Hell's Bell

by Keri Arthur

  I shifted in my seat so I could study him properly. “You don’t think she’s involved, do you?”

  “No. She’s very obviously annoyed by Marlinda’s death.”

  But not by Schmidt’s, I gathered, although that was no real surprise if Maelle preferred her donors to be female rather than male. “Do you ask if she was aware of any connection between Marlinda and Gerry?”

  “Yes. She said they were often on the same shift, but she couldn’t say if they were friends outside of work.”

  “I gather you’ve searched his home?”

  “Of course.” He cast an amused glance my way. “Anyone would think you were the ranger here, given all the questions.”

  “Sorry.” I gave him a lopsided grin. “But I’ve a long history of sticking my nose where it doesn't belong.”

  “In this case, and until the RWA witch comes along, your nose is actually welcome. It’s not like I’ve got a whole lot of knowledge about spirits and magic.” His amusement faded. “We haven’t yet found a connection between him, Aron, and Larissa. We can’t even find anyone who saw him and Teresa together, and her family said she never mentioned him.”

  “You wouldn’t expect her to if he was just a one-night stand. And she is human, not wolf, is she not?”

  “Yes.”

  My gaze was drawn to the side of the road up ahead, and the small cottage that was now ringed by police tape. Gerry’s body was long gone, but the stain of his blood remained. As did, undoubtedly, Teresa’s shade.

  Belle, I asked, is there anything you can do for her?

  According to my guides, it would depend on just how much of her spirit was consumed before the two of you spooked the soul eater.

  So if her shade has some form of awareness, you could move her on?

  Possibly. We’ll have to wait until it’s no longer considered a crime scene, though. She paused, and amusement crept into her mental tone as she added, You and Aiden certainly timed your departure well.

  Why? What’s happened?

  The RWA witch has arrived and, oh boy, is he a piece of work.

  In what way?

  Picture your grandfather, and then imagine him two times worse.

  That’s not possible. If my father was ice, then my grandfather would have been fire. He’d never been afraid to call anyone out on their bullshit, and he’d had a very, very short fuse. But, weirdly enough, he and I had gotten on rather well.

  That’s because he saw something of himself in you.

  I’m neither fiery nor short-tempered, I retorted.

  Except when the right occasion comes along. Her amusement ran through my mind. But I meant more in the lack of power. Like you, your grandfather never had the power to meet his dreams.

  That was probably true, although my dreams had never amounted to anything more than wanting to be something other than an utter disappointment to my parents.

  Why is he at the café?

  He wanted to talk to us about the dark spirit. I told him what I could, but he still wants to talk to you. She paused, and her amusement grew stronger. Tala is looking a little like a deer in the spotlight.

  “Care to share?” Aiden said mildly.

  I jumped slightly and then glanced at him. “Sorry. Belle was just informing me that the RWA witch has arrived.”

  “And? Because I’m sensing there is an ‘and ’ after that statement.”

  “Apparently, he’s old, crusty, and short-tempered. And Tala is looking rather shell-shocked.”

  Aiden swore. “What the fuck were they thinking in sending someone like that? They know the situation here is somewhat tenuous in regard to witches.”

  “Regional centers are often only staffed by a couple of people. Maybe with Anna out of action, they haven’t much other choice.”

  “They could have brought someone more suitable in from one of the other areas.” He shook his head. “This is not going to sit well with the council.”

  “And yet he could be exactly what they need. Maybe if they’re told in no uncertain terms the true depth of the danger they’re placing everyone in by someone who knows, they might finally get off their butts and get a replacement witch here ASAP.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “And if he can’t convince them, maybe you should get up there and have a go.”

  “As if they’d listen to someone they want to banish from the reservation.”

  “Not all of them want to evict you, but all of them will hate a recalcitrant old fart treating them like errant children.”

  Which in many ways was exactly how they needed to be treated, given their somewhat childish attitude toward the wellspring. In this day and age, there was no excuse for such willful blindness.

  But there was little point in saying any of that, because Aiden basically agreed with me. We turned off the main highway onto another of those goat tracks that paraded as roads within the reservation, and then went right into another one. But just as the track started to climb, Aiden pulled off the road and stopped.

  I glanced around. The area was a mix of open space and thick trees, and there was absolutely no sign of habitation.

  Aiden must have sensed my confusion, because he said, “The gates into the Marin compound are up ahead. We have to formally seek permission before we can enter.”

  I peered up the road, but couldn’t see anything resembling gates. Just two huge old gum trees guarding either side of the goat track. Were they the gates he meant?

  “Why?” I asked. “You’re a ranger—surely that means you can move through the entire reservation without restriction.”

  “I can—especially if it’s life and death—but this is more an official courtesy. It’s an acknowledgment that we’re entering sacred home grounds, and all three packs have the same rules and entry procedures.”

  “They can hardly consider it their sacred home considering this whole area was once O’Connor territory, not Marin or Sinclair.”

  His smile twisted. “Yeah, but that was long enough ago that they now consider this land theirs. So we shall be respectful and obey the rules.”

  I held up my hands. “I’m all for obeying rules.”

