Oh, fuck, came Belle’s comment. You want me to magic up a distraction or something?

No, not yet. Her canines aren’t visible, so I don’t think she’s intending an attack.

If she were, you probably wouldn’t know about it.

Thanks for yet another cheery thought. I took a sip of alcohol, trying to act nonchalant when every bit of me was quivering. Which, as a vampire, she’d undoubtedly sense.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Defour,” I said, glad my voice at least sounded normal. “But I’m afraid I’m at a loss as to why you summoned me.”

“Surely not?”

She motioned toward one of the chairs at the front of the desk, and all but glided to the one behind.

I sat down and crossed my legs—an action that revealed a little too much upper leg for my liking. Vampires, I’d been told, considered blood taken from the inner thigh to be far sweeter than that from the neck or the wrist. Which was weird, but I wasn’t about to tell a very old vampire that—especially when I was locked in the same room as her.

“I’m afraid you really do have me at a loss,” I said.

“Ah, well.” She interlaced her fingers, her pose somewhat regal. “It is not every day that one gets to meet a blueblood witch.”

I didn’t make the denial, even though it sprung to my lips. All I said was, “I’m not what you think.”

“No one ever is.” She cocked her head slightly to one side, her strange gaze narrowing slightly. “You know what I am.”

“Yes.”

“And you fear it?”

“That would depend on two things.”

“Those being?”

“On what outcome you wish of this meeting, and whether you are, in any way, involved with the vampire who has killed a sixteen-year-old girl within this reservation, and may have shared his blood with her.”

Even though she didn’t move, her pupils contracted and there was a definite sharpening in her attention. “When did this happen? I’ve heard no whisper of it through my contacts.”

“The teenager was found in the forest two nights ago. The rangers had confirmation via an autopsy yesterday that the bite marks on her neck were indeed a vampire’s.”

“Ah, the Banks girl?”

“Yes. Apparently she’d been meeting with her killer for weeks.” I hesitated. “She met him here.”

“Impossible. I would have sensed the presence of another on my own soil.” Her voice was flat—chilling. “And I certainly would not have allowed it.”

“I believe he’s capable of the dark arts, and is using it to conceal his presence.”

She frowned, momentarily marring the perfection of her face. “This is unpleasant news indeed.”

“Then I’m gathering he’s not one of yours?”

Cool amusement touched her lips. “My vampires have better sense and—dare I say it—better taste than to share blood with a sixteen-year-old. I can imagine no worse a fate than tying yourself to someone who will not grow beyond the self-important ‘the world owes me’ attitude of those years.”

I couldn’t help smiling. “Teenagers do eventually grow up and gain some sense—surely that would also apply to those who have imbibed vampire’s blood?”

She waved a hand, the motion dismissive. “It still takes far too much time for it to be, in any way, a pleasant experience.”

“If he is not one of yours, will you pass on any news you might hear of him?”

“I certainly will pass on anything I might find to you, Ms. Grace, but I have no desire to mix with the werewolves any more than necessary.”

“And yet, here you are, running a nightclub that is both staffed by werewolves and enjoyed by them, just as much as the humans.”

“This club is a business venture. I meant privately.”

There was something in the way she was studying me that had my heart racing. She might mean me no immediate harm, but that look suggested there was something more behind this meeting than just a simple introduction.

I took a drink that failed to ease the stirring unease or the unwise racing of my pulse. “Are the wolves even aware of your presence here?”

“Indeed they are. I would never step within the boundaries of a reservation without giving the council fair warning of my presence.”

So why had Aiden been so adamant that there were no vampires here? “Then the council hasn’t passed this information on to their rangers, which I find rather surprising.”

“No, because I guaranteed I would shed no blood and feed on only the willing while I am within this reservation. In return, they will not expose my presence to the wider population.”

“I hardly think the rangers could be called the wider population.”

“Perhaps not, but those were our agreed terms.”

I frowned. “You will excuse me if this sounds rude, but how in the hell can they even police such an agreement?”

