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I eyed the shadows warily. There was no movement in them, despite the stirring wind. They hung like a blanket, thick and ugly looking, and yet I could sense no threat within them. Nothing to indicate it was, in any way, some sort of snare.
I could be wrong, of course. It wouldn’t be the first time.
I flexed my fingers. Tiny threads of light danced around them, moon-bright against the shroud ahead. They were a manifestation of my inner wild magic, and an instinctive reaction connected to the rise of fear.
I edged closer to the central seating area. The shadows fell around me, a thick, foul blanket that made my skin crawl.
Then the wind sharpened, and that’s when I smelled it.
Blood.
Death.
I stopped, but that unearthly presence tugged at my fingers again, urging me on. The tiny threads of wild magic crawled up my arm, and just for an instant, illuminated a hand.
A woman’s hand.
Belle, do you think our ghost is the soul of whoever has died here?
She hesitated. It would be extremely unusual for someone freshly passed to be so aware of their surroundings and situation, let alone be able to travel so far from the site of their death. I guess it would depend on who lies here, though. If it’s a royal witch of some strength, it might be possible.
She wants me to follow her through that shroud.
If she intended you harm, you would have felt it through her touch.
Unless she’s an unwilling participant in the trap.
You’d sense that, too.
Belle was undoubtedly right, but the notion that these shadows were something other than a mere cover for whatever lay beyond them remained.
I created a light sphere, then cast it into the foul blanket. The shadows briefly peeled away from its presence, then returned to their original position. It left me with little choice but to enter the shrouded circle if I wanted to see what was going on.
I drew in a deeper breath to shore up my courage, then warily pressed into the shadows. Sensory input disappeared, and it briefly felt like I was walking through a void—one unconnected to this world.
But I wasn’t alone here. Aside from the ghostly presence, there was something else, something that was almost predatory even if I wasn’t feeling an immediate sense of threat.
I shivered and resisted the urge to turn and run. There was something here my ghost needed me to find, and it didn’t matter if it was her body or something else. I simply couldn’t let someone else deal with it.
Besides, after everything we’d gone through over the last year, I was probably the most experienced demon hunter currently in Canberra.
Whether we were dealing with an actual demon was something we’d uncover soon enough.
But I personally doubted it. This shroud might feel otherworldly, but I had no sense that it was created by anything other than a human hand.
After several more seconds of pushing through what felt like treacle, I came out of the shadows and into the light.
That’s when I saw the pentagram, the black candles, and the body of a woman.
A woman who’d been ritually murdered.
My stomach twisted and bile rose. I bolted for the nearby bushes and was completely and violently ill.
Not because of the brutality of the death but rather, the memories it evoked.
My sister had died the same way.
Almost exactly the same way.
