Wicked Wings (Lizzie Grace 5)

I wasn’t referring to the whole sex thing.

Jaz handed me a flashlight, then headed back into the forest. I spun around and strode back toward Castle Rock, the crunch of the stones under my feet lost to the rowdy song of the cicadas.

Tell that to someone who can’t read your mind. Where are you?

On Stephenson’s Track, walking home.

What the hell are you doing out there?

I gave her a quick update and then added, Did you get much cataloging done?

Surprisingly, yes. I think he’s rather fascinated by all the old legends and spells.

Did you find anything related to flesh strippers or White Lady ghosts?

Only a couple of minor mentions, but I grabbed some books on the way home. Do you want me to come pick you up? Or shall I just shove the Chinese food in the warmer for you?

I hesitated but the call of Chinese was just too strong. A pickup would be good. I’m starving.

That’s probably because you had nothing more than a huge chunk of caramel shortbread for lunch.

I grinned. And I don’t regret a single calorie of it.

She snorted. Be there in five.

Thanks.

Her mind left mine, and I trudged on. The trees on either side of the road began to thin out, allowing the moonlight to filter through, but the noise of cicadas didn’t abate. There had to be hundreds of them in the trees, if not thousands—which made me glad I was following the road rather than walking through the scrub. The horrid insects had a habit of peeing on passersby.

As the lights of civilization grew stronger, a faint wisp of energy stirred around me—the same sort of energy that I’d felt last night when the specter had appeared.

I glanced around, but couldn’t immediately see her. But then, why would I if she was concealing her form again?

I took a deep breath and then said loudly, “I know you’re out there—what do you want? Why do you keep following me?”

There was no response. I frowned and kept on walking, but the awareness of her presence grew. She was in the trees to my right, pacing me. Watching me.

“If you need help, I can get it for you. But I need some sort of indication that’s what you’re after.”

Again, nothing.

Maybe the fault was mine rather than hers. I might be able to sense the presence of ghosts and specters, but I wasn’t capable of communicating with them. Not unless Belle joined her mind to mine on a deeper level, and even then, it wasn’t me doing the ghost talking, but rather Belle through me.

The caress of the specter’s energy drew closer, stinging my skin with its proximity. I scanned the trees, trying to spot that telltale shimmer without success. If she did want something, then she either wasn’t sure I could be trusted or wasn’t yet ready to tell me.

Belle? How far away are you?

Only a minute or so—why?

The witchy White Lady is pacing me again.

And are you wearing your charm, on the off chance she decides to attack this time?

I doubt she will, but yes, I am. I don’t ever take the damn thing off. Not even when I was showering. Though the charms looked innocuous—they were little more than multiple strands of intertwined leather and copper, with each strand representing a different type of protection spell—they were probably the most powerful things we’d ever created. Only silver would have made them any stronger, but that wasn’t really practical in a werewolf reservation. Or when I was dating a werewolf.

I’d made duplicate ones for both Belle and Aiden, and while Aiden had initially been a tiny bit skeptical—something he hadn’t said out loud—he’d been won over after witnessing the charm’s protection capabilities the day we’d rescued Monty and the soucouyant had tried to crisp me.

I frowned and studied the shadowed scrub. Our specter might be close but she remained out of sight. “I can’t help you if you don’t reveal yourself.”