Demon's Dance (Lizzie Grace 4)

I grunted and slowed enough to check house numbers; we were at the wrong end of the street. I accelerated again. “So you have no clue what killed the woman last night?”

“Aside from her being skinned, you mean?”

I glanced at him in annoyance and his amusement grew.

“There did appear to be what looked like burn marks on the heels of the victim’s feet,” he added, “but I couldn’t say for sure they’re supernatural in origin.”

“But you think they are?” I slowed down again as we neared number fifty-one. There were two cars in the driveway—a gray Hyundai SUV and a white Ford Focus.

“I’ve absolutely no credible reason for believing so, but yes, I do.” He leaned forward. “I can’t see or feel anything wrong in that house.”

“No.”

I found a parking spot several houses further up the road. The wind whispered around me as we climbed out, its touch filled with nothing more than the promise of warmth. The street was silent and there was little noise coming from the nearby houses, although I could see TV screens flickering through several windows. No sound came from Mrs. Dale’s house and all the curtains were drawn.

Trepidation stirred anew. I slung my pack over my shoulder and joined Monty at the front of the car. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know.” He frowned at the house for several seconds. “I still can’t feel anything out of place, yet there’s something about that house that is making me very uneasy.”

“That makes two of us.”

“Then we’d better get over there and see what’s going on.”

He hitched his pack higher onto his shoulder then strode quickly down the footpath, forcing me to run to catch up. I touched the hood of the SUV as I passed it; it was still warm. Mrs. Dale—or rather, the thing that was now impersonating her—couldn’t have gotten here much before her daughter.

Monty took the steps two at a time, then strode across to the front door and knocked loudly. The sound echoed inside the house, but there was no immediate response.

The sense that something was very wrong grew stronger. I silently gathered a repelling spell around my fingers as Monty knocked again.

Still no response.

He looked at me. “What do you think?”

“I think we ne

ed to go inside and see why neither Alice nor her mom are answering.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to call the rangers? There’re laws about breaking and entering, remember.”

“We’re in a werewolf reservation that has in recent months been overrun with supernatural events.” My voice was dry. “I think it’s fair to say they’re not going to be bothered with us entering unlawfully if our suspicions pan out.”

“And if they don’t?”

I grinned. “I also happen to be sleeping with the head ranger.”

Which wouldn’t actually help me if I did commit a serious crime—Aiden was by nature a law-abiding man and very unlikely to ever take a bribe, be it sexual or monetary in nature—but Monty was new here and wouldn’t yet know that.

Monty snorted softly and energy stirred—a force that was bright, sharp, and so strong it burned across my skin like fire. He wove his spell around his fingers in much the same manner as I had the repelling spell, and then launched it. The spell’s energy caressed the door with a finesse that only came with training, briefly splaying out across the wood before merging into it. There was a soft click, and the door slowly opened.

The hallway beyond was dark and silent.

Monty took one step inside and then stopped. “While there’s no feel of magic, there’s definitely something here—some kind of foul energy.”

I squeezed in beside him and unleashed my “other” senses—the ones that seemed more attuned to the evil forces of the world. Malevolence stirred through the house, a wash of foulness that already seemed to be fading.

“I think whatever was here has already gone.”

He glanced down at me sharply. “What makes you say that?”