Circle of the Moon (Soulwood #4)

“I forgot to say! SaraBell’s in labor. Love you!” She ended the call.

“Love you too,” I said to the empty air. SaraBell’s in labor. Sam was getting ready to be a daddy. I was getting ready to be an aunt. A small smile formed as it hit me. SaraBell didn’t want a dog around her new baby. I had just been backed into a corner by a preteen manipulator. “You little scamp.”

“Nell!” Tandy shouted. “Get in here! We got the van!”

I sped into the conference room to see photos on the screens overhead. On one was grainy security camera video. It was the van that been stolen to pick up the Blalock girl.

“They trolled the streets in neighborhoods all around, looking for prey. We have multiple sightings from those doorbell security cameras,” Jo said. “Those devices are ridiculously easy to hack. A tech-savvy burglar’s wet—Ummm. Sorry.”

I didn’t know what she had been about to say and I didn’t ask.

Tandy said, “According to the crime techs, the AC in the van wasn’t working and at some point, it got hot inside and the window went down. And we got this.”

The security footage began to move. Leaning from the passenger seat was a young man. “Who?” I asked.

“This is from Loriann’s laptop,” JoJo said, putting up another photo. “Jason Ethier. He was in the van with the group of nonlocal vampires. Maybe was with them from the beginning. I’m sending this to Occam and Rick. They need to know it. And to T. Laine,” JoJo said.

“Tell her to hold it,” I suggested. “Don’t share it with Loriann. We might need all this later. Or … she might not know her brother is vamp-ridden.”

“Vamp-ridden?” Jo asked.

“A church term. It’s one they use for blood-slaves, and it’s based on spiritual possession, like demon-ridden.”

“The church of God’s Glory does exorcisms?” Jo asked softly.

“A few. And no. Never on me. I left the church before I’d have been old enough to see or participate in one. But I’ve heard tales.”

Overhead, JoJo, tech whiz extraordinaire, followed the van through the neighborhoods near where Raynay was taken. The unit had received more files via e-mail from Alex Younger and I put them on the screen. They were titled Godfrey of Bouillon_1, Godfrey of Bouillon_2, Godfrey of Bouillon_3, and Godfrey of Bouillon_4.

I opened the files to the overhead screen and began scrolling through the information, which was presented in bullet points with footnotes and links to more information on the Internet.

Godfrey of Bouillon, aka Godefroi de Bouillon in French, Gottfried von Bouillon in German, Godefridus Bullionensis from Wiki, and Godefridi Bullonensis in some other language I didn’t speak.

Born on September 18, 1060

As a young human he was a Frankish knight—Lord of Bouillon

A leader of the First Crusade

Later became known as the Duke of Lower Lorraine



I figured that Lower Lorraine was someplace in France. The church taught a lot about the valiant knights of Western Christianity who went to free the Holy Lands from satanic rule, but my own research had led me to understand that the Crusades were more along the lines of torture, rape, theft, murder, and genocide. The next part of Alex’s information suggested that was more true than I had ever known.

In 1099, Godfrey laid siege to Jerusalem

His goal: to wipe out all Jewish people in vengeance for the death of the Christ

Charged into Jerusalem and killed anyone that didn’t leave



Destroyed holy sites of three religions

Soldiers, citizens, Jews, Muslims, and Christians who opposed him were killed

Victims were burned or sliced open and left to bleed out

Surviving Jews fled to a synagogue; Godfrey burned it down

Ordered his men to hunt down and kill all survivors

According to records, no one survived

Piles of hands, feet, and heads were scattered throughout the city

Godfrey is said to have stripped to his undergarments and walked barefoot through the blood, which reached to his ankles

70,000 Muslims were killed there

Became the first ruler of the Kingdom of Jerusalem, though he called himself Advocate of the Holy Sepulcher or Baron of the Holy Sepulcher, not king; others of his time called him the Crusader King

He never married

Pedophile and sexual predator

He died from “plague”—was turned on July 19, 1100



Godfrey sounded like the perfect Naturaleza: a warped vampire psychopath with no morals of any kind. As a human he’d used religion to hurt who he wanted and to steal what he wanted. He was like the churchmen of God’s Cloud of Glory Church, who put their wants and beliefs and political values before the scriptures themselves.

