I watched his broad shoulders as he raised his hands. Nothing happened.
I sniffed the air, hoping for a hint of pine. Or maybe the taste of caramel on my tongue.
I smelled nothing. Tasted nothing.
Shit.
He’d tried to control the weather or move water or something and it hadn’t worked.
He turned, his face dark. “Someone put a curse on us. I couldn’t move the water in the nearby river.”
“How do you know it’s a curse?”
“It’s the only thing that could do something like this.” He shook his head as he sat down. “But I didn’t see any of the mages use any magic that could do this.”
“Not to mention, it’s got to take a lot of power.”
“An immense amount.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I don’t think our magic is actually gone. We’d feel a hell of a lot worse if they’d stolen it. But it’s dampened somehow.”
I tried to make a shield, but nothing happened. My magic was cold and dark inside me. I swallowed hard, fear rising.
I’d never felt this before.
But it was awful.
And it wasn’t even as bad as it could be.
I had no idea if my missing magic was the result of this curse or a side effect of the Dragon God powers coming alive.
Probably both, with my luck.
“And we’ve lost all trace of the spell.” His head thudded back against the wall. “Our only lead.”
A small smile tugged at the corner of my lips. “Um, not exactly.”
He turned his head, dark eyes suddenly interested. “Oh? Isn’t your magic dead?”
“It is. But I have a clue.” I called my dagger from the ether—the same one that I’d sent into the body of the mage who’d escaped with the spell. Fortunately, the ether storage spell was magic that didn’t come from me. I’d bought it, so it still worked.
I held the blade up so Lachlan could see. The steel glinted dark red in the light. Dried blood coated the metal.
“I bought the cheaper storage spell, you see.” I smiled. “Couldn’t afford the one that cleaned my blades as well as kept them stored away.”
“Just our luck.” His appreciative gaze sent warmth through me. “A blood sorcerer should be able to track that blood. Give us a clue, at least.”
“That’s not one of your skills?”
“Sadly, no. But I know someone to call.”
“Good.” I did, too, but I couldn’t afford their lofty prices. So I’d let him use his contact. My stomach grumbled loudly.
“First, let’s get something to eat,” he said. “We’re running on empty right now.”
“Good idea.” I staggered upright. “I’m not sure how long I can keep going like this.”
We left the workshop and cut across the lawn. I followed him toward the main house, struggling along a few steps behind.
He stopped and turned, then came to help me.
“I’m fine,” I said.
“You’re not.” He hesitated just briefly, then looped an arm around my waist, seeming almost reluctant. I might’ve caught him giving me the occasional hot glance, but he wasn’t keen on touching me, it seemed.
I was too weak to complain, though. I definitely needed the help.
By the time we walked through the wooden front door into the charming country manor, I could feel every inch of the blood coating me. It itched ferociously.
“Any chance I could get a shower before that meal? I can’t stay like this.” It’d give me some privacy to call my sisters, too.
He nodded, pointing left. “There’s a bedroom through the living room. You’ll find a bathroom there. I’ll be in the kitchen.”
“Thanks.” I let go of him, staggering through the pretty foyer into the rustic French living room with a massive fireplace. The bedroom had the same decor—some kind of charming historic style that also conveniently looked like it could be in a catalogue.
The bathroom was large and sparkling clean, and the shower was spacious for an older home, with beautiful bronze fittings. I cleaned up as quickly as I could, leaning against the tiled wall for support.
I stepped out and dried off, relishing the feeling of being clean before I realized that I’d have to put the same dirty clothes back on.
“Dang it.” I bit my lip, debating, then headed out into the bedroom, determined to search for some clothes. There had to be something in here.
The old armoire revealed some dresses—short-sleeved casual ones dotted with flowers. The style looked like something out of the 1920s or maybe even older. Not my style, but I wasn’t picky.
I reached for one.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
The feminine voice made me jump. I nearly dropped the towel as I spun around.
A ghost stared at me. She was pretty, with long hair and an old-fashioned face. The kind that stared out of black and white photos inside frames that sat on lace doilies in grandmas’ houses. She wore a similarly styled dress as the ones in the closet.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “They’re yours?”
“Who else would they belong to?”
“Um, someone alive?”
She harrumphed. “The living always get so much more respect than the dead! I’ll tell you, I’m sick of it. It’s one of the reasons I’m marching for voting rights, you know.”
“Voting rights?” I eyed her old-timey outfit. “Like the suffragettes?”
“Exactly! I cut my teeth at the procession in 1913, but now I march for the rights of ghosts.”
“Oh.” My mind scrambled on an appropriate response. “Well done.”
“Thank you.” She inclined her head. “Now, who are you, and why are you rooting around in my closet?”
“I’m Ana. My clothes were destroyed, and I needed something clean. Do you mind if I borrow something?”
She extended a hand. “Go right ahead. But I’d choose a blue one. Better with your complexion. I’m Mildred, by the way.”
“Okay. Thanks, Mildred.” I pulled it off the hanger, but she didn’t leave.
“You’re here with the handsome man?”
“Lachlan? Yes.”
Mildred sighed dreamily. “So good-looking. Very honorable, too, you know. He contributes to the local charity, and is very kind to the woman who takes care of the house. I think she’s a bit batty, but he’s kind to her anyway.”
“You watch him?”
“What else is a ghost to do?”
“Move on?”
“And miss all the fun?” She scoffed. “I’m not going to waste my ghosthood like that!”
“So you like being a ghost?”
“Of course! I’ve wanted to be one since I was a little girl, so you can only imagine my delight when I perished young in a tragic hot air balloon accident.”
Right.
“Of course. Only natural.” This girl was nuts.
“I didn’t want to take my own life, obviously. It’s too precious for that. But I died early and by mistake, and now get to haunt the rest of eternity as a young, attractive ghost, so who am I to complain?”
“So you hang around here, mostly?”
“Sometimes. I make sure no one disturbs my bedroom. The attractive man has agreed to that, fortunately. And I do admit, I like to spend more time here now that he comes by occasionally.”
“What can you tell me about him?” I was exhausted, had dripping wet hair, and was standing nearly naked with a ghost, but I wasn’t going to give up a golden opportunity for some dirt.
“That he’s quiet. Keeps to himself. He makes dangerous magic and meets with dangerous people, but they respect him. Might even be a bit scared of him, actually.” She shivered. “He’s cold and tightly controlled. But he has to be. His power is immense and needs to be contained. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“What does he do in his free time?”
“Reads. Writes. Doesn’t seem to have many friends. Just one guy. He comes by to help, but very rarely. He’s a bit like an apprentice.”
He had to be Decker, the friend who’d been abducted, if I had to guess. No wonder Lachlan was so intent on saving him. He was one of the loner’s only friends.
“No family?”
“Not that I’ve seen.” She shook her head. “Not even a photograph around the house.”
That was really sad. My most prized possession—shared with Bree and Rowan—was a photo of our mother, who’d died when we were thirteen.
“I’ll let you get dressed,” Mildred said. “You look cold. And tired.”
“I’m both.”
“Good luck with the man. With whatever it is you are doing here.”