Broken Bonds (Lizzie Grace 3)
Evening was settling in by the time we got there. Abby Jones’s house was situated along a narrow gravel road that ran along one side of the old skate park. Aiden slowed as we neared the address we’d been given, but there wasn’t a whole lot to see. It was a single-story weatherboard house with a tin roof. A metal carport was attached to the far end of the house, and a solitary motorbike sat underneath it.
“Number plate matches the one the ghost gave us,” Aiden said.
He cruised past and pulled onto the grass verge several houses farther along, where the road became wider and merged into another. He undid his belt then twisted around to look at Ashworth. “What’s the best way to play this?”
“I’ll go for a stroll and see if I can sense any perimeter magic.” He glanced at me. “And before you say it, it’s more than safe for me to do so. But I do need you to help me out of the damn car.”
My lips twitched, but I didn’t say anything as I climbed out, opened his door, and then helped him out of the truck. As he strolled down the hill, I moved around to the front of the truck and leaned against the hood, letting the warmth radiating from the engine bay chase the gathering chill from my spine.
Aiden propped next to me, his shoulder brushing mine and his arms crossed. “Can I just put this out there? I’m not a fan of putting you into the path of danger.”
“I think it’s safe to say that I’m not a fan of it, either.” My voice was dry. “But it’s not like we’ve any real choice.”
“Maybe not right now, in this situation, but perhaps when the reservation gets a full-time witch, it might change.”
I glanced at him. “A full-time witch isn’t going to communicate with your sister, Aiden. For whatever reason, both she and the wild magic have chosen to communicate—and move—through me. And they were doing so even before you and I got involved. I have no idea why that might be so, but I doubt it’ll change when the reservation witch arrives.”
“Perhaps, but at least with a full-time witch, you’re not going to be at the pointy end of investigations as much.”
“I’m not at the pointy end right now. For example—” I motioned toward Ashworth, who was just passing the single-story house.
He snorted and lightly nudged my shoulder. “You know what I mean.”
“I do, and I appreciate the concern, but I’ve just got this feeling that my involvement will continue regardless
of how powerful the reservation witch turns out to be.”
Aiden grunted. It wasn’t a happy sound. He watched Ashworth for a few minutes and then said, “I don’t suppose you know anything about Frederick Ashworth—the witch who’s coming to be interviewed for the position?”
“Frederick’s a rather old-fashioned name, which suggests it’s a family name rather than the name he actually uses.” I shrugged. “And given he’s younger than the council apparently wanted, it’s likely he was either in a lower-class level in school than us, or came in after we’d left to attend uni.”
“And how,” he asked mildly, “would you know something like that? Or is it another of those stupid questions?”
I grinned. “Apparently a rather loud and feisty wolf came into the hospital the night I was admitted, and Belle might or might not have caught some thoughts of his.”
He shook his head but didn’t reply as Ashworth motioned for us to come down. Aiden touched a hand to my spine, replacing one type of heat with another as he lightly guided me down the gravelly road.
“There’s not a skerrick of magic.” His expression was grim. “Our heretic witch might have been here, but he isn’t any longer.”
“Is it possible he’s done exactly what we’ve been doing—raised a concealment barrier?”
Ashworth hesitated, looking back at the house with slightly narrowed eyes. “I can’t feel anything, but I guess it’s possible he’s inverted the flow of his magic so that nothing leaks beyond the walls. Ranger, are you smelling anything odd or out of place?”
Aiden’s nostrils flared as he drew in a deep breath. His expression darkened. “I can smell blood and death.”
“But no life?” Ashworth asked.
Aiden tasted the air once again. “No.”
Ashworth immediately headed down the long gravel driveway. I followed, my gaze sweeping across the house and the small carport in which the trail bike sat. The thing was muddy, so if it was the bike we’d heard when we’d found Jonathan Ashworth’s body, it should be easy enough to match the tires to the tracks we’d found in the clearing.
But there was nothing else here, and no sense of power or magic of any kind. There were a couple of remnants floating along the breeze, but they were little more than echoes of the energy that had once protected this place, and held no life or threat.
Our heretic had definitely fled.
I guessed the next question was, what had he left behind?
Ashworth paused on the veranda steps and his power surged, searching and testing. There was no response and there would have been if this place was in any way protected by magic.