Demon's Dance (Lizzie Grace 4)

“So I believe,” Belle murmured.

“And I can introduce myself just fine,” he continued, obviously ignoring her comment. “Mac and Ciara are almost here—do you want an escort back to your car?”

“No, we’ll be able to find our way back.” I rose onto tippy toes to kiss his cheek, but he turned and my lips caught his instead. It was a heated but all too brief moment.

“Go to sleep,” he said, voice gruff. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

I licked the taste of him on my lips—a taste that was a lovely mix of coffee, heat, and desire—then turned and walked away. It didn’t take us long to get back to the car, but by the time we got home, I was yawning loudly and could barely keep my eyes open. I had a quick, hot shower to wash the stink of death and decay from my skin, then all but fell into bed. If I dreamed, I certainly didn’t remember it.

The smell of bacon woke me the next morning. A quick look at my phone told me it was just after five, which was way earlier than our usual wake-up time on a working day. I stretched the kinks out of my muscles and then flung off the blankets and quickly pulled on jeans and a dark green tank top—my current wardrobe of choice when working in the café.

As I clattered down the stairs, I said, “You’re up early this morning.”

“Heard Aiden’s truck starting up, and had a mild panic attack thinking someone was stealing it.” She came out of the kitchen carrying two plates filled with bacon, eggs, and toast. “Thankfully, it was Aiden rather than a thief, but it was pointless going back to sleep so I started the prep instead.”

I headed across to the coffee machine to make her a coffee and me a hot chocolate. “Did he say why he was here so early?”

“Another dead body, apparently.”

“Fate has obviously decided to greet Monty with a baptism of fire.” Or death, as the case was. “I don’t suppose he gave any details?”

“No. He did say he’d exchange the breakfast date for a dinner one, if that was okay with you.”

It was, and not just because dinner would inevitably lead to bed but also the fact I’d avoided having to explain my past to him for another few hours.

“Five supernatural murders in almost as many days is a little extreme, even for this reservation.”

Belle’s gaze shot to mine. “Where did you get five from? If we include the one he’s investigating now, it’s four by my reckoning.”

I hesitated, but the certainty that if this was another murder, then that made five rather than four wouldn’t go away. I shrugged, picked up the two filled mugs, and walked over to the table. “It’s not like the prophetic part of my soul is renowned for giving details. It’s even more obstinate than your spirit guides.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” She wrinkled her nose. “You know, I think I’m going to miss not being in the thick of the action.”

I snorted. “May I remind you of how close to death we’ve come on a number of occasions?”

She grinned. “The whole death thing aside, it did liven up our days—even you have to admit that.”

“I can live without that sort of excitement, thank you very much.” I tucked into my breakfast. “But I really don’t believe we’re off the hook when it comes to crime investigations. Katie’s the reservation’s self-appointed guardian, and I’m currently the only one able to communicate with her. We’ll be dragged into events, willing or not.”

As if to emphasize my point, my phone rang, the sound sharp in the brief silence. The tone told me it wasn’t someone I contacted regul

arly and, with my pulse skipping into overdrive, I thrust to my feet and walked around the counter to grab it. The number that popped up on the screen was Alice Dale’s.

“I hope she’s not ringing to accuse us of holding back information,” Belle said. “Because it wasn’t like we had much choice.”

“No.” I took a deep breath then swished the screen across to answer the call. “This is an early call, Alice—are you okay?”

“Oh God, yes.” The joy voice was so fierce it practically vibrated down the line. “I just thought I’d ring and let you know that my mom is home—I was worrying over nothing, obviously.”

Dread curled through me. Alice’s mom couldn’t be home—her body lay in the morgue sans its skin. The rangers might not have formally identified her as yet, but I had absolutely no doubt that the body we found in the dumpster was that of Mrs. Dale.

So if she’d suddenly turned up at her house, either she’d risen from the dead or something else was going on.

“Have you talked to her yet?” I said, trying to keep the urgency from my voice. “Or gone to see her?”

“No—I was just driving past, just on the off chance that she’d come back, and saw her peeking out of the blinds.”

It was far too early to be out for a drive, but I guessed if it’d been my mom who was missing, I might have done the same thing. My relationship with my mother might have deteriorated once I’d hit my teens, but she was still my mom and, despite everything, I did still love her.