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Ashworth glanced at me. “No, he won’t. The first thing I did was weave a concealment spell around yours. He won’t sense it until he gets through both my protection and concealment spells, and even then—given the amount of wild magic you either intentionally or unintentionally wove into that spell—he may not suspect the originator is another witch, but rather a last line of defense spell from me that has been warped by the presence of the wellspring.”
I hadn’t actually intended to weave the wild magic through my spell, but given what I’d discovered at the café this morning, it also wasn’t surprising.
“If he’s as powerful as Chester suggested, then he’s surely not going to be fooled long-term by anything you or I could produce. I mean, no offense, but you’re an RWA investigator for a reason.”
“That reason being underpowered.” Ashworth smiled as he echoed my usual claim. “And by the standards of some in Canberra, I most certainly am. But I’m also a canny bastard who knows a thing or two about concealment—just ask some of the bluebloods who were in my year at uni.”
“I sense a story in that statement.”
“One that is better told over alcohol once this mess is tidied up and I can actually lift a pint or two,” Ashworth said. “For the moment, just believe me when I say he’s not going to know anything about your magic until he breaks through all mine.”
Aiden glanced at me, his expression concerned. “That still doesn’t put you out of danger, though, does it? Not when you’ve all sorts of protection spells around that café of yours.”
“Yes, but I wove a dampening spell around them this morning. Unless he actually walks into the place, he’s not going to sense anything other than what might normally be expected from a couple of fairground charlatans.”
“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.”
