Broken Bonds (Lizzie Grace 3)

“And here I was thinking they broke the mold when they made Ira,” Eli said, amused.

“They might have—my granddad was much older. He died when I was fourteen.”

I could feel Eli’s gaze on me but I kept mine on the road.

“Sounds like you miss him,” he said, “and yet from the little Ira has told me, I was under the impression you didn’t get along with your family.”

“I don’t. Granddad was the one exception.” And while he wasn’t exactly my champion, had he been around when Cat had been murdered, I suspected events would not have escalated as far and as fast as they had. He certainly would have prevented Clayton from getting involved.

Dread slipped through me, and I had to deliberately unclench my grip on the steering wheel.

If Eli noticed, he didn’t say anything.

It took us just over half an hour to get to Abby Jones’s place in Argyle. The gravel road that led to her house was dark, and there was little in the way of lights coming from the other houses along the street. Which, considering the late hour, wasn’t really that surprising.

I pulled up in the driveway just short of the blue-and-white tape that had been strung up between the fence and the front door, then stopped the engine and killed the headlights. The night seemed to close in, thick and heavy.

“I’m gathering,” Eli said, tone dry, “that since there’s no ranger here to meet us that you haven’t actually told them about this little venture.”

“No.” I climbed out of the car. The chill air raced around me, holding just the slightest hint of power. The wild magic was here, but I sensed no warning in her presence. “They’re busy dealing with the death of one of the men behind the skinning murders and interviewing the second. But if the notes are right and we can track the heretic down through his energy, I’ll let them know straight away. They’ll want to be involved when you make the attempt tomorrow.”

He raised an eyebrow as we walked toward the front door. “And I’m sure they’re going to be totally all right with us invading a crime scene like this.”

I grinned as I ducked under the tape. “Aiden sort of expects this behavior from me.”

Eli grunted and tested the front door. Unsurprisingly, it was locked. Energy stirred and the handle sparkled briefly. He gripped the handle again and pushed it open.

“That’s a very handy spell.” I followed him through the door. “I might need you to teach me that one.”

He glanced around, eyebrow raised. “How can you have a book on dark witches but not one on a spell as basic as opening a door?”

I shrugged. “Belle inherited the books, so it’s a case of making do with what’s there.”

His magic stirred, a brief but warm swirl of power. He immediately swung left and headed through the living room toward the hallway. I followed, but my gaze went unerringly to the spot where Abby had found her death. Though her body was no longer there, the bloody stains remained, as did the lingering sense of desperation and agony. This house would need a thorough cleansing if the next occupants were to live here in any sort of happiness.

I rubbed my arms as the deeper darkness of the hallway closed around us. The odd sense of uneasiness I’d felt the first time I was here intensified, crawling across my senses like a swarm of bees. I had no doubt it was that foulness Eli was following, given he’d never been here and had as little idea of the layout of the place as me.

He walked into a bedroom at the far end of the house. I stopped in the doorway, my skin jumping and tingling. I swore softly and flexed my fingers; sparks swarmed around them, thick and angry.

Eli’s glance was sharp. “You can feel that?”

“You say that like I shouldn’t be able to.”

“Only because it’s very faint and I wouldn’t have thought—”

“It’s not faint to

me,” I cut in. “It feels like I’m being stung by a thousand bees.”

His gaze narrowed as he studied me for a few minutes. “There is an odd energy around you—it’s not the remnants of the heretic’s output, however, but rather something far more intangible.”

I hesitated. “I did feel the wild magic outside. Maybe it’s still hanging around.”

“It would appear so,” he said. “It would also appear that it’s enhancing your ability to sense the emotions in this room.”

“Well, I’m sure the wild magic would rather not have a heretic witch get hold of its wellspring.”

“The problem with that statement is the fact that the wild magic has no sentience.”