  “Only when it suits you, I suspect. You’ll have to come along—you’ll need to sign in.”

  I frowned, but nevertheless climbed out of the car. “Neither Mike nor Meika mentioned any of this when I was talking to them yesterday. If I hadn’t insisted you come along, I would’ve blundered up here and gotten myself into a world of trouble.”

  “They wouldn’t have done it deliberately. It’s a procedure that’s used in all compounds throughout Australia, so they probably thought you’d be aware of them.”

  I walked around the front of his truck and fell into step beside him. “Presuming someone knows something is never a good idea. Maybe your council needs to provide a reference sheet of dos and don’ts for those of us who have never lived in a reservation before.”

  “That’s probably a good idea.” His gaze met mine. “So if you’ve never lived in a reservation before, why choose this one?”

  “As I’ve said, the fact this is a major tourist area was part of the reason.” I hesitated and then shrugged. “But it also felt right and, according to Belle’s guides, the omens were good for settling here.”

  “Who or what are her guides? Are they spirits or ghosts? Or are they one and the same?”

  “Ghosts are generally the souls of those who were taken before their time, or those who, for whatever reason—be it revenge, confusion, or a simple unwillingness—refuse to move on to their next life. Spirits are from the realm beyond ours—supernatural beings that were never human even if they can attain that form.”

  His eyebrows rose. “So Belle’s guides come from the same world as the soul eater?”

  “No, because spirit guides are a different beast altogether. For the most part, guides are powerful, knowledgeable witches who have either decided to dedicate their afterlife to the council of other witches, or those whose path it was always
destined to be.”

  “Do all witches have them?” He glanced at me. “Do you?”

  “No, thank God. I get enough crap from Belle’s guides without having my own to put up with.” My gaze swept the area ahead, but I still wasn’t seeing any gates. Those trees had to be it. “Of course, it’s extremely rare for someone from the Sarr line to have guides—it’s generally only the highborn witches who get them.”

  “Sarr?” Aiden said mildly. “I thought her name was Kent?”

  I silently cursed the slip. That’s what I got for endlessly weaving lies and being too comfortable around someone. “It is, but she obviously has Sarr witch blood in her. You only have to look at her to know that.”

  “Indeed,” he said, even as his tone suggested disbelief.

  Which meant it was time for a little up-front honesty—though not, perhaps, the type he was looking for. “Can I ask you a rather personal question?”

  “Sure. No guarantee I’ll answer it, but feel free.”

  “If you’re so convinced Belle and I are lying about our past, why the hell do you still want to fuck me?”

  He laughed, a warm and oddly surprised sound that echoed loudly. Something stirred in response, something that was dark and angry. I frowned and swept my gaze across the mix of rocks, trees, and open ground that surrounded us. I couldn’t see anyone out there, but then, this was Marin territory; in wolf form, their red-brown coats would very much blend in.

  “Like any regular man, I’m quite capable of separating logic from desire. In your case, the former has little hope against the latter.” Despite the lightness of his tone, his expression, when his gaze met mine, was deeply serious. “You’re lying about your past, Liz. I’m sure of it. I’ll find out why eventually. But I also trust my gut, which is telling me you have a good reason for the lies. So until you either trust me enough to confide in me, or I ferret the information out, I can see no reason not to pursue you sexually.”

  I half smiled. “At least we both now have our cards on the table in that regard.”

  “Indeed.” His answering smile faded as he looked back up the road. “That’s odd.”

  Even as he said that, the feeling of wrongness increased. I flexed my fingers, trying to ease the tension gathering within me. “What is?”

  “Our presence should have been acknowledged by now.” His nostrils flared as he drew in a deeper breath. “Someone is there.”

  I studied the trees ahead with a frown. “There is?”

  His grin flashed, though it held little in the way of amusement. “All buildings within werewolf compounds work with nature rather than against it. Look up.”

  I did so, and saw what he meant. A small tree house sat in the canopy of the tree on the left, one that very much looked as if it had grown out of the tree rather than built onto it.

  “You all live in trees?”

  “Of course not. But we do build our homes both around nature, and from nature, which means logs, stone, and earth. Wait here.”

  I stopped immediately, my tension level ramping up several more degrees. He’d barely taken three steps when he stopped abruptly and cocked his head.

  A second later, I heard it.

  A short, sharp noise that sounded like a car backfiring.

  But there were no cars nearby and no cars approaching, from either up ahead or behind us.

  And in that instant, between one heartbeat and the next, I realized what it was.

  A gunshot.

  Chapter Ten

  Aiden swore and dove at me, twisting around as he caught me around the waist, so that his back was toward the sound. We fell as one, hitting the ground hard enough for dust to plume, and my breath to escape in a painful whoosh. A heartbeat later something burned across my thigh; I yelped, but the sound was smothered by Aiden’s growl. It was a deep and angry noise, one that had come from a wolf’s throat more than a man’s.