She smiled. It wasn’t an entirely pleasant smile. “You are obviously not up on your vampire history, young lady. I am of the Defour line. Our word, once given, is a binding we cannot break. The council is well aware of this fact.”

“That almost sounds like the binding is one of magic.”

“Indeed. It was—depending on your point of view—either a gift or a curse from a long-ago witch of the Marlowe line.”

A statement that made me wonder if she suspected who I was. But how? Hair color alone wouldn’t have told her much. The crimson color might be a common trait amongst the three blueblood lines, but it wasn’t unusual for it to carry over to the “half-bloods”—those witches born from a union between a blueblood and either a lowborn witch or a common human. And unless they had the ability in life, vampires weren’t telepathic. I’d certainly had no indication that she was rifling through my thoughts and memories, and I would have, given I was still wearing a warding charm.

“If you think I am capable of undoing such a spell,” I said evenly, “you are sorely mistaken.”

“Oh, I am well aware the binding cannot be undone. I have asked greater adepts than yourself many a time over the years.”

“Which places us right back to your reason for inviting me up here.”

“Is it not always sensible for one such as I to make my presence known to the local witch?” she asked. “It tends to lessen any misunderstandings that might otherwise occur.”

“I appreciate that politeness, but it is hardly necessary. Witches have been banned from this place.”

“And yet, here you are.”

Again my smile held little in the way of humor. “I’m a charm maker with psychic powers. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Oh, I think there’s a whole lot more to you than you either wish to see or admit,” she replied, and rose. “I will inform you if I hear anything about the vampire. But I must also warn you that I am, given the terms of my agreement with the council, unable to do anything about him, as much as I might wish otherwise.”

I picked up my drink and stood up. “I’m surprised the council have neither advised you of the vampire’s presence nor come to you for advice.”

Amusement briefly crinkled the corners of her pale eyes. “They undoubtedly will if there is a second kill, but most vampires who prefer a full meal rather than a mere sip generally tend to hit and run.”

“I don’t think this vampire has any intention of running.”

“If he has shared blood, I would agree.” She made a rather regal motion toward the stairwell. “Thank you for indulging me, Ms. Grace. I look forward to having another chat with you soon.”

It was a statement that had trepidation flaring fierce and hard again. But I forced a pleasant smile, said a polite goodbye, and headed out. Her pale assistant opened the door once I reached the bottom of the stairs, and Belle met me near the bar with another cocktail. I downed the remains of my first one and then repeated the process with the second. A warm buzz flooded my body, chasing away the cold threads of dread.

“Want another?” Belle asked, as she plucked the second glass from my grip.

I shook my head. “Not unless you want me dancing naked on the bar.”

She grinned. “I might not, but it could be an interesting experience for our ranger.”

“What? He’s here?” I glanced around but couldn’t immediately spot him—not surprising, given the place was packed.

“I saw him talking to the bar staff. It appears he’s here for the same reason we are.”

“Except he has no idea this place is run by a vampire.” I stepped around her and headed for a vacant stool. The alcohol buzz was getting stronger. Perhaps downing both drinks in such quick succession wasn’t such a bright idea.

“Are you going to tell him?”

“It’s not my place.”

“It’s not our place to be trying to find this vampire, either, but that hasn’t stopped us.”

“That’s because we have five hundred reasons a day to do so.” I frowned at her. “Where’s your werewolf friend? I’m in need of some water.”

She propped beside me and then waved her hand. Zak appeared a few seconds later. “What can I get for you, lovely ladies?”

“Another cocktail for me, and a sparkling water for my friend here.”

“Coming right up.”

“Thanks.” Belle glanced over my shoulder. “Don’t look now, but your hot ranger is walking toward us.”

“Probably to interrogate me,” I muttered. “Or to bitch yet again about me being in Castle Rock.”

“I’m thinking it’s something a little more drastic than that,” she said. “He does not look happy.”

“That appears to be a common look for him, especially around me.”

