Page 25 of A Wild Darkness

“I knew she would.”

His comment takes me by surprise. “You did?”

“I only briefly met her, but she handled herself well after finding out what happened with Lux,” he reminds me. “She’ll get this shit done.”

Quickly replaying his words, I stare at a piece of artwork hanging above her bed on the wall. A black-and-white painting of the same moth that looked like there was a skull on it I saw on the book cover in the living room, with its wings spread wide over the silhouette of a worn gravestone.

“Hmm,” I mutter. “You might be right.”

“As long as you can keep your dick in your pants,” Christian retorts.

I jump into her bed, lying my head on one of her soft pillows. “What makes you think I won’t? Sure, she’s hot, but she gets under my skin. And from her usual reaction to me, the feeling is mutual.”

Christian scoffs, giving me shit like he always does. “Moving on,” he says, his voice shifting to serious. “There’s potentially a group of serial killers who’ve descended upon our city to kill and leave their marks on innocent victims. We can’t fuck this up.”

“I know. I feel the same way. It’s our city and we have to protect it.”

“That’s fucking right,” Christian agrees. “Well, I’m going to get some work done. Keep me updated on anything that changes.”

Suddenly, I recall the markings Stevie found on a couple of bodies. Christian might know something about them and if they are related to the Society. “Wait. Also, I want to get your thoughts on something.”

“Sure, shoot.”

“Stevie mentioned last night she’s found weird markings on a few of her clients in the last week or so. Do you know anything about that?”

“Her clients?” he asks, confused.

I shake my head. “Yeah, Stevie refers to the dead people that come to her mortuary as her clients.”

“Weird.”

“That’s what I said.” I chuckle.

“What were the markings and where?” he asks.

“An X was carved into the upper leg of the one I saw last night,” I tell him.

Christian exhales a weighted breath. “I’m not sure if it’s related, but while I was doing research, I read about the Society doing something similar in the 1970s, but they were removing tattoos or large moles from the victims and saving them as trophies from each of the killing seasons.”

“Killing season?” Swinging my legs over the side, I lift off Stevie’s bed and walk into her closet.

“FBI informants have previously mentioned that this is what they refer to when they gather for these Society events or meetings,” he replies. “I’ve also seen this in my research as well.”

“Seems like a bunch of sociopathic narcissists to me.” My fingers run along the soft fabric of her clothes.

“Absolutely,” Christian replies.

I sense my time is growing short in Stevie’s apartment, and I need to get off the phone with Christian. “I have to finish up something I’m working on. We’ll talk later tonight. We need to go over the plan for the masquerade ball at Moore Mansion⁠—”

There’s a knock at the front door.

My shoulders straighten.

“Got to go.” My eyes fly in the direction of the sound and end the call.

Sliding the phone back into my pocket, I cautiously leave her bedroom and walk toward the front door. To my unpleasant surprise, I peer through the peephole and see a man who looks around the same age as Stevie and me, maybe a little younger.

Who the hell is this?