Broken Bonds (Lizzie Grace 3)

“Dream imps?” Aiden said. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, and vicious little buggers they are, too,” Ashworth said. “Had one attach itself to me a few years back. I thought the job was doing my head in before Eli finally figured out what was happening.”

“The more I learn about the spirit world, the less I like it,” Aiden growled.

“A dream imp couldn’t possibly cause me any more hassle than my prophetic dreams already do,” I said bluntly, “and I’ve enough charms on me to protect against all but the strongest spirits anyway. But I need a decision and quickly, because her memories will be degrading pretty rapidly by now.”

“Then go,” Ashworth said. “I’ll keep a magical eye out for you.”

I moved around the two men, squatted behind Abby, and then placed a hand on either side of her head. I tried to ignore the wetness under my fingertips, the too-close wound, and the look of utter horror forever frozen onto her face. After another of those breaths that didn’t do a whole lot to ease the tension surging through me, I closed my eyes and reached for my psychometry abilities.

For several seconds, nothing happened. All I felt was the lingering remnants of her disbelief, horror, and pain. The emotions crawled across my senses and dragged tears from my eyes, but there was no immediate memory of anything else. No indication of who’d she’d been with before her death.

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

The deeper I went, the darker it became. And yet, gradually, memories rose. They remained little more than fragments, mostly resembling either torn photographs or movie reels that only ran for seconds, no doubt thanks to the death that had come too fast. But they still gave me some clues.

“I see two men,” I said. “One is the witch who now lies in the morgue, the other is a Sarr.”

I paused as the images flitted away, dove even deeper, and this time caught the tail end of memories that were far more personal in nature. A touch, a caress, kisses that burned, passion that was fierce and urgent, a shaft that was thick and long and felt so good as he thrust inside….

The heat of the encounter echoed through me. I quickly released those memories and caught other fragments. “She and the Sarr witch were lovers. It’s how the two men came to stay here.”

I hesitated, seeing fleeting glimpses of the wounds on George Sarr’s wrists—long cuts that sliced up both arms, and which still dripped blood as he came out of the forest and staggered toward Abby. Felt her horror at his refusal to explain what had happened or go to the hospital, and the speed with which the wounds healed. Was almost smothered by the tide of her hatred at being suddenly unable to refuse him, at being forced to do whatever he wanted, be it act as his cook, nurse, messenger, or simply someone for him to fuck whenever he felt the need. Gone was the tenderness, the caring. In its place was fear and brutality.

Then, finally, I caught an image of the witch Jonathan Ashworth had become. “George is tall, with silver eyes, a large nose, two thick scars running the length of his left cheek, and many more running up the insides of both arms.”

“Any other identifying marks?” Aiden asked.

“Other than a gigantic dong, apparently not.”

As Ashworth snorted, I pulled my hands away from Abby’s head and pushed back, lan

ding on my butt well away from the body and the blood splatter. For several seconds, I didn’t move. Couldn’t move. I just sucked in air in an effort to ease the trembling in my body. Psychometry was draining at the best of times, but using it like this—to connect with the mind of someone who’d crossed over—was nigh on incapacitating. I wouldn’t be much good—physically or psychically—for the next few hours, at least.

Aiden squatted down beside me and handed me a handkerchief. “You’ve lost all color—do you need to go home?”

I nodded and quickly wiped my hands. “I’ll get Belle to come and collect me. You can’t leave here and I won’t risk driving your truck. Not in this state.”

“I’ve some jerky and muesli bars in the backpack—eating one or both might help boost the reserves.”

“Is the muesli bar the type with chocolate? Or is it one of those useless healthy kinds?”

He smiled. “The latter, I’m afraid. The only chocolate I like is in the form of cakes and brownies. I find anything else too sweet.”

I gasped in mock horror. “Just as well I lust after you, Ranger, because that, right there, is a relationship-ending statement.”

He laughed. “I’ll make a mental note to stock both the pack and the fridge at home with a suitable variety of chocolate bars and blocks for you.”

“That would certainly be appreciated,” I said primly, and then let my smile break loose. “You can keep the jerky, but a muesli bar might help.”

Probably not as much as one of Belle’s rotten-smelling potions, but it was better than nothing.

I’m on my way now with one of said rotten potions in hand, she commented cheerfully. Be there in twenty.

Thanks.

“Do you want help getting up? Or walking back to the truck?” Aiden said.