“This is more a ‘something very bad has happened’ expression rather than a mere ‘I hate witches’ one.”

I reluctantly turned and looked. He was walking up the steps from the dance floor, his movements fluid and yet oddly sharp, and his expression as fierce as the flashes of red in his aura.

I held up my hands as he approached. “Whoa, Ranger, I have no idea what you’re about to accuse me of, but I promise, I haven’t done a goddamn thing.”

He stopped several feet away from me and shoved his hands into the pockets of his brown leather jacket. “I’m not here to accuse you of anything. I’m here to ask for your help.”

I couldn’t help a sharp laugh. “I’m sorry, what? Has hell frozen over or something?”

“Obviously.” His gaze flicked past me. “Ms. Kent, I presume?”

“Indeed, but please call me Isabelle.” She stuck out a hand. “Pleasure to finally meet you, Ranger…?”

“Aiden O’Connor, as I’m sure you’re aware.” He briefly shook her hand but his gaze remained on mine. “Well?”

I raised my eyebrows. “You might try saying please. You might also want to explain the sudden urgency for my help when neither you nor your second-in-command have taken my dreams or my psychic skills seriously.”

“This is neither the time nor the place for recriminations,” he bit back, and then took a deep breath, visibly reaching for calm. “You’re right, of course, and I apologize.”

Man, that hurt him, Belle said, her mental tone somber. Hell must have indeed broken loose for him to reach out like this.

I don’t think either of us need to guess what that ‘hell’ might be. To Aiden, I added, “How did you know I was here?”

“You weren’t home, so I checked the hotels and clubs.”

And, as Phillip Banks had noted, there weren’t that many options in Castle Rock. “Did Karen rise, as I predicted?”

“Later than you predicted, but yes.” His voice was grim. “And we have five people dead.”

“Shit.” I rubbed a hand across my eyes. “I’m sorry there’s been such a high toll, but I don’t really understand why you need me there. The people she killed can’t rise as vampires—”

“I’m aware of that,” he cut in. “And if that was all we were dealing with, I wouldn’t be here.”

Ain’t that the truth, Belle commented.

“Then why are you here? Spit it out, Ranger.”

“Karen had help escaping,” he said. “We presume it was the vampire who turned her.”

“I did say that was a possibility.”

“Yes, but there’s more. He left a message.” He paused and then added softly, “For you.”

“No.” Fear spiked within me even as the denial passed my lips.

“Yes.” He reached out as if to grab my arm, then dropped his hand. “Please, I need you to come and see it.”

“Why?” I said, even as I rose.

“Because the only thing we’re able to read is your name. Everything else looks like gibberish.”

I glanced at Belle. “Some sort of spell, perhaps?”

“It’s certainly possible.” She smiled at Zak as he returned with our drinks. “But it’s unlikely he would have had the time for anything too intricate.”

“Meaning your business partner is a witch, despite your protestations,” Aiden commented. “Doesn’t this just get better and better?”

“Look,” I said, somewhat testily. “No matter what grief some witch caused you in the past, neither of us deserve to be the target of your hatred—especially when you’re here to ask for our goddamn help.”

“True enough,” he said, after a slight pause, “and again, I’m sorry.”

I couldn’t help suspecting he was sorrier about being forced to ask for our help rather than for his hatred, even if his voice held an edge of sincerity. “Has the message been placed on the inside or the outside of the building?”

“Inside. Why?”

“Was the outside of the building patrolled?” I continued.

“Of course—there were three people, in fact, all specifically hired for that purpose. They were all wolves so should have sensed the vampire well before he had the chance to attack.”

“Unless the vampire was using some form of magic to conceal his presence.”

He frowned. “I didn’t think that was possible.”

“If a vampire is capable of magic before he turned, what makes you think he would be incapable after?”

“Nothing more than myths and legend, which—as a werewolf—I should know better than to trust.” He shrugged. “But my people are all over the crime scene—nothing untoward has happened so far.”

