Magic Misled (Lizzie Grace #7) - Keri Arthur Page 0,29

magical clues or party tricks left behind.”

“It’s just off this ridge, about halfway around, crammed between a boulder and a tree. Follow me.”

I wiped the moisture from my face—a useless gesture in the force of the storm—and followed the two of them along the ridgeline. The flashlight’s beam highlighted the sheeting rain and emphasized the deep, dark nothingness that encased whatever lay below us.

“How dangerous is this area?” I asked, somewhat nervously.

“It’s an old open cut mine, so the area is littered with unstable mounds of refuse,” she replied. “But there’s no actual mineshafts to fall down, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Good. Because it might be a case of third time unlucky.”

“If your luck was going to fail,” Monty commented, “it would have done so way before now.”

“Luck is always guaranteed to run out when you truly need it,” I muttered. Especially when, in my particular case, I’d already had so much of it.

We slowly moved forward; every step had stones rolling toward the edge on either side, suggesting that while the ridge might look stable, it actually wasn’t. It was also decidedly narrow in parts. With the darkness barely lit by the flashlight’s yellow puddle of light and the storm howling through the trees either side of us, it would have been very easy to slip and fall.

We were halfway around what seemed to be a long curve when a soft glimmer caught my attention.

“Monty, Tala, stop.”

They immediately did so. “Why?”

“There’s a soul in the trees ahead.”

Monty swore softly. “The death wasn’t ordained.”

“Does that mean,” Tala asked, “that he was killed before his time?”

“Yes.” Monty carefully stepped to one side, then handed me the flashlight. “You’d better go first. You’ve got more experience when it comes to souls.”

A smile tugged at my lips. “Souls generally aren’t dangerous, especially those that have just risen.”

“So the books say, but I’ve heard tales of souls having major snits and causing a storm of flying objects.”

My smile grew. “That’s more the province of ghosts than souls.”

Monty blinked. “I thought souls and ghosts were one and the same?”

“Well, technically, they are.” I gave him an amused look. “There was a whole subject at school on spirits, ghosts, and whatnot. Weren’t you paying attention?”

“Obviously not.”

I snorted. “Well then, generally speaking, we have three levels of apparitions. The faintest is the soul who is simply confused by their sudden death. They are also the easiest to deal with, as they generally just need help to move on. Then there’s ghosts, who can be souls trapped in this world because of an unwillingness to move on, or even the desire to complete unfinished business. The worst are specters, who are nearly always out for vengeance of one kind or another.”

“Do you know which one we’re dealing with here?” Tala asked.

“Not as yet—I’ve only seen a glimmer. We’ll know a lot more once Belle is on board to talk to him.”

“And to calm him down if he happens to be the vengeance-seeking type,” Monty added.

“Hopefully.”

The flicker became brighter, which meant we were close to his body. I stopped and shone the flashlight down the slope. After a couple of seconds, I spotted the edge of a brown boot sticking out from the end of a large rock. I moved the light to study the ground between him and us. There were a lot of tailings littering the ground, which meant we needed to be careful going down. But Tala had gotten down—and up—in one piece already, so it shouldn’t be too difficult.

I went down sideways in an effort to get more traction and to avoid going ass over tit if I did slip, and made it to the tree in one piece. The glimmer that was the soul backed away, and its confusion rolled over me. Which was odd, because I wasn’t the one who was overly sensitive to souls. But maybe it was just another indicator of the changes the wild magic was causing not only in me, but also in the link I had with Belle, and maybe even Belle herself.

I shone the light into the gap between the tree and the rock. Our victim appeared to be middle-aged, with salt-and-pepper hair and a handlebar moustache. He was thin in build and was wearing a long Driza-Bone jacket, though it had been torn open across his stomach to reveal a paunch and … oh God. I took a step back before I could stop it. His stomach had been ripped open, and his intestines were