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A smile spread across Nox’s face, but it was pained and his eyes shimmered. “It’s translated from an old poem that’s believed to be their prophesy. I don’t want this to be them because that means terrible things for those girls. Cleary and Martin might be a hoax like your superiors are hoping. But I think we can both agree that the very best thing we can do is catch this killer so he can’t do it again. I’d like to help you do that and bring those girls home.”
“Are you sure it’s a cult?” Nelson asked. He liked the idea of finding the monster, or monsters, responsible for this and finding the missing girls. He just didn’t want the inevitable shit storm that would come as soon as Felton found out the case had legs and was tied to a cult.
“You said it yourself.” Nox pointed back at the road. “A stampede came through here. Not one man or two. A stampede.”
“Why do all of this for a girl who escaped? Why risk exposure right before the big Samhain ritual?” Nelson challenged and Nox smirked.
“This makes even more sense with your observations as context. What does a druid do when nature leaves a dead animal in his or her path?” He asked them, looking between Nelson and Bixby. They shrugged and Nox’s smirk widened. “They honor it by cleaning it and adding it to their next ritual. Many active sects of druids believe in using as much of an animal’s carcass as they can so its spirit is attached to their practice. Remember!” Nox’s finger shot up. “She was chosen. She might have escaped, but nature returned her to them so it was their duty to honor that sacrifice. She couldn’t be a bride, but offering her thusly would still please the gods.”
The sound of the bag zipping reminded Nelson of how late it had gotten. The victim was headed to Roanoke and cold storage for safekeeping until Bixby could perform a full autopsy. But Bixby and his team had hours of work ahead of them and any trace of light had faded from the sky as the forest became dark and a thick, chilly fog descended.
“Thanks for your time, doctor. We’ll get out of your way for now, but I’ll check in after you’ve had a chance to take stock of all of this.”
“I’d appreciate that and I look forward to sharing notes. I have a feeling you’ll know a lot more by then, Agent.”
Nelson wished Dr. Bixby would temper his expectations and suspected he’d be disappointed. He didn’t warn him, offering a half nod instead. “Until later,” Nelson muttered as he gestured for Nox to follow him as he headed back the way they had come.
“Will they be safe by themselves up here?” Nox whispered, his hand brushing and tapping at Nelson’s back as he spotted himself. They were picking their way down the rough trail, following the crime scene tape back. Occasionally, a glint of moonlight would break through the trees and the mist and reflect off the wet leaves. But otherwise, the woods had grown cold and dark around them.
“Bixby’s got a piece strapped to his ankle if anyone disturbs the crime scene while he’s there,” Nelson murmured. He’d noticed the L-shaped bulge under the leg of Bixby’s coveralls. “And Boyle will keep someone posted by the trail or the road,” he guessed, then frowned as he peered ahead and through the trees. He could almost make out the shape of the ME’s white van, but he couldn’t see anyone else or any other vehicles.
The fog was slowly building to a sprinkle and the soft pitter-patter was interrupted when a buck sprang across their path. It skidded to a halt approximately ten yards ahead of them, its wide, dark eyes sizing them up before he leaped into the trees and vanished.
Nelson’s neck craned as he looked for the buck. “Less than 6 points,” he noted as he recalled the size of the antlers.
“Cernunnos,” Nox whispered shakily.
“What?” Nelson paused and turned, raising a brow at Nox in the dark. He could only make out the darker spikes of Nox’s hair and a faint outline of his face in the weak moonlight.
“Cernunnos was the Celtic god of the woods and wild things. He is almost always depicted as wearing antlers and a torc.”
Nelson pushed out a hard sigh and rubbed a temple. “I thought this was about the Dagda.”
“Yes. It is. The three swirls in the triangular formation is classic Dagda iconography.” Nox’s head bobbled rapidly in the shadows. He was nervous. “But Cernunnos is like…Pan or the Dionysus of the woods and his spirit was definitely invoked up there. He is commonly connected to the Wiccans’ horned god,” he said, waving behind them. “The Tuath Dé are attempting to reincarnate their god-king—inviting him to take a human form—by harnessing the power of the moon, the forest, and the spiritual realm. You want all your best weapons and your best fighters when you’re starting a war, right?”
“A war? What war? Who said anything about a war?” Nelson asked as he reached into his pocket for his antacids.
There was a sympathetic groan from Nox as he patted Nelson’s lapel. “There’s always a war or an apocalypse when we’re talking about cults. Most groups of hobbyists or fandoms don’t ride that hard. They rarely escalate to kidnappings and ritual murder. That’s the hallmark of a group that’s organized around a fundamentalist belief system or something cataclysmic like a doomsday prophecy. In this modern Tuath Dé’s case, it’s most likely a war.”
“Against?” Nelson groaned. He felt like he was sinking into the detritus beneath his feet. Sinking, sinking, sinking like his career. Like his life. Felton was going to blow several gaskets. Then, he’d bury Nelson so deep in the Hoover Building’s basement, that only the rats would be able to smell his rotting corpse.
“A war against us, Agent.” Nox held his hands up. “This is a cult of druids whose worship and practice is built around the earth and deifies nature. Their god raises the sun and controls the tides. They’re calling the Dagda back to end humanity and save the planet.”
“Huh.” That actually made sense and Nelson felt a modicum of sympathy for their cause. Humanity was a nightmare and it was wrecking the planet at a terrifying rate. “They can take it up with the UN or picket outside of Exxon’s headquarters. Nothing will ever justify kidnapping, torture, and murder.”
“On that, we agree,” Nox said quickly. They heard a loud gurgle and Nox jumped before clutching his stomach. He hissed sheepishly. “I hate to be a pest, but I haven’t had anything since I ate some oatmeal on the run this morning. I don’t care if it’s a vending machine, I just need to eat something. I’m feeling a little woozy after…” He coughed and flailed vaguely back at the crime scene.
Nelson nodded, feeling like an ass as he pulled out his phone and checked the time and the signal. It was almost nine and it would take close to an hour to make their way down the mountain and reach the interstate. “Let’s go. I think I saw a truck stop after we turned off the highway. That might be our best bet at finding something at this hour.”
Four
Nox hadn’t been inside a diner since he was a TA. The hollow ache in his stomach was temporarily forgotten as he slid onto a chipped formica bench across from Nelson. He excitedly devoured all the dingy, faded posters and signs, noting the other patrons—mostly truck drivers, Nox assumed—in their hunting vests and nicotine-scented flannels. They had their caps pulled low as they nursed bottles of beer, cups of coffee, and cold plates of cheap steaks and eggs.
Across the scratched and wobbling table, Nelson unrolled his silverware and inspected his fork. “This doesn’t look promising. Sorry.”
“I don’t mind,” Nox insisted, smiling as their server filled their coffee mugs. He rarely drank caffeine after his first cup of coffee in the morning, but he poured in a generous amount of sugar. “I’m running on fumes at this point and need all the help I can get,” he explained when he caught Nelson staring.
He humphed as he picked up his mug and took a slow, even sip, then set it down with a hard thunk. “You might want to add more. It tastes like shit.” But he left his black and stared out the window behind Nox’s shoulder. “Tell me what else I need to know and start with the worst parts first. I want to be able to eat my food when it gets here.”
