Wicked Wings (Lizzie Grace 5)

Of course, they’d also had little other choice. Our magic was all that stopped this

place from being overrun by evil, thanks to the presence of a large wellspring that had been left unguarded for entirely too long. Wild magic was neither good nor bad, but it would always draw the darker forces of the world if left in a raw, unprotected state—and the big one in this reservation had.

The cat disappeared into the lengthening shadows crowding the trees, but a short, sharp yowl gave me direction. I followed the sound, the crunch of leaves and the snap of twigs audible under every footstep. Another cry, this time to my right. I ducked under a low-hanging tree branch and ran on, my gaze sweeping the area but seeing or sensing little that suggested there was anything to be worried about out here in the scrub.

Maybe the snotty little creature was giving me the runaround…

I continued following the yowls, but never actually got close enough to spot the damn cat. Sweat trickled down my back and dripped from tendrils of hair hanging over my eyes. Summer had finally slipped into autumn, but apparently no one had notified the appropriate weather gods, because the day had been hot and muggy, and neither had noticeably eased now that dusk was giving way to night. I swiped at a droplet hanging onto the end of my nose and slid down an incline to a creek—one that thankfully wasn’t very deep. I picked my way across the trickle of water, using various rocks as stepping-stones and then scrambled up the bank on the other side and ran on.

The shadows were getting longer as darkness closed in. I paused to grab my phone out of my purse, flicked on the flashlight app, and continued. The caterwauling was at least closer now, but the light threw crazy shadows across the trees and trepidation stirred anew.

Not because of the shadows, but because my instincts were finally kicking in. Something was out here—something other than a cranky cat playing a prank on a witch he disliked.

I crashed through a strand of young wattle trees, gaining scratches across my bare arms, and ended up in a clearing. The cat sat in the middle, his tail swishing from side to side. Beyond him, in the distance through the scrub, came the twinkle of house lights and the soft roar of car engines. Civilization wasn’t that far away—but neither was evil.

I shivered and resisted the instinctive urge to reach for Belle. I wasn’t in any sort of danger, and she deserved a decent time-out both from me and from whatever new piece of darkness intent on destruction had decided to step into the reservation.

I took a deep breath and flexed my fingers, trying to ease the tension as I walked across to the cat. He looked up at me and then at the ground. Obviously, I was meant to find something.

I squatted next to the orange menace and studied the leaf-littered area through narrowed eyes. There was nothing immediately obvious to see, and the vague sense of evil drifting across my senses certainly wasn’t emanating from this particular spot.

The cat raised a paw, sharp claws exposed. I leaned away instinctively, but this time, he didn’t aim his weapon at me. Instead, he pawed at the leaf litter and then gave me a somewhat pointed look.

I couldn’t help but grin. That look suggested if I didn’t quickly do his majesty’s bidding, the claws would once again find a home in my flesh.

I held out a hand, fingers splayed, over the area he’d clawed. Prophetic dreams and the ability to sense evil weren’t my only psychic talents—I was also gifted with psychometry. It not only allowed me to find misplaced items and sense emotions via touch, but also gave me the ability to trace—or even slip into the mind of—the person who owned whatever item I was holding. The latter was not something I did very often—I’d heard too many tales of psychics getting trapped within the minds and emotions of others to risk anything like that without a very good reason.

A distant wisp of energy ran across my skin; whatever I was meant to find wasn’t close. I frowned and moved my hand around in an attempt to get a stronger signal, but the wisp faded the further I went from the point the cat had clawed. I moved my hand back and caught the vague tingle again; either the item had been dug into the ground or whatever connection it held to the wearer was fading.

Maybe even both.

I carefully dug into the leaf litter, making sure there was nothing hidden in amongst the rotting matter before tossing it aside. After several seconds, the tingling got stronger and I caught a glimpse of leather. It looked like a watch strap, although how it had ended up here, buried under so much debris, I had no idea. It couldn’t have been here for that long, if only because any sort of resonance would have faded if it had—and that suggested it had been deliberately buried.

Either that, or something very strange was going on.

Which, knowing this reservation, was entirely possible.

I moved the remaining leaf matter away from the half-buried watch. The face was shattered, which suggested it had been stepped on. Whether deliberately or not, I couldn’t say.

I grabbed a small tree branch and used it to carefully scrape away the soil—which was surprisingly soft considering the long, dry summer we’d had—from the rest of the watch, then carefully picked it up. And saw the dried, almost gossamer-fine brownish-cream tendrils hanging from the end of the catch. It wasn’t cotton or any other sort of man-made material. It looked like flesh. Dried human flesh.

My stomach twisted, and I swallowed heavily. “That’s not what I think it is… is it?”

The cat gave me a look. One that said, “You know the answer, so why ask?”

My phone chose that moment to ring, and the sharp sound made me jump. I looked at the screen, saw it was Monty, and hit the answer button.

“Aren’t you supposed to be resting in hospital?”

“Yes, but I am still reservation witch.” His voice was tart and filled with frustration. “I want to be kept informed when evil stirs.”

“Given your familiar is sitting right here beside me, I hardly think you can claim to be uninformed. And I’m not entirely sure evil is respon—”

“Seriously? There’s skin—human skin—on that watchband. If that’s not a sign of evil intent, I’m not sure what is.”

“Yeah, but it could be an old evil rather than new. The skin isn’t fresh, and the watch was buried. Besides, if there was a dark spirit or demon roaming around the immediate area, wouldn’t your wretched cat have sensed it?”

“My cat does have a name.”