  But he didn’t say anything else, and he didn’t release me. Instead, he rolled me over his body, and then repeated the action, until we were barrel rolling toward his truck. Dust flew, stones embedded into my back and sides, but it didn’t matter. Nothing did, except the fact that the sharp noise of that car backfiring was chasing us, biting into the roadside, missing us by inches. I caught brief glimpses of the truck’s underbelly and tire as we passed them, but Aiden didn’t stop. Not until we’d reached the rear tire. Even then, he didn’t immediately move, but remained as he was, his body lying over mine protectively, his expression intent and his gaze scanning the area. Two bullets pinged off the front bull bar, and then silence fell.

  But not my tension level.

  And not his, if the quivering in his limbs was anything to go by.

  His gaze dropped to mine. His eyes were bright, fierce, and almost otherworldly. He was caught between worlds, I realized—between the human need to ensure I was safe, and the wolf who wanted to hunt.

  “Go,” I said. “I’m okay.”

  “No, you’re not—I can smell blood.”

  “Then you’ll know it’s nothing major. I’m fine—really. Go.”

  “Get into the cab, but keep low.” His voice was losing its clarity, becoming a growl. The wolf within wanted to run, to chase.

  “Go,” I repeated yet again.

  He rolled away from me and sprang to his feet, the movement fluid and beautiful. In three strides he went from human to wolf, although a shimmer of energy hid the actual change. His wolf was as lean and powerful as his human, and his coat rippled silver in the morning sunshine.

  As he disappeared around the front of the truck, I carefully pushed onto my hands and knees, and crawled to the passenger door. I reached up, grabbed the handle, and hauled the door opened, my heart hammering and every sense I had attuned to the silence around me, waiting for the sound of another bullet being fired.

  When it didn’t come, I climbed into the truck, keeping low as ordered, then closed and locked the doors. That’s when the shaking began. I lay across the bench seat, my head on the driver side and my arms crossed across my chest, fighting the urge to cry.

  Who the hell could want me dead? It couldn’t have been the witch—not this time, not here on Marin grounds. I may not know a whole lot about werewolves, but if they had guards on their main entry point, then they’d run regular patrols around the rest of it.

  So if not the witch, then who? No one else on this reservation had any reason to hate me.

  They may not be on the reservation, but the Fitzgeralds certainly do, Belle commented. Maybe that little rat infestation you left behind when they ran us out of town pissed them off so much they’ve decided payback is required.

  I snorted. Those boys are gutless wonders. They used the local cop and innuendo to do their dirty work; I can’t see them suddenly gathering the courage for more direct action.

  It doesn’t take courage to hire a hit man. Are you okay?

  Yes. The ache in my leg amplified even as I said that. I twisted around and saw the tear in my jeans and the blood seeping around it. Although it would appear I’ve been shot.

  What!

  It hurts, but not that much. I gingerly pulled the material away from the wound, but instead of the hole I’d been expecting, I discovered a shallow scrape. It’s a flesh wound, and nothing serious.

  She says with utter authority, because she’s seen so many flesh wounds in the past.

  Trust me, some of the wounds I received in knife spelling class were far deeper than this. Not that they were supposed to be dangerous, but knives and me hadn’t been a great combination in those early years—and I still had some of the scars to prove it.

  Having seen some of those wounds, I’m now comforted. Amusement ran through her mental tone. I’d still recommend bandaging it, and then getting a doc to check it as soon as you can. Or I will nag.

  Which you do so well.

  A familiar does have to look after her witch, even when the witch doesn’t like it.

  And a witch had to look after their familiar
, or they’d be lessened by their absence. That was something they’d ingrained into us from a very early age. Is the RWA witch still hanging around the café?

  Yeah. He’s currently studying the spells protecting the place. I think he’s impressed.

  Anna thought their informal construction was dangerous.

  He’s certainly intrigued by their construction, but I’m not getting the impression he thinks our magic is dangerous.

  Meaning you haven’t read him?

  No. You know how those two IIT officers were wearing a device to stop me reading their thoughts? I think he’s got one.

  The IIT—or Interspecies Investigations Team, as they were officially known—were legally required to be called in whenever there was a murder on a reservation that involved humans. Whether they would be called in on this case now that Teresa White had been killed, I couldn’t say, although I rather suspected it would be the RWA’s call if they were.

  Why would a witch be wearing an electronic device like that? Surely it’d interfere with his ability to sense the natural energy of the world.

  You might be right. Maybe it’s a charm of some kind.

  Possibly. It’s not like we’ve kept up-to-date with recent spell developments. And if the High Council’s spell development team could create magical fingerprint locks, it was certainly possible they’d found a way to stop telepathic intrusion.

  I could probably get past it, but it’s really not worth the effort given he has absolutely no problem telling the world at large exactly what he’s thinking. She paused. I’d better go. He’s heading into the reading room, muttering something about ley lines and wild magic and why didn’t the bastards in Canberra know that.

  Know what?

  I have no idea. But I daresay he’ll tell us sooner rather than later.

  I couldn’t help grinning. He really did sound a hell of a lot like my grandfather.

  “Lizzie?” a familiar voice said from outside the truck. “You there?”

  I rose up on my elbows and warily looked out the windshield. Zak and a man who was almost a carbon copy of him, but with slightly fuller cheeks, were standing at the front of the truck.