“Which might just mean it is a simple message, as you suspect.” I glanced at Belle. “But in case it isn’t, would you mind coming along?”

“It’s not the way I’d hoped the evening would end, but I can hardly let you face this alone.” And the fact he’s addressed this note or spell to you specifically suggests he might be aware that you were with Karen in her final moments. If he’s capable of that, he’s probably stronger than we’ve been presuming.

That connection was immersive, Belle. All he should have sensed was Karen’s thoughts and feelings.

Just because he shouldn’t have felt you doesn’t mean he didn’t.

She motioned for the bill and, once Zak had bought it over, signed it and then leaned forward, whispering something in his ear. He grinned, pulled a business card out of his pocket, and handed it to her.

“If your social life is all sorted, can we go now?” Aiden said, voice holding an edge.

“Totally,” Belle said. “After you, handsome.”

He raised an eyebrow but did as bid. We collected our coats on the way out and followed Aiden over to his vehicle—an unmarked blue Ford Ranger rather than the green-striped white SUVs that were commonly used within the reservation.

The morgue was situated within the grounds of the region’s hospital, and though it was housed in a separate building, it could be accessed from the hospital by a glass-covered walkway between the two and also via the doors set within the walkway. Ranger vehicles and—rather weirdly, given the hospital was little more than a few hundred meters away—ambulances were parked everywhere, and there was a myriad of medical staff and rangers moving around.

I climbed out and took a deep breath. The air was fresh, filled with the fading electricity of the storm that had passed by. There was no immediate sense of magic, dark or otherwise.

There wouldn’t be if the spell lies within the building, Belle said.

“This way, ladies.” Aiden walked toward the walkway’s entry doors.

I shivered, and it wasn’t entirely because of the cold. I might not be able to sense any magic, but it was here, somewhere, of that I was sure.

“Where exactly was the note left?” I asked. “Inside the refrigeration room or somewhere else?”

“It’s in the small reception area, and it was written before he released Karen.”

“Why are you so certain?”

His smile held little in the way of humor. “Because the wolf who’d been guarding the door into the cold chamber managed to set off the alarm before he was killed. The vampire wouldn’t have had the time to do anything more than grab Karen and get out of there.”

“Ah.” I studied the door ahead. Once again I had no sense of anything untoward, and there was no shimmer or spell threads to indicate magic was present. And yet, intuition stirred, suggesting caution.

I glanced at Belle. Are you sensing anything?

No, but that’s not surprising. You’re the stronger witch in this outfit.

Aiden opened the door and ushered us inside. A ranger appeared and handed us blue crime scene booties and gloves; once we’d all pulled both on, we were allowed to continue. I narrowed my gaze as we neared the main door into the morgue; once again, there were no immediate signs of magic. And yet, the gentle pulse of it began to stir, making the small hairs on my arms rise.

I stepped into the room and then stopped. This was obviously a reception area, as there was a desk directly opposite and several chairs along the right wall. There were two doors behind the desk, but no symbols or signs, magical or otherwise.

The message had been painted on the left wall, in what I suspected might be drying blood—a theory supported by the chalked outlines of several body parts lying between the desk and the wall.

There were only two ways our vampire could have wreaked such havoc on a human form—either he’d used some form of spell, or he was extraordinarily strong. And it didn’t really matter which of those was the truth—I simply didn’t want to confront a man capable of wanton destruction.

I shivered again and forced my gaze back to the wall and the message. To the untrained eye, it might have looked like gibberish, but it was, in fact, what was commonly known as witch script—an ancient text that only adepts could read, and which had been developed over centuries to prevent the more dangerous spells from falling into the wrong hands.

Which could mean that not only had our vampire been a witch of some power before he turned, but that he’d come from one of the three blueblood houses. And yet that was impossible, because it broke the laws of life and death and went against everything witches believed in.

I couldn’t read what it said, however. There was some sort of spell interference happening, making it blurry.

