Grave Dance (Alex Craft, #2)(3)

And that was my cue.

I unclasped my silver charm bracelet. Among other charms, the bracelet carried the extra shields that helped buffer the excess of grave essence always trying to drag my psyche across the chasm to the land of the dead. Of course, that was the very chasm I now needed to traverse.

As soon as the silver charms lost contact with my skin, a frigid wind lifted around me—the chil of the grave clawing at my remaining mental shields. I cracked those shields, imagining the living vines I visualized as my personal mental wal slithering apart, opening smal gaps to my psyche.

The world around me lost the rich hues of life as a gray patina covered everything. My vision doubled as I saw both the land of the dead and the land of the living. In my grave-sight, the trees darkened, withering, their thick green leaves turning brown, and the officers’ clothing decayed, the cloth becoming threadbare and moth-eaten. Under those mottled rags, their souls shimmered bright yel ow. I looked away.

Unfortunately, opening my shields exposed me to more than just the land of the dead. The Aetheric—the plane in than just the land of the dead. The Aetheric—the plane in which raw magic existed—snapped into focus around me in swirls of bril iant red, vivid blues, and every other color imaginable. The magic twisted, tauntingly close, but I ignored the raw energy. It wasn’t supposed to be visible, even with my shields open. Witches didn’t physical y interact with the Aetheric plane. It wasn’t possible. Or at least it shouldn’t have been. But I’d been able to see the Aetheric, to reach it, ever since the Blood Moon a month ago.

Being able to do something didn’t mean I should. Or that it was safe.

I ignored the colors, forcing my eyes to focus on the decaying forest as I reached out with my senses, feeling for the grave essence leaking from the dead. And there was no shortage of dead in the floodplain.

The grave essence from a dead doe reached for me like cold wind trying to cut into my skin. And to think I was hot a minute ago. Her remains were no more than fifty yards from where I stood, but I pushed my senses farther, skimming over the traces of smal animal bodies and not letting the grave essence sink into my being. I trekked deeper into the floodplain, my magic flowing around me.

The path washed out not far from where the first foot had been found, and the mud made squishing, sucking sounds under my boots until even that gave way to dark water.

Foliage, simultaneously healthy and decaying, withered as my gaze moved over it, and I hoped my attention didn’t damage the plants. I’d once crumbled a set of stairs when my powers pushed the land of the dead into reality.

“Anything?” John asked, trudging behind me.

Yeah, lots of things. Smal animals mostly. Not exactly what we were looking for. I waved him off and kept walking.

The water splashed up to the knees of my waterproof suit as I waded through it, my steps slow, both from the water rushing around me and because I was concentrating on feeling the grave essence while holding it at bay so I didn’t feeling the grave essence while holding it at bay so I didn’t accidental y raise any shades.

Something . . . I turned in a smal circle, reaching with my mind, my power. Yes, there was something. My power told me it was touching a body, a human body. Male. And I felt a female too. And . . . two more males?

“This isn’t good.”

John stopped beside me. “You found something?”

“Bodies. And I hope I’m wrong, but I’m sensing four different essence signatures.”

“A fourth victim?”

I wasn’t sure, so I didn’t answer. I wished I could close my eyes and concentrate just on the feel of the bodies, to get a better sense of where they were located, but it was hard enough to navigate the flooded forest with my eyes open. I waded farther in, the water lapping up to my midthighs. I slipped once, and only John’s quick reflexes kept me from landing on my ass in the murky water.

“We might be getting too deep,” John said as one of the officers, the shortest in our group, lost his footing and slipped forward in the current. He dug in his toes and righted himself a moment later.

I shook my head at John. “We’re almost there.” I could feel the bodies just ahead.

The rushing water broke around a fal en tree a couple of yards in front of us. The ancient hardwood’s giant roots stretched out in every direction, dirt stil covering them, so the root-bal formed a massive mound. The tree hadn’t fal en in this particular flood—moss covered the mound and saplings clung to the root-packed earth. The grave essence emanated from somewhere around that tree, and not only grave essence but a dark knot of magic.

I stepped closer, searching with both my power and my eyes. Then I saw them.

“Feet.”

“Where?” John asked, looking around.

I pointed. In a hol ow near the base of the tree was a I pointed. In a hol ow near the base of the tree was a neatly stacked pile of bloated and decomposing feet.

John’s bushy eyebrows drew together, his mustache twitching downward as he frowned. He mopped sweat off his forehead before tilting his head to the side and giving me a confused look.

He doesn’t see them? I pointed again, but I wasn’t wearing gloves, so I didn’t want to contaminate the scene.

Trying to figure out the differences between what I could see and what he could see was impossible while staring over multiple planes of reality, so I closed my mental shields, blocking my psyche from the land of the dead—