“You said there was an explosion? Then there should be some evidence, either on the truck or in the bush, of some residual magic.” Zee let my hand go and started to scrape at the packed snow in a few spots on the side of the hill. “They could have buried the leftovers, but then there should be scorch marks still, even if they tried to hide it.” He didn’t dispute me again, for which I was grateful. The last thing I wanted was to fight with him. I’d tell him if he were right, if we found nothing. I would swallow my pride.
I nodded, thinking. “We were halfway down the hill when it happened.” I made myself walk slowly, taking each step with care back up the hill.
Zee let me move on my own for a bit, then returned to my side. We were near the top when we turned and looked down the slope.
“I’m not seeing it, Nix. There is nothing here.” He drew a breath and I shook my head.
Hands clenched, I scanned the slope over and over. He was right, there were no obvious scorch marks, no huge pot holes, no residue. But I would have never left something so obvious either. I would have covered my tracks.
The breath in my lungs hitched as my eyes landed on something subtly out of place on the slick slope.
“Then what is that?” I pointed at a slightly humped section right in the middle of the hill. Snow had been packed hard, almost like a speedbump, then half-heartedly covered with a few bare branches to help it blend in.
“Snow pack, that’s what it is,” Zee said, but he was sliding down ahead of me, hurrying. I followed slowly. The truth now was at hand, and this was either his belief or mine that would be proven.
Mine. I was right about this, as horrible as it was to be right, I knew I was.
He dug into the snow pack with the heel of his boot until blackened scorch marks appeared through the pristine white. He went to one knee and slid his fingers through the soil that flickered with tiny green crystals, then lifted his hand to his nose.
“Fuck.” He whispered, “I wanted you to be wrong. Death myst, you were right.”
I stopped next to him and put a hand on his shoulder.
“You believe me now?”
“Yeah.” He stood and put a hand under my elbow. “All the more reason to get out of sight.”
“They could be waiting at the farm,” I pointed out.
“Not with my wards in place. If they try to get through, they will be fried.”
They. Until we knew who had done this, it would be the nameless ‘They’ we would focus on.
“They’ll get a shock and a half if they do.” He growled the words. “Who do they think they’re messing with? They can’t possibly know who you are, or I am, for that matter. If they did, they never would have left you alive in the truck.”
Those were my thoughts exactly. Pieces of this didn’t match up. If people from my past, or Zee’s, had shown up and caused this, why had they left me alive? Why hadn’t I been the one who’d been shot in the head? Why was I the one that the death myst had ghosted over?
It didn’t make sense.
And I didn’t like when things didn’t add up, especially in a world where death and magic could hide in plain sight.
Minutes later, we were back in the truck, and Zee had us moving fast, no longer drawing out the drive.
A flash of yellow ‘do not cross’ tape fluttered at the bottom of the hill, and I twisted my head to look at Zee so I didn’t have to see the reminder.
His face was tight, his lips drawn, and his eyes narrowed. Anger radiated off him in waves, like I’d only seen once before. When we’d received news my mother had died.
He’d loved her. I knew that. But she’d been my father’s second wife, and she and Zee could never have a relationship. My father didn’t like his things taken from him.
Bear had been Zee’s nephew in all but blood, the only family either of them would ever know outside of me and Justin. A part of me wanted to reach across and take Zee’s hand.
That was who I’d learned to become over the last twelve years: a person who could give comfort and love. A woman who was soft and kind, and full of social anxiety. That was who Justin knew. He’d never known I was a killer under all that, I’d let him believe I was my older sister. Seeing as she was dead, it was a convenient ruse.
Almost as if he were reading my mind, Zee cleared his throat and asked a question I wished he hadn’t. “You aren’t crying. Why not, doll face?”
Why wasn’t I crying when I was facing the worst thing anyone could? I fought to find the words that would make sense. Maybe more for myself than for Zee.
I looked away from him. “I was always worried they would be taken from me. That . . . I would be found by my father and punished for everything I’d done, for the money I took from him. I thought he’d send the Stick Man after me, and that my boys would bear the brunt of my past.” I shrugged and let the woman I truly was take hold of the reins once more. “Justin and Bear are gone. I have nothing to worry about anymore.”
Even I heard the flat tone in my voice, the monotone that belonged a lifetime away.
“Don’t go back to being her, Nix. You didn’t just run from them, you ran from what they turned you into.”
I looked at him, letting my eyes harden. “Then they shouldn’t have woken the monster slayer that lay silent for so many years.”
Chapter Three
I realized Zee had drugged me after I woke. One of the Percocet likely slipped in my food, given the aftertaste in my mouth. The pain in my pelvis and arm were barely registering, a three on the pain scale. Easy to work through for now.
The only good thing I could see was we were home, in the ranch house filled with memories.
When we’d gotten home from the hospital the day before, we’d checked the perimeter of the house. Zee had taken the two farm dogs with him. The Belgian Malinois were trained not only to help with the herding of the horses, but in protection as well. A leaner version of a German shepherd, they were highly intelligent and loyal to the death.
They also had a serious aversion to magic. It had taken a long time for them to be comfortable around Zee.
Abe, the younger of the two dogs, watched me from the foot of my bed. His whole head was black, as were his legs up to where they joined with his fawn-colored body. Even the tips of the lighter color were black, giving him a two-toned look. He was big for a Mal—as the breed was known—sitting right at eighty pounds of solid muscle. His dark eyes were locked on me. He whined softly and his bushy tail thumped once.
“Abe, kriech.” I snapped my fingers and he army-crawled up the bed until his body was stretched out along mine and his long muzzle rested on my shoulder. Both dogs were trained using German commands for guard dogs. Kriech meant to crawl.
Another whine slid from him.
He’d been Bear’s dog, sleeping with my boy every night from the time we’d brought him home as a puppy. Abe was too smart for his own good.
I bit the inside of my cheek, the sharp pain holding the grief at bay.
The sheets were tangled around my limbs, and damp with sweat like I’d been thrashing. I sat up slowly, groaning as my body protested. Abe sat up and sniffed my hair, his big nose ruffling the mess of boxed dye blonde. I pushed him away gently with my good hand, then ran a hand over my ribs, touching carefully where the light swelling indicated the breaks. Sun streamed in through the big sliding glass doors that led out onto the back deck. Even in the dead of winter, the brilliant blue sky could be seen from any window in the house. One of the reasons I’d chosen Wyoming to run to and hide when I’d left my father’s employ.