It’s also blurring for me, Belle said. Which suggests that whatever the spell is, it’s not specifically aimed at you. It might just be a general warning to the reservation’s witches.

Then why would he use my name? And why use witch script if all he wanted to do was warn us away?

I don’t know.

Neither did I, and that was what was worrying me.

“Can you read what the message says?” Aiden asked.

“Kind of.”

“Meaning what?”

I glanced at him briefly. “It means there’s a spell in place stopping me from reading it fully.”

“Your charm isn’t reacting,” Belle said. “That backs up the idea that the spell isn’t specifically aimed at you.”

“Or it could just mean it’s triggered by proximity rather than mere presence.” I glanced at Aiden again. “I want your people out of here, just in case my attempt to defuse the spell goes wrong.”

He immediately glanced at the brown-haired ranger who’d handed us the booties. “Order an immediate evacuation of the entire facility. I want everyone out to the vehicle area.”

She nodded and began talking into a two-way radio. As a stream of people began to leave the area, he added, “I’ll get you to head out as well, Jaz.”

As she retreated, I said, “I think you and Belle had better do the same.”

Aiden frowned. “The IIT would have my badge if I allowed you to remain here alone—”

“If we are dealing with a major spell of some kind,” I cut in, “then you have little other choice, and they’ll know it. I can’t be worried about your ass when I’m trying to defuse a spell, Ranger. If you want, Belle can relay everything I’m seeing and doing for your records.”

His gaze shot to hers. “You’re telepathic?”

She patted his arm comfortingly. “It’s okay. I discovered a long time ago that the thoughts of most men aren’t worth the effort of skimming.”

His expression was anything but comforted as his gaze returned to mine. “Fine. But if you need help—”

“I’ll call in Belle. You, Ranger, are to remain outside until I’ve declared the area safe.”

He hesitated, but after a moment, nodded and walked out. I tugged off my heels, handed them to Belle, and then put the blue booties back on.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay with you?” she asked. “Sometimes two sets of eyes are better than one when it comes to unraveling unknown spells.”

“Yes, but if he has concocted something nasty, I’d rather have you free to detach me from it.” My gaze went to the ranger’s departing back. “Thanks to the current clime, we can’t exactly call on other witches for help.”

“Then please be careful.” She touched my arm lightly and then retreated; a few minutes later, she added, We’re both clear.

I took a step closer to the wall, and the crawling sensation immediately sharpened. I squatted on my heels and studied the area with narrowed eyes, all senses—both physical and metaphysical—alert. After a moment, I began to see the slight shimmer that indicated the presence of magic. But I wasn’t yet close enough to make out the individual threads—or layers—of the spell. Each one was basically a combination of the words and energy used to create the incantation, which were then fused together to make a whole. In some ways, creating a spell held some similarities to the way fleece became yarn—and its success just as often depended on the skill of the weaver.

I shuffled closer. The vampire’s magic began to bite more strongly, its unpleasant feel making my skin jump and twitch. But I could at least see the spell now. It had been placed three feet away from the wall in a semicircular shape, and it appeared to be nothing more than a simple concealment spell—a fact that was at odds with the force crawling across my skin. I couldn’t see any spell stones being used as anchor points, and that was another indication of the vampire’s magical knowledge and strength. Most minor witches tended to use stones, as Belle and I had at the café. There was a lot less effort involved.

I reached out and carefully untwined the first thread from its brethren. As I did, the charm at my neck sprang to life, its warm pulse telling me there was indeed a dark intent behind this spell, even if I couldn’t immediately see it. I carefully deactivated the opening line, and then repeated the process with each of the others. As each of the blurring spell’s threads came free of the sum, and the words painted onto the wall became clearer, the biting sensation got stronger. It began to feel like I’d stepped into the middle of a swarming bull ants’ nest, and that was the opposite of what was supposed to be happening.

The final few threads looked unusually dark for this kind of spell, which—when combined with both the stinging and the warning pulse of my charm—suggested something had been attached to one or more of the final lines. And that meant the vampire had been here far longer than Aiden had suspected.

