“Is it about our dead witch?”
“Yeah, and according to Chester, his body might be dead, but his soul likely isn’t. He suspects it has simply transferred to another body.”
“What? How is something like that even possible?” I peered over his arm at the note in the vague hope the writing would make more sense than his words. It didn’t.
“There’s a long history of strong spirits taking control of a body and ousting the soul, lass—”
“Yes, but that’s spirits or ghosts, not a living soul leaping from his own body into someone else’s.” I shook my head. “But it would at least explain the size and power of the protection circle. It’d take some pretty dark and powerful magic to perform a stunt like that.”
“Yes. And it’s also probably why that circle remained active after we found the witch’s body.” Ashworth’s expression was grim. “The bastard’s flesh might be dead, but he’s very much alive.”
If that were true, then this reservation could be in very deep trouble. Neither Ashworth nor I were capable of dealing with such a strong witch. Not without help. “Does he say why he suspects this?”
“Briefly. The note appears to be written in a hurry.”
Suggesting maybe he did suspect trouble was approaching. But then, why sit down to write a note rather than protect the damn place? It was really strange behavior from a man who’d obviously spent a good portion of his life hunting heretic witches.
“He was researching the spell thread sequences via the university’s database,” Ashworth continued, “and came across a vague mention of large black quartz being the perfect containment stone for darker spells such as soul transference.”
“Which is what our heretic witch used.”
“Yes, and there are only a few areas within Australia in which that quartz can be found.”
“Let me guess,” I said, voice dry, “this reservation is one of them.”
“This region, not specifically the reservation.”
“Which suggests he might have come here to collect some of those stones for the spell transference, and stayed because he sensed the wild magic.”
“Either that, or he was drawn here because he was aware there was a large wellspring that had only recently been protected, and decided to combine needs.”
That was probably the more likely scenario. “It still doesn’t explain how the witch found Chester, though, or why this place has been torn apart, or why he sent a shooter rather than finishing the job himself.”
“It’s more than likely he’s not yet physically able to do anything himself,” Ashworth replied.
Because all magic had a cost, and the stronger the spell, the higher that cost. It wasn’t hard to imagine that magic strong enough to rip a soul from one body to another would deplete reserves so completely that if death didn’t come calling, you’d be incapacitated for days—if not longer. “If he is incapacitated, then someone has to be looking after him.”
Ashworth shrugged. “That task more than likely falls to his familiar.”
I frowned. “But not all witches get them, and if his familiar is a cat—”
“If that’s the case, he’ll have someone else running after him. He’s a very powerful dark practitioner, lass. He won’t go without.”
“Then I feel sorry for whatever that is.”
“Indeed.” Ashworth studied Chester for a moment. “It’s possible the still active magic within that circle was also a means of tagging the reservation witch.”
“Why go to the trouble of tagging someone and then sending a shooter after them when he could have easily taken you both out with that explosion?” I said. “It was certainly powerful enough to kill—I felt it from miles away.”
“I agree, and it’s a fact that lends support to the idea that death hadn’t been the intention. If Chester is right about the soul transference—and I don’t doubt for a second that he is—then it’s possible the dark witch needed to reserve most of his strength for that spell.” Ashworth paused. “It’s a theory that is supported by the fact that, while most of the warding stones became little more than dust in that explosion, the one closest to him instead shattered. It’s possible he’s still got a few small fragments embedded into his skin.”
My gaze immediately went to Chester. Aside from the waterproof bandage over the penetrative wound on his arm, there were plenty of smaller ones scattered over his torso and arms. Most were little more than scratches, but a few were raised and angry looking, suggesting the shards had dug deeper. “So you think the heretic witch used the shards as some sort of tracker?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time something like that had happened.”
“Wouldn’t Chester have sensed something like that, though? He was stronger than either of us, and must have encountered similar tricks in his years of hunting the bastards.”
“He should have, but he very obviously didn’t.” Ashworth’s voice was grim. “It’s possible the explosion rattled him more than he let on.”