Binding the Shadows (Arcadia Bell) - By Jenn Bennett Page 0,38
be pissed at him. “What did you do?”
“Nothing you need to know about.”
“Try again.”
He sighed. “I had a little talk with her. Gave her some information that changed her mind. End of story.”
“What information? You didn’t use your transmutated knack on her, did you?”
“Nope.”
“Magick?”
“No magick. Can we drop it? I’ll tell you in good time.”
“Why not now?”
“Cady,” he pleaded.
“I know, I know. Get in the car.” He clearly wasn’t ready to share, so I dropped the subject for the time being and headed around the SUV to hop inside. He was wearing a jacket I loved, a fitted, softer-than-butter hazel-colored leather deal that was almost more green than brown in the sunlight. I could make out every bump and dip of arm muscle. The inside of the car was warm, the breeze from the sunroof cool. He turned down Thin Lizzy on the radio and offered me some valrivia, which I waved away.
“How is she?” he asked as he pulled out into traffic.
“Kar Yee? Much better. Bob’s healed her bones three times now. He says the brace can come off and she can do non-strenuous stuff, like actually leave her apartment. I think he’s going to try to take her somewhere today. He’s up there arguing with her now.”
“Bob spent the night?”
“Yeah, in a chair next to her bed. But after sleeping on her couch, I understand why. I’ve got a massive crick in my neck. Then again, that could be from my rooftop adventures. Guess what I did?”
He looked askance at me through squinty eyes. “Does it have to do with the paring knife you stole?”
“I can’t steal what’s already mine,” I said.
That got a slow smile out of him.
I sighed and gave him the lowdown about Priya, leaving out the whole first thing I remembered was your face remark. Having no experience dealing with a Hermeneus spirit, Lon wouldn’t understand their desire to serve. Even so, his reaction was less happy, more alarmed than I expected.
“Are you certain it was Priya and not some sort of demonic trickery?”
“Pretty positive.”
“I wish I could’ve been there to hear his emotions.”
“Maybe you can meet him when he reports back.”
Lon didn’t comment.
• • •
Noel Saint-Hill’s address was a half hour drive from Kar Yee’s place. The neighborhood was Richie Rich. Brand-new McMansions were squeezed into tiny plots of land between older homes. I hated when people did that—bought a house for the location and tore it down to build something that didn’t fit the neighborhood. What kind of person needs six bedrooms, a home gym, and a three-car garage? Apparently the Saint-Hills, as their four-story home was one of the new ones.
And it was surround by two police cars and an ambulance.
A crowd of onlookers was gathered on the front lawn of the neighboring house, and when Lon slowed the car, I saw why.
A sky-blue restored vintage car with a Road Runner logo on the trunk and a dragon sticker on the bumper was sitting askew across the shallow driveway. A bloody body lay on the cement beneath it, crushed under its rear left wheel.
Lon parked farther down the street, away from the cop cars. We trotted over to the crowd as a police tow truck was pulling up. Two officers were talking to the driver, and another officer was holding the crowd back. Lon pushed his way to the front of the crowd, tugging me along. And from where we stood, we got a pretty good view—or bad, considering.
The body was quite literally crushed. The wheel sat on what was once a chest. Bone and flesh spread out beneath it, looking like something that should be in a butcher’s shop. Bright red blood pooled around the carnage, seeping into the driveway. My stomach lurched. Then I spotted the lock of blond hair. I craned my neck to peer around the wheel.
It was Noel Saint-Hill.
I grabbed Lon’s jacket sleeve.
“What happened?” Lon asked a middle-aged man nearby. Another Earthbound.
He hesitated for a moment, looking at Lon’s gilded halo, while a woman who could’ve been his wife spoke up. “It wasn’t an accident. People are saying that it was a hit and run, but they’re wrong. I saw the car lift off the ground. Saw it through my living room window.”
“Brenda,” the man said warningly. “It’s none of our business.”
“Look at the grass,” she said, ignoring him. “No tire tracks. If someone drove the car up on the lawn like that and hit him, there’d be tire marks. That car was dropped on top