I dismantled another thread, leaving two. The bottom one—which was also the final line of the incantation—definitely felt heavier than it should have. Most were nothing more than the spell’s list of limitations and closure.

Stop, Belle said, mental tone urgent. Energy is building under the earth on the outside wall of the reception area.

I paused, handing hovering over the remaining threads. Earthquake?

Not a natural one.

I’m not feeling anything in here. And I should if the spell was strong enough to affect or draw power from the ground outside. Perhaps you’d better push everyone back farther.

And maybe you’d better leave those final threads alone, she said. I’d rather not know what the bastard has said rather than risk your safety.

You know I can’t do that.

A half-dismantled blurring spell isn’t dangerous to anyone—

The closure line is too thick, Belle. There’s something else here.

Is the message clear enough to read yet? If we could at least get the gist of it, then maybe you don’t need to go any further.

My gaze jumped back to the wall. The blurring spell had faded enough to see it was writing, but what it said was still unclear. He’s designed the spell so that it has to be fully dismantled before the message can be read.

A trap, in other words.

We suspected that going in. I reached out, plucked the penultimate line free, and began to undo it. The final thread hovered in the air, dark, heavy, and extremely unhealthy in its feel. There’s definitely a second spell attached, and it’s nasty.

Nasty as in not witch magic?

I hesitated. Its construction is witch, but its power comes from blood.

Then he can’t be one of us, she said. In all the time the six families have been collecting spells and histories, there’s never been any mention of a witch becoming a vampire.

As far as we’re aware, I said. But how else would he know witch script? It’s something that’s handed down generation to generation rather than taught in schools.

And because of that, each family had script quirks specific to them, and that meant untangling the blurring spell was more important than ever. It could be one way of pinning down who we were dealing with.

I don’t think this is a good idea, Lizzie.

Whatever the spell is, I can at least see it. And if I can see it, I can undo it.

A declaration that isn’t really comforting me right now.

It wasn’t comforting me, either, especially given neither of us knew anything about blood magic. That was the sort of information they gave to those who went on to study at the witch university—of which there was only one in Australia—and Belle and I had run long before we’d become eligible for that.

And I was never eligible, given I’m a lowly Sarr. She paused. Everyone is now farther back. I’m not sure whether this is good news or not, but the trembling in the earth hasn’t worsened.

Maybe he just wants to frighten us rather than cause any real damage.

Maybe, she said. Be careful.

It’s my middle name. I reached out and carefully touched the final thread. It shimmered in response and the stinging peaked briefly then faded, but the unclean feel of the whole thread became stronger. I shivered and forced myself to concentrate, even as sweat trickled down the side of my face. The final thread’s fibers slowly became visible—the completion line was indeed intertwined with the threads of a secondary spell. I carefully pulled on the lightest of the three spell lines that made up this final thread, holding it as I murmured a spell to isolate it without breaking the connection to the other two.

The words on the wall shimmered and then became visible. But even as they did, the fiber in my hand began to disintegrate and the other two began to pulse.

The trap had been sprung.

I swore and quickly read the note to Belle. Vengeance is best given time and served cold. Let them sleep in the knowledge that they are safe, because it will make the moment when my hand rips out their hearts—as they ripped out mine—taste all that much sweeter.

To that end, I cannot allow any interference. Your death is not personal, Ms. Grace. It is merely a precaution.

Even as my gaze swept across that last word, a wave of power knocked me off my feet, and both the floor and the wall began to shake and buckle.

I scrambled upright, quickly uttering the words of an umbrella spell that would hopefully protect me from the worse of the explosion as I dove for the desk rather than the door and the glass walkway beyond it. I had no idea if the former would, in any way, provide additional protection, but the latter surely wouldn’t.

Even as I leaped, the wall exploded, filling the air with dust and huge chunks of rocks. The force of it was so damn strong it not only sent me tumbling forward, but down into blackness.