The front section of the house was dark, and consisted of bedrooms and a bathroom, all of which were empty. The rear—which turned out to be a massive kitchen and living area that ran the entire width of the premises—was ablaze with lights.
Handberry lay sprawled in the middle of the kitchen, a knife clutched in one hand. His body was twisted, broken, suggesting that someone—something—had battered him to death. And yet there were no bruises and very little in the way of marks on his flesh to suggest this had actually happened. My gaze rose to his face—it was locked in an expression of terror, as if death had frozen the muscles into that position even though his flesh would still be warm.
I flowed past him and inspected the remaining rooms. I couldn't see anyone, couldn't feel anyone. But that didn't mean there wasn't someone here.
I went back to the kitchen and hovered over the body for several more seconds. Waiting to see if it was safe, wanting to delay the moment of change a little bit longer. Deep down, I already knew what I would confront once I found flesh again.
I pulled back, then called to my human form, dropping to the ground in a half crouch and staying there for several seconds as the room spun and my limbs trembled.
The scent of evil was so thick and strong, it made me gag. The charm resting against my chest flared into life, heating my skin fiercely but not burning. Even if the scent of evil hadn't been so strong, that would have been warning enough that something had gone very wrong here.
I reached out psychically and it hit like an express train—the emptiness, the same terrible agony that the little girl in the hospital had gone through. Only Handberry had screamed from within and without—screamed and fought and struggled to survive.
To no avail.
His soul had been ripped free as fiercely and as efficiently as little Hanna's.
I closed my eyes for a moment, furious at both the thing that was doing this and myself for not getting here earlier to try to save Handberry's life. He might have been an evil weasel, but even he hadn't deserved to die like this. Besides, his death destroyed the only real lead I'd had—unless Uncle Rhoan decided to share whatever he came up with. And I doubted he would—especially now, when I'd been following Handberry against his orders.
I pushed to my feet, hauling the threadbare remnants of my sweater back onto my shoulder as I dug my phone out of my pocket. Tao answered almost immediately.
"Risa?" he said quickly. "You okay?"
"Yeah. Handberry's dead. Something has stolen his soul." Tao swore rather colorfully, and I smiled grimly. "You want to give me a call when you spot Uncle Rhoan? He's going to be pissed enough that we're here. I don't want him to catch me in the house."
"Ris, he needs to know about the soul stealer—"
"They have highly trained witches and clairvoyants of all sorts at the Directorate. They'll uncover it soon enough. Trust me, in this case, discretion is the better part of valor."