Taking the question in stride, Clay answered, “The zombie is expelling gristle and bone that—”
The wind changed, causing the stink to follow us, and I gagged as it swirled around us.
“Never mind.” I swallowed convulsively. “Forget I asked.”
A bone-chilling howl rent the quiet night, unmistakable for a wolf or coyote, and I shivered at its hunger.
Flame ignited on my periphery as Asa embraced his daemon form in response to the threat.
“Close.” The daemon flared his wide nostrils. “Smell bad.”
“You can say that again.”
“Close,” he repeated with adorable earnestness. “Smell bad.”
That was about the time I noticed we were still holding hands, and mine were aching thanks to the new width of his palm and girth of his fingers. Gently, so as not to hurt his feelings, I released him.
The daemon took no issue with that, happy to trade me a lock of his hair to hold instead.
Because of course he did. The only person more obsessed with his hair than me was him.
We tracked the wendigo four miles before we came to a crevice in a rock face that acted as the entrance to a narrow cave. Details from the copycat case rose in my mind, and I struggled not to pivot on my heel and march right back to the cabin.
Layers of brittle tape curled, as if this mural had been taken down and put up many times over the years and the artist didn’t want to risk damaging the paper further. The fae presses had the most extensive coverage, but the major para newspapers—all magicked to appear blank to humans—had run the story.
Candids of Clay and me from those days filled spots here and there on the wall, but the bottom row…
For a moment, my heart forgot how to beat, and my blood turned to ice water in my veins.
Colby was safe.
Safe.
Not every bad thing that happened was an elaborate plot to harm her.
We had a simple case. Track the zombigo, kill it—again—then find the witch responsible for creating it.
That was it.
That was all.
Nothing hinky.
Nothing Colby-y.
Nothing to worry about.
Once I tuned out the annoying pounding of my frantic heart, the guys’ too, I detected no other signs of life.
“I’ll go in.” I moved toward the jagged entrance, eager to burn off my nerves. “You two stand watch.”
Clay rolled his shoulders, clearly uneasy with me going in solo, but he couldn’t fit through the opening.
The daemon wavered in preparation for a shift, but I put my hand on his arm to stop him.
“I need you both in fighting form if it’s in there.”
The daemon was unimpressed with my reasoning, but he grunted assent and stood with Clay.