“And where exactly would they keep something like that?”
I considered this for a moment. “Somewhere safe, where it won’t be disturbed or stumbled upon by anyone outside their circle, but close enough for them to gather frequently at it. Probably on an altar.”
“An altar?”
“A shrine of sorts, created to honor whatever deity they worship.” I shrugged. “I have no clue, if I’m being honest. This is all speculation. There are as many sects of neopaganism as there are colors in the rainbow. You have to understand, it’s not an organized religion like Christianity. There’s no registry of practitioners. No official churches or meeting points.” I glanced at the closed folder. “Those sacrifices could be carried out by a group of two or twenty or two hundred. There’s no way of knowing.”
“Probably not a lone wolf, though. It’s surprisingly difficult to sever—” Cade’s mouth clicked shut when he saw my blanched expression. “Never mind.”
I lifted my hands from my lap and laid them atop the table. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful but… much as I appreciate the show and tell, I can’t help wondering why you’re telling me all this.”
The men traded a glance. It was Graham who spoke, his voice rough. “Because whoever is doing this is escalating. Cat, rooster, goat, pig, donkey. Each bigger than the last. The symbols get more ornate, more elaborate, each time.”
“Meaning?”
“Not much livestock out there bigger than a donkey, Glinda,” he said pointedly. “We’re thinking the next victim might not be from the barnyard.”
My pulse spiked as a bolt of unadulterated anxiety shot through my system. “You think they’re going to… to murder someone?”
The men traded another loaded glance. I got the sense there was something more to this, something they weren’t telling me, but I didn’t pry. I was still struggling to digest the news that the next pentagram they found might be far, far worse than anything I’d seen in those photographs.
“They’ve never left a message before today,” Cade pointed out.
“Resurgemus,” I murmured, seeing the bloody warning in my mind. “We shall rise again.Jeeze. Totally creepy. You’d better catch them before they decide to hack up one of the locals in their quest torise, whatever that means.”
They traded another glance and, again, I got the sense I was missing something. Something vitally important.
“What?” I asked. My heart was beginning to race. “What is it?”
“Christ,” Graham muttered, looking grim. “Just tell her, Hightower.”
“Tell me what?”
“Gwendolyn…” Cade blew out a breath. “The other locations have all been pretty remote. Public spaces. Parks, fields, gardens. But this morning was… different. We can’t help wondering if there’s a reason that donkey was left inyouralley. Why that message was left onyourwall.”
“You think I’m somehow involved?” I asked, stunned. “I swear—”
“No, Gwen.” Cade reached across the table and took my hand. I stiffened — and so, I couldn’t help but notice, did Graham. “We think you might be their target.”
Chapter Six
Skeletons? In my closet?
Not with all these shoes.
- Gwen Goode, lamenting her lack of storage
I told Florence everything — in part because that’s what best friends do, but mostly because I knew she’d eventually drag the information out of me, whether I wanted to share or not.
“So, after they told you that you’re potentially a target in a string of ritualistic killings… How was the rest of your day?”
I laughed. “Busy.”
“Tell me that’s because you ended up having a threesome with the sexy detective and Graham.”
“Hardly.”
“Just Graham, then? One on one? A long overdue roll in the hay?”