Page 26 of Crimson Moon Falling

When we came up to the clearing ahead, Gunnar and I both slowed. Zaria’s naked body hung suspended between two trees, her arms stretched out in a macabre crucifixion. Her white hair, now matted with blood, hung in lank strands around her face. Below her bare feet, someone had meticulously drawn an inverted pentagram in salt, the white crystals catching the filtered sunlight. Sorrow and rage slammed into me as I registered the details with clinical precision, cataloging the evidence as if I were reviewing case photos rather than standing before the brutalized corpse of a woman I’d just met but had somehow formed an attachment to.

“Goddamn it,” Conall whispered.

Ash moved forward, his nostrils flaring as he scented the air. “This happened last night. Maybe ten or twelve hours ago.”

I stepped closer, but Conall’s arm shot out. “Riley, you don’t need to see this.”

“I’m an ISB agent. This is my job.”

Ash rested a hand on Conall’s shoulder. “Trust her. She needs to read the vibrations and any traces of energy.”

Conall’s mouth tightened, but he nodded and stepped back. I let out a breath, then took his hand and squeezed it for strength. We were both learning to respect each other’s abilities while maintaining our independence.

Even before I stepped up to the crime scene, my analytical mind and the implant were already cataloging. Cuts crisscrossed the body. Burns on all four limbs. Toenails torn off. Eyes open and clouded in death.

They’d tortured her for information, and the wounds were inflicted to cause maximum pain. Someone had also drawn an inverted pentagram beneath her, an overt symbol of black magic. But it’d been drawn with painstaking precision, each line measured and straight. It looked too perfect and deliberate.

“They’re trying to make the kill look like a black witch or a dark worshipper did this,” Conall observed.

Ash nodded. “They missed a few things, though.”

Zaria knew my father, and she’d helped us yesterday. She’d even sensed the implant and offered to help me with its effects. I looked around. Where was Edwina, her cat?

Conall stoically took in the gruesome scene. “What do you sense?”

“Some of her magic still clings to her, but a dark practitioner would never leave it behind. I agree with your assessment. The pentagram is too perfect. Witches rely on instinct and energy, whereas this was crafted by someone trying to mimic ritual magic.”

Conall knelt beside the pentagram, careful not to disturb the salt lines, and bent over to sniff the ground. “The smells are wrong too.”

A breeze kicked up, and Zaria’s body swayed, the ropes creaking in the wind. Unreasonable grief bubbled beneath the frost inside me. “This wasn’t personal or ritualistic. It was systematic and professional, just like Apex Mentis. I think they came for her because she knew something.”

“We need to call the local authorities,” Ash murmured.

“Where’s Edwina?” Zaria’s cat was nowhere to be seen.

Conall blinked. “Who?”

“Edwina. Zaria’s cat. She’s a Pixie-bob, and probably her familiar.” I called out a few times, but only birds and an angry squirrel answered back.

I studied Zaria again, taking in the defensive wounds on her forearms, scrapes on her knuckles, and blood under her fingernails. She’d fought back. I hoped she’d caused damage before they contained her.

As I stared up at the carnage, something shifted inside me. The ice encasing me since Marlowe had the implant inserted shifted. A thin fissure appeared, and through it seeped a scalding rage, burning hot against the perpetual cold. It wasn’t a muted anger but a primal, visceral fury that made my hands shake and my vision tunnel. I didn’t know how long I stood, still as a Greek statue, staring up into Zaria’s dead eyes.

“Riley. A stór, come back to me.” Conall’s arms wrapped around me, gently drawing me back from the scene.

“They killed her, just like they did my father,” I whispered. “And they’re trying to pin it on other witches.”

“I know.” Conall’s voice was soothing. I’d disassociated for a time, but he gently held me.

Gunnar called the local sheriff’s office, and I half listened as he explained to the dispatcher who we were and what we’d found.

Conall guided me back to the front of the cabin. “We’ll find them,” he promised.

Over the next few hours, we watched the local police process the scene and answered their questions. I also called Emmett. He was silent for so long, I thought I’d lost him. Finally, he exhaled slowly.

“I can’t believe she’s gone.”

“I’m worried about her cat. Is there someone who can check on it?”