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I was, I said, but something odd just happened.
Of course it did. I mean, it’s been days since you last felt something supernatural.
Her tone was dry, and I chuckled. I think there’s a ghost or some sort of entity trying to get my attention, but I can’t see or sense anything and I was wondering—
If I could jump in and check things out for you, she finished.
It might be nothing but—
Your track record for these things would suggest it’s actually something. Give me a sec to say goodbye to Monty—
He’s called again? Didn’t you talk for hours last night?
Well, yes, but in his words, he’s missing my “before morning coffee” snarkiness, and just had to ring.
I laughed. Monty Ashworth—who was a cousin of mine—had been in love with Belle since we were all teenagers and had been trying to convince her he was utterly serious about his desire to marry her from the moment he’d been assigned the reservation witch position almost a year ago.
More like he’s missing your “before morning coffee” sexing.
Oh, that’s definite. She laughed, and the line muted as she said her goodbyes to Monty. Righto, let’s get this party started.
Her being flowed into mine, fusing us as one but not so deeply that I lost physical control or that her soul left her body and became a part of mine. It not only meant she could see and hear everything I did but could also use her talents through me if necessary, and vice versa.
I’m not seeing anything untoward, she said, after a few seconds. There’re definitely no ghosts lurking in the shadows. Where did the event happen?
Here, and at the top of the ramp.
Maybe if you moved back up?
I did, then glanced around the corner of the building to check that Anthony was still on the phone. He was pacing, his expression intent, so something bad had obviously happened.
Again, instinct twinged, but as usual, it wasn’t coming forward with any details and that was damnably frustrating.
I scanned the immediate area and then the park on the other side of the road. It was almost ten, so the traffic was nowhere near as frantic as it had been an hour ago—although what most Canberrans called “traffic” would be considered laughable in either Sydney or Melbourne.
I’m still not seeing anything, Belle commented.
Neither was I, but instinct still insisted there was something here.
I stepped away from the path and moved down the grassed slope toward the off-ramp. I was about halfway down when the caress of energy happened again.
It really did feel like a hand tugging at mine.
Belle?
I felt it, but I’m not seeing anything.
Does that mean it’s not a ghost or a spirit, but something else?
To be honest, I don’t know.
What about your spirit guides? They got anything useful to say?
While many believed spirit guides were simply ghosts or spirits who had nothing better to do, they were in fact powerful, knowledgeable witches who’d either decided to dedicate their afterlife to the counsel of other witches, or who were always destined to become a guide. They were also generally the province of royal witches; it was extremely rare for a Sarr witch to be gifted with one, let alone a number of them.
According to you, they never do. There was amusement in her tone. However, they’re suggesting that our inability to see the spirit stems from the fact it is daylight.
I frowned. Why would that make any difference?
