“Venatores,” she blurted, and now blood sprayed.
“Shh,” he soothed, sorry he’d even asked her the question, though he’d had to.
“Mali!” More blood.
A siren wailed to a stop outside. A door slammed, footsteps followed. Seconds later the pretty blond officer—Bobby thought his name was Brad—skidded through the glass. He took one glimpse of the blood and promptly lost his breakfast in the sink. Why was it this guy always seemed to be wherever there was trouble? Then again, there were only three officers in the entire town.
“Stay,” Bobby told him. He heard more sirens on the way.
The second arrival was Christiansen. Thanks be to God.
The man hurried in, then froze when the woman opened her eyes again.
“She isn’t dead.” He sounded as horrified as Bobby felt.
“Yet. Do something.”
“I don’t work on the living.”
“I thought you were a doctor.”
“Not that kind.”
“Get your ass over here and pretend.”
Christiansen glanced out the door. Sirens still wailed. “The EMTs should be right behind me.”
“Then you won’t have to pretend for very long.”
The man took a breath, squared his shoulders, and approached—slowly as if afraid the nearly dead woman might bite. He paused, still several feet away.
“Now, Doc. She’s—”
“Gone,” Christiansen interrupted.
Bobby glanced down. He was right.
The doctor moved forward, no longer hesitant. He snapped on gloves, handed Bobby a pair too.
“What the hell?” the doctor muttered, gaze on her branded hand. It was kind of hard to miss, even with the mess, since she’d laid it right below her wound. “That’s fresh, and the ring is—”
“Forget that for now,” Bobby ordered. He indicated Mrs. Noita’s neck. “How old?”
“She’s lived here as long as I can remember, and I don’t recall her ever being anything but ancient.”
“I didn’t mean how old is she, I meant how old is the wound?”
“Oh. Right. Not very.” Christiansen plucked at her clothing. “Strange.”
“What?”
“Some of the blood is dried. That takes more than a few minutes. Wounds like this the victim bleeds out pretty fast. I’ll have to get her on my table to find out for sure but from the amount of blood I’d say the carotid artery was nicked. She should have been dead in minutes, certainly unconscious.”
“Minutes?” Bobby repeated. “That’s not possible.”
He’d been farting around outside her door longer than that. If anyone had been inside he’d have heard them. At the least he’d have heard her screaming. The back door had been locked, and no one had come out the front.
“I’ve discovered that possible is a much wider area than we know.” Christiansen brushed one gloved finger over Mrs. Noita’s branded hand as another siren-blaring vehicle arrived outside.
“She was still conscious when I got here,” Bobby said. “She was conscious when you got here. How?”
“Either a miracle or magic.”
Bobby didn’t believe in either one.
“Where’s the fire?” Christiansen asked.
They were both still hunkered on either side of the dead woman. Bobby wasn’t in a hurry, hadn’t even made a move to leave. “Huh?”
“The last body was burned. You’re here because so were yours. The brand and that burning connected the deaths.”
“But not the killers since the maniac is dead. He had nothing to do with this, and his alibis proved he had nothing to do with my victims either.”
“Which means we’re back to the murder club,” Christiansen said. “Except this guy screwed up. No fire.”
“Unless I interrupted him before he could finish. Although where he would have gone—” Bobby straightened. “Get out.”
Christiansen glanced up. “Excuse me?”
Bobby lowered his voice. “I didn’t clear the place.”
The doctor frowned, his gaze darting to the basement door, then the bedrooms down the hall, before returning to Bobby’s.
“She was still awake. She spoke to me.” Gibberish, but he hadn’t known that at the time.
The EMTs crowded in the back door. Their steps faltered. Bobby jerked his head at Christiansen. “Take them with you.” He glanced toward Brad, who still hovered near the sink looking peaked. “Keep everyone out until I say they can come back in. Can you manage that?”
The kid drew himself up, nodded, then herded everyone ahead of him and closed the door.
Bobby drew his weapon and crept down the hall.
Chapter 12
For the first time ever, I was glad for Jenn’s need for speed. She got us to the witch’s house in record time, even for her.
Unfortunately everyone else in the universe—or at least in New Bergin—was there ahead of us. Everyone except the man I was searching for.
“Where’s Bobby?”
“Don’t see him,” Jenn answered, at the same time Genevieve—who’d accompanied us in the back seat; it hadn’t been easy not to talk to her, let alone look at her—said, “In the basement. You have to hurry.”