Godfrey and his vampires were in town, attacking Ming, kidnapping a teenaged girl. We had Jason, who had been drank from as a child and sexually abused by Isleen, an insane vampire. A sexually abused teen in cahoots with—not in bed with, that was hitting too close to the truth—Godfrey. And Rick and Ming were targets. Had Jason gone to Godfrey willingly? Or had Jason used black-magic circles to call Godfrey to use him?

Jason was awfully young to be so devious.

As I considered the list, the historical files that followed, and Alex’s documentation, JoJo turned up the null room speakers again. T. Laine said, “You have to realize that the others can’t trust you. You might be influencing Rick through his tats.”

I spun my chair to face the null room screen. T. Laine sat forward, intent on Loriann leaning across the table that stretched between them. Our witch had one hand lightly clenched on the tabletop. She looked kind, understanding, even gentle, unlike the plainspoken, straight-talking witch I knew.

“Loriann, I can’t see you being able to work with Rick or this team. We can’t trust you.”

Loriann’s face hardened. “But without me, you can’t find Jason.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. He was chased off one of his last circles. Unit Eighteen has physical evidence. Stuff that hasn’t been entered into NCIC yet.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Slowly, T. Laine opened her clenched fist to reveal the wooden golf tee we had taken from the circle. Or one just like it, which was most likely. T. Laine wouldn’t touch real evidence, not with her bare hand.

Loriann’s eyes locked on to the wooden tee. Her jaw came forward and her nostrils flared in surprise.

“You should,” Lainie said. “You need a friend. I’m a witch. I might understand when no one else in the entire city might.”

“Oh God.” Loriann’s eyes filled with tears.

“Yeah. Microscopic traces of DNA stuck on a golf tee, after a hot and sweaty round in NOLA heat, can be used in workings and curses by witches and covens. Rick never played golf except with his dad, and not for years now. He didn’t know that Jason was following him around New Orleans, stealing personal things, did he?”

Loriann rocked forward and back in her hard chair. Rocking, she raked her hair from her face in a gesture that looked as if she was tearing it out. We three watched her, no longer scrolling through Alex’s information on Godfrey, no longer talking. The NOLA witch looked defeated. Paler than when she arrived. She tried to speak, and the sound stopped in her throat, choked off by emotion. She went still and tried again, her words strangled. “It was three weeks after Rick and after the vampires, Leo Pellissier, and Katie Fonteneau rescued Jason.” Her eyes filled with tears and she pressed the back of her wrist against one and then the other to catch the tears. Her mascara stained the wrist feathery black. “He was playing golf with his father. I was … I was playing in the group behind them.”

“Ahhh,” T. Laine said. “You were stalking Rick. To help Jason, right? If I’d been blessed with a sorcerer brother, it’s what I would have done. Protect him. Family comes first.”

“Yes,” Loriann said, sounding relieved that Lainie understood.

Shifting subtly, Lainie mimicked her body posture until they were almost mirrored. It was standard Reid interrogation technique, but Lainie didn’t touch the witch, not even in the safety of the null room.

“Everything I did was for Jason,” Loriann said. “Always.”

T. Laine’s eyes shifted to the small mic on the table. Carefully, she covered it with her empty hand. “I get that. I do,” she whispered. “But you have to understand that the others, they won’t. Witches, witches stand together. But the mundane, they just don’t get it.”

Loriann’s gaze swung from the covered mic to the tee in T. Laine’s fingers, her tears flowing freely now.

“You’ve been alone, fighting to keep Jason safe all these years. Now you have help,” T. Laine whispered. “You’re not alone.”

Loriann broke down in sobs, her head on the table, her shoulders shuddering. As Rick had said, Loriann was wracked with guilt and anger, but also with loneliness. On some level, I understood that kind of loneliness. I’d been alone for a long time too.

“And that,” Tandy said, satisfaction in his tone, “is how you turn a suspect. At least until she realizes she’s been messed with.”