“The lunar calendar,” I whispered, mind working double time as I turned over possibilities. “It would make sense. If the people doing this are pagan…”
“Gwendolyn,” Cade prompted impatiently. “Explain.”
I grabbed the map from the folder and stared down at the red Xs. I tapped my pointer against the one by the dog park. “This one was first, right?”
“Yes. The cat.”
“When did you find it?”
Cade consulted his notes. “Late March.”
“Ostara,” I whispered, barely waiting a beat before I planted my finger on the next X, the one down at Palmer Cove. “And this one? When?”
“Early May.”
“Beltane.”
“Gwendolyn—”
My finger drifted to the X at Gallows Hill. “When did you find the goat here?”
“End of June. Look, what is this all about?”
I jerked my gaze up from the map to meet his. I knew I was wild-eyed, but I was so caught up in my discovery, I didn’t care (much) if he thought I was crazy. “I should’ve realized before — what they were doing. But when you first told me about this, I was so freaked out by the dead animals in those photographs, I didn’t even pause to consider the timeline.”
His brows were high on his forehead. “The timeline?”
“The sacrifices are happening in alignment with the lunar calendar. It makes sense — many pagans derive power from celestial events. Full moons, solar eclipses, solstices, equinoxes.” I jammed my finger down at the map. “The cat was found right around Ostara, also known as the spring equinox. The rooster was Beltane, which is May Eve. The goat would be Litha, the summer solstice. The pig lines up with Lughnasadh, sometimes called First Harvest. And the donkey at my store a couple weeks ago…” I sucked in a breath. “Mabon. The autumn equinox. Goddess, I should’ve realized sooner.”
Caden Hightower looked at the map, his expression a mix of confusion and disbelief. When his eyes lifted to mine, there was an intensity in their depths that made me nervous. “What’s next?”
“Pardon?” I asked, confused.
“Next on the lunar calendar. What’s the next big celestial even these pagans would pick for their sacrifice?”
My blood ran cold. “Samhain.”
“And when’s that, exactly?”
“Halloween,” I whispered, my voice thready. “It’s on Halloween.”
* * *
I suckeddown a large gulp of Bordeaux, closing my eyes as the music washed over me, loud enough to rattle my bones. The band onstage was midway through a kickass rock cover ofCosmic Loveby Florence + The Machine, one of my all-time favorite songs. I was smooshed in a back booth at The Witches Brew, Graham’s warm body pressed close beside me on the padded bench seat. He had one arm slung around the back of the booth, his hand drawing lazy circles on the bare skin of my shoulder. His other loosely gripped a draft of beer.
“You know, I was thinking,” Florence shouted from across the table where she and Desmond were sitting, straining to be heard over the rollicking chorus. “If they send you away for life, Gwennie, can I have the Thunderbird?”
My eyes cracked open so I could properly scowl at her.
She winked at me. Then, a dreamy look moved across her face as she spotted Graham’s hand on my shoulder. She practically shimmied in her seat, thrilled beyond words that we were on adouble datewith our men.
“Gwen isn’t going anywhere,” Desmond said firmly, sipping his beer. “She’s innocent. Only a matter of time before the police figure that out.”
It wasn’t the police I was worried about. Hell, if they locked me up, at least I’d be safe behind bars where the Heretics couldn’t get to me. Fear stirred to the surface and, despite my efforts to quell it, I trembled. Feeling it, Graham tightened his grip on my shoulders and ducked his head close to my ear.
“You okay?” he asked, voice a low murmur.
I nodded, even though I wasn’t. Not really. I’d felt shaky and tense ever since I shared my worrisome theory with Detective Hightower this morning. We’d had only moments to discuss it in depth before the interrogation door flew open with a bang.