Which wasn’t exactly the truth—not now that Katie’s soul was part of the wild magic. And if anyone was the protector of this place, then it was Katie. It was, after all, the reason she’d given up what was left of her life.
Maelle’s smile held little in the way of warmth or belief. But then, given her ability to both sense and create magic—even if it was the darker kind—she’d have to be more than a little aware of what was happening in this reservation.
And it made me wonder if magic was the reason why she’d come here. She might have already denied it, might have made no play to use the wild magic in any way, but I still doubted it was a coincidence.
“Roger said you visit for business rather than pleasure,” she said. “So what is it you desire?”
I hesitated. “A man was murdered tonight, and the rangers suspect it might be a vampire.”
Something flared in her eyes. Something that was dark and very dangerous.
“I hope you’re not here to accuse.” Her tone hadn’t changed, but chills nevertheless raced down my spine. “Because that would be very unwise.”
I resisted the urge to rub my arms. Or, better yet, run. “I wouldn’t have come here so unprepared if I’d intended to do something as stupid as that.”
A smile twitched her lips, though it didn’t ease the coldness in her eyes. “Then what is it you wish?”
“I have some photos of the wounds. I was wondering if you’d look at them and tell me if they’re vampiric or not.”
She studied me for a moment, not moving but very much reminding me of a snake ready to strike. “You don’t think they are?”
“No, but I’m not the vampire expert here.”
That smile got stronger, and the shroud of dangerousness that had so easily fallen around her faded. It by no means meant I was any safer, but at least it felt that way.
“Show me,” she said.
I opened up the photo file on my phone. She plucked it from my hand, her fingers briefly touching mine. Though I was well guarded against the sensory hits that came with psychometry, images still flowed; a blonde-haired woman who looked far too young to be a vampire’s meal ticket, the flash of a golden crown in her hair, the deep red of the velvet chair behind her. Only it wasn’t a chair, but rather a throne.
Not recent images, but older. Far older.
Which was puzzling. Generally when images or emotions did get past the shields I’d developed over the years to protect my sanity, it was because I’d been caught unprepared or they were simply too strong. So either Maelle had been seriously dwelling on a past conquest, or that prophetic part of me was trying to tell me something about her.
“These are not the bite of a vampire,” she said. “Our bite doesn’t leave bruise marks such as this.”
“That’s what I figured.” I hesitated. “I don’t suppose you have any idea what sort of demon or spirit does leave that sort of bruising?”
She shook her head. “I’ve not come across anything like this in my many years alive, and I’ve crossed swords with more than a few demons or spirits in that time.”
“Figuratively or literally?”
“Literally, of course.” Her tone was cool, but amusement glinted in her pale eyes. “I was not always as refined and ladylike as I am today, and a long sword made of blessed silver is a very satisfying method of banishing demons, let me tell you.”
I nodded. Witches often used blessed silver knives for the exact same reason, and a sword did have one advantage over a knife—reach. “Isn’t it a little dangerous for a vampire to be picking up a weapon of blessed silver?”
“Not if one is old enough or wearing the appropriate protection.”
Which meant gloves, obviously. Still, it was good to know that blessed items of any kind weren’t as big as a deterrent against vampires as many believed them to be.
“Anything else?” she asked.
I hesitated again. “I don't suppose you’d know if a man by the name of Kyle Jacobson was here tonight?”
“Is he the victim?”
“Yes. There’s a photo of him at the front of those other pics.”
She flicked back through until she’d found the hastily snapped one of Jacobson. “He’s not someone I’ve noticed. Roger?”