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“It’s lovely to see you again, Lizzie Grace,” he said, his voice deep and warm. “You’ve gained a couple of impressive white streaks in your hair since we last met.”
“They’re the result of a confrontation with a rusalka that almost went very wrong.”
“They suit you—and I’m thinking they serve as a good warning to all that they’re dealing with a very different witch.” His gaze returned to the pentagram. “How did you know it was here? It’s invisible from the flyover and the main section of the park.”
I wrinkled my nose. “A ghost led me here.”
He didn’t laugh. As Belle had said, he was familiar with the strength of my psi gifts. “Was it the soul of the sacrificed?”
“Unknown at this point.”
“Have you been anywhere near the pentagram? Touched anything, or tried to counter the spells that remain?”
“No, though I did lose my breakfast in the bushes over there.” I waved a hand in that direction. “Do you know who the victim is?”
“No, and we’ve had no missing persons reported in the last few days.”
“I take it that means there was one placed earlier this week?”
He nodded. “Celia Ashworth was reported missing on Monday, but this isn’t her.”
I mentally crossed all things that she wasn’t related to our Ashworth. “How can you be sure of that?”
“Celia is in her early twenties. This woman looks to be at least two decades older.”
My gaze went unbidden to the woman’s severed head. My stomach twisted, but I swallowed heavily and tried to view her remains clinically rather than emotionally—a rather hard task given my emotions were all over the place of late.
She definitely did look older—her face was drawn, her cheeks hollow, and there were white streaks in her somewhat dull-looking crimson hair. But the little creases that crept in around the forehead, eyes, and mouth with age were missing. That could have been a product of plastic surgery, of course, but something within doubted it.
And while there were demons who sucked the life force from people, a process that not only aged them in seconds but killed them in the most horrendous manner, I doubted this was what had happened here. No matter what the classification of demon, they all had one thing in common—they avoided pentagrams and certainly never used them in their own magic.
Of course, that didn’t preclude the possibility of the dark witch or sorcerer behind this murder commanding such a demon to do his dirty work for him, but sharing breathing space with said demon would have been a risky business.
“There’s deep bruising on her wrists but no rope burns,” I said, “and that suggests that while she hasn’t resisted, her arms have taken the brunt of her weight at some point, either when she was being hauled upright or dropped down.”
Amusement lurked around his lips. “Hanging around a ranger has given you a sharper eye for details.”
“It’s not so much the ranger as the supernatural entities that keep rolling through the reservation.” My voice was dry, and he smiled.
“There’re very few hunters here in Canberra that would recognize such a specific detail.”
Hunters no doubt referring to those who worked for the Heretic Investigations Center hunting down rogue witches. “If they’re not aware of those sorts of details, then it’s no wonder they don’t always catch their man.”
He laughed. “It’s not physical tells they hunt, but rather metaphysical and magical.”
Neither of which had helped them catch the man responsible for Cat’s murder. “Does that mean they’ll be called in here?”
He nodded and glanced at his watch. “Should be here in ten, in fact.”
Meaning I needed to be out of here in nine. The way fate was throwing shit our way, it would be the same overbearing bastard who’d ignored me all those years ago. “Do you recognize the symbols carved into her torso?”
“They represent a summoning of some kind, but I won’t be certain who or what was called until I can do a bit more research.”
Maybe my guess about the life stealer was wrong—but that would mean my gut was also wrong about this being the same sorcerer, and I doubted that was the case.
“Can you tell offhand if we’re dealing with a sorcerer rather than a dark witch?”
“Why would you think this is the work of a sorcerer?” His voice was just a shade sharper. “There’s little indication in the remaining magic that it is.”
