Hell's Bell

  “I’m not entirely sure where else you’d expect me to be,” I replied. “Has the shooter been caught?”

  Zak grinned. “Yeah, Aiden got her. He’s asked us to escort you up to the compound proper.”

  “I have to walk?”

  “No. The council gave you special dispensation because you’re shot. Jak and I will drive you.”

  I sat up and unlocked the doors. Pain slithered up my shot leg, and I winced. “Jak and Zak? Seriously?”

  His grin grew as he climbed into the driver seat. “For some weird reason, Mom likes names that rhyme. So aside from the two of us, there’s Nick and Mick, and Jen and Wren.”

  I laughed. “Are you all twins, or just born close together?”

  “Twins,” Jak said, and handed me a bandage. “Wrap that around your leg. The medic is on standby in the meeting hall.”

  “Why are we going there rather than to a surgery?”

  “Because it’s the elders’ right to be present when Aiden questions Larissa.” Zak started the truck and reversed out of the parking spot. “And he also wants you to be there.”

  I blinked. So it was Larissa who’d shot at me? Why on earth would she want to kill me? Then a chill crawled across my skin as another thought stirred—what if she was under the soul eater’s control? If Aiden was still wearing the amulet I’d given him, he’d be safe enough, but everyone else in that room certainly wasn’t. They had, quite literally, invited death into their presence.

  I shivered and rubbed my arms. That thought was probably nothing more than paranoia; there had to be easier ways to access a meeting of the elders—especially given they apparently had regular pack meetings. But that still didn’t discount the growing conviction that both the soul eater’s presence and these murders were something other than Larissa needing revenge.

  “You cold?” Jak said.

  “No, just uneasy.” I lifted my leg up as best I could and started bandaging the wound. “Can we hurry this up a bit? I need to get up to that meeting and check Larissa out.”

  “She’s no danger to anyone now,” Zak assured me. “She’s trussed up tighter than a turkey at Christmas.”

  Even so, he planted his foot on the accelerator and we shot up the old track at a faster pace than was probably wise.

  As we wound our way up the mountain, the track grew increasingly narrower, the forest darker, and rock outcrops bigger and closer. Eventually, the truck could go no farther. Zak pulled into a small clearing off to the right of the track, and stopped. “We’ll carry you from here.”

  “I’m not an invalid—”

  “Aiden said you’d say that,” Jak interrupted cheerfully, “and he gave us strict instructions to ignore you.”

  “And,” Zak added, as he climbed out. “The only way you’re going to get up there is if we carry you. Otherwise, we’ve orders to keep you here, and the medic will be called down.”

  “I’m going to have a serious word or two with that man when I get the chance,” I muttered crossly.

  Jak grinned and offered me a hand to get out. “He also said you’d probably say that.”

  Aiden might not yet know me on an intimate level, but it certainly appeared as if he’d otherwise gotten my measure. I carefully climbed out of the truck, but couldn’t put a whole lot of weight on my leg. I might not want to admit it, but the damn man was probably right about my inability to walk very far.

  Zak stopped on my other side and, in very little time—and with very little fuss or effort—they were quickly chair-carrying me up the narrow path. It soon began to flatten out, but the trees and the rocks remained prolific. In amongst them, buildings began to appear, some of them hewn out of the earth, and many of them built around both the trees and the rocks. There was nothing basic or crude about any of these structures, however. Their design might be unusual, their construct might be from nature itself, but there were also necessities such as windows and heating—if the many chimneys were anything to go by—as well as the latest in green technologies such as wind turbines and battery storage. The farther we moved into the encampment, the larger and grander these houses became, until we reached a vast clearing. In the middle of this sat a huge wooden hall that very much looked like a relic from medieval times. Around the perimeter were a number of buildings both ornately decorated and huge; not so much in height—although some were a good thirty feet tall—but rather in square footage. Though I suppose large residences would be needed if generations of werewolves lived together.

