Deadly Nightshade: (Murder Most Magic Series: Book One) by Sarah Carey
The icy blasts whipped around Scattia’s head as she followed the scent of blood. Almost doubled over against the force of the wind, she pushed further into Talismore Woods, Jupiter bounding along behind her, his scraggly fur being buffeted this way and that. Broomstick flying would be no use right now, she knew, because the scent would get lost high up in the air; there was too much turbulence today. No, she needed to be on the ground, where the smell of the wind would linger.
The sounds of busy village life behind her grew fainter. Bad weather didn’t stop the Hazelstix Hollowers from coming out to trade, shop, or chat. The higgledy-piggledy shops that lined the main thoroughfare were always thriving places during daylight hours, and some people also set up their own little market stalls in any convenient place they could find, to sell anything from homemade bread, to carefully crafted jewellery, to rare spell ingredients. The scents and smells from the assorted produce all mingled together, making what outsiders said was an aroma particular to the Hollow. And the lively village noise had been commented on too – there was never a dull moment in their community. Scattia loved where she lived. And at that moment she’d rather be chatting to Rosa over a cup of nettle tea, ensconced in the cosy café her friend ran, before going to fly high on the wind on her broom. But she knew she had a duty to use her witching powers to help protect the Hollow. Mixia had always drummed a sense of responsibility into her. Hopefully she would soon find that the scent on the wind was nothing too serious, and that she and her aunt had jumped to the wrong conclusions…
As she dodged the fallen trees and swinging branches, the grey light around Scattia diminished with each step. Above her, the overhead foliage created a type of blustery ceiling. The smell of blood was so strong now that she felt nauseous; a sickly sweet aroma that was in the wrong place for no good reason. It didn’t belong to an animal, that much she could tell. It belonged to a person, a being. That was what was propelling her on through the increasingly un-manoeuvrable undergrowth, adrenaline pumping, thorns catching on her tunic and trousers. There shouldn’t be a dead person in here, or anywhere for that matter. It wasn’t okay. It wasn’t natural.
The sound of a dog barking made her look up rather than watch where she was going, which was why, she reflected later, her foot caught underneath a mass of something on the wooded floor, causing her to trip spectacularly. Managing to catch on to an overhead branch, Scattia rearranged her footing, looking down to see what had caused her to stumble.
She froze…