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I frowned and tried to sharpen the tenuous, hazy images flickering through my mind. The stones appeared to have been tossed onto a coffee table, and the views I was getting very much depended on where they were situated.
I couldn’t see the whole room in which they were sitting from my current angle, but it appeared large and had a very “old-fashioned” feel. The nearby chair was well stuffed but old, the wallpaper—peeling and yellowed—was a flocked, floral design, and the taped-down curtains were ornate. A fire burned brightly somewhere beyond my current line of sight, its warm light flickering across the cobwebbed ceiling. There were newspapers on the table close to the stone, along with several newish-looking books and a hand.
A man’s hand.
I had no idea if that hand was attached to a body or some sort of macabre souvenir. The stone’s “vision” was weirdly limited and unmoving, but I guessed I was lucky to be seeing anything given it wasactuallya stone.
I deepened the connection and tried to get some sense of an actual location. There was nothing in the way of sound—again, unsurprising—and aside from that hand, I had no sense that anyone else was in the room.
I frowned and tried switching to a different stone. There was a gut-wrenching step sideways, and suddenly, I had another viewpoint.
Therewasn’ta body attached to that hand.
Thankfully, it wasn’t Roger’s hand; aside from the fact it was far too masculine, the skin was sun-kissed and freckled.
I jumped to another stone. The room was much larger than I’d initially thought. Not only were there a number of tables and chairs in the center of the room, but an old-fashioned wooden bar at the far end. Five stools lined the bar’s front, while on the wall behind it were several shelves holding a variety of spirits, most of them open and, presumably, empty—and had been for a while, I suspected. Vampires could consume liquids of any kind if absolutely necessary, but it tended to play havoc with their altered body functions. Above the shelving was a sign that said, Lola’s Place.
The vamps were hiding in an old pub.
Time to retreat.
But as I started to pull back, a woman said, “Well, well, well, what have we got here?”
I couldn’t see her, but her voice and intonations held echoes of Maelle.
Jaqueline.
Fuck.
I fled the stones and tried to drop the one in my hand, but it suddenly seemed glued to my skin. Panic surged as her awareness chased me down the still open line between us.
I will have you, little witch.
No, you fucking won’t, I replied, and reached for my inner magic.
It rose in a thick wave and repulsed her attack, but not, I suspected, before she was able to confirm we were all here.
The stone dropped from my palm and hit the dirt, sending a soft spray of dust pluming upward.
For several seconds, I couldn’t do anything more than gulp down air. That had been close.Toodamn close.
“Lizzie?” Ashworth’s voice broke through the lingering panic. “You’re here. You’re okay. She can’t break through your circle.”
Not now, I wanted to say. I lifted my gaze to his. He was squatting in front of me, magic buzzing around his fingertips, ready for the threat he could obviously sense but not see.
“I know. Her reaction just caught me by surprise, that’s all.” Which seemed to be something of a mantra for me of late.
“What happened?” Aiden walked around the protection circle and squatted next to Ashworth.
“I got sprung.” I dismissed the circle, resisted the urge to stomp Jaqueline’s stone deeper into the ground with the heel of my boot, and put it back into the glove instead. “But I did get a glimpse of where they were. Do you know of somewhere called Lola’s Place?”
He frowned and pulled his phone from the back pocket of his jeans. “Is it a bar, the name of a farm, or even a café?”
“Bar, I think, but I can’t say for certain it was in use before the vamps got there, though the number of cobwebs and the empty booze bottles suggests not.” I hesitated. “There was also a severed hand on the table next to the spell stones and a blood smear down the wall.”
“Ifthe bar was still being used, the locals would have investigated it not being open or contacted us if they’d suspected something wrong.”
“Because nothing gets between a local and their beer?” I asked in amusement.
