Wicked Wings (Lizzie Grace 5)

I opened the door and stepped inside the café. After locking up again, I ran toward the rear, weaving my way through the multitude of bright tables and mismatched chairs until I reached the stairs that led up to our living quarters. Once there, I threw my purse toward my bed as I passed the doorway then ran through the kitchenette and into a living area that had little room for anything more than a TV, a sofa, and a coffee table. I threw open the glass sliding door at the end of the room and strode out onto the balcony.

The breeze stirred around me, bringing with it the distant sounds of music and laughter. This part of town might be all but dead at night, but there was plenty of life on the outskirts of this retail area.

I leaned against the railing and studied the street below. It wasn’t empty—cars went past intermittently, and there were a number of people strolling toward nearby Hargraves Street. But once again, I wasn’t picking up much in the way of the supernatural or magic; either the shimmer had disappeared or the person responsible was standing far enough away that even the prophetic part of me couldn’t pick it up. Though why that part of my gifts had sensed it over my other abilities was puzzling—did it perhaps mean that whatever I was sensing wasn’t actually here? That it was a threat yet to come?

Was Monty right? Was my growing connection with the wild magic also altering my psychic gifts?

I wished I’d delved more deeply into the history of psi abilities when I’d been younger, but it wasn’t something my parents had ever encouraged; psychics were considered little more than charlatans by most bluebloods, and my parents certainly hadn’t wanted everyone reminded they’d produced such a child. It was bad enough that I was on the weak end of the scale when it came to magic.

I flexed my fingers against the growing frustration of not knowing enough—either about my abilities or what was happening to me. Maybe it would have been better to stay with Aiden; at least then I wouldn’t be worrying about an unseen follower who may or may not intend future harm.

As I pushed away from the railing, a number of glowing, silvery threads drifting on the breeze caught my attention. Wild magic, here in the middle of town, the one place where it really shouldn’t have been—if, that was, you believed everything ever written about it. I was beginning to think that we definitely shouldn’t—at least when it came to the magic in this reservation.

I raised a hand, and the threads curled around my fingers, as fragile as moonbeams and yet pulsing with power. Within that power was a sense of acknowledgment. Of kinship.

It no longer frightened me, although I daresay it should have, given what had happened to my mother. While my use of it had so far caused very little in the way of bad side effects, I couldn’t help but think that might yet happen. All power had its drawbacks, and I’d be foolish to believe there wouldn’t be some sort of fallout from this union. It had already changed my eyes from green to silver, although that only meant I now looked like the blueblood witch I’d been born rather than a mixed breed.

The threads continued to twine around my fingertips, and their force hummed through my body. The air became brighter, the night sharper, the light of the moon more intense.

Even as unease stirred, I glanced down at the street. There, at the far end of Mostyn, near the corner of Hargraves, was a pale, almost insubstantial woman. She was slender and small in stature, and her pale hair was long, flowing behind her like a veil. Her full-length dress was white, and she walked with a grace that was somehow regal. Threads of magic spun around her, their color a strange mix of grays and silver. It was a concealment spell but not one I’d ever come across.

As she reached the corner, the shimmering threads died, and the woman’s body dissolved.

Meaning what I’d seen was either a ghost or a specter; the two were not the same, despite the fact many believed them to be. Ghosts could be souls trapped in this world because of an untimely death, an unwillingness to move on, or even the desire to complete unfinished business. Specters, on the other hand, were nearly always out for vengeance of one kind or another.

What category this one fell into, and why it had been following me, I had no idea. The wild magic might have strengthened my senses enough to see the entity, but to have any hope of understanding what she’d wanted or why she’d followed me, I had to uncover who she’d been in life. And to even begin that process, I first had to see what she actually looked like. While it was possible for Belle to summon a ghost or specter on description alone, to truly ensure success it’d be better if we had some form of identification.

Of course, she may have simply been curious. Not all ghosts were bound to the area in which they’d been killed. Some were free to roam, although most of these did so out of confusion or because they were still seeking something.

Either way, it was something Belle could tackle if or when the entity made another appearance.

The threads of wild magic unwound themselves from my fingers and drifted away again. It left me feeling oddly alone.

I moved back inside and, after locking the sliding door, grabbed an overnight bag and shoved in everything I’d need for tomorrow. While a lot of my toiletry stuff had migrated over to Aiden’s, I’d yet to move any of my clothes or shoes, even though he’d suggested it a number of times and had even cleared out space in his wardrobe. My reluctance was due to nothing more than fear—a deep belief that the minute I took that step, the minute I committed to sharing his home on a semi-permanent basis, fate would present him with the wolf he was destined to be with.

Of course, it was ridiculous to think that not moving in would, in any way, stop that from happening, but I just couldn’t take the risk. I needed to keep some distance between us, even if that distance was in reality more illusion than fact.

With my packing done, I made myself a coffee, then called a cab and headed outside to wait. It took just over thirty minutes to get to Argyle from Castle Rock, and I managed to get in without setting off the alarm—something the neighbors were no doubt thankful for. His home was situated at the far end of a six-unit complex that had been built close to the sandy shoreline of the vast Argyle Lake. It was a two-story, cedar-clad building, with the lower floor being one long room divided by a wooden staircase. In the front section of the room, there wa

s an open fireplace, a huge TV, and a C-shaped leather sofa. On the other side of the staircase there was a modern kitchen diner, complete with a bench long enough for six people to sit around. The open stairs led up to two bedrooms, each with their own en suite. Aiden’s was the front one, which had a balcony and lovely long view of the lake.

I helped myself to some leftover lasagna, poured a glass of whiskey, and then plopped down on the sofa to watch TV. He still wasn’t home by the time I headed up to bed at ten-thirty.

Sleep came relatively quickly, but it was haunted by visions of a lady in white whose form gradually morphed into that of a blood-soaked hag holding a small but broken body close to her chest as she wailed in utter grief. I stirred restlessly, my heart rate climbing, but I couldn’t escape the visions or even wake up. It was only when an arm snaked around my waist and warm lips brushed my bare shoulder that I was finally released.

I stirred and pressed my butt back against him, needing the contact to erase the unsettling remnants of the visions.

“What time is it?” I murmured.

“Just past midnight.” His hand slipped upward, and his clever fingers began teasing my nipples. “It took longer than we expected to exhume the first body.”

The last thing I wanted to think about—let alone talk about—was bones. I shifted to face him and gently ran my fingers from his chest to his washboard abs. “At least you finally did get here.”

He stopped me just as my touch went past his belly button. “Going any further could be dangerous.”

I raised an eyebrow, amusement twitching my lips. “Maybe I like to live a little dangerously.”

“Oh, there’s no doubt about that at all.” His eyes were bright in the darkness, gleaming with amusement and desire. “But in this particular case, I’d rather ensure both parties are primed and ready.”