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I swallow hard. We’re not just hunting a murderer. We’re racing against a prophecy.
And time, as always, is not on our side.
patterns & chaos
- Marc -
After Walker’s people scrape Lethoba’s body off the sidewalk and cart it to their labs, we leave the crime scene under Mayn’s care.
Johannsson goes home, swearing to drink a liter of rubbing alcohol to get the slime out of his mouth, while the rest of us retreat to the Hub.
Pen heads straight for the shower in the back bathroom to wash off the rancid goo and change into fresh clothes. She had blocked most of it from hitting Sharpe, who only needed to change out of his pants.
Grateful I was well out of range of the splatter zone, I claim a chair at the large table that dominates the planning room. Digital projections of the crime scenes splash across the white walls, the dim lights overhead casting the images in vibrant color.
The cool quiet acts as a balm for my senses after the heat and noise of the packed street outside. The scent of coffee blooms in the air as the brand-new percolator on the sideboard works to fill a glass carafe.
Electricity hums from Meredith’s powerful computers, lifting the fine hairs on my arms, and a rhythmic clack-clack from her keyboard punctuates the tense silence.
While we were gone, she pulled up every detail she could find on the murder victims. From my spot at the conference table, I study the still images projected onto the walls of the various crime scenes, trying and failing to spot a pattern. The map is no better with its red pins marking the location of each death.
Sharpe paces the room, reading the reports Meredith stole from the Clearhelm Police database on a tablet. The quiet tap of his dress shoes as he walks back and forth in front of me punctuates the urgency of our current situation.
As I examine the gory pictures, a knot of worry tightens in my stomach. We’ve fought and defeated some horrifying monsters, but this new one fills me with a sense of doom, and I can’t shake the fear of losing those closest to me.
Darius settles in the chair beside me, and a hot hand slips onto my thigh beneath the table. “You’re frowning, Marceau.”
I cut Darius a sharp look and, not wanting to be distracted by the ignis demon, move my leg out from under his touch. “Why wouldn’t I be frowning? We’re heading toward an apocalypse. How the hell are we supposed to fight the Wild Hunt?”
“We have defeated monsters of myth and gods.” His words curl around me like smoke. “We will figure this out, too.”
I turn my head to stare at him. “Without any of us dying?”
His beautiful lips lift at the corners. “Dying is not the end for us.”
“What if one of these times it is?” My leg bounces with agitation. “If the spiritfarers had dragged Flint into the veil…”
Nightmares still plague me of watching my friend being pulled toward death’s door, along with the hundreds of spirits he freed from the Bone Man’s hold.
“But they didn’t.” Darius’s hand covers my knee, stopping the restless bounce. “Your family is still safe.”
“Our family.” Giving in to the desire, I lean over to press my forehead against his shoulder. “Stop being so nice. It’s weird.”
His hot breath ruffles my hair, smelling of smoke and fire. “I can be nice when needed.”
Warmth spreads through me and, reminded of why I avoided his touch in the first place, I straighten.
His arrival at the crime scene, while welcome, still confuses me. His shop is all the way up in the Grave Yard. “How did you even know about the murder?”
“News travels fast in the Yard.” He tugs on the sleeve of his dress shirt. “If a demon’s death causes that much of a stir, it means something horrific happened, and you all will be at the center.”
“So you came rushing over?” I slip a hand into his jacket to pluck at a suspender. “Didn’t you hang up your crime-fighting cape to be a fashionista?”
He leans closer, flames dancing in his eyes. “Didn’t you go into construction?”
“Gosh, you guys are so cute together,” Meredith observes without looking up from her triple-monitor setup, her fingers flying across her keyboard. “Just rubbing it in the single person’s face, huh?”
I lean back in my chair. “You had a personal yacht and unlimited funding. It’s not our fault you took your laptop along instead of picking up a boy toy to keep you company.”
