Blood Kissed

  I hesitated, and then said, “Would it be possible for us to go there?”

  He blinked and his gaze hardened. “Why?”

  “Because if Gabe is still alive and here on the reservation, as Anna suggested, then he’ll be in the place where his heart died.”

  “I don’t believe for an instant he could avoid discovery for such a long period of time,” Aiden all but growled. “But I won’t say no to the chance of being proven wrong. Not if it results in this bastard being brought to justice.”

  He drained his coffee then thrust to his feet. “Let’s go.”

  “What, now?” I said, caught by surprise.

  “Have you got anything else you need to be doing right now?”

  “Well no, but—”

  “Then come. It’ll only take an hour, and I’d rather sort it all out now than let it fester.” He spun around and left.

  Belle met me halfway to the door and handed me the ever-reliable backpack. Its weight told me she’d added a few extra additions to last night’s contents.

  “Thanks.”

  “Just be careful. There’s something about this whole situation that isn’t sitting right with me.”

  I frowned. “It’s usually me who’s afflicted with that sort of stuff, not you.”

  She rubbed her arms, her expression uneasy. “In all honesty, it’s probably nothing more than a belated echo of the uneasiness you were feeling last night, but still—”

  I squeezed her upper arm lightly. “I’ll be fine.”

  She nodded. “Go, before our ranger changes his mind.”

  I swung the pack over my shoulder and hurried after Aiden. He’d already climbed into his truck and was tapping his fingers against the steering wheel impatiently. I threw the pack into the foot well and then climbed in. “Sorry, but I wasn’t about to go anywhere without some means of protection.”

  “Knives and potions aren’t going to stop a bullet.”

  Again trepidation stirred. Whatever was coming, it involved bullets as much as magic. “Are guns even legal on the reservation?”

  “For the general population, no, but there are some farmers on the outer edges who have been given special licenses. Snakes and other vermin can be a real problem around these parts.”

  Snakes were a problem Australia-wide, but surely other vermin—like foxes—would have more sense than to encroach on a werewolf reservation.

  We’d just reached the outskirts of town when the incoming call sign flashed up on the truck’s computer screen.

  He flicked a button on the steering wheel and then said, voice carefully neutral, “What can I do for you, Blume?”

  “Where are you?”

  “Driving. And I’m not in the mood for games, so just spit out whatever it is you want.”

  “When I read Tala’s report about the witch’s dream, it said—”

  “Ms. Grace is in the truck with me,” Aiden said. “So if you have a question for her, ask it.”

  “Did you, or did you not,” Blume said, “mention the presence of black-and-white wingtip shoes when describing that cabin your dream showed you?”

  “I did.” I shared an uneasy glance with Aiden. “Why?”

  “Because a parcel was just delivered to Hart, and inside is a wingtip shoe.”

  “You’re staying at the Lodge, aren’t you?” Aiden said.

  “Yes.”

  “We’ll be there in five.” Aiden hit the accelerator, and then glanced at me. “The other business will have to wait.”

  I nodded and hung on as we hurtled through the streets, my knuckles white with the force of my grip against the door.

  Five minutes later, he swung into the drive of what looked to be the grounds of an old school, and came to an abrupt halt at the building’s entrance. I scrambled out of the truck and hurried after him as he strode up the steps to the door.

  Blume was waiting for us in the foyer, and led us up a rather grand old staircase. A door at the far end of the wide hall was open. Hart was inside, perched on the arm of a well-padded chair. On the table in front of him was one of the two shoes I’d seen in my dream.

  My steps faltered. I didn’t have to get any closer to feel the foulness emanating from it.

  “Is that the type of shoe you dreamed about?” Hart said, waving a hand at the wingtip on the table.

  I swallowed to ease the sudden dryness in my throat. “It’s not just the same type—it’s actually his.”

  “And you’re sure of that? I thought with psychometry that you had to touch it first or something?”