  The door to the old hall opened as we neared, and we were quickly ushered in. The building looked as old on the inside as it did outside. The frame was built of sturdy tree trunks that curved toward each other, and rather looked like a series of connected wishbones. A long ridge beam ran the length of the building. The outside walls were braced with more wood, and the rooftop—at least from the inside—looked like shingles, and was held up by more wood and braced. The only part of the building that wasn’t wood was the far end—it was a massive rock construction that held a fireplace big enough to party in. Or, as it was currently doing, roast a kangaroo in.

  Seats ran around the three other sides of the building, and a smaller selection of seats clustered in a semicircle around the fireplace. Aiden stood in front of the fireplace, facing them, and the woman I presumed was Larissa was beside him, securely bound to a metal chair.

  The elders—seven men and five women—glanced around as we entered, but they didn’t offer a greeting, and their expressions gave little away. Only Aiden gave me a quick smile, but it did little to ease the tension I could see both in his aura and his stance. There was a large bloodstain on his leg, another on his left arm, and a newly gained but almost healed scratch that ran from the edge of his right eye to his chin. Larissa had obviously put up a hell of a fight.

  I was deposited in a chair to the left edge of the semicircle, not far away from bound Larissa. She glared at me balefully, her golden eyes narrowed and glittering with anger. Anyone who didn’t know the true situation might have presumed that I’d done her wrong, not the other way around.

  Once Zak and his brother had left, the door was once again closed and a thin, elderly man with thick gray streaks at his temples rose and walked toward me. “I’m Harry Marin, the healer around here,” he said. “How’s that leg of yours?”

  “It's sore, naturally enough, but it’s really only a flesh wound.”

  “I think I’d better be the judge of that, young woman.” He knelt in front of me, put on a pair of glasses, and then pulled on some gloves. “You want a painkiller?”

  I hesitated. “If you’re going to sew it up or something, yes. If you’re just going to inspect and treat it, no.”

  “I can’t say what I’ll do before I actually look at it.”

  His tone was tart, but I held back my smile. Given the stern atmosphere of the room, I didn’t think it would be appreciated.

  As he started unwinding the hastily wrapped bandage from my leg, I glanced over at Aiden. “Has she said anything?”

  “The only things to come out of her mouth are obscenities.” Aiden’s tone was annoyed, even if his expression was as controlled as everyone else’s in the room. “I was hoping you might have a trick or two up your sleeve that might loosen her tongue.”

  “There are a couple of spells I could try.” I switched my gaze to hers. “Anyone know if she’s afraid of spiders? Or maybe even rats? I dare say a nibble or two from either might loosen her tongue.”

  “You’re talking shit,” Larissa all but spat. “You’re a psychic and charm seller. You ain’t no witch.”

  “Actually,” Aiden said, “Ms. Grace does have some magical abilities. I can assure you, having researched her background, that she is quite capable of spelling rats to obey her orders.”

  “Maybe so, but I’m betting the elders wouldn’t appreciate an influx of rats.”

  “That,” a deep voice said, “very much depends on which elder you're talking about. I, for example, could think
of nothing better than watching you be smothered in rodents who eat away at you piece by tiny piece.”

  The man who spoke was of average height and looks, but there was something in the way he held himself that was not only dignified, but also spoke of someone used to being obeyed. Combine that with the vehemence in his words, and I had no doubt this was Rocco Marin—Aron’s father.

  Larissa didn’t say anything, but her expression remained thunderous, and her aura was basically all red. While it was often a color associated with passion, success, and strength, it was also nature’s warning color and could represent negative emotions just as much as positive. And that was the case here—the red in Larisa’s aura represented a mix of rebellion, aggression, anger, and hate.

  All of which was to be expected from the person who’d just tried to shoot me. And yet, despite the anger in her aura, it didn’t feel murderous—at least, not when she was looking at Rocco anyway.

  “It would appear you’re right,” Harry said. “It is only a flesh wound. I’ll wash it down and rebandage it, if you’d like.”

