Ilona Andrews - Magic Binds

He shook his head. “Shannon made the arrest. I do know her. My mother used to run a crafting club, where the older ladies would gather together, socialize, and knit or quilt.”

The knitting circle. More and more of those were springing up, as machine-knit clothes became harder to come by.

“Old ladies come in two flavors: sweet or mean. She was the mean kind. But my momma always tried to include her, until she flat-out refused to come about three years ago.”

The inside of the house was dark. Thick curtains blocked the light. I pulled them aside, letting the day in through the glass patio door. No bars on the frame. Odd. Apparently Jene wasn’t afraid of whatever the magic-fueled night could spawn.

A layer of dust coated the old furniture. Derek tried it with his fingers. “Sticky.”

Not dust, grime. The kind of grime that accumulated after years of willful neglect.

“When did she go weird?” Ascanio asked.

“She was always an odd bird,” Holland said. “She had a real glare on her. I checked the log. We’d been called out before about a year ago. Some kids were playing on the street and being loud. They said she came out of the house and clicked her teeth at them. Scared them half to death. Parents filed a complaint. There were probably incidents before that, but most folks here live and let live, so it’s hard to say.”

Great. Kate Daniels, tracker of old ladies with a biting fetish. And me without my armor.

Derek pulled the glass door open and stepped out into the yard.

No pictures on the walls. No dishes in the sink. Dust on the sink’s edges. Not cleaning is one thing, but when you ran water, inevitably some splashed on the counter. No splash marks disturbed the dust. Ascanio opened the fridge.

“Empty.”

I didn’t have a good feeling about this.

“Kate?” Derek called.

I stepped outside. The yard looked perfectly ordinary. Green grass, shrubs, and bird feeders. Many, many bird feeders in every shape and size. I could see at least two baited cage traps under the bushes.

Derek stepped closer to me.

“I smell one of Roland’s people.”

Great. “Which one?”

“I don’t know. But this scent was at his base when we went to talk to him. Now it’s here.”

I went back inside and moved to the first bedroom. Dark stains marked the round doorknob. I reached into my pocket, drew a length of gauze, wrapped it around the handle, and swung it open.

The stench hit me then, like a slap to the face. Bones tumbled toward me, and I jumped back as they rolled onto the filthy carpet.

“Holy crap,” Holland said.

If the bedroom had carpet at one point, there was no way to tell what color it was. At least six or seven inches’ worth of small animal bones covered the floor. A lot of bird carcasses. A few raccoon skeletons, some cat bones. They probably had a problem with missing pets in this neighborhood. All the bones were clean and smooth. I reached down with my gauze and picked up a small dog’s femur. The marrow had been sucked out.

“Picked clean,” Ascanio said.

She must’ve been throwing them in through the window, because there was no way she could’ve opened the door without all of them falling out.

The bones reeked. Decomposition didn’t smell like that and there was nothing here to decompose anyway. No, this was the sharp odor of the spit she deposited as she licked the bones clean. No wonder the bloodhounds didn’t follow her. This stench made my hair stand on end.

I glanced at Derek. “Can you follow her trail?”

“Sure. Following isn’t a problem,” he said.

“Let’s do that.” I didn’t want her running around unsupervised in my land, especially if my father’s people were involved, although I had no clue why he was interested in her. This wasn’t my father’s magic, structured, almost scientific in its precision. This was something old and dark that crept about in the night.

“What is she, Kate?” Ascanio asked, as we left the house.

“I have no idea.”

WE CLIMBED DEEP into the Blue River woods. The trees took the brunt of the sun’s assault, but still, the heat baked us. Sweat collected in my armpits despite the deodorant. Another half hour in this heat, and nobody would have trouble tracking us. We’d leave a scent trail a mile wide.

The river cut through the forest from north to south, flowing through a narrow valley bordered by hills. It had formed during a flare years ago, streaming from the now massive Bryon Lake. Nearly all storm drainage in the area ended up in the Blue River through the tiny creeks and swales, and when it rained, the river rebelled and roared. Right now it lay calm, beckoning me with its nice cold water as we crossed the narrow wooden bridge, heading north, deeper into the woods.

I wished I could take a dip. Ten minutes and I would be ready to go hunt old ladies again. Sadly, no dipping would be happening.

The path turned west, climbing up a slope.

Derek grimaced again. He would never complain, but the scent had to be driving him nuts. Ascanio was equally stoic. Neither of them had belittled the other’s wits, fighting ability, or sexual prowess in the last half hour. If I were less badass, I’d be worried.

We’d been walking for another fifteen minutes when Derek paused. Ascanio came to stand next to him. They stared through the trees where light indicated a clearing. We’d reached the top of a low hill.

“Is she close?”

They both nodded.

“The scent is so . . . wrong,” Ascanio said.

I pulled Sarrat out of my sheath. Holland pulled a sword out of the scabbard on his hip. Dark, with a no-nonsense epoxy and leather grip, the blade ran about nineteen inches long and at least an inch and a half wide, with a profile that fell somewhere between a falchion and a Collins machete. Holland held it like he’d gotten it dirty before.

If we got Beau’s deputy injured, we could kiss the sheriff’s cooperation good-bye.

I moved toward the light, walking nice and slow, careful where I put my feet. The two shapeshifters glided on both sides of me. I could barely hear Holland behind me. It wasn’t his first time in the woods either.

The trees parted. A clearing spread before us, unnaturally circular, as if some giant had dropped a huge coin in the middle of the woods and forgotten about it for a decade or two. The grass covered the ground, but no trees had managed to encroach on the clearing. The growth around us was new too, the trees tall but thinner than those half a mile back by the river. Must’ve been a fire a few years back.

I walked to the edge of the clearing. An old woman stood in the light with her right side to me. She wore a pair of beige pants, a white collared blouse with matching beige polka dots, and a white knitted cardigan. It had to be ninety-five degrees, I was sweating like a pig, and here she was, wrapped in wool.

Holland shouldered his way to the front. “Mrs. Boudreaux? I’m Deputy Holland. I need you to come with me.”

No reaction.

“Mrs. Boudreaux!”

She didn’t even turn.

I walked toward her, sword in hand. Holland caught up to me, while Ascanio and Derek fanned out to the sides.

“Mrs. Boudreaux?” I asked.

She turned to me. The whites of her eyes had yellowed and the red veins stood out, fat with blood. She stared at me.

Holland smiled at her. “Mrs. Boudreaux, it’s me, Robby Holland. I’m Gladys Holland’s son. You used to knit together, remember?”

She peered at him, swiveling her neck at an angle, like a puzzled dog.

“We were all very worried when you walked off. You didn’t even say where you were going.” His voice was slightly chiding. “And it’s hot out here. Let’s get you off this mountain and into some nice cool shade. What do you say?”