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“That’s a new development, isn’t it?” An odd mix of curiosity and concern edged Monty’s voice.
“Yeah, it is.”
Normally my shields were strong enough to counter any sort of emotional output, even the ones that lingered after a violent death. They had to be, as my psychometry skills meant one unguarded touch could very easily overwhelm my mind.
It was only when I tried to read the mind of a fresh corpse—tried to capture whatever memories remained before the creeping darkness of death swept them away for good—that I risked this sort of emotional overload and a whole lot more besides. Which was why I rarely attempted doing that sort of thing, and certainly never without Belle—or, at least, another strong witch—close by to pull me out if necessary.
“Wonder if it’s got anything to do with your connection and control of the wild magic?”
“You’re asking me that question like you think I can answer it.”
“Yeah, sorry. But you have to understand my fascination, given the connection shouldn’t even exist in the first place.”
I did understand. I also understood just how dangerous it could be. My mother—who was one of the strongest blueblood witches alive today—had amply proven that, when she’d tried to contain some unfettered wild magic and had almost died in the process.
But I now suspected that might be the reason behind my ability to interact with wild magic so easily, as she’d been pregnant with me at the time. In drawing the wild magic to her body in an attempt to contain it, she’d somehow embedded it into my DNA—although until I’d stepped into this reservation, no one, including me, had been aware of that outcome.
I certainly had no idea how it yet might affect me.
“How about you put the fascination aside for a few seconds and tell me what Eamon is seeing.”
Monty hesitated, no doubt conferring with his cat. “Nothing much.”
“Has he any suggestions as to what we might be dealing with?”
“Not really.” Monty hesitated again. “He said it smelled like a demon, but he can’t say what type. There’re a few who like to strip their victims of flesh like this.”
“But how many of them like to stack the bones into a nice little pile on the corner of a crossroad?”
“Unknown, but it does at least give me a starting point for a search.”
The sirens were now so close that Monty’s reply was all but lost to their noise. I raised the phone to my ear and said, “If these bones are connected to the ones we found in the clearing, why would they bury that lot and not these?”
“Maybe the demon simply didn’t have the time—maybe it sensed your presence and decided caution was the better bet.”
I snorted. “It had enough time to neatly stack its victim’s bones. That hardly suggests it was in any sort of hurry.”
Besides, if there was a common factor amongst the supernatural nasties that had raided the reservation of late, it was their utter disdain for my natural magic. They only ever thought twice about attacking me when I used the wild magic, and even that wasn’t any guarantee.
“Is Ashworth on his way here?” I added.
“Yes. He was under his truck fixing something or other when I rang, so it might take him a few minutes longer to get out there.”
Ashworth’s truck—like our station wagon—had been burned out by the soucouyant and written off by the insurance company. While Belle and I had gratefully accepted the council’s offer of a brand-new replacement, Ashworth had bought his beloved truck back and was now in the process of restoring it. Until that point, however, he had the use of a ranger vehicle.
“The entity has well and truly gone,” I commented, “so it’s not like he really needs to hurry.”
“True, but it’d still be better if he was there before they move the bones, just in case there’s magic or a trap attached to them.”
My gaze darted back to the bones. I couldn’t see the shimmer of a spell hanging over them, but that didn’t mean the spell’s threads couldn’t be hidden within the neat but bloody stack. “How possible do you think that is?”
“Unlikely, but I’m here and not there, and Eamon isn’t as sensitive to the disguised spell stuff.”
Few familiars were—which made me doubly lucky when it came to Belle being my familiar.
“Tell me,” he added, “is Belle heading home tonight, or tomorrow morning?”
“Tomorrow—why?”
