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“That is a rather sad statement.”
“Indeed.”
Silence fell again, and though there was an edge of awareness running through it, it was still very much an easy silence—one that coul
d only happen when two people had grown comfortable in each other’s company.
It didn’t take us long to get to Castle Rock. Aiden drove past the town center and then turned right onto Myring Street. After a few more turns, we were stopping outside a somewhat run-down, single-fronted, green weatherboard cottage. Aiden pulled up beside the Ford Ranger truck that was parked in front of the moss-covered garden wall, and then climbed out. I did the same.
As the sound of the two doors slamming echoed across the odd silence, a somewhat stout figure appeared from the rear of the house and strode toward us. If anyone had ever looked less like a powerful witch, then it was this man. He was wearing a Carlton football jumper, jeans with frayed knees, and sneakers so old a sock-covered toe stuck out of the left one. He was bald, his face well tanned and full of wrinkles, and his eyes were muddy silver in color. Despite that, the power that rolled off him—even from this distance—damn near stole my breath.
“Ira Ashworth, at your service,” he said, as he drew close enough to offer Aiden his hand. “You’ve got quite a mess to clean up, Ranger.”
“You’ve been inside?”
“Far enough to know what we’re dealing with and to smell the stink of rotting flesh. If you’ve face masks in your kit, we’ll need to borrow them.” Ashworth’s gaze switched to mine. “And you’d be Lizzie Grace. Not what I expected, and quite disappointing, I have to say.”
That’s a statement I’d heard plenty of times during the first sixteen years of my life, but it was rather surprising to hear it coming from the mouth of a complete stranger. “What were you expecting?”
“Certainly not someone who bears Marlowe looks but none of their power. You’re a conundrum, lassie.”
He held out his hand, and after a brief hesitation, I shook it. His magic swirled around me, testing, probing. The smaller of the two charms I was wearing flared to life in response, and that, I suspected, was exactly what he wanted. After a moment, he grunted and released me.
“A puzzle indeed,” he muttered. His gaze returned to Aiden as he came back with three masks. “There’s a darkness haunting the inside of that house, so you’ll have to stay out here in the sunshine until we give the all clear.”
“We?” I all but squeaked. “I don’t know enough—”
“I can deal with the spirit,” he cut in. “But I can’t do that and close the board. I haven’t got three hands, lassie.”
A smile twitched my lips despite the coldness stirring my gut. He really was like my grandfather.
“That agate charm of yours will protect you from the spirit,” he continued. “I did some prelim probing, and the spirit inside isn’t strong enough to get past the spellwork on the charm.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s not capable of finding other methods to cause me harm.”
“Well, of course not, and this one does seem to have answered the call of anger, if its hellish response to my questing is any indication.”
“Great,” I muttered, even as part of me wondered what he considered hellish. The other, less sensible half preferred to live in ignorance and deal with events as and when they happened.
“It is indeed.” He cracked his fingers, anticipation evident, and then grabbed two of the masks. “Shall we go?”
He didn’t wait for an answer; he just turned and strode back to the house, leaving me with little choice but to follow.
“Be careful in there,” Aiden called after me. “Remember that whole returning to the café bleeding conversation we had not so long ago.”
I flashed him a grin over my shoulder. He was leaning against the front of his truck, his arms crossed and expression annoyed. The wolf did not like being left out of the action.
But as I stepped over the old concrete wall and limped through the longish grass, trepidation began to override amusement.
Not just because of the pall of darkness that had wrapped itself around the house like a blanket, but because of the stench of rotting flesh coming from within. If my very human nose could smell it from the middle of the front lawn, then it was going to be bad inside.
Ashworth stepped onto the front porch and squatted next to a small backpack positioned to the right of the open door. The hallway was wrapped in shadows, an oddity given there was no cover over the porch and the sunshine should have at least shone into the first six feet or so.
Ashworth pulled his athame, several potion bottles, and a couple of cloths from the pack. He handed me one of the latter.
“I’ve put a mix of cinnamon and patchouli oils on them. Tuck it into the mask before you enter the house, and it’ll help with the smell.”
Help, but not entirely kill, I suspected. “And the plan?”
