Wicked Wings (Lizzie Grace 5)

“It might be worth going to grab a shovel,” Monty commented. “It’d be quicker and easier than a damn stick.”

“Have you got a shovel at your place?”

“Well, no, but I’m sure Aiden or one of the other rangers can supply one.”

“And I’m sure they’ll be pleased about me calling them out over a broken watch unless it’s attached to someone’s arm.”

“Other than those strips of skin, there’s no sign of bones and, according to Eamon, no smell of decay or putrefaction to suggest a body,” he commented. “So why do you think it was attached to an arm? Wouldn’t you have seen some sign of said arm when you dug the watch out?”

I grimaced—something he’d see only if his link with his familiar was deep enough to be using the cat’s eyes. “Once you’ve spent some time in this reservation, you’ll discover ‘would have’ and ‘should have’ often don’t—”

I stopped as my makeshift shovel hit something solid. I swallowed trepidation and then carefully scraped away more dirt.

And found the arm.

Or, at least, what looked to be the bones of one.

I pushed away from the gruesome find and landed heavily on my butt. Several breaths did little to ease the churning in my stomach or the growing certainty that this was the beginning of a new reign of terror from yet another dark spirit.

“A fucking arm that’s been picked clean?” Monty’s voice held a mix of disbelief and excitement. “How awesome is that?”

“I can think of many words to describe the find, Monty, but awesome isn’t one of them.”

“Well, no, the death isn’t awesome, but the fact we’ll be hunting down a creature capable of doing such a thing is.”

“You’re certifiable, you know that? And may I remind you that you’re in Melbourne and won’t be hunting down anything in the immediate future.”

“And may I remind you that rehabilitation doesn’t stop me from participating in at least the research side of things.” His tone remained decidedly upbeat. Obviously, being attacked by a soucouyant hadn’t in any way dulled his initial excitement over finally getting some magical action. “Besides, I’ve already been cleared to continue rehabilitation in Castle Rock, so I can be the control center while you and Ashworth do all the legwork.”

Amusement bubbled through me; Ashworth would be mighty pleased to hear he’d been reduced to legwork. “This is all presuming that the bones were buried recently. My senses might be wrong—”

“Since when has that happened?”

“Well, not in recent months, but still—”

“Exactly,” he cut in. “So stop with all the doubt bullshit and get the rangers in so we—”

I tuned out the rest of his sentence as a faint and yet agonized scream ran across the night—the scream of a man rather than a woman. The sort of scream that only happened in those final few seconds between the realization of death and death actually hitting.

The sound died as abruptly as it had started, but an ominous pulse of power now ran through the darkness. Its origin was not of this world, but rather the supernatural.

Demon.

The word whispered through my brain, and fear chased after it. A sane person would have run in the opposite direction, but self-preservation was something that had become somewhat spotty since I’d stepped into this reservation. Perhaps it was the connection to the wild magic; perhaps it was simply the growing certainty that there was to be no more running for Belle and me. That this place was home, and unless we did our utmost to take care of it, it would become hell on earth for everyone within—whether or not Monty or Ashworth or any other witch was here.

Which was a rather weird thought and not one I had time to examine.

I scrambled upright, grabbed my phone, and ran after Eamon.

“Monty, call the rangers for me. Tell them where we are and what’s happening. Then call Ashworth, just in case.”

“Will do. Be careful.”

He hung up before I could reply. For a change, Eamon remained in sight, keeping close enough to guide me, although I didn’t need it with the pull of evil.

I silently wove the threads of a containment spell around the fingers of my free hand, though I had no idea if it would be strong enough to stop whatever lay ahead. But it was better than running into an unknown situation unarmed. I did have a couple of small bottles of holy water tucked inside my purse, but I had to be far closer to evil for them to be of any use.

The pulse of demonic power began to fade. I swore and dredged up more speed, crashing through the underbrush, hoping against hope that we got there in time to save the man who’d screamed, even though the psychic part of me knew it was already too late.