Hell's Bell (Lizzie Grace 2)

Trepidation stirred even as the need to track down the source of that ominous ringing hit. I didn’t question it; I simply turned and ran back inside, pausing long enough to lock the door before racing toward my bedroom.

And almost collided with Belle as she came out of hers. It was only thanks to her jump back into her bedroom that we didn’t come to grief. For someone who was just over six feet tall with the physique of an Amazon, she was amazingly quick on her feet.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice sharp with concern.

“I don’t know. Something.”

“And apparently you’re in a hurry to investigate it.” She followed me into my bedroom. “Do you want company?”

I hesitated. Belle wasn’t only a witch, but a spirit talker and a strong telepath. Of course, she was also my familiar—something that had apparently never happened before in all witch history. It had been the subject of much gossip amongst the six witch houses when we were children, and had caused more

than a little shame to my blueblood parents.

“Your parents have their noses stuck so far up their own asses,” Belle commented, obviously catching my thoughts, “that they wouldn’t know a good thing if it hit them in the face multiple times.”

Belle’s tone was tart, and I chuckled softly, even if it was a rather sad truth. There were three so-called “royal” lines of witches, all of which were considerably more powerful than the other, more “common” lines. Over the centuries, the royal three had so ingratiated themselves with rule makers that they were now considered vital aides to governments across the world. Both my parents were high-ranking—and therefore highly sought after—members of the Council of Advisors. Or had been when Belle and I had fled Canberra and my family twelve years ago. For all I knew, my father might now be the head of the council; it wasn’t like I kept up-to-date on witch happenings, be they local or national. And although my family could probably have found me if they’d truly wanted to, I nevertheless preferred to keep my profile low, and did my best to avoid not only anything to do with the witch council but most things magic.

Which had certainly become harder since we’d set up shop here in Castle Rock, as magic and we seemed to be on an unavoidable collision course.

“It might be safer if you do come along,” I said. “I think there’s some sort of spectral presence out there, and that means I might need guidance from you and the spirit world.”

She pushed away from the doorframe, a smile on her lips. “The spirit world just went into shock at hearing you say they might be useful rather than annoying.”

“Hey, they do have a habit of dishing out dire warnings without actually providing a source or a reason.” I zipped up my jacket. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

She nodded and disappeared into her bedroom. I switched on the hall light and clattered down to the café. The Christmas lights strung around the dining area filled the room with color and cheerfulness, and I couldn’t help smiling. Belle and I had opened—and closed—a few cafés over the years, but this was the first one that truly felt like home.

I turned and headed into the small reading room at the rear of the building. The air sparked briefly as I entered, a clear indication the spells encircling and protecting the room were active. A simple wooden table sat in the center of the small space, along with four mismatched but comfortable chairs. A large rug covered the floor, and bright lengths of material were draped across the ceiling, both of which not only provided the otherwise drab room with some color, but also hid the ramped-up spellwork painted onto the floor and etched into the wooden ceiling. Only an entity of extreme power would ever get into this place.

We might not have come to Castle Rock with the intention of doing much more than spiritual and psychic readings, but the advent of the vampire and the knowledge that we were all that stood between the wild magic and those who would use it for ill had made what most witches in our line of work would consider an overload of protections totally necessary.

I walked across to the full-height bookcase that lined the right wall, moved a gorgeously ornate pottery fairy, and then I placed my hand against the bookcase’s wooden back. Energy immediately crawled across it, and a heartbeat later, the wooden panel slipped aside to reveal an eight-inch-deep compartment. It wasn’t the only hidden compartment in the bookcase—there was one behind every shelf. A witch could never be too careful when it came to protecting magical items and potions.

I grabbed Belle’s silver knife, because mine was still being held at the ranger station, a couple of bottles of holy water, and my spell stones—or warding stones, as they were sometimes known. Once I’d secured them into a backpack, I opened another compartment to get a couple of ready-made potions to ward off evil, then slung the pack over my back and headed out.

The faint caress of energy swirled around me again as I joined Belle outside. It wasn’t magic; it was the spirits, communing with her.

Once I’d locked the door, I shoved my hands into my pockets and headed left. After a moment, she joined me.

“I'm told there’s something rather odd happening near the botanical gardens.”

“I don’t suppose they could define the term ‘odd.’”

Her lips twitched. “Apparently, it’s not odd in the way you are.”

“Which, as usual, clarifies things greatly.”

“They do not wish to provide a clear answer because it would cause you great shock.” Her silvery eyes shone with amusement. “And they feel it’s better for you to remain capable of tackling whatever it is both you and they are sensing.”

“Is there a reason behind their high form tonight?” I asked mildly. “Because it’s a little unusual for them to be this backchatty.”

“I think it’s the energy of this place. They like it.” She hesitated, eyes narrowing as she listened to the other side. “Dispensing the truth is not being backchatty, apparently. And they suggest we get a move on.”

I snorted, but nevertheless increased my pace. I wasn’t foolish enough to ignore a suggestion from the spirit world—not when it meshed with my own need to investigate, anyway.

We made our way down Mostyn Street until we reached the far end, and then swung right onto Kennedy. It probably would have been quicker to drive, but the nebulous part of me that had woken filled with fear wanted to be on foot.

As we drew closer to Lyttleton Street, I couldn’t help but glance at the white weatherboard house across the road. Did Marjorie’s soul remain there, eternally locked in grief for the daughter who’d been turned by a revenge-seeking vampire?