  I gave him a smile that held little in the way of amusement. “It depends on the strength of the psychic and whether the object itself holds a strong enough connection to whoever—whatever—is being traced.”

  “So you can find him through it?” Blume asked.

  “Probably.” I crossed my arms, but it did little to ward off the encroaching chill. “There’s one problem, however—that shoe is an invitation, gentlemen. We answer it, and we may well walk into a trap.”

  “Which is why we should make the attempt to track him now, when the sun has forced him to sleep,” Hart said.

  “He’s got hired guns working for him, and they’re not restricted by sunlight. I’m also betting he expects us to react immediately.”

  “All of which is undoubtedly true,” Blume said. “But this may be our one chance to grab the bastard—we have no choice but to take it.”

  I glanced at Aiden, hoping he, at least, would see sense. “This really isn’t a good idea.”

  “No, and it’s therefore probably better if you remain here.” He glanced down at the shoe, his expression giving little away. “We just need you to give us a general idea of location, and we’ll—”

  “What?” I cut in, tension giving my tone a harsh edge. “Detect and undo any spells he might have laid out?”

  “Well, no—”

  “I appreciate the concern, Aiden, but we both know I have no choice but to join the hunt.”

  “Agreed.” Hart picked up the shoe and held it toward me. “So let’s stop arguing and get this fucking show on the road.”

  Aiden pulled a pair of silicon gloves from the rear pocket of his jeans and handed them to me. I gave him a quick, tense smile and put them on.

  Only then did I touch the shoe. The vibes that had poured from the bloodstone had been bad enough, but this… this was hell itself come to life. If there had ever been any good in our vampire, then it was long gone. His heart had died when Frieda had, and in its place a festering evil had slowly grown, until it had utterly consumed him.

  The leather was so stained with his decay that even with the protection of the gloves, it burned my fingertips. It took every ounce of control I had not to throw it as far away from me as I could, and then scrub its touch from my skin. I took a deep, slow breath that failed to calm my nerves, and then cracked open the door to my psychic self.

  Life beat within the cloud of foulness—a rhythm that spoke of slumber.

  “Anything?” Blume asked.

  I jumped slightly. “He’s sleeping.”

  “You can tell that through just a touch?” Hart said.

  “Yes. That doesn’t mean there aren’t traps, however.”

  “No, but again, it’s a risk we’ll have to take.” Hart glanced across to his partner. “You remain here, just in case we need rescuing.”

  Blume nodded, though he didn’t look all that happy to be missing out on the action. “Hang on while I check the tracker signal.”

  He walked across the room, picked up what looked to be a small remote, and fiddled with it. After a couple of seconds, it began to emit a soft beeping.

  “Right,” Hart said. “Let’s go. You can drive, O’Connor.”

  Aiden didn’t reply. He simply plucked the shoe from my fingertips then led the way out to his truck. After placing the wingtip on the console between the front seats, he said, “What direction?”

  I hesitated as Blume settled into the rear s
eat, and then carefully brushed my gloved fingers across shoe’s shiny toe. This time it wasn’t just waves of decay that hit, but images—a dirt road, thick trees, an old cabin. One black-and-white wingtip shoe waiting patiently for the return of its brother.

  I shivered and pulled my fingers away. “Head toward Argyle.”

  Aiden immediately swung the truck around and planted his foot. I touched the shoe again as we left Castle Rock and guided him. All too soon we left the main road and were once again driving along a dirt track heading deep in the heart of thick scrub.

  It was the same dirt road the shoe had shown me.

  When the road petered out and became little more than a goat track, Aiden stopped and leaned his arms on the steering wheel as he studied the ground ahead. “Rushdown Settlement is about two kilometers down that track, but it’s a rather odd place for our vampire to be hiding out.”

  “Why?” Hart asked. “This area isn’t exactly a major draw for tourists.”

  “No, but it is now an overnight stopping point for hikers. There’s too big a risk of discovery if he bunked down here.”

