“Why do you say ritualistic?”
“What?”
“Ritualistic animal sacrifice. That’s a specific description.”
“That’s what this is.”
“Why do you say that?”
My eyes bugged out at him. “Are you joking?”
“Do I look like I’m joking?”
He didn’t. His expression was stony.
“It’s not like they chopped up Eeyore here for the thrill of it,” I pointed out with a soft grimace. “Whoever did this not only killed him but placed his parts in some kind of… pattern.” I didn’t want to look, I really didn’t, but I forced my eyes back to the scene. “It’s not some meaningless slaughter. There’s meaning to every part of this.”
Officer Hightower sighed. “Witchy shit?”
“Witchy shit,” I concurred.
“So you have seen this before,” Graham said.
“In books, sure. Academic texts on the occult, historical volumes… stuff like that. Never in real life. Never with my own eyes.”
“Is that your version of light reading before bed? Animal sacrifices?”
“I own an occult shop, Graves. My aunt owned it for thirty years before I inherited it. I’ve read my fair share of…”
“Witchy shit,” Detective Hightower supplied succinctly.
I winked at him. “Exactly.”
“But you don’t practice,” Graham said flatly.
I shot him a look. “No, I don’tpractice. I’m not a witch. This may be a revolutionary concept for you, but you can have interests in a field, read for hours and hours about it, even build a career around it, without it defining who you are.” My voice dropped to a mutter. “Jeeze, I also read historical romance novels, that doesn’t mean I dress in whalebone corsets and reject all knowledge of antibiotics and refuse to be in the presence of a marriageable man without a chaperone.”
The detective laughed again, louder this time.
“Glinda.”
My eyes snapped to Graham’s face. He wasn’t laughing, but some of the severity had bled out of his stern expression. “I wouldn’t normally ask, but since you do know a fair bit about this…”
“You want me to look at it.”
He nodded.
I winced. I was hoping I could get away with leaving the alley without spending another single second staring at the ghastly scene, but I’d talked myself straight into a corner. “I’m not an expert.”
“We know that. We’ll have another set of eyes on it before the day is out. Still, anything you could tell us… little details we might miss…”
Taking a bracing breath, I stepped closer to the donkey parts and squatted down. It was gruesome as all hell but, now that I’d had a bit of time to adjust, I wasn’t freaking out as much.
“It’s a pentagram,” I murmured after a moment. “See? The blood is smeared in the shape of a star inside the circle. But there are other markings I don’t understand. These symbols…” I pointed to the odd shapes within the five star-point sectors. “I don’t recognize them at all.”
“What else?” Graham prompted.
“The…” I swallowed hard, staring at the severed head. The donkey’s glossy eyes were lifeless, unseeing. Its tongue was lolling from between gaping teeth. I fought a shudder. “The parts are placed strategically. The head is upside down, which may have some significance. Again, I don’t know what, but they put it like that for a reason. I don’t have a compass on me but based on where the sun is right now…” I glanced briefly at the pale blue September sky. “I’d guess the legs are positioned pointing north, south, east, and west.”