’s the best way to play this?”

  “I’ll go for a stroll and see if I can sense any perimeter magic.” He glanced at me. “And before you say it, it’s more than safe for me to do so. But I do need you to help me out of the damn car.”

  My lips twitched, but I didn’t say anything as I climbed out, opened his door, and then helped him out of the truck. As he strolled down the hill, I moved around to the front of the truck and leaned against the hood, letting the warmth radiating from the engine bay chase the gathering chill from my spine.

  Aiden propped next to me, his shoulder brushing mine and his arms crossed. “Can I just put this out there? I’m not a fan of putting you into the path of danger.”

  “I think it’s safe to say that I’m not a fan of it, either.” My voice was dry. “But it’s not like we’ve any real choice.”

  “Maybe not right now, in this situation, but perhaps when the reservation gets a full-time witch, it might change.”

  I glanced at him. “A full-time witch isn’t going to communicate with your sister, Aiden. For whatever reason, both she and the wild magic have chosen to communicate—and move—through me. And they were doing so even before you and I got involved. I have no idea why that might be so, but I doubt it’ll change when the reservation witch arrives.”

  “Perhaps, but at least with a full-time witch, you’re not going to be at the pointy end of investigations as much.”

  “I’m not at the pointy end right now. For example—” I motioned toward Ashworth, who was just passing the single-story house.

  He snorted and lightly nudged my shoulder. “You know what I mean.”

  “I do, and I appreciate the concern, but I’ve just got this feeling that my involvement will continue regardless
of how powerful the reservation witch turns out to be.”

  Aiden grunted. It wasn’t a happy sound. He watched Ashworth for a few minutes and then said, “I don’t suppose you know anything about Frederick Ashworth—the witch who’s coming to be interviewed for the position?”

  “Frederick’s a rather old-fashioned name, which suggests it’s a family name rather than the name he actually uses.” I shrugged. “And given he’s younger than the council apparently wanted, it’s likely he was either in a lower-class level in school than us, or came in after we’d left to attend uni.”

  “And how,” he asked mildly, “would you know something like that? Or is it another of those stupid questions?”

  I grinned. “Apparently a rather loud and feisty wolf came into the hospital the night I was admitted, and Belle might or might not have caught some thoughts of his.”

  He shook his head but didn’t reply as Ashworth motioned for us to come down. Aiden touched a hand to my spine, replacing one type of heat with another as he lightly guided me down the gravelly road.

  “There’s not a skerrick of magic.” His expression was grim. “Our heretic witch might have been here, but he isn’t any longer.”

  “Is it possible he’s done exactly what we’ve been doing—raised a concealment barrier?”

  Ashworth hesitated, looking back at the house with slightly narrowed eyes. “I can’t feel anything, but I guess it’s possible he’s inverted the flow of his magic so that nothing leaks beyond the walls. Ranger, are you smelling anything odd or out of place?”

  Aiden’s nostrils flared as he drew in a deep breath. His expression darkened. “I can smell blood and death.”

  “But no life?” Ashworth asked.

  Aiden tasted the air once again. “No.”

  Ashworth immediately headed down the long gravel driveway. I followed, my gaze sweeping across the house and the small carport in which the trail bike sat. The thing was muddy, so if it was the bike we’d heard when we’d found Jonathan Ashworth’s body, it should be easy enough to match the tires to the tracks we’d found in the clearing.

  But there was nothing else here, and no sense of power or magic of any kind. There were a couple of remnants floating along the breeze, but they were little more than echoes of the energy that had once protected this place, and held no life or threat.