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His expression was anything but comforted as his gaze returned to mine. “Fine. But if you need help—”
“I’ll call in Belle. You, Ranger, are to remain outside until I’ve declared the area safe.”
He hesitated, but after a moment, nodded and walked out. I tugged off my heels, handed them to Belle, and then put the blue booties back on.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay with you?” she asked. “Sometimes two sets of eyes are better than one when it comes to unraveling unknown spells.”
“Yes, but if he has concocted something nasty, I’d rather have you free to detach me from it.” My gaze went to the ranger’s departing back. “Thanks to the current clime, we can’t exactly call on other witches for help.”
“Then please be careful.” She touched my arm lightly and then retreated; a few minutes later, she added, We’re both clear.
I took a step closer to the wall, and the crawling sensation immediately sharpened. I squatted on my heels and studied the area with narrowed eyes, all senses—both physical and metaphysical—alert. After a moment, I began to see the slight shimmer that indicated the presence of magic. But I wasn’t yet close enough to make out the individual threads—or layers—of the spell. Each one was basically a combination of the words and energy used to create the incantation, which were then fused together to make a whole. In some ways, creating a spell held some similarities to the way fleece became yarn—and its success just as often depended on the skill of the weaver.
I shuffled closer. The vampire’s magic began to bite more strongly, its unpleasant feel making my skin jump and twitch. But I could at least see the spell now. It had been placed three feet away from the wall in a semicircular shape, and it appeared to be nothing more than a simple concealment spell—a fact that was at odds with the force crawling across my skin. I couldn’t see any spell stones being used as anchor points, and that was another indication of the vampire’s magical knowledge and strength. Most minor witches tended to use stones, as Belle and I had at the café. There was a lot less effort involved.
I reached out and carefully untwined the first thread from its brethren. As I did, the charm at my neck sprang to life, its warm pulse telling me there was indeed a dark intent behind this spell, even if I couldn’t immediately see it. I carefully deactivated the opening line, and then repeated the process with each of the others. As each of the blurring spell’s threads came free of the sum, and the words painted onto the wall became clearer, the biting sensation got stronger. It began to feel like I’d stepped into the middle of a swarming bull ants’ nest, and that was the opposite of what was supposed to be happening.
The final few threads looked unusually dark for this kind of spell, which—when combined with both the stinging and the warning pulse of my charm—suggested something had been attached to one or more of the final lines. And that meant the vampire had been here far longer than Aiden had suspected.
I dismantled another thread, leaving two. The bottom one—which was also the final line of the incantation—definitely felt heavier than it should have. Most were nothing more than the spell’s list of limitations and closure.
Stop, Belle said, mental tone urgent. Energy is building under the earth on the outside wall of the reception area.
I
paused, handing hovering over the remaining threads. Earthquake?
Not a natural one.
I’m not feeling anything in here. And I should if the spell was strong enough to affect or draw power from the ground outside. Perhaps you’d better push everyone back farther.
And maybe you’d better leave those final threads alone, she said. I’d rather not know what the bastard has said rather than risk your safety.
You know I can’t do that.
A half-dismantled blurring spell isn’t dangerous to anyone—
The closure line is too thick, Belle. There’s something else here.
Is the message clear enough to read yet? If we could at least get the gist of it, then maybe you don’t need to go any further.
My gaze jumped back to the wall. The blurring spell had faded enough to see it was writing, but what it said was still unclear. He’s designed the spell so that it has to be fully dismantled before the message can be read.
A trap, in other words.
We suspected that going in. I reached out, plucked the penultimate line free, and began to undo it. The final thread hovered in the air, dark, heavy, and extremely unhealthy in its feel. There’s definitely a second spell attached, and it’s nasty.
Nasty as in not witch magic?
I hesitated. Its construction is witch, but its power comes from blood.
Then he can’t be one of us, she said. In all the time the six families have been collecting spells and histories, there’s never been any mention of a witch becoming a vampire.
As far as we’re aware, I said. But how else would he know witch script? It’s something that’s handed down generation to generation rather than taught in schools.
And because of that, each family had script quirks specific to them, and that meant untangling the blurring spell was more important than ever. It could be one way of pinning down who we were dealing with.
I don’t think this is a good idea, Lizzie.
