Page 29 of Hallowed Bones

A man lies spread-eagle on a large rock with his insides cracked and open to the air. I close my eyes and turn away. The wolf may kill to feed its hunger, but this was not a death like that. This was a slaughter. This was evil.

It takes a half an hour to run back to where I stashed my clothes and phone, though I could have shifted with the clothes—it takes longer, and I’d been eager for a run. Now, as I return to the clearing and dial Ezra’s number, I wish I’d just kept the damn clothes on so I wouldn’t have wasted so much time. Thankfully, the animals in the forest have a sense for the unnatural things, and when I return, I see that no critters have bothered the corpse.

Ezra picks up on the second ring. “We have a problem.” I focus on the dead man’s eyes—empty and glassy. I flinch at the mess of his chest, gaping open and spread like some sick version of an angel’s wings, his rib cage cracked and wide.

“What is it?” His voice is all repressed anger. No doubt he senses my emotions through the invisible bond we share with our coven brothers.

Even knowing he can’t see me, I shake my head. “Not like this. I need you to meet me.” I give him my coordinates. “And, Ez?” I stop him before I hang up.

“What?”

“Don’t tell Cameron. Not yet.”

He doesn’t ask why before he hangs up. As soon as the phone call is over, I make a second one to Reyes. I give him the same information I had Ezra and then shove my cell into my back pocket as I lean over the man now splayed upon a large rock formation. His arms and legs are stretched out, and upon closer inspection, there are rings of red like rope burns on his wrists and ankles.

Death is gruesome no matter how you look at it. Without death, there could not be life, but some death is too cruel even for a witch. The fresh scent of blood, though, to my shock, doesn’t come from the corpse. I sniff, inhaling and trailing around the body until I come upon the actual source.

Frowning, I crouch and, using a nearby twig, lift the wing of the crow’s body that’s still oozing blood. The wing itself is a shattered thing, limp in all of the wrong places. Rather than a single, clean break, it’s as if the creature was pulverized.

Humans, egotistical as they are, would care more for the man’s death than the bird’s. But in my heart, both are just as tragic.

“Lyall.” I hear Ezra call my name before I scent him. Fur brushes against the inside of my skin, the wolf’s quiet discontent and wariness. He’s never liked Ezra, and it’s because he can cloak his scent with a naturalness that takes no apparent concentration on his part.

Standing where I am, I wave him over. But Ezra’s gaze is, of course, locked on the dead man. “Tell me that is not who I think it is,” he orders.

My gaze flicks back to the man—not much older than any of us, and yes, familiar. I sigh. “I can’t,” I say honestly.

Ezra curses. “You said we had a problem, not a fucking catastrophe. The locals are going to be ripping our throats out when we call in the authorities.”

Yes, I know that too. But we’ll still do it. At the end of the day, none of us cares much for the stigma against our families. The respect of life comes before anything. I doubt Jonah Montgomery ever anticipated his coming to an end quite like this. Distantly, I wonder if Haven Wardwell will mourn his loss. She only knew him briefly, but her friend, however … she is a different story. Is Haven the type of person to offer her heart so openly to near strangers?

“We need to get Reyes out here,” Ezra murmurs, reminding me of where I am. “He’ll know if there’s anything missing.”

“Already called him,” I reply. “Right after you, in fact. He should be here soon.”

The vines and symbols inked into Ezra’s arms shift, shadows rising from the tattoos as a sure sign of the disturbance Ezra must feel. He taps two fingers against his wrist, his jaw locked tight, and the shadows sink back into his flesh. Huffing out a breath, he stalks forward, coming up alongside me. With his hands planted on his hips, he stares at the mess I suspect either a psychopath has made or—more likely—an escaped Veil creature.

“This looks ritualistic,” he comments, stepping closer and leaning over the corpse. “His rib cage has been cracked open and the lungs are spread out.”

“Like a bird’s wings,” I agree, eyes flicking back to the crow on the ground.

“Blood eagle,” Ezra murmurs.

“What?” I return my attention to him.

“It’s a type of execution,” Ezra answers. “It was mentioned in some old Nordic texts—there are some particularly old covens from that region.”

“Did they execute condemned witches within their covens like this?” I ask. Even if it were true, it wouldn’t make sense for someone to perform such a thing on a human. And that’s exactly what Jonah Montgomery was—pure, undiluted human.

Ezra’s brow furrows. “Perhaps,” he hedges. “I’d have to reach out and ask about their records, but you know how other covens feel about us.”

Irritation slices into my veins. “They’re just afraid that associating with our coven will incite the ire of the Gods.” Pretentious old windbags.

“There’s no actual accounts of the rite being performed outside of fiction,” he says, tilting his head as he examines something closer to Jonah’s cavern of a chest.

“Does the style of death have any particular meaning?” I ask, stepping closer to his side. “I was going to suggest a Veil creature.”

Ezra moves around the side of the rock, trailing his fingers along the edge to where the blood has run off. As soon as he lifts his fingers away, shadows burst from his skin and move over the same trail—erasing any evidence of his touch before being sucked back into his skin. He looks at the dried blood on his fingers combined with the stone dust.