“What? Why?” Ashworth’s tone was suddenly no-nonsense and sharp. “What’s happened?”
Meaning he hadn’t sensed i
t. “Three waves of dark energy just rolled over me.”
He swore. “Where are you?”
“Panmure Street in Newstead. I’ll meet you at the pub on the corner.”
“I’m ten minutes away.”
If he was that close, how in the hell could he have missed it? “Hurry.”
He hung up. I slung my handbag over my shoulder and hurried toward the main street.
So much for not chasing after the source. Belle’s voice was tart.
If Ashworth can’t sense the waves of power when he was only ten minutes away, then he sure as hell isn’t going to be able to track the source down.
He’s a verified witch. I daresay there are all sorts of finding spells for this sort of thing that we don’t know about.
Maybe, but I’d rather not take the chance.
Belle grunted. It wasn’t a happy noise. You want me over there?
No. I’m just the bloodhound. He can take care of the actual problem.
You keep saying things like that and yet you always end up right in the middle of all the bad shit.
Exasperation filled her mental tones but before I could say anything, a fourth wave hit. This time it was strong enough to knock me onto my ass and leave me breathless.
Holy fuck, Belle said. That’s—
Scary. I picked myself up, dusted the dirt and stones from my hands and butt, and sprinted for the pub. Though the main road was empty of traffic, I could hear the roar of an approaching engine. Ashworth, I hoped.
Yeah, Belle said, and if he isn’t sensing it, then it has to be running along psychic lines rather than magic.
Ashworth’s Ford Ranger appeared in the distance. I moved across to the curb to wait. Except it is magic—and blacker than black.
This is what the damn council gets for not protecting the spring sooner.
Wellsprings were the main source of wild magic, which was said to develop close to the heart of the earth’s outer core. No one was really sure why it became a collective force in the first place, let alone how or why it then found its way to the surface, but there was no argument about the danger such springs represented if they were left unprotected. While wild magic was neither good nor bad, without a witch to protect and channel it, the darker forces of the world would sense its presence and be drawn to it. And once it was stained by evil, it could very much make a place unlivable for all but those who followed darkness.
The Faelan Reservation had two such wellsprings. While the newest one was now protected by both the ghost of the reservation’s previous witch and the soul of his werewolf wife—who also happened to be Aiden’s sister—the much larger one had been left unattended for far too long. And though it was now protected—by both Ashworth’s magic and mine—Belle and I suspected it was altogether too late.
And the surge of dark magic coming from somewhere up ahead all but confirmed it.
I stepped back slightly as Ashworth’s truck came to a rubber-burning stop, then opened the passenger door and climbed in.
“Where to?” His voice was curt, but it wasn’t anger; it was frustration.
“It’s coming from up ahead somewhere.” I buckled up then wound down the window. Metal tended to blunt magic’s force somewhat, and I needed to feel the air—and magic—to track it.
“And you’re sure it’s magic?”
“As sure as the sky is blue.” I glanced at him. He was bald, with a well-tanned face full of wrinkles and eyes that were muddy silver in color. The power that rolled off him was fierce, but nevertheless spoke to the reason why he was working with the Regional Witch Association rather than up in Canberra serving the needs of the council and the government. He might be powerful, but his magic was little more than a flickering candle compared to the output of the high-ranking members of the royal lines. “There’s been four waves of increasing intensity. And it’s black.”
He swore, threw the truck into gear, and hit the accelerator. The tires spun for a second, then the truck shot forward. “I’d love to know why you’re sensing it and I’m not.”