The kid had seemed so innocent—he’d thrown up at the sight of Mrs. Noita—that Bobby hadn’t suspected him of much beyond overeagerness and stupidity. But his appearance wherever the action was, as well as his sudden reconnection with Raye’s best friend, had become worrisome.
Bobby must have made a forward movement because Franklin set a hand on his arm just as a woman appeared. She wore a brilliant scarlet robe that she dropped from her shoulders and became skyclad too. Tall as Brad—maybe six feet—her dark hair brushed the tops of her thighs. Bobby doubted there were two women of that height, with hair that long, running around a town of this size. She had to be the same culprit who’d broken into Larsen’s Bed-and-Breakfast, and most likely the one who had killed Mrs. Noita.
Everyone went to their knees and bowed their heads. “Mistress.” The word swirled around the clearing in a dozen different voices.
The woman walked to the altar. “Those of you here tonight have done what was necessary. You have killed the witches. Spilling their blood, marking them as evil.”
She lifted her hands toward the sky. One sported the snarling-wolf ring; the other clasped a squiggly knife. Even before he caught sight of the pentacle around her neck, he knew it was the knife they’d been looking for. If the woman hadn’t killed Mrs. Noita, as well as her niece, then taken their ritual instruments, someone here had.
“You have burned them as they should be burned,” she continued. “Each death is an offering to the one we adore. The more you burn, the higher you rise.”
The others came to their feet, faces upturned to the night. Bobby got a Nazi Germany vibe. Switch out the wolf for a swastika, a tall woman for a psycho little man, and it could be 1939. He wiped a shaking hand over his sweaty face.
“If one day you kill more than I have, you could take my place as our leader. Remember that. Strive for it.”
“Freaks,” Cassandra muttered.
“Tonight we will meet our maker.”
“Works for me.” Bobby set his hand on his gun.
“We will raise Roland McHugh to life everlasting, and he will show us the way.”
His fingers stilled. “They think they’re raising a dead guy?”
Cassandra and Franklin exchanged glances.
“Wait,” Bobby murmured. “Do you think they’re raising a dead guy?”
“Stranger things have happened,” Cassandra said.
“Where?”
“Never mind that,” Franklin whispered. “Our orders are to find out what they’re up to and how. So, for right now, let’s just watch and learn.”
“The FBI wants to know how a group of serial killers are planning to raise a dead serial killer?”
Franklin shrugged. “I do what I’m told.”
Bobby was tempted to ask who was telling him such insane things but now wasn’t the time for that either. Especially when the athame wielder motioned to Brad and said, “Bring the sacrifice.”
Brad disappeared from view, returning almost immediately with a struggling figure wrapped in a blanket.
“Shit,” Cassandra snapped. “Goat without horns.”
Bobby cast her a confused glance.
“Human sacrifice. Only a life buys a life. In light magic, sacrifice is given. But in dark, it’s taken.”
A chill trickled over Bobby that only increased in depth as Brad carried the “goat” to the stone, set it on top, and drew off the covering.
“Raye,” Bobby whispered.
Chapter 25
When Brad said he’d take me home, I didn’t think anything of it. Why should I? Someone had to. Bobby’d brought me to work that morning, then driven away without a backward glance.
I couldn’t get past the expression on Bobby’s face when I’d said his daughter’s name. I’d broken him, and I wanted nothing more than the chance to put him back together again.
But what would I tell him? I couldn’t continue to deny what I saw, who I was. I’d tried to all my life and denying it hadn’t changed anything. It had only made me ill prepared to handle the truth.
I was a descendant of witches. I saw ghosts. I had powers. And parents. Sisters.
I was so preoccupied with my weird life I didn’t notice that Brad had turned away from town instead of toward it until he pulled onto a rutted service road.
“Brad? Why are we—”
I didn’t see the left cross until it connected with my jaw. The next thing I knew I was on the ground, tied to the bumper, mouth gagged. All my muffled questions were ignored as he sat on the hood of the car and stared back the way we’d come.
I tried to toss his ass, and while he did frown in my direction, he didn’t fly through the air. I should have practiced that more—or at least asked Henry the rules. Did I need my hands? I’d only moved three things so far—a cell phone, a knife, and a cat—and I’d had no idea I was doing any of them until they were done.
Moments later another car pulled in; a woman I’d never seen before climbed out. That was odd in itself, considering this was New Bergin, even without her long, scarlet robe and the squiggly knife.
Squiggly knife. Hell. It was the woman who wanted to kill me. Lately, who didn’t?