“I consulted both Kale and Lorraine.”
I sucked in a breath, willing Sampson to stop talking. Kale and Lorraine are the Underworld Detection Agency’s resident witches. Kale had recently been run over by a car but spent her downtime controlling the elements, and Lorraine was the most powerful Gestalt witch the Green Order had seen in decades. She was also a top Tupperware saleslady, and if anyone knew a true incantation—or, for Lorraine, how to burp a lid—it was these ladies.
“They both confirmed that the incantation was legitimate. The killer also drained her blood.” Even Sampson winced and my heart seemed to fold over on itself. I chewed the inside of my cheek and found myself praying that all of that had been done postmortem.
Sampson went on. “From the looks of it, Cathy Ledwith’s killer was trying to summon a demon—and not a good one. This isn’t just over-the-counter witchcraft.”
“Oh.” The word came out small and hollow, dying in the cavernous room.
“As I mentioned, Cathy’s body was found seven days after she went missing. It was obvious that her attacker wanted—or needed—her to be found on that day.”
“I don’t understand. How do you—why—how do they know that?”
“According to the police report, an anonymous call came in at 7:07 that morning.”
“Seven-oh-seven on the seventh day?”
“Of the seventh month.”
I frowned, resting my chin in my hands. “Maybe her killer is just OCD. Did anyone explore that angle?”
It was silly, but I knew the significance of sevens—and I knew the demon Cathy’s murderer was calling.
“Seven is divine. Seven-seven-seven is—”
“Satan.” The word took up all the space in the room and I found it hard to breathe.
Everyone knows 6-6-6 as the devil’s “call” sign—or they think they do. And while it does have true significance—mostly in movies, fiction, and speed metal songs—it is more like a pop-culture high-five to the Prince of Darkness. The trio of sevens is the summoner.
My heart was throbbing in my throat. I knew the answer, but still had to ask. “Do they think the other girl—”
“Alyssa.”
“Alyssa, do they think she—that she may have been abducted by the same person?”
Sampson’s hulking silence was answer enough.
Something tightened in my chest, and Sampson, his enormous cherry wood desk and his entire office seemed to spin, then fish-eye in front of me. I gripped the sides of my chair and steadied myself.
“We want you to go into Mercy and see what you can find out about this so-called coven.”
“Are they even rela—”
Sampson held up a hand, effectively silencing me. “They’re related, Sophie. There’s no question. Students who knew Cathy confided that she had, in fact, been bullied by a group of other students. Haven’t heard the same about Alyssa but it’s a good possibility.”
A memory wedged in my mind and I was fifteen again, awkward, terrorized, cornered in a Mercy High bathroom by a selection of mean girls with Aqua Net hair and slouchy socks. I could feel the sweat prick on my skin again, the nauseous way my stomach rolled.
“The police—aren’t they working on this?”
Sampson nodded slowly, then laced his fingers together in front of him. “They are.”
“But?”
“They don’t have a whole lot to go on, either. But that’s not what we’re concerned about.”
“We’re concerned about potential witches.”
“I can’t help but believe there is a supernatural element in this case, Sophie. The carving, the state of the body. The police aren’t going to look at things like that. If there is a new coven brewing . . .” Sampson let his words trail off, his dark eyes flicking over me.
“I don’t get it, Sampson. If there were a coven—a coven full of real witches, wouldn’t we know about it? I mean, it’s kind of what we do.” I pointed to the plaque behind Sampson’s head. “It’s right there in the name, Underworld Detection Agency.”
The stern way Sampson’s brows snapped together as he crossed his arms in front of his chest let me know that he wasn’t enjoying my light banter-slash-attempt to do anything other than this assignment.
“Yes, Sophie, I know the name of the agency. But witches are among our least adherent of clients.”
I felt my mouth drop open. “Really?”
“Check the books. We don’t have a lot.”
“I thought that’s because there aren’t a lot.”
“There are thousands. Likely hundreds of thousands in California. We’ve got Wiccan factions, a group of Druids up by Humboldt.”
“And what? They don’t consider themselves ‘Underworldy’?”
Sampson blew out a sigh and nodded his head. “Something like that. If there is a new coven in town—even if it’s an old, under-the-radar one—we likely wouldn’t have known.”
“So really, I have to go out to Mercy and see what I can detect?”