Of course, this print might not have anything to do with the flash of white I’d seen, even if it did look reasonably fresh.
I carefully touched the edge of the footprint. There was no response from the psychic part of my soul, which was a relief, even if it didn’t really mean that much. Said senses had shown no inclination so far to provide any concrete information about whatever it was I’d been led up here to find.
I swept the light around the immediate area. The very faint path I’d been following petered out a dozen or so steps ahead, and there were several tailing mounds off to the left, suggesting I was about to enter an area that had been mined. It really wasn’t wise to keep on going—not by myself, at any rate, and certainly not when there were no more footprints, human or wolf, to be seen anywhere in the immediate area.
I took a couple of photos of the print I’d found, on the off chance the drizzle got bad enough to wash it away, then pushed upright and made my way back down to the camping area. If there was one thing I had learned over the last few months, it was not to push my luck too far.
Unless, of course, it was absolutely necessary.
The camping area remained silent. I briefly eyed the nearest caravan, then walked over to the brick building. Both toilets were empty, but in the washroom, someone had strung a simple rope line between two hooks and hung several shirts and a pair of shorts over it. All items belonged to a male and were still damp to the touch. Obviously, at least one of the caravans was occupied.
I tossed the backpack into the Suzi and then walked through the trees to the first caravan. After a quick walk around the outside to see if there was anything that looked suspicious or odd, I walked up the steps and tried the door. Unsurprisingly, it was locked. I rose up on my toes and peered in. It was too dark to see anything, so I reluctantly shone the flashlight in. There was nothing in either the small kitchen or dining area to suggest it had been in use recently and no twinges from my psychic senses.
I jumped down and headed across to the next one. It was one of those old, almost bubble-like vans painted in a fading yellow, and wouldn’t have had much room for anything more than a bed. It too was empty.
Which meant the guy who owned the clothes was either using the caravan with the attached lean-to, or was off camping somewhere in the bush and just coming back here whenever necessary.
I walked over, the stones crunching softly underfoot. The sound echoed, and somewhere out there in the distant darkness, expectation stirred. I paused and scanned the area, but I couldn’t see or feel a threat.
I frowned and shone the light into the small lean-to. No threat and no spells, and yet there was magic here somewhere. It was a faint caress that skimmed the outer reaches of my senses. I had no idea of the spell’s intent, no idea if it had been cast by the owner of the van, or the evil that had drawn me here, but the stirring unease nevertheless grew stronger. Past experience suggested if I was sensing magic in the same area as evil, it was a pretty safe bet one belonged to the other.
I took a deep breath and stepped into the lean-to. It housed a small portable gas stove, a larder that contained mainly tinned food, an Esky, and a couple of chairs. I unlatched the Esky and looked inside. There was an assortment of beer cans, a carton of milk and, rather weirdly, a selection of cheese. The ice meant to keep it cold had melted long ago, but maybe the guy living here saw no point in replacing it, given how damn cold it’d been over the last few days. It wasn’t like any of the Esky’s contents would go off overly fast in this weather.
I lowered the lid and walked over to the van’s steps. The door was locked and the curtains had been pulled across the small window. While the place was utterly silent, the wisp of magic was stronger.
Until I could see the spell’s threads, I really couldn’t say what its intent was. But it didn’t feel like any sort of protection spell. In fact, it really didn’t feel like any spell I was familiar with at all.
I jumped down the steps, then ducked out of the lean-to and slowly walked around the rest of the caravan. The spell sharpened at the hitch end and faded again as I moved around to the other side. I’d have to go in to uncover what was going on, but I wasn’t about to do that until I’d checked the entire thing.
At the rear, a large window stretched the full width of the van, but it was up too high for me to peer through. I looked around, saw the sawn-off ends of an old tree someone had obviously been cutting up for firewood, and went over to grab one. Once I’d rolled it into position and stood it up on its end, I carefully stepped up.
And saw the emaciated skull of a man whose mouth had been permanently locked in a silent scream—a scream that I could see rather than hear. I’d always been able to feel the emotions of others through either touch or the color of auras, but this was the first time emotion and sound had become visible.
It was just more evidence that the mutations continued within.
I pushed that concern aside and tried to concentrate on the dead man rather than the dark wave of fear and horror that filled his final moments. There was no sign of putrefaction and no obvious sign of trauma. His features were so gaunt, it was impossible to tell how old he was, and there were no identifying marks or tattoos on the skin that sagged across his arms and chest … my gaze halted at his groin and widened in surprise. The damn man had an erection. Did that mean he’d been with a partner when death had found him? Or had he simply been masturbating?
And how the hell was it still erect in death?
If he had been with someone, was she—or he—still in the van somewhere? Or was his lover also his murderer, and possibly the flash of white I’d seen fleeing through the forest?
I shone the light deeper into the van. There was no indication of another body, nor did anything seem out of place or odd. There was also no sign of the magic I could sense. The spell, whatever its intent, had been hidden, and that couldn’t be a good thing.
I glanced back at the emaciated form. While I guess anorexia couldn’t be ruled out, this was more than simply muscle and fat wastage. There was actually no indication of muscle or internal organs at all. It was as if everything had simply melted away.
Or been drained.
Goose bumps skittered across my skin, and I fervently hoped we weren’t dealing with some distant and deadly variation of the vampire. We’d already had more than our fair share of blood suckers here—hell, one of them even ran a popular nightclub, though she’d been missing ever since my ex had foolishly decided to bomb the place and she’d exacted bloody revenge.
I guess if there was a silver lining on the whole vampire possibility, it was the fact they were relatively easy to deal with—at least when compared to some of the other demons and ghouls we’d confronted recently.
I jumped from the log and returned to the lean-to. But as I stepped up to the door, I hesitated. I really should ring the ranger station. I needed to report the death anyway, and doing so now at least meant someone would know where I was if things went belly up. And aside from the fact it was better to be safe than sorry, it’d also save me from having to deal with Aiden’s annoyance. Like all alpha wolves, he tended to be a little overprotective when it came to those he cared about.
I dragged out my phone and made the call. It rang on rather than switching over to voicemail as it usually did, and I was just about to hang up when a breathless but familiar voice said, “Ranger station, Jaz Marin speaking.”