“Her grief will probably stain the atmosphere of that place for many years to come,” Belle said softly. “But her soul has moved on. The spirits say it was her time.”
“Meaning we couldn’t have saved her no matter what we did?”
“No.”
Which at least went some way to easing the vague sense of guilt that had lingered since that horrible night—even though the logical part of me knew we’d done everything we possibly could. “And Karen?”
“Has also moved on, but her path is not one of light.”
I frowned. “But it wasn’t by choice that she murdered her mom—”
“No, but it was her decision to share blood with a vampire. Gran’s book was very specific about that.”
Belle’s grandmother Nellie might have been one of the so-called “common” Sarr witches, but she’d held a vast collection of books on magic and the supernatural. Belle had inherited a good percentage of that library, although we'd had no real cause to use them for anything more than an occasional charm spell until recently.
“But Karen was still only sixteen,” I replied. “It’s hardly fair that she should suffer an eternity of hell for the unthinking selfishness of youth.”
Belle shrugged. “You always pay for the choices you make, be it in life or in death.”
“That might be true, but it doesn’t mean it’s always fair.”
“Life is never fair—what happened to you after your sister’s death is evidence enough of that.”
Another true statement, and a hurt that still festered in the deepest part of my soul. But then, it wasn’t often your parents held you responsible for the death of the sister you’d tried so desperately to save.
We ran on, our footsteps making little impact on the hush that controlled the night. Fog appeared, thick patches that drifted along the street, masking the glow of some lights while leaving others free.
But as we neared the park, all the lights became so heavily shrouded it plunged the entire area into foggy darkness. My trepidation increased; that masking—and maybe even the fog—wasn’t natural.
And yet there was no sense of magic touching the air.
“It might be too far away—or too faint—for either of us to detect,” Belle commented.
“Maybe.” I paused briefly at Walker Street, glancing left and right before racing across. “I don’t suppose the spirits have any information yet on what
might lie ahead?”
“Only that it’s not a spirit, as such.”
Which ruled out ghosts, but left the door wide open for all other manner of ghouls and demons—although it was rather hard to imagine a demon being paired with the sound of a church bell.
I hauled myself over the old metal fence that surrounded the park, and ran on. Clammy fingers played across my face and swirled heavily around my body; it almost felt like the fog was trying to push me away.
Ahead, on the ground and barely visible, lay something white. It wasn’t moving and appeared to have arms but no body or face. I slowed instinctively, my breath hitching in my throat.
“What on earth is that?” Belle’s voice was little more than a croak of fear.
“I don't know.” The charm at my throat—one designed to ward off evil—wasn’t reacting, but that might simply be because we weren’t close enough.
As I edged forward, I silently began the incantation for a repelling spell. Better to be safe than sorry....
The white thing became clearer, and amusement washed away the gathering dread. It was a shirt. We were scared of a damn shirt.
Belle’s silent laughter bubbled through my mind. Although I wasn’t telepathic, the ability to share thoughts was one of the many benefits that came with her being my familiar.
Your ranger would have a field day if he ever discovered we were both scared witless by an innocuous men’s shirt.
Aiden is hardly my anything. We haven’t even gone out yet.