  He proceeded to do so without waiting for the go-ahead. Once he’d finished, he added, “Just don’t be running any marathons for the next few days.”

  I grinned. “I can absolutely guarantee I won’t be doing that, Doc.”

  “Liz, do you think you can make it over here, or do you need some help?”

  I hesitated. The doc immediately rose, offered me a hand, and then pulled me easily to my feet. He kept hold of me until I was steady, and remained close as I hobbled over to Aiden, before he moved back to his own chair.

  Larissa’s lip curled into something resembling a snarl, and she made a hawking sound in the back of her throat. Aiden hooked his foot under the chair and with very little effort, sent her thumping onto her back. She grunted and then swore, and the globule that would have been aimed my way instead went high, and landed in the middle of her chest.

  Aiden made no move to right her chair. He simply crossed his arms and said, “Try anything like that again, and I’ll add additional assault charges to the attempted murder ones.”

  Her only response was another low growl and, just for an instant, her features became more wolf than human. But she didn’t fully change, and it took a moment to realize why. The chair she was tied to wasn’t plain metal; it was silver coated. It was a metal that was deadly to wolves; if embedded into their flesh, it ate away at skin and muscle even as it poisoned their blood. It was part of the reason why silver weapons were banned in reservations, and why some even went as far as banning combs and jewelry.

  But aside from the whole poisoning issue, silver could also be used as a restraint, as it prevented the wolf from shifting from one form to another. While Larissa was clothed, her bare arms were tied behind her, which meant her skin was pressing against the silver-coated backrest. The silver obviously wasn’t strong enough to immediately poison her, but it was preventing her from attaining wolf form.

  Which was a damn good thing, given her expression very much suggested my throat would be the first one she’d rip out.

  But why? That was the puzzle needing an answer right now.

  I met Aiden’s gaze. “I can try a truth spell, if you’d like. It can sometimes be hit-and-miss, depending on the mental strength of the recipient.”

  “Do it. If it fails, we can always try the rat option.” Though his voice was flat and oh-so serious, humor sparkled in his eyes. “Do you need a hand with anything?”

  I shook my head. “Just step back a bit to ensure you’re not caught in any backwash.”

  He immediately did so. I took a deep breath to center myself and to gather energy. Once calm had descended and the awareness of those watching had faded somewhat, I slowly circled the fallen Larissa, softly murmuring the incantation, building up the layers of magic and then pinning them to the chair. Spell stones would have provided a more secure anchor, but the silver coating on the chair was a reasonable enough substitute. The spell might fracture if she moved around too much, but given how tightly she was trussed, that hopefully wouldn’t be a problem.

  I closed off the spell and then stepped back and activated it. The air shimmered briefly and energy pulsed, a soft heartbeat that told me the spell was successful.

  I glanced at Aiden. “Ask your questions.”

  He stood next to me again, got out his phone, and hit the record button. “Did you kill Aron Marin?”

  Larissa’s face screwed up as she fought the spell. She opened her mouth, shut it again, and then all but growled, “No, I fucking did not.”

  A murmur of disbelief ran around the room. Aiden’s expression didn’t change. “You threatened revenge on his family, did you not?”

  “Yes, but why would I kill Aron? He didn’t have anything to do with it. If I was going to kill anyone, it would have been his bitch of a mother.” Her gaze cut across to the elders. “She’s the one who stopped me from marrying Garrett.”

  “And yet you were seen with both Aron and Marlinda the night they were both murdered.”

  “Of course, but I wasn’t alone—a whole bunch of us went out for dinner.”

  “Was that where you discovered that Aron and Marlinda were lovers, and you became so enraged that you killed them both?”

  “Why would I care if they were fucking each other?” Larissa bit back. “Not that they would have been. Marlinda was a lesbian. She wouldn’t have touched Aron with a ten-foot pole.”

  “She was having an affair with Luc, so she wasn’t a lesbian,” I commented.

