“And she’s another witch?”
“We’re not witches—”
His gaze lifted to my hair. “That color is not out of a bottle.”
Well, no, because try as they might, no company had ever been able to perfect the sheer richness of the crimson hair coloring that was the one true sign of a royal witch. “But my eyes aren’t silver. There may be witch in my background, Ranger, but that doesn’t make me one of them.”
There was a decided lack of expression on his face, and I had absolutely no idea as to what he might be thinking. Belle could have told me had she been here, but she couldn’t read anyone but me from such a distance.
“And your friend’s full name?” he asked eventually.
“Isabelle Kent. And she’s a psychic rather than a witch.” I hesitated, and then added, “You can check my story with Mrs. Banks, if you’d like.”
“Oh, I intend to.”
“I’m hardly likely to lie about something like that.”
He raised that eyebrow again. It was amazing just how much disbelief one small movement could imply. “Did you see anything that might give us some clue as to the identity of the man with Karen?”
I told him everything I’d seen then added, “None of which is overly helpful, I know.”
“No.” He tapped his fingers lightly on the table, a soft beat that matched the rhythm of my heart. I wondered if he was aware he was doing it. While only vampires could hear the pulse of blood through veins, a wolf with sharp enough hearing could certainly hear a heartbeat at close range. “And you have no idea who that man in the clearing was, or why he left no scent?”
“None at all.”
“So why didn’t you call the emergency number? Why run up there yourself, especially when you thought this Tomme might have been a vampire?”
“I never claimed he was a vampire, just that he was drinking her blood.” I hesitated. Belle, why didn’t you call the emergency number?
Because making the call to the general number covered our backsides, but anything else risked exposing us as witches, given you were going to use the wisps. She paused. Which I guess is what has now happened anyway.
It’s only exposed me. Unless they know a lot about the witch houses, they won’t suspect you. Out loud, I added, “I ran up there because I knew Karen didn’t have much time left.”
“It would have only taken a minute, if that, to make the additional call—”
“Why are you making such a big deal of it? The first call obviously worked, given you arrived up there not long after me.”
“Yes, but only because I happened to be at the station and saw the answering machine’s blinking light.” He thrust to his feet and walked around the table. The sheer power of both his aura and his presenc
e wrapped around my senses like a thick, warm blanket, and it was all I could do to remain still—though whether I would have leaned away from him or into him, I wasn’t entirely sure.
There was a soft click and then the ties binding my wrists fell away. He shoved the knife back into his pocket as he walked across to the media unit. “Interview suspended at—” He glanced at his watch. “—ten fifty-three.”
I blinked. “Meaning I’m free to go?”
He punched a button then picked up a small plastic pack of tissues and tossed them to me. “The scratch on your cheek is still bleeding. And not until I confirm your story with Marjorie.”
And with that, he departed. The door slammed behind him and the sound echoed.
I tugged one of the tissues free and held it up against my cheek. I’d no doubt received the cut during my mad dash through the trees, but now that he’d mentioned it, it started hurting like blazes. And my head had decided to join in on the fun. While psychometry might not be magic, there was still a price to pay if you went too deep, and for me, it was blistering headaches at best, and that along with projectile vomiting at worst. If the ranger didn’t motivate himself, he might just find himself with a mess to clean up.
I got up and began to pace. It didn’t help the head much but neither would sitting still. Only resting in utter darkness for a couple of hours would provide any sort of relief.
The ranger had said there were only two scents in that clearing, but how could that be? The only way to hide your presence so fully was via a spell, and it was very rare for a vampire to also be capable of magic. Or, at least, the type of magic I’d grown up with. But there was another type of magic—one that was born from either the blood of the practitioner or from a sacrifice. While most witches considered it an unclean and unsafe magic, history was littered with those who’d nevertheless risked it, with varying degrees of success.
Was that what we were dealing with here? A vampire capable of using blood magic? It would certainly explain the absence of his scent in the clearing. And it would also, I thought with a sudden chill, explain why I’d seen so little of him when I was connected with Karen. While I’d sensed no magic, he might have been using a glamour to fudge his looks whenever he was with her.
God, the last thing this place needed was a vampire capable of using the darker arts. With wild magic loose and unprotected, it would be very easy for the vampire’s actions to taint it, and that could have disastrous consequences for Castle Rock. Once evil found a hold in a place like this, its stain grew until the whole area became unlivable to all but those who followed darker paths.