  “Not if he’s got daytime guards,” Hart said, as he climbed out. “Or simply fed on the hikers and then chucked their bodies down one of the many mine shafts.”

  “I think even we would have noticed a sudden increase in the number of missing hikers.” Aiden’s quick glance at Hart verged on the edge of scathing, even if it wasn’t evident in his voice.

  I climbed out and joined the two men at the front of the truck. Though the eucalyptus-scented air was free of the trace of evil, trepidation pulsed through me nevertheless. The vampire might not be close, but something was.

  Or someone.

  Aiden waved a hand forward. “You’ve got the lead, Liz.”

  Though I was now holding the shoe at the very end of its laces, its heartbeat was stronger than ever. It led us down the path toward the old settlement—and I just had to hope that instinct was wrong, and that it wasn’t also leading us into a trap.

  The two men followed close on my heels—Aiden’s steps inaudible over Hart’s heavier tread—but I felt no safer for their closeness. Whatever I was sensing, whatever lay in wait up ahead, it was aimed at them more than me.

  Which made no sense, given I was the one the vampire had sworn revenge on.

  About three-quarters of a kilometer away from the truck, the shoe pulled us off the faint path and into the trees. I squeezed past several clumps of spiky gorse bushes and discovered another path. If the first one had been little more than a goat track, this could only be described as a mouse run.

  I glanced briefly over my shoulder. “Is this a secondary track to the old settlement?”

  “Not that I’m aware of, but there are a number of old mining shacks scattered throughout these hills.” Aiden touched my shoulder, the contact light and all too brief. “Do you want me to take the lead? If the trap you fear is physical rather than magical, I’ll have more chance of spotting it.”

  Images of the fishing line I’d almost stumbled into at the old mine flashed into my mind, and without hesitation, I stood to one side. But I felt no safer for his lead. Not given neither of us had seen the shaft trap before we’d fallen into it.

  The trees soon began to thin out but the gorse did the opposite. I used the shoe to hold the worst of it away from my body as I edged past the various thickets, but with the stronger connection came the certainty that we were walking toward death and disaster. But again, it didn’t feel aimed at me. It didn’t really feel aimed at Aiden, either. Not yet, anyway.

  Hart was its target. If he continued on, he would not see this day out.

  I stopped so abruptly he all but plowed into my back. Only his quick reflexes saved us both from a tumble.

  “Why the fuck did you stop?” he said.

  “You need to go back.” Urgency pulsed through my voice. “If you’ll go on, you’ll die.”

  “The shoe is telling you that?” He raised his eyebrows, disbelief evident.

  “No, but—”

  “Psychometry isn’t clairvoyance,” he continued. “So unless you’re suddenly claiming that talent, let’s all move on. It’s pretty obvious even to me that there’s no one other than us and the flies here in this goddamn shit of a place.”

  “You have to trust me—” I reached out and grabbed his forearm, trying to make him see. Trying to make him believe. “I may not have classic clairvoyance but I do dream, and that gives validity to what I’m feeling—”

  “A mere feeling is not a good enough reason for me to depart, Ms. Grace.” Hart’s voice was edged with impatience. “I’ve known many a psychic over the years, and their predictions were wrong just as often as they were right.”

  “No psychic in existence has ever got it right one hundred percent of the time, not even me,” I said. “But I’m not wrong—not this time.”

  “We are dealing with a whole lot more than an ordinary criminal here,” Aiden said. “I think it might be wise to listen—”

  “I can’t do my job in retreat,” Hart said, annoyance deepening his tone. “And it certainly wouldn’t be the first time I’ve faced the specter of death. So let’s just move on.”

  I glanced at Aiden, who shrugged minutely and walked on. I followed. There wasn’t much else I could do.

  The ground began to rise more steeply, and as the trees continued to thin out, I got glimpses of what had to be the Rushdown Settlement below us. Smoke drifted from the chimney of a building on the outskirts of the small town, but even from here I could tell the cabin didn’t match the one I’d seen in my dreams.

