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“I will agree that whatever this is, it’s twisted and it’s most likely connected to something. An act like this is an escalation, it’s not a beginning. But we haven’t seen anything that connects it to our missing girls,” Nelson said evenly as he slowly approached a clearing in the trees. Bits of yellow crime scene tape fluttered in the wind, but Nox wasn’t ready to see what was ahead of them. The metallic tang of blood and souring flesh had already reached his nose, but Nox focused on the branches overhead and around them. He’d cast quick glances at Nelson’s back so he wouldn’t trip into him as he hunted for anything in the woods that might justify his presence.
“This can’t be a coincidence, Agent! Six girls have been taken—all novice witches or connected to witchcraft in some way—and then we find a dead girl and a crime scene covered in druidic iconography,” Nox whispered, then sucked a breath in through his mouth, attempting to avoid breathing through his nose and smelling. He had a very weak gag reflex when it came to certain categories of odors, particularly meat-based, and Nox wasn’t good with blood. “And do you really want them investigating this?” He added.
Nelson snorted wryly, his attention finally locked on the clearing ahead. “I wouldn’t want them investigating a parking ticket, but I’d like to keep my job. The ME’s from Roanoke, not New Castle, and he’ll determine which jurisdiction this goes to if it’s not connected.”
“It will be,” Nox predicted, then gasped when they reached a break in the trees and the path opened up. Dozens of sets of antlers hung from the branches around them, all at shoulder level.
The ME and the large oak in the middle of the clearing with its hideous effigy demanded Nox’s attention, but he kept his eyes averted and ignored the smell of rotting, rancid meat. He noticed that the ground was scorched beneath his feet and Nox’s pulse kicked and began to gallop when he realized they were standing on three large swirls arranged in a triangular formation.
“Look at the ground, Agent!”
“I saw it. What did you say the three swirls meant? The Dagda?” Nelson asked distantly, the hand holding the notepad hanging at his side as he stared at the ancient oak.
Nox kept his head down as he joined Nelson where the swirls met in the middle and faced the tree. “The open triskelion symbolizes the Dagda as the past, present, and future, and his connection to the cycles of nature and time.” Nox knew this was connected to Mila Cleary’s and Rachel Martin’s disappearances and that the other missing girls were connected as well. “He is eternal love and light. He is Eochaid Ollathair, the All-Father, the good god.”
“Alright,” Nelson rasped, then cleared his throat. “Tell me what the fuck this has to do with the Dagda and how the hell do I find him.”
Nox shook his head. “You can’t—” He started but stopped when he finally saw it.
The trunk of the tree had been transformed by more antlers. They had been nailed to the bark and radiated from the tree like the rays of the sun. A ram’s skull crowned the sun, its curved horns adorned with a garland of bright white and brilliant purple sprays of meadowsweet and verbena wound its way around the altar’s horns and antlers. The last weak rays of the setting sun glowed through the branches and antlers, bestowing an incongruous glory around the horror at its center, but Nox was still moved.
Tears muddled his vision and his lip quivered. “My God, they’re real,” he mouthed as he stepped forward on shaking legs for a closer look. He finally took in the young woman who had been lashed to the altar. A thick, ancient-looking rope was woven between the antlers, binding her arms and legs to the trunk and baring her naked torso. Her skin was mottled grayish purple and her limbs were covered in bruises, scratches, and deep slashes.
Nox’s eyes lingered on the three swirls that had been burned into her chest like the ground they were standing upon. He denied the beads of sweat forming in his brow, the clenching of his stomach, and swallowed the hot acid making his throat raw for as long as he could. Nox quickly cataloged the small animal bones and beaks that made up her crown and the flowers tucked into her long, red hair.
But he couldn’t hold on when he saw that her eyes had been gouged out and there was no tongue in her gaping mouth as Duncan had warned. His blurry gaze dropped to the tissue and organs spilling from her abdomen into an empty brass cauldron. “I need to—!” Nox gestured at his chest as his stomach heaved. He wanted to run to the trees on his right, but remembered that he was in a crime scene and wanted to make a good impression. “Where can I—?” He choked out.
“Here you go, son,” an older man in coveralls and booties said as he ran to Nox on his tiptoes with a bag. “Appreciate that!” He added and Nox waved as he turned away.
Both Nelson and the other man—Nox was pretty sure he was Dr. Bixby—discreetly offered their backs while Nox bent over and retched into the bag.
“Good thing Agent Nelson didn’t feed me on the way here,” Nox teased once he’d recovered. He thanked the other man for the bag when one of his assistants came to collect it. “Dr. Bixby, I presume,” he said as he waved.
“Professor MacIlwraith,” Bixby said and offered just enough of a smile to be polite without creeping anyone at a crime scene out. “I’ve heard good things. Dr. Kirby said he’d see if you could give us a hand, but I didn’t expect you to get here so fast.”
“Thank you. I had to come. I think she could be related to some other cases I was hoping the FBI would look into,” Nox said in a rush.
Nelson cleared his throat and gave his head a tight shake. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, professor, and we don’t need to trouble Dr. Bixby with those cases. He’s got enough on his plate right now.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Bixby said, scrubbing the back of his arm across his brow to avoid his gloves. “Been with the medical examiner’s office for over twenty years and I’ve never seen anything like this before. What about you, gentlemen?” He asked, but his and Nelson’s gaze settled on Nox.
“I have,” he said as he nodded slowly. “Or read about it, at least. Mostly in early Roman accounts of their conquest of Gaul and the British Isles.”
A hard breath huffed from Nelson. “And how does that apply to this?” He asked, sounding all the more resigned.
Nox offered him an apologetic wince. “It tells me that the Tuath Dé are real and I think this is just the beginning.”
Three
“You said they weren’t real.” Nelson wasn’t entirely sure why or how he’d come to be in the middle of the Appalachians and arguing with the Sketchy Professor. But Nelson was 100% certain Felton was going to chew his ass out as soon as he got wind of it. To make matters worse, Nelson was beginning to suspect that MacIlwraith was on to something. Which only meant that Nelson’s life was about to get a lot more complicated and uncomfortable.
He grimaced, taking out a roll of antacids and forcing a lozenge from the foil as he turned back to the victim. The photos didn’t do her or the gory altar any justice, and Nelson couldn’t make sense of the disorienting collage of bones, flowers, symbols, and gore.
“We need to get her down and back to the morgue, Agent Nelson,” Dr. Bixby urged softly.
“Just a moment, please.” Nelson held up a hand, asking for a little more professional courtesy. “I know you need to get the victim out of the elements and start collecting evidence. But someone wants to tell a story and Professor MacIlwraith is one of the few people in the country who can read it to us.”
Bixby nodded, his attention swiveling back to the professor. “Okay. I can give you a few more minutes. And, I wouldn’t mind a little insight into this myself.”
