“I can already feel them.” Thankfully, the anger continued to drown them out. I just had to hope it remained that way, because the underlying wash of Ms. Taylor’s final moments suggested their full impact would be harrowing and all consuming. “But I really have no choice, Monty. Instinct is saying there’s something here to be found.”
“Damn.” He grimaced and removed his arm. “Can I at least suggest that you do not, under any circumstances, breathe deep? That could prove deadly given your strengthening olfactory sense.”
I nodded and motioned him on. At first glance, the kitchen didn’t look all that bad. Well, compared to the living room, at any rate. There were several arterial sprays across the far wall and blood splatters on both the kitchen counter and the canisters sitting on top of it, but there was no immediate evidence of dismemberment.
I could smell it, though. Smell the flesh and the blood even as pain and terror briefly pulsed across my senses. The epicenter lay out of sight on the other side of the kitchen counter, close to the door between the kitchen and the living room. I had absolutely no desire to step any closer to that counter. No desire to see the bloody, fragmented remains of humanity beyond it.
The waves of fury weren’t emanating from that area though, but rather from the left. I scanned the rest of the room. Beyond the rectangular kitchen table was a glass sliding door that led out into a small pergola area.
A dark smudge on the sliding door’s handle caught my attention. It was blood, though how my nose could be certain of that when the entire room reeked of the stuff, I have no idea.
“Monty, did you or Maggie check out the back yard?”
“Not as yet—why?”
“Because our hone-onna exited through that door—and she left some blood behind on the handle.”
“It’s probably the victim’s. Given the brutality of the kill, she must have been covered in blood and gore.”
“It’s not the victim’s,” I said. “It’s hers.”
“Even if it is, a smudge isn’t going to be of much use, spell wise.” He paused. “Unless, of course, there’s more out in the yard. Come along.”
“I can’t imagine our hone-onna would carelessly leave handy pools of blood lying about,” I said, following him around the table. “She’s magic capable, so she’ll be well aware of just how much blood it takes to set a spell.”
“Still worth a shot,” Monty said.
It was, but not because of the blood. The caress of anger had sharpened closer to the door, and it seemed to be centered outside rather than in. Whatever had angered the hone-onna, it had nothing to do with this victim fighting for her life.
Monty took out his phone and took a photo of the smudge, then carefully slid the door open, using the top edge of the handle and keeping his fingers well away from the bloody smear. I stepped out after him and raised my face, drawing in deep breaths of fresh air to chase the foulness from my lungs.
“There’s another spot here,” Monty said. “Looks like she was running for the fence.”
I walked over, squatted beside the droplet, and lightly pressed a finger into it. It was tacky and hummed with power and purpose. The anger that had led me out here might have dissipated in the open air, but it still burned through her blood. Which was decidedly odd.
Unless, of course, anger was a part of her DNA.
Do spirits even have DNA? Came Belle’s question.
Don’t know, I replied. But if we ever find more than snippets about this thing in your gran’s books, maybe we’d have an answer.
I rose and scanned the grass between the fence and us. There was a tiny smudge of black that could have been dirt as much as blood on one of the rocks that lined the garden border, but little else. I’d put money on the fact that there’d be another smudge on the top of the fence, though.
“Anything useful?” Monty asked.
“Not really. But I don’t think the placement of these blood drops is accidental.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Why would she deliberately leave a bloody trail?”
“Well, she has tried to kill me twice now. This might be the beginning of a third attempt.”
“It’s a pretty damn lame attempt if it is. There was no guarantee that you or even I would step out onto the patio and find these spots.”
“Uncertainty could be part of the game.”
“I’m sensing a ‘but’ in that reply.”
“That’s because I don’t think this is a game. I think it’s deliberate.”
“On that, we agree.”
I glanced at him, surprised. “You do?”
He waved a hand at the blood on the rock. “Aside from the fact it’s doubtful our victim had the time or the skill to injure our spirit this seriously, she’s too clever to leave an obvious trail like this. She wants us to follow. What we need to be wary of is the why.”
“I’m not feeling anything in the way of magic.”
“Doesn’t mean it won’t be there at the end of this trail if it does happen to be a trap.”
“It isn’t.”
“So says your gut?”
“Gut reinforced by second sight, yes.”
I stepped onto the next rock and peered along the top of the fence. As I’d suspected, there was more blood here, and it was no mere smudge this time. She’d wanted to ensure we actually saw it.
“I don’t think we should be climbing over another fence,” Monty said. “Especially if your gut is wrong.”
“You’re the one who is constantly telling me I need to trust my instincts more.” I glanced around as he hobbled over. “But I agree in part—you definitely shouldn’t be climbing any more fences. Not with that ankle.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not. Too much walking—or in this case, fence jumping—will see you in that brace for weeks longer. Is that what you really want?”
“If it means you not going on alone after this thing, then yes.” He clambered up onto another rock, his balance somewhat precarious as he peered over the top of the fence into the next yard. “I’m not seeing a dog.”
“That’s because there’s only a cat, and it’s three feet further along the fence in the bushes to your right.” Aiden strode across the yard and leapt up onto the rock on the other side of me. “What are we looking for?”
“We were following a trail of blood. It led us to the fence.”
“The creature isn’t in that yard. Nothing nasty is. There’s a kid shrieking in the house, though, and I think it needs to be checked out.”
“The hone-onna hasn’t shown any inclination to hurt kids,” I said. “In fact, she went out of her way to protect Jack when she murdered his dad.”
“I know, but I’ve been a ranger a long time now, and every instinct I have is suggesting we need to get inside and check that kid. Especially if our spirit did head that way.”
He didn’t wait for our response; he simply leapt over the fence. I stepped onto the fence railing and followed him over, as did the ever determined, not-to-be-left-behind Monty. I raised my eyebrows at him. He merely grinned and motioned me on.