Binding the Shadows (Arcadia Bell) - By Jenn Bennett Page 0,70
as I jogged after them, my only thought a repeated prayer that Lon remain safe.
As I rounded the side of the trailer, cold rain pelting my face, I nearly slammed into Lon. One shoulder pressed against the corner of the trailer, he was standing with Hajo. They were peering into a field of dry grass that merged with a wooded ravine.
A winding section of the grass was trampled. I thought I heard someone running through the brush in the distance, but rumbling thunder masked the noise.
“Someone ran through there,” Lon said in a quiet voice as I caught my breath. “I heard the panic. Panic mixed with elation. Sounded like . . . the person was happy to have gotten away with something.”
Hajo peeked around the corner. He made a sour face, as if he smelled something repulsive. “Can you hear any emotions inside the trailer?”
“It’s clear.”
Hajo’s shoulder’s slumped. “Well I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but there’s a dead body in there.”
“What the hell is going on?” I whispered.
“You sure you don’t sense any emotions at all around here?” Hajo asked Lon in a low voice. “I don’t want to walk into a trap.”
Lon glanced at me through hooded eyes. Questioning.
“Go on,” I said, checking behind us. “You either trust Hajo or you don’t. And apparently we do. One big happy family.”
“Trust me for wha—” Hajo said, but his words bottomed out when Lon transmutated in front of him. I was thrilled Hajo was getting to see this. Let him shit his pants a little. It would be good for him to know that Lon was someone he should respect. And from the awestruck arch of his brows, that’s exactly what he was thinking as he stared at Lon’s fiery halo, defiantly flaming tall around his shoulders, and the curling burnished horns that deflected drops of rain.
I glanced at Hajo and snorted. “Hajo Kemme with nothing to say?”
He opened his mouth, made a long, low sound, then mumbled, “Damn, am I glad we’re all friends.”
Lon tilted his head toward the trailer. “We’re clear. Closest around is two people in the distance—in the next trailer down the road, I think.” He slipped the Lupara inside his peacoat. “I can barely hear the person running away—getting too far out of my range.”
“Just how far is your range when you’re . . . like this?” Hajo quizzed.
“Far enough.”
“He can read your thoughts now,” I informed Hajo.
“Ah.” His shock lasted about five seconds before a slow smile curled the corners of his mouth. “I’m rethinking my business plan. Bell, you’re still the enforcer. But this . . .” He spread his hands, gesturing toward Lon as if he were a prize on a game show. “This is a beautiful thing. Very useful. Why the hell are you a photographer again?”
Lon squinted in amusement at Hajo. “So I don’t have to hang around places like this to earn a dollar.”
“Point taken. Let’s go inside. Might as well see who’s dead.”
We cautiously approached the back steps. The screen door was standing open, flapping against the side of the trailer when the wind blew. Lon dug in his coat pockets and pulled out a pair of leather gloves. After tugging them on, he opened the door and peered inside.
“You can hear if someone’s coming, right?” Hajo asked, still scanning the area.
Lon didn’t answer. He stepped inside the trailer, long legs disappearing into shadows.
“Is that a yes?” Hajo said to me, bemused.
Oh, good. It was sort of nice to see Hajo flailing, unsure of how to interpret Lon’s low-level communication style. I smiled to myself and skirted around him up the steps.
“Yep.”
The inside smelled musty, but cleaner than I expected. Dark. Sparsely decorated. The door led into a depressing living room. Two couches had been pushed against the walls and a large, round table that sat in center of the room. Chairs were knocked over. A few bills were scattered on the floor. I leaned down to look at them. Hundreds.
“Christ,” Lon said. “Someone got robbed. Explains the emotions I was hearing.”
“Not good,” Hajo murmured. He pointed to the far end of the room. “Body’s in there.”
We rounded the breakfast bar counter into kitchen and stepped into what could’ve been the aftermath of a tornado. Pots and pans were strewn everywhere. Cabinet doors had been ripped off their hinges. The old avocado colored refrigerator had been toppled to the floor. And sprawled beneath it, like the Wicked Witch of the East, was a crushed