Magic Misled (Lizzie Grace #7) - Keri Arthur Page 0,33

are.”

“Why?”

“Because the DNA fault wouldn’t appear in a kid. It generally doesn’t develop until midlife.”

“Doesn’t mean it can’t happen.”

“No, but given what he said about the speed and ghostly nature, I’m thinking it’s more likely to be something supernatural.”

I tended to agree, given Jackson hadn’t seen what had gutted him despite the fact he’d been facing it when he’d spun around. That, at the very least, suggested there was magic involved—unless, of course, this thing was so small it had somehow slipped under his guard and sliced him open before he’d had the chance to look down.

Or it was simply super fast.

“Righto,” Monty said. “Cover provided. I’ve set this one higher so you don’t walk through it and shred the spell.”

“Thanks.” Her phone rang sharply, the sound strident in the cold night. She quickly answered it and, after a few moments, said, “We’re down near the old crusher building.”

She shoved her phone back into her pocket, then rose. “How long will the rain protection spell last?”

“Hopefully longer than this storm.”

“Then you two might as well head back home. There’s nothing more—”

“No can do,” Monty said. “Not when that thing is still out there.”

“Whatever it is, it’s attacking lone people, not groups.”

“Which means we can’t leave at least until the others arrive,” I said. “Besides, we don’t know enough about the perpetrator to make a judgment like that yet.”

She all but rolled her eyes. “Fine. Remain and get soaked. But do please tell Aiden I did try to send you home.”

A smile tugged at my lips. “I daresay Aiden will be expecting me to be here. He knows I’m not sensible when it comes to things like this.”

She snorted softly. “Let me tape off this area, then we’ll go check the building for his belongings.”

Once the area was secured, we headed into the building. The old conveyer that had once transported the rocks to the crusher was little more than a rusting metal skeleton and had become the springtime home of multiple birds if the number of old nests was anything to go by.

I followed Tala through the opening, carefully avoiding the jagged bits of metal sheeting that still covered most of the building. It was a vast and empty space; the wind howled through the various holes scattered along the roofline and walls, and the rain flooded in, spreading across the stone-covered floor in dark pools that again resembled blood. Beyond the odd bit of rusting metal, little remained of the vast crusher this place had once housed.

Monty swept the light around; in the far corner, near what appeared to be the remnants of an office, were a sleeping roll and backpack. Tala immediately strode over.

“He obviously liked sleeping rough,” Monty commented. “That sleeping roll wouldn’t offer much in the way of comfort on this ground.”

“Not everyone is as soft as you.” Tala pulled on a pair of gloves, then grabbed his pack. After a quick search, she found his wallet and opened it up. “Jackson Pike, as you said.”

“Has he family here?” I asked.

She nodded. “A sister, and this will hit her hard. I’m glad I’m not the one who has to tell her.”

Because Aiden saw it as his job, though it was one I wished he’d share.

“Anything else in there?” Monty asked.

“No.” Tala rose. “We’d better get back to the corpse.”

“On the way there, we might as well check the trees to see if Jackson’s tumbling bit of white rubbish is still around.”

“If it was rubbish, that’s unlikely.” She nevertheless waved me forward. I led the way out of the building and headed for the base of the ridge. After pausing to scan the darkness, I spotted two elongated metal barrels laying at right angles to each other. The tubular boiler, no doubt. I walked around them and into the trees. I was barely five feet in when I found the track. Someone—something—had crashed through the undergrowth not that long ago.

“Good find,” Tala murmured. She dropped to her haunches and carefully swept debris away from a footprint—one that was neither human nor wolf but a weird combination of the two. “It looks like we are dealing with a rogue, even if it isn’t what killed Jackson.”

“What makes you say that?” Monty asked.

Tala glanced up at him. “The size of the print—it’s too big to belong to a kid.”

“Aiden said the DNA fault forces them into a sort of wolf-human hybrid.” I rubbed my arms—a somewhat useless gesture that did little to warm the inner chill. “Could the hybridization