Wicked Wings (Lizzie Grace #5) - Keri Arthur Page 0,23

his wrinkled features creased into a wide smile.

I raised an eyebrow. “I thought you were entertaining relatives tonight?”

“Eli’s relatives, not mine. I love the man, but his sisters drive me insane.” He stopped beside me and studied the feathers. “I’m not feeling a spell, but there’s definitely something there.”

I nodded. “The stone’s surface is covered in blood, but I suspect most of it is old. The blood on the feathers is fresher.”

Belle handed me the backpack. “Our White Lady hasn’t completely disappeared, either. She’s watching from a distance.”

My gaze snapped to hers. “Can you contact her?”

She shook her head. “She’s right on the edge of my range, and without a name or a specific image to lock on to, I risk summoning every other ghost who haunts the area.”

“Not something I’d recommend, given mass summonings often end disastrously.” Ashworth handed Belle his flashlight, then took off his shoes and socks and dumped them onto the rock next to mine. “Shall we go investigate?”

I slung the pack over my shoulder and followed him into the water. And quickly discovered the pebbles that lined the riverbed were not as smooth as they looked. “I take it you’ve witnessed such a summoning?”

“I was once assigned a case where a couple of teenagers had gotten hold of a Ouija board and decided it might be fun to raise a soul.” He strode toward the larger rock, not seeming to care about the roughness underfoot. “Unfortunately, they did so in the middle of a graveyard and one of them was an untrained talent. Not only did they end up with more than a dozen souls answering, there were multiple generations of the same family who did not get on.”

We reached the rock and stopped. Ashworth raised a hand and skimmed it above the blood and the feathers. “It’s definitely not a spell.”

“Then what is it?”

He hesitated, his eyes narrowing. “I think the magic—and the evil—we can feel is an intrinsic part of whatever bird these feathers came from.”

“That suggests their origin is shape shifter rather than a bird.” While some birds—like magpies in breeding season—could be evil, attacking bastards, it wasn’t an intrinsic part of their nature.

“Yes,” Ashworth said, “although whether the blood and bones belong to said shifter or their victim is another matter entirely.”

“It’s doubtful the White Lady would have led us here if whoever those feathers belonged to was dead,” Belle commented.

“Agreed. But the truly important question here is, are these feathers related to last night’s murders? Or is it a completely separate case?”

“Yet another question we currently can’t answer,” I said.

His grin flashed again. “Not true. A little magical divination should do the trick, I think.”

“But there’s little more than old blood and feathers here—how are you going to divine anything from them?”

He glanced at me, eyes gleaming in the light. “Your witchy knowledge—or lack thereof—is sometimes very shocking, you know that?”

I grinned. “My witchy knowledge—or lack thereof—saved your ass, old man, so don’t be preaching at me.”

He chuckled softly. “We’re not going to be able to use our spell stones to set a protective circle, thanks to the water, so we’ll have to create an incorporeal one.”

“You’ll have to step me through it, as I’ve never done something like that.”

He nodded and glanced around. “Belle, keep an eye on the specter, just in case this is some sort of trap. White ladies often have a vengeful bent, and we have no idea what this one wants as yet.”

“I will, but given she ran the minute Liz mentioned I was a spirit talker, I don’t think she presents any immediate danger.”

Ashworth grunted and glanced at me. “Ready?”

“I guess. What do you want me to do?”

“Stand on the opposite side of the rock. Once we join hands, I’ll start the spell. You repeat my words, and the result should be a protection circle that’s anchored by our presence rather than spell stones.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Why do I have to go into the deeper water?”

“Because I’m older and frailer.”

I snorted and moved into position. Once I’d positioned the flashlight securely on the rock, I reached out and clasped his hands. His power crawled over my fingers, probing my energy, testing its depths—an automatic reaction rather than a deliberate one. Even so, he sucked in a breath. “Damn, the wild magic is strong in you these days.”

I met his gaze warily. Ashworth might be aware of my connection with the wild magic, but I hadn’t yet mentioned the reason I believed it was