Hell's Bell (Lizzie Grace 2)

Reviving him was out of the question in this particular case, as no one could survive without a soul. No one except zombies, that was, and their survival was reliant on the strength of the sorcerer who raised them.

The longer I delayed reading this man, the less chance there was of uncovering what had gone on here. But, at the same time, I wasn’t about to attempt reading a dying mind without Belle here to watch over the whole process. I’d heard plenty of stories about psychics being ensnared by the death of another while psychically connected, and while I had no idea if they were true—or even if such a thing was possible—it wasn’t something I wanted to risk.

I glanced up as Belle came back into the rotunda. “We can’t wait for Ciara to get here.”

“No, but we can always record the reading on our phones—that way, they’ll at least have something for their records.” Belle slipped off the backpack. “I’ll start preparations for a protection circle.”

I frowned. “Do you really think that’s necessary? I mean, he’s dead—”

“And a victim of a soul eater.” Her expression was grim. “Given how little we currently know about them, I don’t think a precaution or two is out of the question.”

I raised my hands in acquiescence and stepped out of her way. She was totally right, especially given what had happened to Anna. While I doubted the soul eater had that sort of power, I had no idea if consuming this man’s soul gave it some sort of connection to his dying flesh. The last thing I needed or wanted was my attempt to read this man’s memories coming to the attention of this thing.

I crossed my arms and watched as she made the preparations and then began the incantations that would produce a secondary protection circle. It still wouldn’t be full strength, given we neither had candles nor our athames here, but it would at least prevent whatever other evil might linger in the park from being drawn here.

The sound of a car’s engine caught my attention and I glanced around. Headlights briefly swept around the far end of the park and came toward us.

“I’m guessing that’s Ciara.” I flexed my fingers, trying to ease the tension that rode me. Trying to gather courage for what I now had to do. “And just in time, too.”

Belle wove the final exception into her spell—one that allowed me to cross over the barrier she’d raised around the stranger, but no one and nothing else—and then met my gaze.

“She still has to collect her kit and whatever else she might need—do you really want to wait for her?”

I grimaced. “You know we can’t.”

As much as I’d rather do anything other than read a dead man’s mind, we were already on the cusp of time limitations.

She got out her phone, took a couple of photos of the stranger’s position, and then said, “Right then, I’m recording. Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

I took a deep breath, released it slowly, and then stepped into the circle of her magic. The spell stones that encircled the stranger’s body flashed silver and blue, and their energy spun around me and then faded as the spell registered and then accepted my details.

I squatted behind the stranger and placed a hand on either side of his head. After another of those breaths that didn’t do a whole lot to ease the tension surging through me, I closed my eyes and lightly pressed my fingers against his skull.

For several seconds, nothing happened. The utter foulness of his death crawled across my senses and dragged tears from my eyes, but there was no immediate sense of anything else. No indication of where he’d been and who he’d been with before his death.

Which was decidedly weird.

Unless, of course, the lack was my fault. It had been a long time since I’d tried to use my psychometry skills in such a direct way, and I was somewhat rusty. For the most part, using personal items rather than direct touch made the whole process less... confronting.

Of course, there were never any guarantees when you worked with psi powers; sometimes the connection simply wasn’t there, and sometimes it was so damn strong it dragged you deep into the mind of another. Which was exactly what had happened when I’d tried to find Karen for Marjorie, and I certainly didn’t want to relive this man’s last minutes as I’d lived the teenager’s.

Images began to flicker through the deeper recesses of his mind, but they were extremely fragile things. The minute I reached for them, they fragmented and spun away into the gathering darkness in his head.

I frowned and went even further. His surface memories might be beyond reach, but there was still a chance deeper memory remained.

The darkness that was both brain death and something else—something I’d never encountered before—fought my invasion for several heartbeats. Then, with an abruptness that tore a gasp from my throat, I was beyond it, and right in the middle of events from a few hours ago. But these, too, were fading very quickly—it was a little like watching a badly degraded movie that flicked abruptly from one scene to another.

You nevertheless need to say aloud what you’re seeing, Lizzie, Belle said. We need it recorded.

“His memories are almost too fractured.” I hesitated. “There’s a woman, tall and pale. A short red dress that sparkles brightly under muted lights. Laughter and warmth and alcohol. Teasing touches that promise much....”

Careful, Lizzie, Belle warned. Don’t go too deep.

No, I said, even as I did. “There’s a car—a sports car. White, with black leather seats. Caresses that tease and kisses that taste like ash. And heat, so much heat. Desire burns and I chase her, capture her, and there is bliss and then....”

I stopped, simply because the memory reel did. Not because his brain was dying, or because death had snatched away whatever had followed that brief, blissful moment.