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Morio crossed his arms. “Open it.”
“But—but—” Rodney was serious now. “It’s cursed. I could be killed.”
“You can’t die because you aren’t alive. You’re a golem who happens to have some sentience attached to you. I guarantee you, I am far more dangerous than anything attached to that box. Open it.” Morio took one step forward.
Rodney let out a shriek and raced back to the box. As the skeleton flipped open the lid and jumped back, I covered my eyes and waited for a moment, then peeked from behind my hands when there was no immediate flash or explosion.
“Nothing happened.” Rodney sounded confused.
“Faulty hex,” I said, edging my way forward again.
“What’s inside the box?” Delilah asked, coming out from behind the tree where she’d been hiding.
“A couple of crystals and a pouch. That’s all. You want I should open this thing? It’s pretty full.” He held up a black felt pouch.
“Do it,” Morio said.
I decided to let my suddenly badass lover handle this. That way, if Rodney got smashed to smithereens, he’d be the one answering to Grandmother Coyote, not me. And seeing that they were related in a weird kind of extended family way, she might be nicer to him if he screwed up.
Rodney opened the pouch. Nothing happened again. He slowly upended the contents into the box and I heard the clink of metal on metal.
“Well, well, well,” the skeleton said. “Lookie what we have here!” He held up a necklace.
I edged forward another step and peeked in the box. A scattering of jewelry littered the tray. But there were other things in the pouch, as well. Not so happy things. Bones, to be precise, intermingled with the rings and pendants and earrings. Finger bones. Knuckle bones. Despair radiated off them in concentric waves, rippling out of the box, hitting me in the gut and making me queasy.
“These belong to women. To the women who disappeared here. Holy fucking hell,” I whispered. “Harold and his pervs were keeping souvenirs from their kills.”
Morio and Delilah joined me and we stared into the box, at the macabre treasure that lay scattered before us.
“No wonder a goshanti formed here,” Morio said, squatting to poke through the items. “The quartz spikes amplified the energy surrounding the trinkets and bones, rather than protecting them from discovery. Once again, Dante’s Hellions fucked up. I’ll bet you anything the rune for hexing is actually a rune to ground the energy and keep it right here. We aren’t going to be able to cleanse the goshanti devil from this lot until we disperse the items and put these bones to rest.”
I nodded. Harold’s group had managed to summon a goshanti. Could they have other surprises that might account for the increase in spirit activity from the Netherworld that we’d been seeing? And if so, how the hell were we going to figure out all of the damage they’d caused?
Shaking off the speculation, I looked back at the box, a wave of sadness rushing through me. “Let’s start by sorting out the bones. We can purify and bury them.”
Rodney reached down and started separating the bones to one side. For once, he remained quiet.
I stared at him. “What? No wisecracks? No dirty jokes up your sleeve?” My voice had a bitter edge to it and I realized I was looking for someone to take my anger out on.
The skeleton looked up at me for a moment, then shook his head. Still silent, he returned to his work.
CHAPTER 5
“So we have to bury the bones first?” Delilah asked.
Morio nodded. “If we don’t, they’ll just keep infusing her with energy.” He stood up, taking the box from Rodney, who had put the jewelry back in the pouch, leaving the bones out. “We need to bury and salt the bones, then sanctify the ground and cast a spell to calm the spirits. I wonder what happened to the rest of the bodies?”
“Other than Sabele, I have no idea.” I looked around, not entirely sure I wanted to know. “I just hope that they were dead when Harold chopped off their fingers. Those are pretty severe hack marks and they weren’t done with a surgeon’s skill. I doubt he’d use anesthesia.”
Even as I spoke, I knew the fear they’d felt had fueled the Hellions—fueled their rituals and their sadistic pleasures. And then, without warning, I could hear them. Whispering screams on the wind. Women begging, Please stop, please let me go, please don’t hurt me anymore.
“I wish we’d let Menolly kill the whole lot of those pricks,” I said softly. “If they were here now, I’d do it myself.”
Delilah shook her head. “Not if I got to them first. I can hear them, too,” she said, pale and somber.
Surprised, I glanced up at her. Her eyes were cool, flashing emerald, and I caught the scent of bonfire smoke that suddenly whipped up around her. Her tattoo—the black crescent scythe on her forehead—flashed with gold specks. The Autumn Lord must be riding her soul today.
We were all changing, evolving into freaks. But if we had to live out on the fringe, at least we were going off the deep end on the right side.
