Demon's Dance (Lizzie Grace 4)

“Morning,” he said, all too cheerfully. “Lovely day for it, isn’t it?”

“That depends entirely on what you mean by ‘it.’” My voice was dry.

He absently waved a hand. “You know, witch stuff.”

I snorted. “By witch stuff, do you mean you’re sitting here enjoying cake while you scroll through Canberra’s libraries, or are you simply spying on Belle and me?”

He raised his eyebrows. “What, I can't just drop in to see my long-lost cousin without said cousin becoming suspicious?”

“No. Give, Monty—what are you up to?”

His lips twitched. “Thought you'd like an update.”

“I would indeed, but on what, exactly?”

“I had a look at the body of the first victim—the one with bite marks everywhere. I believe this skin walker could actually be a soucouyant—”

“Except for the fact that while they leave their skins in a safe spot to go hunting at night, they always return for them. They're not skin walkers as such, and they certainly don't steal the skin off their victim's backs.”

“I know, but—” He stopped and blinked. “How the hell do you know what a soucouyant is? Do you know how deep I had to go down the information rabbit hole to find anything concrete about them?”

I smiled. “Belle and I aren't just pretty faces, you know.”

“Yes, but I spent hours talking to the head of the Occult Studies department at the uni last night, and even he struggled to find anything more concrete than the usual myth disinformation.”

Which was just more confirmation that the library Belle had been gifted was very precious indeed.

“Did he find out how to kill them? Because the only suggestion we uncovered was salting their skin to prevent them reclaiming it. The problem with that, of course, is finding the skin in the first place.”

“Indeed.” He frowned. “We didn't get anything else, but I suspect the usual methods of dealing with a fire spirit would work for a soucouyant.”

I had no idea whether the “usual methods” were the ones Belle had found or totally different but I wasn't about to admit that. I leaned forward and crossed my arms on the table. “What about skin walkers? Did you find any information about them?”

“Not really.” He scooped up a big chunk of cake smothered in cream cheese frosting and munched on it contemplatively. “But we've put an urgent request in with the US Witch Archive, and we'll see what they come up with.”

“Which doesn't help us if this thing attacks again in the meantime.”

“I know, but baby steps and all that.” He paused as his phone rang and pulled it out of his pocket. After a quick look at the screen, he hit the answer button and said, “What can I do for you, Aiden?”

I clenched my fingers against the need to grab the phone out of Monty's hand and find out what was going on—or rather, who or what had been murdered. I doubted Aiden would be ringing him for any other reason.

I listened to the very one-sided conversation for several minutes, but didn't really learn anything more than another body had been uncovered in Greenhill, a small town on the reservation's border.

“Skin walker or soucouyant?” I asked, the minute he hung up.

Monty shrugged. “Unknown at this stage. Apparently the woman who called it in was pretty hysterical, and they barely even got the address.” He scooped up the last bits of cake then downed his coffee in several gulps and rose. “I'd better go and grab my gear. Aiden said he'd pick me up in five.”

With a sharp nod, he strode out the door. I couldn't help the wisp of envy that followed him. I should have been glad that the weight of looking after this reservation was no longer mine to bear, and yet... it just didn't feel right sitting here doing nothing. Not after everything we'd been through since our arrival here.

Which was a seriously stupid way to be thinking given everything we’d been through had resulted in several hospital stays and near death. I rose, gathered Monty’s plate and the cup, and dropped them off in the kitchen before returning to help Penny clearing and serving.

But as the evening drew closer and no word came from either Aiden or Monty, worry stirred. And with it came an odd sense of restlessness.

“If anything had happened to Aiden, Katie would have come running for you,” Belle said. “So whatever you're feeling, I doubt it stems from any danger to him.”

“I know.” I leaned a shoulder against the sliding door that led out onto our small balcony area—the only bit of private outside space we had—and watched the gathering twinkle of lights as another sunset faded into night. “But something is happening out there, Belle. I can feel it.”

“Is that a 'my internal radar is twitching and evil is on the move' something? Or is it an ‘I hate not knowing what is going on’ something?”