Page 47 of Grace of a Wolf 2
Who the fuck is Thom?
CAINE:
My wizard.
Ah. The sniveling thing he brought with him, with the strange glasses. Well, it's no surprise someone of his meager talent would be lost in this situation. Humans were never great vessels for arcana.
LYRE:
At hospital now. Checking for traces. I'll update when I find something.
CAINE:
Jack-Eye is already there.
I lift my head with a scowl as I almost collide with a wall of wolf muscle. Jack-Eye—Caine's beta with a ridiculous name—steps out of Grace's hospital room, wearing an expression matching my own.
Just what this clusterfuck needs: two people with bad news and nothing else.
I shove my phone into my back pocket. "Learn anything?"
Jack-Eye shakes his head, nostrils flaring. "Nothing. If I didn't know better, I'd say she was never here."
The muscles in his jaw twitch with frustration, and I sniff at the air. My sense of smell is far stronger than a human's, but all I can pick up is the smell of bleach and the distinct undertone of wolf, courtesy of the Lycan Beta.
"Move," I say, not bothering with courtesy as I shove my way past.
The flow of arcana—a subtle current of existence, or energy, or magic, whatever you'd like to call it—shimmers in the air like thousands of colored threads.
They're too… straight. Clean. Perfect.
Woven by someone with a master touch, but not enough experience to understand their work only raises red flags.
Grace's room should be a mess of magical residue—my wards, the hospital's ambient energy, her presence, the bond she shares with her annoying boyfriend…
Instead, the pattern here is strange. It reminds me of something. I can't quite remember, though.
Jack-Eye follows me into the room with a grunt.
"What do you see?" he asks, his voice lowered to a faint rumble.
"Shut up." Extending my hands helps with feeling the currents.
I walk the perimeter of the room, fingertips tracing invisible lines. Near the window, I pause. The pattern shifts here. This is where they began their weaving.
"Someone's erased her presence," I tell Jack-Eye, who just nods. He gets it. To his nose, this room must smell strange.Missing things. Even a recently cleaned room has a multitude of scents, and yet there's nothing here.
As if everything has been planted. Not just what we smell, but also the arcana in this place.
I run my fingers over the wall absently. "They didn't just grab her. They erased the very concept of her being here."
That's what bothers me about the symmetry. It reminds me of—
The memory clicks like a lock tumbling open.
"Son of a bitch."
Chapter twenty-two
