Wicked Wings (Lizzie Grace 5)

Still no response. It made me wonder what she was waiting for.

Maybe she’s aware you’re not capable of hearing or speaking to her.

Maybe. My gaze was drawn away from the trees to the street ahead as twin lights appeared in the distance and sped toward me. “A friend who’s a spirit talker will be here in a few seconds, so if you do need help—”

The specter immediately fled. I swore and darted into the forest after her—which wasn’t a very bright move if there were mineshafts in this area, but I couldn’t let her escape. I had a growing suspicion she might play a vital part in our quest to stop whatever might be responsible for the flesh-stripped destruction last night.

I plunged on, raising my free hand to protect my face from whip-like tree branches and scrubby shrubs that were lined with needle-like foliage. The flashlight’s beam did a mad dance across the forest, and the song of the cicadas fell silent as I neared them, only to rise again as I left them behind, creating a wave of sound that would pinpoint my location to anyone who was listening. And I rather suspected the specter was. I also suspected she wanted me to follow her—why else would her energy be maintaining a steady distance rather than pulling away or even completely disappearing, as it had last night?

I’m coming in, Belle said.

No, don’t, in case this is a trap.

Then let me see what you’re seeing.

I’m not seeing a goddamn thing at the moment. Nothing other than the thorny bushes briefly highlighted in the flashlight’s beam.

Even so, I immediately reached for her and deepened the connection. Her being flowed through mine, fusing us as one, though not so deeply that I lost physical control or that her soul left her body and became a part of mine. But she could now see through my eyes and also use her talents through me if necessary. The ability to achieve this sort of remote connection was only a recent discovery; but then, until we’d arrived in this reservation, we’d really had no need for it.

You’re right, came Belle’s thought. She is old. And while the magic wrapped around her is making it difficult to read her, I’m getting the impression she wants to show you something.

I really hope it isn’t another body.

I leaped over a moss-covered log, landed awkwardly on the other side, then caught my balance and ran on.

I don’t think it is. She paused. But I do think it’ll be connected.

Which suggests she’s here to help. And, quite possibly, that she didn’t trust us enough to fully reveal her presence or talk to us yet.

And she may never—remember, she fled when you mentioned I was a spirit talker.

Which only made her behavior even odder. If she wanted to help us, why would she avoid talking to us?

Why is she even following you at all? Monty’s the stronger witch, and Ashworth was there last night. Either of them would be a more logical choice.

I wrinkled my nose and ducked under a low-hanging branch. Maybe it’s nothing more than the fact that I was there first last night. She couldn’t have known Eamon was Monty’s familiar rather than mine.

True. She shrugged mentally. Whatever the reason, until I either see her face or we uncover her past, I’m not going to be able to summon or question her.

Presuming you can get past her magic.

The spell’s a concealment one—it can’t and won’t stop me from summoning her.

Except she now knows you’re a spirit talker and may well add a thread or two to counter that.

Also true.

The ground dropped away suddenly, and I slid to a stop, sending stones bouncing down the steep, scree-filled slope. At its base was a wide creek that wound its way through what looked to be more a man-made ravine rather than a natural one. On a large rock in the middle of the water was something white. The slight shimmer of air that was our specter hovered above it. I narrowed my gaze, and after a moment saw the faint silver and gray threads that was the concealment spell.

Belle sucked in a breath, a sound that echoed loudly through my brain. Damn, the magic behind that spell is powerful.

Yes. She must have been a strong witch in life.

Which begs the question, why would a witch give over her afterlife like this? There are plenty of other ways to seek revenge, if indeed that’s what she wants.

Seeking such revenge in life could be what landed her in this position.

If she had gone after whoever was responsible for the death of her child, why would she be here—in this state—now? It makes no sense at all.