Page 47 of Hell Bent

At least she knew Turner had been listening on the drive over. Only talk of magic and the occult could put him in this kind of mood.

“Centurion,” Dawes greeted him, and Alex winced.

“My name is Detective Abel Turner and you damn well know it. You look exhausted, Dawes. They’re not paying you enough.”

Dawes looked surprised, then said, “Probably not.”

“I left an open case file to be here. Can we get this going?”

Dawes led them inside, but once they were trailing Turner up the stairs, she whispered, “This is a bad idea.”

Alex agreed, but she also didn’t see what choice they had.

“He’s going to tell Anselm,” Dawes fretted as they followed Turner down the hall to the ballroom. “The new Praetor. The police!”

“No, he’s not.” At least Alex hoped he wouldn’t. “We need his help and that means we need to show him what we’re up against.”

“Which is what exactly? Just admit you’re making it up as you go along.”

She was. But something in her gut was pulling her back to Black Elm and she had dragged Turner right along with her.

“If you have any other ideas, just say the word, Dawes. Do you know any murderers?”

“Other than you?”

“He can help us. And he needs our help too. Dean Beekman was murdered.”

Dawes stopped dead. “What?”

“Did you know him?”

“Of course I knew him. Everyone knew him. I took one of his classes when I was an undergrad. He—”

“Christ on a bike.”

Turner had frozen in the doorway to the ballroom and he did not look like he had any intention of going in. He took a step backward, one hand extended as if to ward off what he was seeing, his other hand resting on his gun.

“You can’t shoot him,” Alex said with all the calm she could muster. “At least I don’t think you can.”

Dawes ran to the doorway, placing herself between Turner and the golden circle like some kind of human shield. “I told you this was a terrible idea!”

“What is this?” demanded Turner. His jaw was set, his brow lowered, but there was fear in his eyes. “What am I even seeing?”

All Alex could offer was, “I told you he was different.”

“Different is you lost a few pounds. You got a haircut. Not … this.”

At that moment Darlington’s eyes opened, bright and golden. “Where have you been?” Turner started at the sound of Darlington’s voice, human but for that cold echo. “You reek of death.”

Alex groaned. “You’re not helping.”

“Why did you bring me here?” Turner bit out. “I asked for help with a case. I thought I made it clear I don’t want any part of this crazy cult shit.”

“Let’s go downstairs,” said Dawes.

“Stay,” said Darlington, and Alex couldn’t tell if it was a plea or a command.

“I think Darlington can help you,” she said. “I think he’s the only one of us who can.”