Last Breath by Debra Dunbar Read Free Book Online Page B

ripping you to shreds. Temporarily, that is. Eventually you had to come out and most supernatural creatures were very good at waiting.
    But there were no sigils, no symbols, no runes. What kind of circle could hold energy back while remaining so… open?
    I returned to the building, figuring the answer would be at this address on the slip of paper from Ronald’s pocket. Inside, I searched the far recesses of the old gallery, finding nothing but a pile of broken furniture, dust, and old shelving.
    As I made my way around the front room of the building, something moved in the corner. I jumped, poising my sword to strike as I swung my flashlight around. It was a rat. The creature stared at me with eyes reflecting crimson in the light. Then it turned and left, deciding I wasn’t a threat.
    I turned to leave too, but a faint, familiar scent held me in place. Sage.
    Those who followed the various ceremonial magic paths didn’t rely as heavily upon the herb as the Native Americans, or even Wiccans, did but that didn’t mean we didn’t occasionally find it useful. Sage was for protection. Smudging rid the magical space of bad spirits. Yes, it had other uses, but in my experience, sage only came into play when you were about to practice in an area with a sketchy supernatural history—or when you needed to clean up after a ritual gone wrong.
    Of course, if you practiced black magic a ritual gone wrong was often a ritual gone right.
    I sniffed, noting the lack of footprints in the dust as I made my way toward the back gallery. Whoever had been here, they either had a hide-your-tracks spell, or they were using another entrance. I was betting on the former, otherwise why leave the front door unlocked and free of wards. In fact, the lack of wards was something bothering me almost as much as the lack of symbols on the circle perimeter. The aroma of burning sage and the invisible line that blocked a cold energy was all I had here. Maybe I had the wrong building. Maybe some kids had been hanging out on a back step, smoking some weird herbal blend and blowing it in through the broken windows. Maybe I was thinking of any excuse I could not to go farther.
    I wasn’t always such a coward, but that dead body today had shaken me more than I wanted to admit. The image of an empty rib cage sprang from my memory and I shut my eyes, shaking my head. Now wasn’t the time to freak out. Sage. It was just sage, and despite what I knew its uses could be, there were other, far more innocuous explanations for the smell. I’d seen no blood, no salt, no wards or runes or magical symbols of any kind.
    And the icy energy? I was going to ignore that, stiffen my spine and just keep going.
    The middle room of the gallery was as filthy as the front one, and free of any hint of magical undertakings. The rear room was the same. I noted the back entrance was a locked steel door, and that the windows were tightly sealed with plywood boards. Nothing. I nearly collapsed in relief, shaky from the adrenaline that had fled my body. I was so relieved that I almost missed the little saucepan just inside the back door. It was the cheap kind that you find at thrift stores, aluminum with yellow sides splattered with stains and burn marks. Inside was a pile of ashes. Burned sage leaves curled gray on a charred bundle of twigs. Someone had smudged the building, but it looked like they hadn’t done anything but smudge. I doubt they would have gone to all the bother to remove all trace of their magical workings only to leave an old pot of ashes by the doorway. But why go to the trouble to smudge and not use the building?
    I frowned down at the ashes, remembering ceremonies and spells from my own grimoire and other research. Sage to clear the space either before or after the ritual—or both. But sometimes sage was used during a ritual, on the outside of a magical space.
    It was to keep the bad shit away that might be drawn to a dark working. Or even keep the bad shit