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Despite the harsh words we exchanged upstairs, he hasn’t abandoned the case or left my side. “No, the priestess doesn’t deal inGoëtia.” His gaze lands on a wood plaque featuring an intricate pentacle that’s being photographed by a tech. “But then, the artifacts down here feel more like decorations from a collection than a practice.”
“You sound skeptical, and strangely impressed,” I say, drawn to where his hand rests on my wrist. His thumb absently rubs over the delicate arch, the sigils and bruises along his knuckles faint under the dim light.
“Impressed that this person is still sane enough to stay hidden.” He looks down at me, and a hard crease forms between his brows. Without explanation, he strips off his overcoat and takes my tote strap from my shoulder. Then he proceeds to drape the jacket around me, his hand coming to rest on the nape of my neck. “Whatever you ask of me, I’ll always give it to you. Just make sure it’s what you want. Some asks come with a high price, and you can’t take them back.”
I stay locked in the intensity of his eyes, lost in the wary caution I glimpse there, the way the gloom blends his irises into a steel gray.
Offering a nod, I draw his jacket tighter, unable to voice my response as his penetrating gaze bores into me, triggering a hot flare of pain along my shoulder from where his teeth tore into my flesh.
Whatever answers are uncovered, I have to walk away. Kallum has already paid a high price for me. I can’t allow him to continue to pay that price. It’s time I find closure for those who deserve it—for him, for Wellington’s victims. Even for myself.
“Goëtiais a form of black magick,” I say, shifting the topic to the disturbing scenery of the caverned room. “I came across it while researching Crowley.”
“Now I am impressed.” The corner of his mouth tips up, and I hear the approval in his voice. He drops the canvas strap over his head to carry my bag, and despite the grisliness surrounding us, this makes me smile.
Crime-scene tape has been strung to section off the different quadrants of the isolated room. In one area, metal buckets are stacked haphazard, a dark substance staining the sides. In the next section over, crude shelves have been carved into the clay walls, where Mason jars are lined like a mad scientist’s lab.
As I look up, the sight of chains dangling from a crossing support beam ices my body. A tech mists one of the chains with luminol, and the rusty links give off a white-blue glow to confirm traces of blood. The distinct glow touches the void of darkness all around. It’s deceptively beautiful, like a bioluminescent cave deep underground, as the sinister truth of this room is uncovered.
This is a torture chamber.
A buzz courses through my veins. I’ve always felt this rush at scenes, and I could lie to myself and claim I was altered after all the loss—but this chamber unveils my own sinister truth, setting my inky parts aglow with a luminescent light.
I gravitate toward the macabre cases because stepping into an offender’s persona curbs the dark urges. If I feed the monster in the dark, then I’m not tempted to stray from the path. Kallum said as much upstairs as he teased the dark tendrils out of me, offering pleasure in the wake of my fear.
I shift my focus to Kallum. “The task force found evidence of surgical implements and medical supplies in the mine tunnels. It was clean, hygienic. Nothing like this place.” I turn to inspect one of the murky jars. “You know what this chamber was used for.”
Kallum steps in front of me, the scent of sandalwood a welcome invasion to my abused senses. A forensic tech ducks under the yellow ribbon of tape, and without looking her way, he says, “Can you determine how old the blood is?”
She pauses and looks at me, since I’m the one to meet her eyes. “Could be just hours to days old. Won’t know conclusively without tests, but it’s my best guess.”
“Thank you,” I tell her, and she nods once before resuming her work. I return my attention to Kallum, who hasn’t taken his penetrating gaze off me. “Did you have a theory to go with that random question?”
Charged tension arcs between us as he takes his time rolling up his sleeves. “You’ll put the timeline together,” he says. “But my guess is, this is the ravine. Where failed attempts go to die.”
Instead of deer carcasses dumped in a ravine after failing to summon the divine madness, this person dumped people, the victims. I suddenly realize Rana will never recover the rest of the missing locals alive, because parts of them are right here.
A chill attaches to my bones, and I again look at the chains hanging from the rafter.
A sickness roils my stomach as I piece together a terrible and cruel scene. I profiled that the offender would resort to a primeval alchemy incorporating human sacrifice, after which I became the offering in Devyn’s ritual—one where she attempted to cannibalize me.
While she was unsuccessful, she has many other higher humans at her disposal. Despite the evidence, I don’t want to believe she’s devolved so far that she’s now torturing these people…that she’s lost all connection to her humanity.
“Where are the bodies?” The question escapes me.
Kallum immediately senses my distress, knowing where my thoughts are heading. “If it was me, I’d go with fire. It’s a primitive means of disposal, but it’s still the most thorough. Organ harvesting was likely done beforehand on the unwilling subject.” He eyes one of the Mason jars that appears to hold a spleen.
I nod slowly, even though his assessment may only be for my benefit, to offer me some measure of relief.
“Unwilling,” I echo his word choice. Scanning the bowels of the dark cavern, I decide that word is key.
Unlike Devyn’s higher humans, willingly following her, dancing seductively around her fire, giving themselves over to the frenzy in pursuit to their priestess’s cause, the ones brought here were victims. The proof of their unwillingnesslies in the densest part of the darkness.
A custom-made cage has been erected central in the room. Large enough to hold a human captive, it incorporates an aviary design with mesh and wire bars. Metal cuffs are welded to the top grid.
I saver the warmth of Kallum’s overcoat for a moment longer before I slip it off my shoulders and hand it over to him. Then I brace myself to face what the analysts are documenting right behind us.
Runes and markings garnish the backside of the cinderblock wall. The rusty color is indicative of blood.
