Binding the Shadows (Arcadia Bell #3)(57)

Like I said, he never forgets.

We drove through the rain, watching to see if anyone tailed us. Not a soul.

Hajo led us to an old highway on the eastern side of Morella. I don’t think I’d ever been on it, nor did I ever want to again, considering the dismal scenery that surrounded it. Past the exit ramps, disused strip malls, and unpopular fast food restaurants that dotted the roadside was our apparent destination: the Sleepy Hollow trailer park.

I’d visited a trailer park with Kar Yee once in college. It was dirty and cheap, and filled with college students who wanted the independence of living off campus but didn’t have the funds to get an actual apartment. We were there for some party, and I remember walking into a trailer cloaked in smoke with ten guys watching some Italian film that I would’ve called soft-core porn, but apparently it was art. Either way, Kar Yee and I were the only females and ten pairs of eyes looked at us like we were pizza being delivered. That was the first time she’d used her fear knack in front of me. Once the effect wore off and we were long gone, I was impressed.

We pulled up next to a doublewide and dashed through the rain to the small awning that covered temporary wooden steps. Hajo briefly surveyed the area, eyes narrow and cautious. I wondered how many places like this he visited on a daily basis. Such a stark contrast to his penthouse.

Closed blinds shielded our view through the small boxy window flanking the door, but light shone through the slats; someone was home. But I stopped paying attention to the trailer when Hajo moaned beside me. His eyes were closed. “Shit,” he murmured as he swayed on his feet for a moment. “No, no.”

I’d seen him look this way before . . . using his death dowsing knack.

A muffled crash sounded from somewhere inside. Another door slammed. I turned to question Hajo and found Lon gone. Dammit. Swiveling, I spotted him racing around the trailer, Lupara in hand.

“For f*ck’s sake,” Hajo muttered, pulling a slim gun out of a holster hidden under his jacket in the small of his back. He darted after Lon.

Now there were two too many guns out. And Hajo had sensed death. A warm panic heated my chest as I jogged after them, my only thought a repeated prayer that Lon remain safe.

As I rounded the side of the trailer, cold rain pelting my face, I nearly slammed into Lon. One shoulder pressed against the corner of the trailer, he was standing with Hajo. They were peering into a field of dry grass that merged with a wooded ravine.

A winding section of the grass was trampled. I thought I heard someone running through the brush in the distance, but rumbling thunder masked the noise.

“Someone ran through there,” Lon said in a quiet voice as I caught my breath. “I heard the panic. Panic mixed with elation. Sounded like . . . the person was happy to have gotten away with something.”

Hajo peeked around the corner. He made a sour face, as if he smelled something repulsive. “Can you hear any emotions inside the trailer?”

“It’s clear.”

Hajo’s shoulder’s slumped. “Well I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but there’s a dead body in there.”

“What the hell is going on?” I whispered.

“You sure you don’t sense any emotions at all around here?” Hajo asked Lon in a low voice. “I don’t want to walk into a trap.”

Lon glanced at me through hooded eyes. Questioning.

“Go on,” I said, checking behind us. “You either trust Hajo or you don’t. And apparently we do. One big happy family.”

“Trust me for wha—” Hajo said, but his words bottomed out when Lon transmutated in front of him. I was thrilled Hajo was getting to see this. Let him shit his pants a little. It would be good for him to know that Lon was someone he should respect. And from the awestruck arch of his brows, that’s exactly what he was thinking as he stared at Lon’s fiery halo, defiantly flaming tall around his shoulders, and the curling burnished horns that deflected drops of rain.

I glanced at Hajo and snorted. “Hajo Kemme with nothing to say?”

He opened his mouth, made a long, low sound, then mumbled, “Damn, am I glad we’re all friends.”

Lon tilted his head toward the trailer. “We’re clear. Closest around is two people in the distance—in the next trailer down the road, I think.” He slipped the Lupara inside his peacoat. “I can barely hear the person running away—getting too far out of my range.”

“Just how far is your range when you’re . . . like this?” Hajo quizzed.

“Far enough.”

“He can read your thoughts now,” I informed Hajo.

“Ah.” His shock lasted about five seconds before a slow smile curled the corners of his mouth. “I’m rethinking my business plan. Bell, you’re still the enforcer. But this . . .” He spread his hands, gesturing toward Lon as if he were a prize on a game show. “This is a beautiful thing. Very useful. Why the hell are you a photographer again?”

Lon squinted in amusement at Hajo. “So I don’t have to hang around places like this to earn a dollar.”

“Point taken. Let’s go inside. Might as well see who’s dead.”

We cautiously approached the back steps. The screen door was standing open, flapping against the side of the trailer when the wind blew. Lon dug in his coat pockets and pulled out a pair of leather gloves. After tugging them on, he opened the door and peered inside.