“He was at the ranger station?” I said, surprised and perhaps a little hurt.
“Yes—Jaz was giving everyone a rundown of what happened last night.” He studied me with a slight frown. “I take it you haven’t seen him yet?”
“No, but he did start work reasonably early.” I was making excuses for him, and we both knew it. And as much as I wanted to believe his lack of contact had nothing to do with Katie’s warning, I knew in my heart it was a false hope.
Or was I looking for problems that didn’t currently exist, and doing him a disservice?
It was possible something had happened during the moon run last night—something that had taken precedence over everything else in his life. Especially given that, even at his busiest, he would normally have sent a text message asking if I was okay.
I slid the teapot and cup off the tray, then leaned it against the chair leg, out of the way. “Did they find any body fragments?”
He shook his head. “Though that’s hardly surprising, given the force of the explosion just about obliterated the caravan. You were damn lucky you weren’t more seriously hurt.”
“I can run very fast when the situation requires it.”
“One of these days, that’s not going to be enough.”
“One of these days, the echoes of an unguarded wellspring will stop washing onto darker shores, and this reservation will finally be free from the constant threat of evil.” I shrugged. “Until then, however, I have no choice but to do what I can to keep this place safe.”
“That task isn’t yours alone—”
“No, but I am the only one who can communicate with the wilder forces that inhabit this place.”
He grunted. It was not a happy sound.
I poured my tea, then picked up the cup. Like many of the items we’d salvaged from secondhand stores to use in the café, this cup had a history and a presence the sensitive could feel. While most would scoff at the thought that a mere cup could make a difference to a person’s mood, I knew from experience the wrong choice could have an unsettling effect. This particular cup had become a favorite of mine lately, simply because it held echoes of the loving relationship the woman who’d previously owned the set had been in. It had become my daily reminder that happiness was possible even if everything was threatening to fall apart.
“Did Jaz say anything about the footprint I photographed?” I added.
“They’re presuming it’s human rather than wolf.”
I frowned. “Why?”
He shrugged. “Something about the bone structure and weight distribution of a werewolf’s foot in human form being slightly different to that of an actual human.”
“I’ll have to investigate Aiden’s foot more closely.” I sipped my tea. “Did she say whether she managed to get out there and check it?”
“She did, but the drizzle had basically washed everything away, including whatever scent might have remained.”
“Bugger.”
“Yeah.” Monty scooped up a big bit of cake. “I take it you think the print belonged to whoever set the explosion spell?”
“I can’t be positive, but my gut says it does.”
“And your gut is rarely wrong.”
I couldn’t help but hope that when it came to Aiden and me, it was.
“Did you get any sense of what it was?” he continued.
I shook my head. “It was just a flash of white. I have no idea whether that meant he—or she—was clothed in white or simply had very pale skin.”
“And the magic? I know you said in the video you didn’t recognize the spell, but what about its feel?”
“It was dark, but not evil as such, if that makes any sense.” I sipped my tea. “It was also dark purple, a color I generally associate with revenge rather than magic.”
“There are dark witches who walk the line between good and evil—their magic tends to be more purplish, rather than the dark red of either blood witches or those who deal with demons.”
I frowned. “How can dark witches walk the line? If they trade with evil, they can’t be good.”
A smile touched his lips. “Not everything falls on one side or the other, Lizzie, especially when we’re dealing with magic.”
It did when a dark sorcerer was responsible for your sister’s death. “I take it you’ve met such a person?”
“Once—sort of—up in Canberra.” He shrugged. “He’d come to the archives looking for a book. According to Brenda—a fellow archivist who practically trampled me in order to serve the man—he was charismatic, powerful, and a complete enigma.”
I raised my eyebrows. “The fact he was in the main archives suggests he was there with the council’s permission.”
“He was.”
“But … how?”
He shrugged again. “Something to do with his parentage.”
“Meaning he came from one of the royal lines?”
“That was the talk.” He scooped up the remaining bit of cake. “I don’t suppose any of Belle’s books catalog the various types of vampires?”
The books he was referring to were the ones Belle had inherited from her grandmother. Nellie might have been one of the so-called “common” Sarr witches, but she’d gathered together a vast collection of extremely rare books on magic and the supernatural over the many years of her life. The collection should have been gifted to the Royal Witch Library on her death, but the majority of it had instead gone to Belle—something I suspected the High Witch Council might now be aware of. Which was why we were on the final stretches of converting them all to electronic format. If the council did demand we hand over the library, we’d still have a full record of every book.
“None of the ones I’ve read mentioned this sort of vampire,” I said. “But I’ll check the index and see what I can find.”
He nodded. “It’d be handy to know exactly what we’re dealing with when this thing hits again.”
“It could be a one-off event for a change.”
He gave me a wry look. “Since when has that ever happened?”
I couldn’t help smiling. “Well, never, but there’s always a first time.”
“Not in this reservation, there’s not.” He leaned across to the other chair and opened his backpack. “I brought you a present.”
“Me?” I raised my eyebrows. “I’d have thought—given the very new relationship status—you’d be showering Belle with presents rather than me.”
Oh, came her amused comment, he is.
Oh? Do tell.
I’ll tell my secrets if you tell me yours.
I have no secrets.
Liar.
I didn’t bother denying it. She knew well enough when I was and wasn’t keeping something from her.
Monty dragged a rather heavy-looking book out of the pack and dumped it on the table. It was a thick, leather-bound volume that looked older than Methuselah. The gold writing on the cover had faded so badly it was unreadable, but my heart nevertheless beat a whole lot faster.
My gaze jumped to Monty’s. “Is that …?”
“It is indeed.” He spun the heavy book around. The title was no clearer, but it didn’t matter, because I knew exactly what it was. Earth Magic: Its Uses and Dangers. This was the book we’d been waiting for—the one that would hopefully give us some idea of what to expect when it came to the wild magic and its impacts on the human body.