  We finally reached the top of the ridge. Sitting in the middle of the rock-strewn clearing was the old shack made of stone and roughly split trees. Black plastic still covered what remained of the windows, but there was no smoke coming from the chimney, and the place looked and felt empty.

  “This is it.” I studied the clearing but couldn’t see any indication of magic. “This is the cabin I saw in my dream.”

  Aiden’s nostrils flared. After a moment, he said, “There’s no one near. In fact, I doubt anyone has been here for some time.”

  “Even if he has now abandoned the place, we still have to go in,” Hart said. “However unlikely, we might just find something that will at least tell us who he is.”

  “We already know that,” I said, without really thinking. “He’s Frederick Waverley, who was transported to Australia for murdering….”

  My voice trailed off as I became aware that both men were staring at me—and then I remembered I hadn’t actually passed on the information Maelle had given me.

  I feigned innocence. “I told you that, I’m sure.”

  “No,” Aiden growled. “You did not.”

  “Ah.” I paused. “Sorry.”

  “Anything else you’ve conveniently forgotten to share?” Hart asked.

  I hesitated and then told them everything else Maelle had said, omitting only the fact that she was my source and the bit about the registrar sending people here. The latter was not my information to pass on, especially given neither man appeared to be aware there was another vampire here.

  “And how did you learn all this?” Hart asked.

  I waved a hand airily. “The spirit world can be a rather helpful lot if they’re so inclined.”

  As I’d hoped, neither man questioned me any further, although Aiden’s expression suggested he, at least, didn’t believe the information had come from spirits.

  Six steps into the clearing, the pulsing in the shoe stopped. Fear surged and I froze, my gaze sweeping across the rubble-filled clearing yet again. It remained free of any taint of blood magic—there wasn’t even a lingering echo to indicate it had ever been here.

  So why was the shoe now dead?

  What the hell was going on?

  Suspecting I really didn’t want an answer to that particular question, but knowing I had to seek it anyway, I forced my feet forward. The two men fanned out on either side of m
e, their guns drawn and expressions tense.

  Nothing stirred; the clearing remained still and silent. Even the buzz of insects seemed to have died.

  I stopped again in front of the old door. Sitting in the woodbox nearby was the other wingtip shoe.

  We were definitely in the right place.

  I placed the shoe I was holding beside its mate and then pressed my right hand against the door. Once again I couldn’t detect the residue of magic, and while that should have eased the tension pulsing through me, it did the exact opposite. No vampire would risk being caught unawares during the sunlit hours, so if Waverley wasn’t using magic as a means of protection, what was he using?

  I reached for the doorknob, but Aiden caught my hand and shook his head. He motioned me to one side, then glanced at Hart, who nodded and held his gun at the ready. Aiden gripped the handle and, after a pause, pushed the door wide open.

  No one jumped out at us. No magic pounced.

  “Anything?” Aiden said, with another quick look my way.

  “No.”

  “Good.” He edged around the corner and, after a minute, gave the all clear.

  I followed him in. The light filtering in through the open doorway did little to lift the deeper shadows, but it was still enough to see that while the cabin might now be empty, someone had definitely been living here. An old camp bed had been set up in one corner and there was a table and a couple of chairs opposite this. To the right of the door was an old fireplace, with newspaper and twigs set up ready to be lit. To one side of the hearth was a rusting half drum filled with larger logs and a stack of newspapers.

  Aiden walked over and picked up the latter. “The latest date is last Tuesday, meaning it’s more than possible our quarry hasn’t been here since then.”

  “So why would he send us the shoe?” I said. “It doesn’t make any sense—why lure us up here if not to either trap us or take us out?”

  “Maybe he’s so confident in his ability to escape us the shoe was nothing more than a dare—a ‘find me if you can’ message,” Hart said.

  “Which would be at odds with the methodic way he’s gone about business so far,” Aiden said.