I feigned innocence. “I told you that, I’m sure.”
“No,” Aiden growled. “You did not.”
“Ah.” I paused. “Sorry.”
“Anything else you’ve conveniently forgotten to share?” Hart asked.
I hesitated and then told them everything else Maelle had said, omitting only the fact that she was my source and the bit about the registrar sending people here. The latter was not my information to pass on, especially given neither man appeared to be aware there was another vampire here.
“And how did you learn all this?” Hart asked.
I waved a hand airily. “The spirit world can be a rather helpful lot if they’re so inclined.”
As I’d hoped, neither man questioned me any further, although Aiden’s expression suggested he, at least, didn’t believe the information had come from spirits.
Six steps into the clearing, the pulsing in the shoe stopped. Fear surged and I froze, my gaze sweeping across the rubble-filled clearing yet again. It remained free of any taint of blood magic—there wasn’t even a lingering echo to indicate it had ever been here.
So why was the shoe now dead?
What the hell was going on?
Suspecting I really didn’t want an answer to that particular question, but knowing I had to seek it anyway, I forced my feet forward. The two men fanned out on either side of m
e, their guns drawn and expressions tense.
Nothing stirred; the clearing remained still and silent. Even the buzz of insects seemed to have died.
I stopped again in front of the old door. Sitting in the woodbox nearby was the other wingtip shoe.
We were definitely in the right place.
I placed the shoe I was holding beside its mate and then pressed my right hand against the door. Once again I couldn’t detect the residue of magic, and while that should have eased the tension pulsing through me, it did the exact opposite. No vampire would risk being caught unawares during the sunlit hours, so if Waverley wasn’t using magic as a means of protection, what was he using?
I reached for the doorknob, but Aiden caught my hand and shook his head. He motioned me to one side, then glanced at Hart, who nodded and held his gun at the ready. Aiden gripped the handle and, after a pause, pushed the door wide open.
No one jumped out at us. No magic pounced.
“Anything?” Aiden said, with another quick look my way.
“No.”
“Good.” He edged around the corner and, after a minute, gave the all clear.
I followed him in. The light filtering in through the open doorway did little to lift the deeper shadows, but it was still enough to see that while the cabin might now be empty, someone had definitely been living here. An old camp bed had been set up in one corner and there was a table and a couple of chairs opposite this. To the right of the door was an old fireplace, with newspaper and twigs set up ready to be lit. To one side of the hearth was a rusting half drum filled with larger logs and a stack of newspapers.
Aiden walked over and picked up the latter. “The latest date is last Tuesday, meaning it’s more than possible our quarry hasn’t been here since then.”
“So why would he send us the shoe?” I said. “It doesn’t make any sense—why lure us up here if not to either trap us or take us out?”
“Maybe he’s so confident in his ability to escape us the shoe was nothing more than a dare—a ‘find me if you can’ message,” Hart said.
“Which would be at odds with the methodic way he’s gone about business so far,” Aiden said.
“I don’t think the term methodic could be applied to his attack on Ms. Grace last night.”
“And yet, for all his fury, he had backup in the form of a hired gun, and also had an escape route planned out.”
Hart grunted and glanced around again. “Well, this appears to be nothing more than a big, fat waste of time. Shall we head back?”