  Larissa shrugged. “So she was bi—who really cares? The fact remains, she wouldn’t have done Aron.”

  “And yet the autopsy results show that they did indeed have sex before they died.”

  “Again, so? I didn’t kill them, Ranger.” She struggled against her restraints, causing the spell to shimmer in response. It held, but I wasn’t entirely sure how long it would continue to do so if she kept fighting to be free. “I swear on the life of my mother, they were both alive when I left them.”

  Another murmur ran around the room, and this time it held an almost unwilling edge of belief.

  “Then who did, if not you?”

  “I don’t know what killed them. I don’t.”

  Meaning, I thought with a half smile, she did know something.

  “It’s interesting that you say what rather than who,” Aiden drawled. “Because it shows an awareness that neither they nor Teresa White or Gerry Schmidt were taken by a human hand.”

  Just for an instant, fear flashed in her eyes. Fear, and a growing sense of horror. There was no doubt she knew what was going on.

  “So while you might not be personally responsible for their deaths,” Aiden continued conversationally, “by inviting a soul eater into the reservation to do your dirty work for you, you are nevertheless accountable for their deaths—and any others that occur until this thing is stopped.”

  “No! I swear, it wasn’t me! I’m not the one—” She clammed up again, her expression a mix of mutinous determination and fear.

  “Did you hire a witch to call forth the dark spirit?” I asked.

  Her gaze shot to mine. “No, I didn’t. Might consider doing so to get rid of you, though.”

  “That’s going to be a hard thing to do from inside a prison cell,” Aiden commented. “And I can’t see your poor mother stumping up the cash for that sort of thing. If she did, well, she could be an accessory to attempted murder.”

  “You leave my mother out of it,” Larissa bit back, with something close to fear in her eyes. “She has nothing to do with anything.”

  I flexed my fingers and silently bolstered the power of the spell, this time leaving an open connection so I could tighten it again if necessary. Doing so meant it would eventually start taxing my strength, but we needed answers. Larissa might be answering the questions truthfully enough, but she still wasn’t telling us all that she knew.

  “How did that spirit get here if not through another witc
h?” I asked, as the air shimmered around her with renewed vigor.

  Her face reddened as she fought the order, but she had no choice now but to answer. “It was meant to be a bit of fun. We didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

  “What was meant to be a bit of fun?” Aiden asked.

  “Using the Ouija board.”

  I swore softly. Why on earth did people consider Ouija boards to be nothing more than a bit of harmless fun? They were a goddamn gateway to the spirit realm, and very dangerous if you didn’t know what you were doing—and most people didn’t. Hell, most people didn’t even take any sort of precautions. They just opened the gate willy-nilly and expected only harmless spirits to come through. Witches had spent years—if not decades—trying to educate the masses, but it seemed the message still wasn’t getting through.

  “So who was there, and what happened?” Aiden asked.

  “We were at Frankie’s place—”

  “Frankie?” he cut in. “Has she got a surname?”

  “Kastle. She was a bit weird, in a hippy sort of way, you know?”

  “And her address?”

  “It’s a little weatherboard place on North Street.” She hesitated. “Thirty-one, I think.”

  “Who else was there?”

  “Aron, Marlinda, and me, of course,” she said. “Lance Marin was there, as was Gerry Schmidt, and a woman named Janice, who was one of Marlinda’s friends. I’ve never met her before.”

  “You weren’t told her last name?”

  “No, but she wasn’t a wolf.”

  Aiden grunted, and looked at me. “Would a dark spirit hunt down those who called it into being?”

  “They’re called dark spirits for a reason. And given these fools probably didn’t take the proper precautions before using the board, they’d be easy prey.”

  “We drew a fucking pentagram on the floor,” Larissa growled. “We aren’t that stupid.”

  “What color candles did you use?” I snapped back. “Did you create a basic circle of protection, or a more advanced one? Did you beseech protection from the right gods?”